CHAPTER 30
Out on the flats, Big Thunder and Sergeant Liam O’Connor came together like a couple of bull moose battling for leadership of the herd. Big Thunder’s legs were spread slightly, and his feet were planted solidly on the ground. He knew from the battle the previous night that O’Connor liked to punch rather than wrestle, so he was expecting the wild, roundhouse swings that O’Connor aimed at his head. He ducked under them, drove forward, and rammed his shoulder into O’Connor’s stomach.
As O’Connor’s momentum carried him forward over Big Thunder’s back, the massive warrior wrapped his arms around O’Connor’s waist and heaved upward. O’Connor yelled again, but this time in alarm rather than rage, as he found himself flying upside down through the air. He crashed down on his back with stunning force.
Big Thunder whirled, his speed surprising in such a mountain of a man. He went after O’Connor, intending to stomp him into the dirt, but O’Connor, even though the fall had knocked the air out of him, managed to get his hands up and grab Big Thunder’s upraised foot as it started to come down. O’Connor twisted hard, and Big Thunder went down, too.
O’Connor gulped air and went after him. He hooked punches into Big Thunder’s ribs and tried to drive his knee into the warrior’s groin, but Big Thunder writhed aside and took the blow on his thigh. He smashed an open-handed right across O’Connor’s face, then grabbed the sergeant by the throat and flung him to the side. That gave him time to roll the opposite direction and surge to his feet.
O’Connor came up at the same time and instantly charged at Big Thunder, again swinging powerful punches. But this time when Big Thunder tried to duck underneath O’Connor’s fists, O’Connor was ready. He brought the side of his right hand down hard on the back of Big Thunder’s neck. Big Thunder grunted and lost his balance, falling to one knee. He got his left hand down on the ground in time to catch himself. But as soon as he did that, O’Connor’s right foot came up in a vicious kick that caught Big Thunder on the jaw.
That knocked Big Thunder sprawling on his back. O’Connor came down on top of him with both knees in Big Thunder’s belly. Big Thunder couldn’t breathe and couldn’t get out of the way of the punches that O’Connor slammed into his face. Left, right, and then again, each blow jolting Big Thunder’s head back and forth. His features were swollen and smeared with blood.
Big Thunder got his hands up, dug his fingers into the front of O’Connor’s uniform shirt, and bucked up into a roll that threw O’Connor off him. Big Thunder heaved on the white man’s shirt at the same time. The crushing weight went away from Big Thunder’s belly. He wound up propped on his elbows with his chest heaving like a bellows.
O’Connor recovered and came at him again. Big Thunder flung up a hand and got it on O’Connor’s face. He clawed at the sergeant’s eyes, got a thumb in one of O’Connor’s nostrils, and tried to rip the sergeant’s nose right off his face. O’Connor roared in pain and punched Big Thunder in the throat. Big Thunder’s hand slipped away from O’Connor’s face. O’Connor hit him in the ribs again. Big Thunder swung a backhand that knocked O’Connor away from him.
Both men seized the opportunity to catch their breath as they clambered back to their feet. The pummeling they had taken left them battered, bruised, and bloody, and their movements were stiffer and slower now as brutally punished flesh rebelled. But the urge to fight was still strong in both men. O’Connor made the first move, bulling in as he swung his fists at Big Thunder.
Big Thunder didn’t try to avoid the punches this time. He simply absorbed them, ignoring the damage they did as he allowed O’Connor to get closer to him. When he made his move, O’Connor couldn’t get out of the way in time. Big Thunder caught O’Connor under the right arm with his left hand and used his right to reach down and grab O’Connor’s left thigh. With a deafening shout of effort, he lifted O’Connor off the ground and raised the sergeant above his head. It was a jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring display of sheer brute strength the likes of which none of the men watching this battle had ever seen before. Every soldier’s gaze was riveted on the scene as Big Thunder poised the struggling O’Connor above him for a second, then slammed him to the ground with incredible force.
That was when gunshots blasted behind the soldiers, closer to the river.
* * *
Preacher led the way to the log and was the first to dash nimbly across it, with Hawk right behind him, then Jamie and finally Lieutenant Hayden Tyler. When Preacher reached the opposite bank, he darted to his left and ran through the trees until he stopped next to one of them and pressed himself against the trunk.
Davidson was still out there among the mounted dragoons, watching as the battle began between Big Thunder and O’Connor. They couldn’t reach Davidson while he was surrounded by the soldiers, so Preacher motioned for his companions to take cover, too. Hawk had already done so, following his father’s lead, and now Jamie and Tyler did as well.
Preacher breathed shallowly as he waited. From where he was, he could see Big Thunder and O’Connor throwing each other around. It was a battle for the ages out there, and under other circumstances, Preacher would have enjoyed witnessing such an epic struggle.
Right now, though, he just wanted to get his hands on Edgar Davidson so he could put an end to all the trouble.
After several interminable minutes, Davidson turned away from the spectacle in disgust. He had ordered O’Connor not to fight the giant Crow warrior and the sergeant had disobeyed the command. Davidson clearly didn’t like that, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He stalked away from the soldiers and through the trees, heading back toward the rock where he had been sitting and writing in what was probably his journal. From the looks of it, he intended to collect the pen and inkwell he had left there.
Preacher was ready for him. He moved fast, stepping up behind Davidson and sliding his left arm around the lieutenant’s throat. Davidson didn’t even have a chance to gasp before Preacher had him locked in a tight grip.
“It’s over, Lieutenant,” Preacher said quietly in Davidson’s ear.
Davidson struggled briefly but soon realized the futility of it. He stiffened as Jamie, Tyler, and Hawk appeared.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this, Edgar,” Tyler said. “But you’ve exceeded your authority, caused the death of numerous soldiers, and endangered all the other troops under your command. Therefore, I am officially relieving you of that command.”
“Better accept it while you still can,” Preacher said as he eased off a little on the pressure of his hold on Davidson’s throat.
Instead, Davidson gasped, “You . . . you traitor! I’ll have you shot! You . . . you . . .”
He continued sputtering incoherently. Preacher shut that off by tightening his grip again.
“All right, Lieutenant,” he said to Tyler. “I reckon you’d better go out there and let the soldiers know they’ll be followin’ your orders from here on out.”
At that moment, a great shout rose from the troopers, then was stilled abruptly. Something must have happened in the fight they were watching. Preacher hoped Big Thunder was all right. He started to turn Davidson a little so he could look in that direction, but as he did, a cry of alarm sounded and he saw that one of the dragoons had dismounted for some reason and noticed them. The young soldier jerked his rifle toward them and fired.
The ball whined harmlessly past Preacher’s head. An instant later, the Colt that had leaped into Jamie MacCallister’s hand blasted, as well, the bullet kicking up dirt at the trooper’s feet and making him leap backward. He lost his balance and fell, sitting down hard.
The shots had gotten all the soldiers’ attention, of course. They jerked their horses around toward the river and lifted their rifles. Lieutenant Tyler stepped out of the trees and shouted, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
The familiar command, coming from the familiar figure in an officer’s uniform, made the men lower their weapons. They were still tense, though, and they stiffened in their saddles even more as Preacher forced Davidson out into the open and Jamie and Hawk followed them.
“All you men listen!” Tyler continued. “I have officially relieved Lieutenant Davidson of command! He is no longer in charge of this detail. Due to his willful and continued defiance of the orders given to us by Captain Croxton back at the fort, he is no longer fit for command, and I have taken his place. We came to make peace with the Crow, not to wage war on them!”
More than fifty rifles were pointing in the general direction of the small group of men just outside the trees. If the soldiers decided not to cooperate and accept Tyler taking command, there wasn’t much Preacher, Jamie, and Hawk could do about it. A volley from that many rifles, at this range, would blow them to pieces.
Of course, Davidson would die in the storm of lead, too, which made the troopers hesitate.
Tyler walked forward and said in a quieter but more intense voice, “Listen, men. I know each and every one of you, and you know me. You know I believe in the mission that brought us here. Lieutenant Davidson and Sergeant O’Connor never gave that mission a chance to succeed. I don’t know if we can salvage our goals or not . . . a great deal has happened, most of it bad . . . but if we continue in the same course, so will the bloodshed, until one—or both—sides are wiped out. I believe enough blood has been spilled already. That’s why I’m willing to risk a court-martial and whatever fate the army wants to give me, in order to stop the killing. But that risk is mine. No one will hold you at fault for following my orders.”
The long moment of silence that followed Tyler’s speech stretched everyone’s nerves to the breaking point. Finally, after what seemed like much longer than it really was, Corporal Mackey cleared his throat and said, “You always were a good officer, Lieutenant Tyler, and you were in charge of B Troop before Lieutenant Davidson was. I, uh . . .” Mackey looked around at the other dragoons, then squared his shoulders and went on, “I don’t have a problem with following your orders, sir.”
“Neither do I,” said another man. Mutters of agreement came from several more.
“This ain’t right!” one of the soldiers yelled. “An officer can’t just take over for a superior officer!”
“Actually, one can, according to regulations,” said Tyler. “An officer who is giving unlawful or improper orders can be relieved of command, and that’s all I’m doing here. None of this is permanent. It’ll all be sorted out once we’re back at Fort Kearny, and like I said, I’ll accept whatever decision is made there. But for now, and until we get back, I’m in charge of this troop.” His voice was firm now, brooking no argument. “Understood?”
Again, Mackey was the first to speak up, saying, “Yes, sir!” Others followed suit. A number of the troopers wore surly expressions and didn’t respond verbally, but they lowered their rifles and Preacher took that as a sign they were willing to go along with the others, at least for now.
Tyler nodded and said, “All right. Where’s Sergeant O’Connor?”
“Here he comes now,” a trooper called.
Everyone turned to look and saw Big Thunder walking toward the river. O’Connor was draped over his broad shoulders like a bag of grain. Preacher could tell by how limp O’Connor hung that the sergeant was out cold. Preacher hoped that was all it was and that O’Connor wasn’t dead.
The ranks of dragoons parted to let Big Thunder through. He walked up to Preacher and the others, bent forward, and dumped O’Connor on the ground at his feet. O’Connor sprawled there, his chest rising and falling enough to tell Preacher that the sergeant was still alive.
“The fight is over,” Big Thunder announced. “Big Thunder won!”
“You sure did,” Preacher told him. The mountain man still had hold of Davidson. He asked him, “How about you, Lieutenant? Is the fight over for you? You still gonna give us trouble?”
As Preacher eased off his grip, Davidson looked like he wanted to start spewing anger and obscenities again. But then a look of despair came over the young officer’s face, unlike anything Preacher had seen there before. This unexpected turn of events had knocked the arrogance out of Davidson at last.
“There won’t be any more trouble,” he said quietly.
Preacher looked over at Jamie. “You believe him?”
“Not for one damn minute.” Jamie jerked open the flap of Davidson’s holster and removed the pistol from it, then pulled the saber from Davidson’s scabbard. “But I feel better about it now.” He turned to Tyler. “I suggest you have both of these prisoners secured and guarded at all times, Lieutenant.”
“I don’t know if that’s necessary,” said Tyler. “Lieutenant Davidson has given us his word. I accept his parole for the time being.”
“Thank you, Hayden,” Davidson said. “I appreciate that you still believe I’m a man of honor, despite our disagreements.”
“The lieutenant may believe it,” Preacher said, “but I ain’t so sure. You try to cause any more trouble, Davidson, and I’ll stop you myself . . . permanent-like.” He let go of Davidson and stepped back, then nodded toward the still-unconscious O’Connor. “But you’d better have that one tied up while you’ve got the chance, Lieutenant.”
“That probably would be wise,” agreed Tyler. “Corporal Mackey, would you see to it?”
Mackey dismounted and said, “Of course, sir.”
Tyler looked along the line of mounted men and went on, “All of you get down from your horses. We’ll make a temporary camp here—”
One of the dragoons interrupted by calling in alarmed tones, “Here come the Indians!”