As soon as her boots touched dirt, she started running, heading west along the base of the bluff as fast as her flashing legs would carry her.
As tired as Clete was, and as annoyed as he was by her antics, a part of him rose to the challenge. He whooped and drove his heels into the flanks of his tired mount. The horse leaped into a gallop and thundered after Clementine.
She couldn’t outrun the pursuit, of course. In the moonlight, he saw her jerk her head around to peer over her shoulder, then she started veering back and forth to throw him off. It didn’t do a bit of good. He overtook her in less than a minute and leaned down to grab her again.
She fought and squirmed like a wildcat as he swung her feet off the ground, and the sheer ferocity of it took him by surprise. As he pulled her closer, she leaned in and latched on to his ear with her teeth, then threw her head back.
Clete yelled, “Ow!” and had to lean sharply toward her to keep her from tearing his ear off. His balance suddenly deserted him, and he toppled out of the saddle.
He was able to kick his feet free as he fell, so he wasn’t dragged by the running horse, but he couldn’t prevent himself from crashing to the ground. The impact jolted Clementine out of his grip.
As they rolled apart from each other, Clete felt a tug at his hip.
He had a pretty good idea what had happened, and sure enough, as he rolled over and came up on his knees, he saw Clementine a few feet away using both hands to lift the heavy revolver she had plucked out of his holster. At the same time, she fumbled with the hammer, trying to cock it.
Clete threw himself forward and swept his left arm up. It struck the revolver’s barrel and knocked it skyward just as the gun went off. The thunderous roar almost deafened him. He shouted a curse and rammed into Clementine, knocking her over backward. His momentum landed her on top of him. He grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms to the ground above her head. The roughness of the action made her lose her grip on the gun. As she thrashed around, he planted a knee in her belly and tried to hold her down.
“Stop it!” he bellowed at her. “Stop it, you crazy little fool! I don’t want to hurt you!”
“You don’t?” she said through clenched teeth as she glared up at him. “You follow me hundreds of miles, steal me away from my husband, and drag me back to that . . . that evil place you call home!”
“Your husband’s dead,” Clete told her. “The Apaches killed him, and you know it. You got nowhere else to go, girl. Anyway, home’s where you belong, takin’ care of me and the rest of the boys.”
She spat in his face.
Clete lost his temper then. He let go of her left wrist and used his right hand to hit her twice, forward and back, and the brutal blows left her stunned. Vaguely, through the roar of blood inside his head, he heard hoofbeats, and a few seconds later, hands took hold of him and pulled him away from her as he lifted his arm to hit her again.
“Wait, Clete!” Lew said. “You’ll kill her!”
Lew and Harp held him while Jerome hurried to Clementine and dropped to a knee beside her. After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder at his brothers and reported, “She’s all right. Just knocked a mite silly.”
Clete’s chest heaved from the rage that filled him, but gradually the feeling subsided. “Let go of me, blast it! I’m all right now.”
With obvious reluctance, Lew and Harp released him. Clete shook himself and took a deep breath. He looked around. They were still close to the escarpment. The bluff rose no more than twenty feet away.
“We might as well make camp right here,” he said. “One place along this bluff is as good as another. Lew, Harp, tend to the horses. Jerome, take care of Clementine. Watch her mighty close. If she tries any tricks and gets away, she’s liable to kill you. And if she don’t . . . I will.”
* * *
Farther south in the night, Preacher stiffened in the saddle when the distant sound drifted to his ears. He reined in and the rest of the group followed suit.
“Umm,” Nighthawk said.
“Indeed,” Audie said. “That was definitely a gunshot.”
“But only one,” Fletch said. “What does it mean?”
“Means we’re on the right trail, I reckon,” Preacher drawled.
They had been moving slowly. Following a trail by moonlight was a tricky business, even for wily, vastly experienced trackers like Preacher and Nighthawk. He had been confident they were still on course, but that gunshot confirmed it as far as Preacher was concerned. The likelihood of anybody else being out there in that wasteland other than the men they were after was so remote that the mountain man discarded the possibility.
“But why would they be shooting?” Fletch wanted to know. “What if . . . what if Clementine tried to get away? What if they shot her? Clete’s crazy enough to—”
“Take it easy, son,” Preacher cut in on Fletch’s rising hysteria. “They don’t have any way of knowin’ we’re back here on their trail, and they sure don’t know we’re as close as we are. I don’t reckon that shot was more ’n a mile or two off. So there’s no reason for Clete to think somebody’s about to take Clementine away from him. No matter how loco he is, I don’t believe he’d just up and shoot her for no reason.”
Audie said, “From what little I’ve seen of the vile miscreant, I agree. And none of his brothers would dare do such a thing against his wishes.”
“No, that’s true,” Fletch agreed, his voice steadier. “Lew, Harp, and Jerome are bad enough, but mostly they just do what Clete tells them to do.”
Nighthawk pointed and said, “Umm.”
“I can’t quite make it out myself,” Audie said, “but I’m sure you’re right. We’re not far from that escarpment. There’s a good chance they’ll stop there for the rest of the night, instead of trying to ascend it in the darkness. It would be easy for a horse to make a misstep and fall and break a leg. They have extra mounts, but I doubt they want to risk such a thing, to say nothing of the risk of injury to themselves in such a mishap.”
Noah Stuart moved his horse forward and spoke up. “I took a good look at the escarpment from the top of that mesa. We’re at least five miles east of there now, from what I saw, I believe there’s a good chance it curves back to the north somewhere in this vicinity. Maybe within a mile or two farther east.”
“What are you getting at?” Fletch asked sharply. “What difference does that make?”
Preacher said, “I reckon maybe I see what you’re thinkin’, Noah. If we circle in that direction, we can get up on the higher ground and then cut across behind ’em. They’ve made a habit of comin’ at us from unexpected directions. Might be it’s time to do the same to them.”
Nighthawk nodded gravely and said, “Umm.”
“With the added wrinkle that we can split up and catch them between two forces,” Audie said.
“Yep, just what I was thinkin’,” Preacher said. “Audie, you and Nighthawk and Chester stay down here and move in on their camp. Get close, but be careful not to blunder in on ’em.”
“Of course,” Audie said.
“Fletch and Noah and I will flank the varmints and come in from the north. That’ll mean climbin’ the bluff in the dark, but I reckon the risk is worth it. It’ll take us some time to get in position”—Preacher squinted up at the stars—“but I reckon we’ll be ready to make our move by first light. That ought to be a good time. They’ll either still be asleep or they’ll be pretty groggy. I’ll come down the bluff into their camp and grab Clementine. Fletch and Noah can cover me from above. I’ll try to get her away from there without a ruckus, but if the ball starts, you three boys can come thunderin’ in from the south. How’s that sound?”
“An eminently workable plan,” Audie said.
“Umm,” Nighthawk agreed.
Chester Merrick said, “I think it sounds like we’re all going to get killed.”
Preacher laughed. “You keep sayin’ that, Chester, but we’re all still alive and kickin’, ain’t we?”
/> “Sooner or later, I’ll be right,” Merrick said glumly. He drew in a deep breath and raised the shotgun. “But maybe we can kill some of those no-good, stinking Mahoney brothers first.”
“Umm!” Nighthawk said and slapped the surveyor on the back.
CHAPTER 47
Noah Stuart’s prediction concerning the escarpment proved to be correct. The low bluff began to curve to the north within a couple of miles to the east, after he, Preacher, and Fletch parted company with Audie, Nighthawk, and Chester Merrick. It wasn’t a sharp bend, but steady.
“We could’ve climbed up there ’most anywhere as long as we were far enough away that those blasted Mahoneys wouldn’t hear us,” Preacher commented. “But it looks like the bluff ain’t as steep around here.”
“That’s typical of geologic formations such as this,” Stuart said. “Thousands of years ago, possibly longer than that, there was probably a vast, inland sea covering this whole area, but then some of it dropped and the water drained away, leaving this peninsula extending southward.”
“You mean this whole blasted place was underwater?” Preacher asked.
“Well, I don’t know that for certain, but it’s possible. People have found shells and fossils of sea creatures in regions where they shouldn’t have been, and that’s the only explanation that really makes sense.”
The mountain man shook his head. “When this is all over, you need to sit down and talk to Audie. He knows all about that sort o’ thing, from when he was a professor at one of them fancy colleges back east. Most of the time, he don’t get to talk to folks who understand what he’s goin’ on about.”
“I’ll do that,” Stuart said with a smile. “But right now I’m going to concentrate on helping to rescue Mrs. Wylie.”
Fletch said, “I appreciate that, Noah. You’ve turned out to be a better fella than I thought at first.”
“Thanks,” Stuart said with a wry grin.
They dismounted and led their horses up the slope. When they reached the top of the bluff, they waited a few minutes to let the animals rest, then swung up into their saddles again and rode southwest. Preacher had a pretty good idea where the shot they’d heard had come from, and he trusted his instincts to lead him to the right area.
When he thought they were getting close, he stopped and the other two did likewise. Looking down at the big, wolflike cur, Preacher said quietly, “Dog, hunt.”
Dog loped off and quickly vanished in the darkness.
“If the varmints are out there, he’ll find ’em,” Preacher told his companions.
They sat there waiting. Preacher could tell that Fletch was getting more antsy with every passing second. He couldn’t blame the young man for feeling that way. Having your wife in the hands of perverted scoundrels like the Mahoney brothers had to be mighty nerve-wracking.
Finally, after a time that seemed longer than it probably was, Dog returned, moving at a fast trot. He stopped in front of Preacher and the others, whined a couple of times, then turned to look the other way and growl.
“He found ’em, all right, just like I said.” Preacher lifted Horse’s reins. “Lead the way, Dog!”
The three men followed the cur across the semiarid plains. The horses’ hoofbeats were fairly quiet on the sandy ground. It became rockier as they approached the bluff, however, and Preacher signaled another stop.
“We’ll go ahead on foot now,” he told Fletch and Stuart. “Keep your guns handy.”
They moved forward slowly and carefully, leading the horses. After a couple of minutes, Preacher smelled smoke. The Mahoneys were confident enough they had outrun trouble that they had risked a fire.
Preacher was going to be happy to demonstrate to them just how wrong they were about that. “We’ll leave the horses here,” he whispered. “Let the reins dangle. Horse won’t stray, and he’ll keep the other two in line. We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”
He went first, leading the other two toward the escarpment. Just as Preacher had predicted, the eastern sky had a gray tinge to it. Dawn was less than an hour away. Audie, Nighthawk, and Chester Merrick would be down on the lower level, somewhere not far away, waiting for trouble to erupt.
Which was exactly what was going to happen. Preacher intended to get Clementine out of harm’s way first, if he could, but even if he accomplished that, the time had come to deal with the Mahoney brothers. Otherwise, Fletch and Clementine would have the varmints dogging their trail all the way to California. They would never have any peace, would never be able to stop looking over their shoulders for trouble and just live the lives they deserved.
Judging by the smell of the smoke, the fire had burned down to ashes and embers.
That was true, Preacher saw as he knelt at the edge of the bluff a few minutes later. A few orange, faintly glowing spots were visible in the shadows below, marking the location of the campfire. Nearby, several dark shapes were stretched out on the ground—the brothers and Clementine sleeping.
But not all four of the Mahoney brothers. One of them sat on a rock with a rifle across his knees, guarding the camp. That was the first man Preacher would have to deal with.
One of the sprawled forms was separate from the other three. That would be Clementine, the mountain man thought. She was probably tied hand and foot to keep her from running away. Preacher’s bowie knife would make short work of her bonds if he could reach her without rousing the others.
He backed away from the edge. Fletch and Stuart waited a few yards away. “They’re all down there, all right. One fella’s on guard duty, and the others are asleep. I’m pretty sure I know which one is Clementine. I’ll take care of the varmint who’s awake, then get her and head back up here. You boys be ready to take a hand if you need to. Just don’t shoot me or her while you’re doin’ it.”
“We’ll be careful,” Fletch promised. “Just bring Clementine back to me.”
“I intend to, son, I intend to.” Preacher added, “Dog, stay,” and then slipped over the edge and started making his way down to the camp.
Sneaking up on four louts from Tennessee wasn’t nearly as much of a challenge as getting into a Blackfoot village unnoticed, which Preacher had done many times back when that tribe had known him as the Ghost Killer, but he wasn’t nearly as young as he’d been in those days, he reminded himself wryly.
He was still capable of greater stealth than most men, however, so he reached the base of the bluff and the edge of the camp without the man on guard duty having any idea he was there. He had already slid his knife out of its sheath noiselessly, so as he drifted up behind the man like a lethal shadow, he was ready to loop his left arm around the sentry’s neck to choke off any outcry and thrust the blade between the man’s ribs and into his back.
A rock suddenly bounced down the slope with such a clatter that it sounded loud enough to wake the dead.
Preacher knew instantly that one of the young men had gotten too close to the edge and dislodged the rock. Which one did it didn’t matter. The damage was done.
With a startled cry, the guard leaped to his feet and whirled around. He tried to swing the rifle toward Preacher, but the mountain man didn’t give him a chance. Preacher lunged forward and slashed with the bowie, swiping the blade straight across the sentry’s throat from left to right. The man jerked back with a dark fountain of blood spurting from his severed arteries. Preacher felt its hot gush across the back of his hand. The man made a grotesque choking sound and then his knees buckled and dropped him to the ground.
The other three Mahoney brothers were scrambling out of their blankets. The fourth figure, the one off to the side, stayed on the ground, confirming that it was Clementine. Preacher darted in the other direction to draw any gunfire away from her. As he moved, he tossed the bowie from his right hand to his left and then palmed out the Dragoon from the holster on his right hip.
“Whoever that is, kill him!” The bellowing voice belonged to Clete Mahoney.
Booming gunshots followed the shoute
d order. Muzzle flame blossomed in the night like garish orange flowers. Preacher heard the wind-rip of slugs past his head.
Shots rang out from the two men on top of the bluff. Hoofbeats thundered somewhere close by as Audie, Nighthawk, and Merrick rushed to join the fracas. Preacher dropped to a knee, leveled the Dragoon, and thumbed off two rounds with a deafening roar of black powder from the revolver. One of the Mahoneys flew backward as the bullets hammered into him.
A shot kicked up dirt next to Preacher, less than a foot away. He swung his Dragoon toward the man who had fired it, but Nighthawk was already there, diving out of the saddle and swooping down on the man like his namesake. The Crow warrior’s huge form crashed into the Mahoney brother and momentum rolled them both on the ground.
With a bitter curse, the fourth brother abandoned the fight, turning and racing toward Clementine. That had to be Clete, Preacher thought, and he intended to kill the girl, just as Fletch had predicted.
Before Clete could reach her, another man on horseback loomed up in his way. A shotgun’s double boom and twin lances of muzzle flame told Preacher the newcomer was Chester Merrick. Clete tumbled to the ground but came back up again almost instantly, and as he did, the gun in his hand roared. Merrick cried out and went backward off his horse.
Clete hobbled toward Clementine, obviously with a wounded leg from the shotgun blast. He wasn’t letting the injury stop him, though. His gun lifted toward her.
A gray shape flashed through the air and crashed into Clete, knocking him off his feet again. Dog landed on top of him, snapping and snarling. Clete yelled in pain but managed to grab hold of Dog and throw him off. The cur landed several yards away and appeared to be a little stunned.
Clete reeled upright again, driven on by his hatred.
Clementine had kicked out of the blanket that had been wrapped around her. Preacher could see that her hands were tied behind her back and her feet were lashed together. But that didn’t stop her from swinging her legs and knocking her brother’s legs out from under him. Clete crashed heavily to the ground beside her.
They Came to Kill Page 27
