Preachers hell, p.15
Preacher's Hell, page 15
Preacher hoped to stay so far in front of them that eventually the men would have no choice but to abandon the search. Once that happened, the mountain man and his companions could begin circling back to the south.
In the long run, they needed to get around the compound and head east again. Preacher wanted to get Annie and her young’uns back to civilization, even though that in itself wasn’t really a guarantee of their safety.
As they were making their way toward the spot where they were supposed to rendezvous with Little Bear, Audie fell back alongside Preacher, who was bringing up the rear, and asked quietly, “While you were Ozark’s prisoner, did you get any idea why recovering those infants is so important to him?”
Preacher shook his head. “Not a clue. Ozark was open enough about wantin’ to get ’em back at all costs, but he didn’t say a word about why.”
“A part of me would really like to know.” Audie sighed. “But it’s more important that we get them, and their mother, as far away from that madman as possible.”
“Damn right,” Preacher said with a curt nod of agreement. He looked up ahead to where Nighthawk was still leading the way with Annie following him and Dog striding along beside her. The big cur had adopted the same sort of protective attitude toward the young woman as he had demonstrated toward her children.
They hadn’t gone much farther when Nighthawk stopped short, turned toward Preacher and Audie, waved his arm at their surroundings, and said, “Umm!”
Audie hurried forward and asked, “Are you certain this is the spot?”
“Umm!”
Audie turned back to Preacher and Annie.
“This is where we were supposed to meet Little Bear,” he explained.
Preacher looked around. He saw two pine trees growing on a nearby knob, and off to the other side was a rough circle of boulders. Those were pretty unmistakable landmarks to somebody who knew the area.
He didn’t see any signs of the Flathead youth, Horse, or the other mounts and pack animals. However, Dog would be able to scent them if they had been here.
He was about to order the big cur to hunt when Nighthawk suddenly pounced like a big cat toward a clump of brush. He moved some of it aside with one long arm and reached into the growth with the other.
What he dragged out into the open brought a gasp of shock from Annie.
“That’s one of the blankets the babies were wrapped in!” she cried as she rushed forward to grab it out of Nighthawk’s hand. She brought the blanket to her face and rubbed it against her cheek as she moaned.
With a flat tone in his voice, Preacher asked, “The young’uns ain’t there in the bushes, are they?”
Solemnly, Nighthawk shook his head. He made a curt, slashing gesture to indicate that the babies weren’t there.
It would have been a relief if the infants had been found alive, of course, but for a terrible moment, Preacher had expected that their bodies were hidden in the brush.
If they weren’t here, at least it meant there was a chance they were alive somewhere else.
But they had been here, and the blanket was proof of that. Preacher hated to take it away from Annie, who seemed to be getting some comfort from it, but he held out his hand and said, “Let me see that for a second, ma’am.”
She swallowed and reluctantly handed the blanket to him. Preacher looked at it, briefly noting the beadwork design on it.
He had seen both blankets many times during the past week, since he and his friends had taken custody of the twins at Dutch Charley’s, but he hadn’t paid much attention to them. The beadwork looked Indian at first glance, but he had soon realized it didn’t match the typical designs of any of the tribes he was familiar with.
That didn’t matter, so he thought about it only fleetingly now. Instead, he held out the blanket so Dog could sniff it.
“Find the babies, Dog,” Preacher ordered. “Find Apollo and Artemis.”
Dog didn’t really need the blanket; by now he knew the scent of both infants quite well. But sniffing the blanket probably reinforced the scent for him. He whirled around and dashed off, heading north along the ridge crest.
Preacher gave the blanket back to Annie, who clutched it to her chest.
“It’s been a hard mornin’,” he said. “Are you up to comin’ with us while we follow Dog?”
“Don’t even think about leaving me behind! Can he really find my children?”
“If any creature on the face o’ God’s green earth can, it’s that shaggy varmint,” Preacher assured her.
“Then let’s go. We don’t want him leaving us too far behind.”
“No, ma’am. He won’t let that happen. If he finds ’em, he’ll double back and fetch us if he has to.”
“If he finds them?” Annie repeated.
“Preacher meant when,” Audie said. “I concur with his estimation of our canine friend. With Dog on the trail, it’s only a matter of time until we find them!”
CHAPTER 18
Time wasn’t a luxury they necessarily had plenty of, though. Not only did they need to locate the twins, Little Bear, and the horses, but they had to stay ahead of the pursuit Mack Ozark had sent after them.
Knowing that, Preacher kept the group moving at a fairly fast pace. It helped that they were following the ridge crest now instead of climbing a slope. The crest was rugged in places, but at least it was fairly level and about fifty yards wide. They made good time when they weren’t detouring around large boulders or impassable thickets of brush.
Nighthawk loped ahead. His long legs allowed him to stay within sight of Dog. Preacher and Audie were farther back, accompanying Annie.
She tried valiantly to keep up, as she had vowed she would do, but it wasn’t long before Preacher could tell she was tiring. She was staggering and her steps became more awkward. She had been through a great deal the past twelve hours, and she wasn’t accustomed to so much physical effort.
“Listen, you’re gonna have to rest a spell,” Preacher told her as they hurried along some twenty-five yards behind Nighthawk.
She shook her head stubbornly and insisted, “I have to find my children.”
“We’re gonna find ’em, you don’t have to worry about that, but if you don’t stop and catch your breath, you’re liable to fall flat on your face. Might even pass out. You don’t want that.”
“Why don’t Mrs. Collins and I pause for a bit?” Audie suggested. “You can go ahead and join Nighthawk, Preacher. When you’ve located the twins, one of you can come back to get us, assuming, of course, that we haven’t gotten a second wind and caught up by then.”
Preacher thought that was pretty unlikely and knew Audie was saying it for Annie’s benefit. But if it would get her to agree, that was fine with the mountain man.
Annie kept going for a few more steps but then stopped and heaved a sigh. Preacher could tell from the sound how worn out she was. He and Audie stopped, too.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to rest for a few minutes,” she said. “But you have to promise that you’ll come get us right away if you find the children.”
“Sure,” Preacher said. “You can count on it.”
In truth, he wasn’t sure what he’d do when they found the youngsters. That would depend on what the situation was. It might be better for Annie to keep her distance.
No point in explaining that to her now, though. Instead, Preacher patted her shoulder reassuringly, nodded to Audie, and loped after Nighthawk, who hadn’t stopped or even slowed down when the others did.
The sun felt good on his bare torso, and so did the cool air. The combination soothed the numerous scratches he had gotten from the brush as they were fleeing. The little wounds were already scabbing over, and he had no trouble ignoring the discomfort from them.
Nighthawk heard him coming and slowed down slightly so that Preacher could catch up. As Preacher drew alongside the big warrior, he said, “Mrs. Collins is gonna rest a short spell, and Audie’s stayin’ with her. Is Dog still in sight?”
Nighthawk pointed. Preacher spotted Dog about a hundred yards ahead of them, with his nose to the ground as he followed the top of the ridge.
Suddenly, Dog swerved to the left, which carried him down the western slope. It dropped to a narrow trail, on the far side of which was another slope leading even higher.
Dog didn’t start up the next ridge, however. He followed the trail between them.
When Preacher and Nighthawk reached the spot where Dog had changed course, they saw the well-worn path leading down from the crest.
“That ain’t a game trail,” Preacher commented. “Moccasins made that path.”
Nighthawk grunted in agreement.
“A Flathead trail,” Preacher went on. “Little Bear’s people must come through here pretty often. You reckon a huntin’ party came along and he went with ’em, figurin’ the babies’d be safer that way?”
Nighthawk paused and pointed at something in the trail, but Preacher had already noticed it himself while he was talking. He dropped a knee and touched a finger to a small dark splotch on the dirt. Some of whatever had made it stuck to his fingertip. He tasted it.
“Damn it,” Preacher said. “That’s blood, all right. That don’t have to mean that Little Bear’s in trouble, but he sure might be.”
Nighthawk nodded gravely.
The two men moved faster now. Audie and Annie were out of sight behind them. Up ahead, Dog turned around and ran toward them for a few seconds and then stopped to look intently at them before whirling around and taking off again.
“He’s sure on the trail,” Preacher said. “And I got a hunch we may be gettin’ close to what we’re lookin’ for.”
They followed the trail between the ridges for another half-mile, though, before Dog ran back to join the two men and stayed with them this time. Knowing they had to be close to their destination, Preacher and Nighthawk slowed and began to use every bit of cover they could find as they followed the trail. They didn’t want to stumble upon their quarry without warning.
Up ahead, the trail curved between two large boulders that had rolled down from the higher ridges sometime in the past. They sat on either side of the trail like gate pillars.
Silently, Preacher pointed toward a thick stand of pine trees on the slope to their left, about fifty feet higher than the trail. If they could get up there, they could stay in the cover of the trees as they followed the trail around the bend.
They ought to have a good vantage point to see what was on the other side of the massive rocks, too.
When they felt certain nobody was watching them, Preacher and Nighthawk hurried up the slope into the trees. They stayed in the shadows under the branches and worked their way along parallel to the trail.
The gulch between the ridges curved around and opened up on the other side of the natural rock gateway into a broad, level space in which an Indian camp was located. Preacher estimated there were two dozen tipis visible.
A few women, children, and dogs moved around the dwellings, but he didn’t see any warriors.
“Flathead?” he asked Nighthawk as they crouched in the cover provided by the trees.
The big Crow nodded.
“They ought to be friendly, then.”
Nighthawk shook his head and pointed.
“Yeah, I see ’em, too,” Preacher said. His eyes narrowed as he watched half a dozen warriors emerge from the largest of the lodges, the one that probably belonged to this band’s chief.
Four more men came out of the tipi. The first group stopped and one of them spoke animatedly to the four who had followed them out.
Whatever he said provoked an equally passionate response. The two groups stood there facing each other, sharp words flying back and forth. Both sides were angry about something, but at this distance, Preacher couldn’t make out what any of them were saying.
Then one of the warriors from the second group, an older man from the looks of his gray hair, turned toward the tipi and gestured emphatically. The entrance flap opened, and two more warriors emerged, holding a short, stocky figure between them.
“Little Bear,” Preacher breathed. His rugged features tightened into angry lines as he saw the dark smears on the young man’s face. That was dried blood. Little Bear had been on the receiving end of some rough treatment.
He was standing up and moving around all right, though, so maybe he wasn’t seriously injured.
“Where are the young’uns?” Preacher asked, although he didn’t expect an answer from Nighthawk, who wouldn’t know the answer to that question any more than Preacher did. “And who roughed up Little Bear?”
The warriors who had brought the young man from the tipi had hold of his arms, one on each side. One of the men let go, and the other shoved Little Bear toward the first group. A couple of them grabbed him as if making him their prisoner again.
“The fellas in that first bunch must be the ones who grabbed him and the twins,” Preacher mused. “They brung him back here, but the second bunch don’t like what they did and are washin’ their hands of the whole deal. Does that seem to be the way it played out to you?”
Nighthawk nodded.
Preacher rubbed his chin and frowned. “But where are the young’uns, and what in blazes do those varmints figure on doin’ with Little Bear?”
The argument continued for a moment longer before the group holding Little Bear prisoner turned away and stalked off stiffly, taking him with them. Two warriors flanked him and held his arms, marching him along.
Preacher and Nighthawk watched as the men took Little Bear to one of the other tipis and shoved him inside. Four of them turned to walk away, but two remained just outside the tipi’s entrance flap, taking position there with their arms crossed and stern looks on their faces. Preacher knew they were there to stand guard on the prisoner.
But then the hide flap was thrust open again and a woman in a buckskin dress emerged holding something in her arms. She called after the warriors who were walking off.
Nighthawk made a low, rumbling sound in his throat. Preacher said quietly, “Yeah, that’s one o’ the twins she’s holdin’. Can’t tell which one at this distance, but you can’t miss that blond hair o’ theirs shinin’ in the sun.”
It was difficult enough to tell Edward and Elizabeth apart close up. Not that it mattered which one the Indian woman held, because right behind her came another woman carrying the second twin.
Preacher was relieved at the sight of them. They appeared to be all right. He heard crying coming from both infants, which meant they were unhappy but didn’t have to signify anything other than that.
“Leather-lunged little varmints, ain’t they?” he asked with a grin.
Nighthawk only grunted, but he looked relieved, as well.
The first woman who had come out of the tipi was arguing with one of the warriors. The man was the same one who’d been talking to the chief. Preacher pegged him as the leader of the bunch that had grabbed Little Bear and the babies.
But the question of why they had brought the three prisoners back here to their village still remained.
Down below, the warrior arguing with the woman raised his arm and pointed at the tipi. The woman said something else, and the warrior poked the air with his finger as he gave her a haughty look and pointed again.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Preacher chuckled. He had never been married himself, but he had witnessed enough husbands and wives wrangling with each other to know that was what he was watching now. The warrior had dumped the job of caring for the babies on his wife and the other woman, who, quite possibly, was also his wife. And the gals, who went back into the tipi with obvious reluctance, weren’t happy about it.
Evidently, nobody was very happy with the warrior and his friends. But that didn’t mean Preacher and Nighthawk could just march into the village and demand that the prisoners be handed over to them. Even if the other men didn’t agree with what had been done, they wouldn’t take kindly to high-handed interlopers.
Preacher frowned in thought, tugged on his earlobe, and scraped his thumbnail along his jawline, as he often did without even being aware of it when he was trying to puzzle out a particularly difficult problem.
“If we could afford to wait for nightfall, I reckon we could get in there and free Little Bear and the young’uns without too much trouble,” he said. “But if we do that, the men Ozark sent after us will catch up and we’ll have to deal with them. We need to get ’em out now.”
Nighthawk tapped a fist against his broad chest and then pointed down at the village.
“You’re gonna walk in there and distract ’em?” Preacher considered the suggestion and then nodded. “Ain’t no bad blood between your people and the Flatheads as far as I know, and you do tend to attract some attention wherever you show up. Yeah, we’ll give it a try. Don’t reckon we’ve got any choice.”
Quickly, they worked out the details of the plan. Preacher would keep going up the gulch a short distance to reach a spot where he could approach the tipi where the prisoners were being held from directly behind the dwelling.
Meanwhile, Nighthawk would go back the way they had come, inform Audie and Annie of what was going on, and then follow the gulch to walk openly into the village. It wasn’t uncommon for members of other tribes to visit a village as long as the tribes weren’t at war with each other.
Preacher wasn’t sure how he would keep the women in the tipi from raising a ruckus, but he’d have to tangle with that problem when he got to it.
Preacher and Nighthawk split up. As Preacher carefully moved into position, the village settled down after the brief disturbance. Two warriors remained on guard outside the tipi while the other four members of their group, including the leader, drifted off to various other pursuits.
Preacher had plenty of experience sneaking in and out of Indian villages from his many nocturnal forays against the Blackfeet. Those lethal visits had been carried out in the middle of the night, however, not in broad daylight. Preacher had to use every bit of cover he could find as he crept closer to the tipi that was his goal.
