Читать книгу Preacher's Fury - William W. Johnstone - Страница 9

A gun roared before the tomahawk could swoop down and end Preacher’s life. It was the Indian who died instead, as the ball from Audie’s pistol smashed into the side of his head, bored through his brain, and exploded out the other side of his skull in a grisly spray of blood, brain matter, and bone chips.

The attacker wasn’t alone. Rifles blasted from the top of the bluff. The balls thudded into the ground as Audie, Nighthawk, and Lorenzo scrambled in different directions.

Preacher flung the dead Indian’s body aside, snatched up the tomahawk the man had dropped, and sent it spinning toward the bluff top with a flick of his wrist.

He aimed the throw just above one of the muzzle flashes but didn’t really expect to hit anything. He just wanted to make one of the attackers duck for cover.

Instead, a man suddenly pitched over the edge and plummeted to the ground, landing next to the fire. The light from the flames revealed that the tomahawk was buried deeply in his forehead.

Preacher had never been one to turn down good luck. He rolled toward the base of the bluff, where the men on top of it would have a harder time drawing a bead on him because of the angle.

He pushed himself to his feet and planted his back against the rock wall. From there he could see that Audie, Nighthawk, and Lorenzo had reached the cover of the trees that grew around the clearing where they had made camp. They opened fire, peppering the top of the bluff with rifle balls.

Preacher had been about to draw his pistols and try to get a shot, but now he decided to leave the guns where they were for the moment. Instead he turned and faced the bluff. It was steep, but not quite sheer. Rocks stuck out from it here and there to form handholds, and a few hardy plants grew on it as well.

Preacher looked at the trees where his friends had taken cover and grinned. He pointed at himself and then jerked a thumb upward.

Reaching as high as he could, he found a hand-hold, got one of his feet on a rock lower down, and started to climb.

The men on the bluff and the ones in the trees continued to trade shots while Preacher made his ascent. He could tell from the way three different rifles sounded in the trees that all three of his friends were still in the fight. One or more of them might be wounded, but they were still alive.

Preacher had gotten a good enough look at the two dead Indians to know that they weren’t part of Bent Leg’s band of Assiniboine. He could tell by the decorations on their buckskins and the way their faces were painted that they were Gros Ventre. They had probably ventured this far east to raid Bent Leg’s village.

As Preacher neared the top of the bluff, he stopped long enough to pull one of his pistols from behind his belt. Then he grasped one of the small, sturdy bushes and lifted himself higher as a rifle blasted a short distance above him. He could see flame spouting from the barrel.

The warrior started to reload. Preacher pushed with his legs and drove himself up. His head and shoulders cleared the rim. The Gros Ventre was on one knee, ramming a fresh load down the barrel of his rifle, when Preacher appeared and took him by surprise.

Preacher jammed the pistol under the warrior’s chin and pulled the trigger.

The weapon went off with a flesh-muffled boom. The Indian was thrown backward. His head had exploded so that not much of it was left as he landed on his back with his arms and legs thrown out to the sides.

The Gros Ventre hadn’t expected to find Preacher among them. He rolled onto the bluff and came up with his other pistol in his left hand.

A few yards away, one of the surprised warriors let out an angry screech and tried to swing his rifle toward the mountain man. Preacher’s pistol roared before the Indian could pull the trigger. The ball smashed into the warrior’s chest and knocked him sprawling.

Preacher heard a rush of footsteps behind him and whirled to see one of the warriors charging him and swinging a tomahawk. Preacher ducked under the slashing blow and crowded against the man. The empty pistol in Preacher’s right hand smashed against the warrior’s temple. Preacher felt bone crunch under the impact. The man dropped like a stone.

He twisted away as another Gros Ventre thrust a knife at him. The blade brushed Preacher’s side, but it didn’t penetrate his buckskin shirt. He dropped both pistols, clamped his hands on the Indian’s arm, and heaved. With a startled yell, the warrior flew off the bluff and into empty air. His crashing impact as he landed below near the fire cut off the outcry.

Preacher drew his knife and crouched, ready to continue the fight, but all the shooting had stopped now and no one came at him. There were three dead men down below and three more corpses up here on top of the bluff. It was possible those half-dozen warriors made up the entire raiding party.

Preacher listened intently for the sounds of anyone fleeing, but he didn’t hear anything. The violence had even silenced any birds or small animals nearby.

“Preacher, are you all right?” Audie called from below.

“Yeah. That seems to be all of ’em.”

“You killed everyone up there?”

“Seemed like the thing to do at the time,” Preacher replied.

He sheathed his knife, picked up his pistols, and swiftly reloaded them. He tucked away one of the weapons but held the other one ready as he checked on the three Gros Ventre up there. All of them were dead, which he had thought to be the case, but it never hurt anything to make sure.

The raiders’ horses had to be somewhere nearby. He went to look for them and found them tied in a stand of trees about fifty yards away. There were only six ponies, confirming Preacher’s guess about the size of the raiding party.

The Gros Ventre must have smelled the smoke from the campfire and decided to investigate. Then one of them had gotten carried away and jumped Preacher, probably figuring he could take the mountain man by surprise and kill him.

That had come close to happening. Audie’s fast reaction had saved Preacher’s life. That wasn’t the first time, either.

He untied the ponies, gathered their reins, and led them along the bluff, looking for a way down. He left the dead warriors where they had fallen.

A couple of hundred yards away, the slope fell away at a gentler angle. Preacher was able to lead the ponies down it. He started back toward the fire, and as he approached, he called, “Hello, camp! It’s just me, so don’t get antsy.”

When he walked up leading the horses, he found Audie and Lorenzo standing there, alert and watchful for trouble, while Nighthawk dragged the corpses of the other Gros Ventre into the trees.

“We ain’t gonna bury these fellas?” Lorenzo asked.

“I ain’t in the habit of goin’ to the time and trouble to bury folks what try to kill me and my friends,” Preacher said. “The wolves’ll take care of ’em for us.”

“Fine by me,” Lorenzo said. “I was just askin’.”

“Gros Ventre, by their markings,” Audie said. “We were just talking about them. Do you think they came looking for Bent Leg’s village, Preacher?”

“That’d be my guess. They either didn’t find it yet, or else their raid didn’t go so good. They didn’t have any prisoners or stolen ponies with them.”

Nighthawk came back from disposing of the bodies in the woods. He pointed to the top of the bluff and said, “Umm.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Audie said. “Did you, Preacher?”

“Nope,” the mountain man said. “I reckon everybody up there is dead—”

He stopped short as the sound of a muffled cry reached his ears.

“Doggone if you ain’t right, Nighthawk,” Preacher said. “Somebody is alive up there. Don’t know who it could be, though. All six of the Gros Ventre are accounted for, and they only had six ponies.”

“A prisoner could have been riding double with one of them,” Audie pointed out.

Preacher nodded.

“That’s sure enough true. Lorenzo, you and Nighthawk stay down here, and be ready for more trouble. Audie and me will go have a look.”

“I’m not sure I can climb that bluff,” Audie said.

“There’s an easier place over yonder a ways,” Preacher told him, pointing.

He led Audie to the spot where he had brought the ponies down from the bluff. They climbed to the top without any trouble and started back along the rim. Preacher heard several more muffled cries and steered toward them. They seemed to be coming from some thick brush, not far from where the Gros Ventre ponies had been tied.

“Somebody’s in there, all right,” Audie said. “You want me to take a look, Preacher?”

“Naw, I can do it.”

“I’m smaller. I can get through that brush easier than you can.”

Preacher couldn’t argue with that. He said, “All right, but be careful. You don’t know what you’re gonna find in there. Might even be a bear.”

“It doesn’t sound like a bear to me,” Audie said. He handed his rifle to Preacher and drew a pistol instead. The short gun would be much easier to use in that brush if Audie had to shoot.

Audie pushed some of the branches aside and disappeared through the small opening he had made. Preacher heard the crackling sounds as Audie moved through the brush. After a moment they stopped.

Preacher’s nerves grew taut as he waited. Several more seconds went by, and then Audie said, “Preacher, you’re going to want to look at this. Just push the brush aside, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Preacher trusted the little trapper with his life, so he did as Audie said. He set Audie’s rifle on the ground, then used the barrel of his own flintlock to make a path for himself. It didn’t take long to reach a tiny clearing surrounded by undergrowth.

Audie knelt there next to a shape Preacher couldn’t quite make out in the darkness.

“Just a moment and I’ll have this loose,” Audie said, and Preacher got the sense that Audie wasn’t talking to him. It was starting to look like the Gros Ventre had had a prisoner with them after all.

“There you are,” Audie went on. “You should be able to breathe easier now that that gag is gone. I’ll cut these bonds on your hands and feet— Whoa!”

The startled exclamation made Preacher stiffen. He lifted his rifle and said, “Audie, are you all right?”

A woman’s voice came out of the darkness, warning him, “Back away, white man, or I will cut this child’s throat.”