CHAPTER 32
Preacher, Hawk, and Jamie peered intently at the mouth of the narrow canyon about half a mile away. They stood on top of a thickly wooded knoll, holding the reins of their horses.
“That has to be where they went,” Jamie said quietly. “The trail leads straight in that direction, and they haven’t gone to any trouble to try to cover it up.”
“That’s because Winter Wind wants us followin’ ’em,” said Preacher. “She can’t take a chance on us losin’ the trail.” He snorted disgustedly. “Like that’d ever happen.”
“Looks like that’s the only way through that cliff without going a long way north or south, too,” Jamie went on. “Have you ever been up that canyon, Preacher?”
The mountain man frowned in thought for a moment and then nodded.
“Years ago,” he said. “Best I recollect, it winds around for a couple of miles through the badlands on the other side of the cliff and finally comes out at a little lake.” Preacher raked a thumbnail along his jaw. “Could be that’s where they’ve camped to wait for us.”
“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?”
The cliff that loomed ahead of them was sheer and rose two hundred feet above the grassy bench. Climbing it would be difficult at best, and horses could never make it. As Jamie had said, the narrow passage was the only way through. The canyon was twenty feet wide at the mouth. The towering walls appeared to lean inward, as if they were about to fall in and close up, but that was just a trick of the eyes.
Preacher mulled over the situation for another minute, then said, “I’m goin’ by memory again, but I believe about five miles south of here, you’ll find an old game trail that’ll lead you over the cliff and across the badlands, Jamie. Is that horse of yours pretty sure-footed?”
“I’d trust him with my life,” Jamie replied.
“Good, because you’ll have to where that trail zigzags up the cliff.”
“You’re saying we should split up?”
“Hawk and me and Dog will go on through the canyon, like Winter Wind’s expectin’ us to do,” Preacher said. “But if you circle around and follow that other trail, you can come up on that lake from the south. There’s a ridge that overlooks it. With you sittin’ up there with that Sharps of yours, you’d have a clear shot at anybody down below.”
“Like Winter Wind,” Jamie said heavily.
“Or anybody else who needs shootin’. I’ll leave that up to you.”
Jamie frowned. Preacher seemed to be trying to say something without actually saying it, but Jamie wasn’t sure what it was. He felt an uneasy stirring inside him. Preacher might have a plan, but if so, Jamie figured it was one that neither of the mountain man’s companions would like.
Still, the idea of them splitting up and coming at the outlaw camp from two different directions was a good one. Jamie said, “All right. I can find that game trail, I reckon. But it’ll take me a while to circle around that far.”
“Hawk and I will wait here until about an hour before nightfall, then start through the canyon,” Preacher said. “That ought to give you long enough.”
“All right.” Jamie shook hands with Preacher and then Hawk. “Good luck.”
“Just don’t forget . . . When you see the shot you need to make . . . take it.”
* * *
Preacher had a spare pair of Colts in his saddlebags. He gave them to Hawk, along with an extra loaded cylinder for each revolver, even though Hawk wasn’t nearly as proficient with a handgun as Preacher was. Hawk was a good shot with a rifle but simply hadn’t had the practice needed to become an expert with the Colts. However, that gave him considerably more firepower, and he might need it.
“There is something in your mind,” Hawk said quietly as they walked through the oppressively narrow canyon with Dog just ahead of them. Preacher’s Sharps was in his hands, and Hawk carried his old flintlock rifle in addition to the revolvers thrust behind his belt and the bow and quiver of arrows slung on his back. “You have a plan to save Eagle Feather.”
“I damn sure do,” Preacher agreed, “but it ain’t time to talk about it yet. We got to find the boy first and make sure he’s still all right.”
“He has to be,” Hawk said fervently.
“Oh, I expect he is. Winter Wind’s loco, no doubt about that, but she ain’t lived this long without gettin’ cunning, too. She’ll keep him alive until we show up.” Preacher’s voice hardened. “Then there’s a good chance she figures to kill him right in front of us, before killin’ us.”
Hawk’s breath hissed between his teeth. “If she harms that boy—”
“We’re gonna do our damnedest to make sure she don’t get the chance.”
Gloomy shadows were thick inside the canyon. The sun was low enough over the mountains that none of its rays penetrated here, only the reflection of the remaining light up above. Preacher didn’t anticipate running into an ambush or any other sort of trap—Winter Wind wanted him and Hawk to catch up to her, after all—but he kept his eyes open anyway, in case the Blackfoot woman decided to simplify matters and just kill her enemies, rather than torture them first.
The canyon never ran straight for more than a hundred yards at a time, but finally they came within sight of its western mouth. The red glow of sunset filled the jagged opening and made it look like the bloody maw of a hungry beast. The eerie sight was enough to give even the strongest man the fantods, but Preacher and Hawk never broke stride. They moved straight ahead toward whatever destiny had in store for them.
They stopped just short of the canyon mouth and looked down a steep slope toward a small, deep blue lake ringed by pine trees. More cliffs and ridges surrounded it, but this was an oasis of sorts in the rugged landscape.
Preacher wasn’t interested in the scenery, though. What caught his eye were the horses and men gathered on the lake shore, in a clearing in the pines. A fire burned there, and seated on a log near the flames was a familiar small figure.
“Eagle Feather!” Hawk exclaimed under his breath.
“The boy’s all right,” said Preacher.
That was true for the moment. But a man stood just behind Eagle Feather, a grizzled outlaw with a long, gray-streaked beard. He held a bowie knife in his hand and seemed ready to use it at a second’s notice. Clearly, he had been given the job of guarding the boy . . . or killing him if Winter Wind gave the order.
As for Winter Wind herself, she paced back and forth, the poncho she wore swirling around her each time she turned, revealing her holstered guns. She had tucked her long dark hair back up into her flat-crowned hat. She reminded Preacher of a wild animal in a cage, eager to break loose and kill.
“You stay here,” Preacher said to Hawk. “They won’t have seen us in these shadows yet, so they won’t know you’re with me.” He looked at the big cur. “Dog, you’re gonna stay here with Hawk.”
“What are you going to do?” Hawk asked.
“What Winter Wind wants me to. I’m gonna trade myself for the boy.”
“No! You said she would kill Eagle Feather if we give ourselves up.”
“That’s why you’re stayin’ out of sight,” said Preacher. “I’m gonna tell her you were killed in the fightin’, back there at the river.” He shook his head. “Chances are, she won’t believe me, but she’ll play along for now and pretend to let Eagle Feather go, thinkin’ she can send her men after him as soon as I’m her prisoner. But it’s gonna be up to you to grab the little fella and stay ahead of ’em. Get back to the village and your wife and daughter as fast as you can.”
Hawk frowned darkly and said, “But that leaves you as Winter Wind’s prisoner.”
“That’ll be worth it, as long as you and Eagle Feather get away.”
“No, Preacher. I cannot abandon you to that . . . that insane woman!”
Preacher laughed and said, “You won’t be. That’s where Jamie comes in.” He nodded toward the ridge to their left. “I reckon he’s up there somewhere by now with that Sharps, which is a mighty fine rifle. Jamie MacCallister’s a smart fella. He’ll be able to figure out what’s goin’ on down here. When he does, as soon as Eagle Feather is clear, he’ll know what to do.”
Hawk’s eyes slowly widened as he stared at his father.
“You expect MacCallister to kill you!”
“One nice, clean shot cheats Winter Wind outta her revenge. And then, if Jamie can reload fast enough—and I’ve got a hunch he can—then he can blow her lights out, too, so she can’t inflict more misery on anybody else. That’s about the best we can hope for.”
Hawk shook his head and said, “No, it cannot be this way.”
“There ain’t no other way open to us.” Preacher put a hand on Hawk’s shoulder. “The most important thing is savin’ Eagle Feather’s life, and then you and him gettin’ away from here. Hell, if I’m certain of those two things, I’ll cross the divide without ever lookin’ back.” He smiled. “It’ll be good to see your ma again, and all the old friends I’ve lost over the years.”
Hawk stared, shook his head, put his hands to his temples as if in pain. But he couldn’t come up with a plan that had a better chance of working than the one Preacher had just explained. Finally, with a sorrowful expression on his face, he nodded.
“You are sure of MacCallister?” he asked.
“Dead certain sure.”
Hawk sighed and said, “Very well. It will be dark soon. We should go ahead, while there is still light to shoot by.”
“That’s just what I was thinkin’,” Preacher said. He squeezed Hawk’s shoulder again. “So long, son.”
“Preacher . . .”
“Naw, there ain’t no need for a bunch of speechi-fyin’. Just get that boy outta here and back home safe and sound.”
Hawk nodded. Preacher turned and walked out of the canyon, into the open, without another word.
* * *
“Winter!” Appleseed Higgs said. “It’s him!”
The old outlaw grabbed the boy’s arm with his free hand, jerked him to his feet, and pointed with the big knife in his other hand toward the canyon mouth where a buckskin-clad figure had just strode into view. The man was coming down the slope, carrying a rifle.
Winter Wind stopped pacing and jerked around to stare at Preacher. Appleseed could tell how stiff with anticipation she was. All the other men were tense and ready for trouble, too.
But Preacher was just one man.
“Where is the young one?” Winter Wind muttered. “Where is Hawk?”
She waited until Preacher reached the base of the slope, about fifty yards away, before she called in her powerful voice, “Stop! Come no closer, Preacher!”
The mountain man halted. He said, “Howdy, Winter Wind. Never expected to run into you again.”
Trembling with anger, fists clenched at her sides, the Blackfoot woman shouted, “I will not exchange pleasantries with you, white man! Murderer of my people!”
“Your people started the killin’,” Preacher said coldly. “What Hawk and me did was justice, pure and simple.”
“Liar!” she screeched. Appleseed had never seen Winter Wind lose control of her emotions like this. She had always been stonily stoic.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Preacher said. “I’ll surrender, and you can do whatever the hell you want with me. Just let the boy go first.”
“No! Where is Hawk?”
“Dead.” Preacher’s reply was flat and hard. “Killed in that ambush back along the river.”
Winter Wind shook her head and said, “I do not believe you.”
Preacher shrugged. “Then you should’a stayed around there a mite longer, and you could’ve seen it for yourself. Whether you believe it or not don’t change a thing. Now, are you gonna let the boy go so you and me can get on with settlin’ things between us?”
Appleseed was just as anxious to hear what Winter Wind was going to say as Preacher seemed to be. As usual, she hadn’t let anybody else in on her plans. She always played her cards close to the vest.
After a long moment, Winter Wind said just loudly enough for Appleseed to hear, “No.”
Fifty yards away, Preacher cocked his head to the side. “What was that?”
“I said no,” Winter Wind repeated. “I no longer care whether the Absaroka is alive or dead. He is nothing without you, Preacher. He has never been important. All the death and suffering inflicted on my people . . . that is on your head, Preacher.” She drew in a deep breath. “And so is your grandson’s death.” She jerked her head toward Appleseed and screamed, “Kill the boy!”
For a split second, Appleseed hesitated. He had done plenty of bad things in his life, bad enough that they might keep him awake at night if he ever allowed himself to think about them, but he had never killed a young’un in cold blood. Winter had warned him to be ready to cut Eagle Feather’s throat, but for that fleeting moment, he couldn’t do it.
Then his resolve hardened and he started to sweep the bowie toward the boy’s throat.
* * *
Preacher’s hands flashed toward the revolvers on his hips, even though he knew he was too far away and was going to be too late.
At that instant, the old outlaw’s head exploded, blowing apart in a grisly pink spray of blood, brain matter, and bone shards. At the same time, the heavy boom of a high-caliber rifle filled the hole in the badlands where the lake was located.
That was a Sharps, Preacher knew. Jamie MacCallister had aimed at a different target than the one Preacher had expected.
But Jamie had made the shot.
“Eagle Feather!” Preacher shouted as he swept up the Colts. “Run!”
He was under no illusions that he could gun down fourteen or fifteen hardened outlaws without being filled full of lead himself, but if he could drill enough of them and keep the bastards busy, maybe Eagle Feather would have time to get away and reach Hawk in the canyon.
Preacher swung the Colts toward the nearest renegade, a red-bearded fellow in a black frock coat and coonskin cap who was bringing a rifle to bear, but before the mountain man could pull the triggers, one of the most amazing things he had ever seen happened.
A chunk of rock twice the size of a man’s head seemed to fall out of the sky and land right on the outlaw. It smashed his skull to smithereens, sent blood and brains flying everywhere, and slammed on down to the man’s shoulders, driving him to the ground like a giant hammer.
That shocked everybody into immobility, but only for a second. Then Preacher’s guns began to roar and two more men went spinning off their feet as his bullets tore through them.
Another big rock landed among several of the outlaws, scattering them like ninepins. Jamie’s Sharps boomed a second time and blew a fist-sized hole through one of the men as he tried to scramble back up. Preacher ventilated two more of them.
A renegade tried to draw a bead on Preacher, but a rifle shot knocked him back into the fire. Preacher glanced around and saw Hawk drop the smoking rifle, yank out the two revolvers Preacher had given him, and bound on down the slope to join the fight. Dog was with Hawk, racing into battle alongside the warrior.
Where is Eagle Feather?
Preacher triggered another shot from each gun, the slugs pounding into an outlaw’s chest and driving him off his feet. Jamie dropped another man with a long-range shot. Hawk cocked and fired as fast as he could, spraying lead among the members of Winter Wind’s gang. He emptied the Colts, and the hail of bullets took down two more men. Dropping the guns, he whipped his bow off his shoulder, nocked an arrow, and let fly, burying the shaft in a man’s throat. Dog had another of the renegades down, savaging the screaming man.
Another large rock plummeted down from above and crushed an outlaw’s ribs. Preacher glanced up and spotted a gigantic figure standing on the rim of the canyon. It would take enormous strength to heave rocks like that, and he knew of only one man capable of such a feat.
Big Thunder had followed them despite being told not to, and taken a hand when he was most needed.
Preacher was still looking for Eagle Feather. In all the chaos and violence, he had lost track of the boy. But as he realized all the outlaws were down, either dead or badly wounded, he knew Eagle Feather still had to be around here somewhere—
“Preacher!”
The unholy screech was like that of a demon from hell. Preacher whirled toward it, guns up, and saw Winter Wind standing a few yards away, holding Eagle Feather in front of her with one arm while the other hand pointed a revolver at Preacher.
“The boy and I are leaving,” she said as her face twisted in a snarl. “He is my son now! I will teach him to hate—”
Preacher’s right arm snapped out straight. The gun in his hand boomed, and Winter Wind’s head jerked back as the bullet drilled into her brain. She lived just long enough for her eyes to widen in shock and disbelief before she let go of Eagle Feather, dropped her gun, and crumpled to the ground.
“I’ve heard more’n enough outta you, you crazy bitch,” Preacher said as he lowered his Colt.
Eagle Feather dashed to Hawk and was swept up in his father’s arms. Preacher let them have their reunion while he walked around the renegades’ camp. The few who were still alive were hurt too badly to survive. A few swift strokes of Preacher’s knife put them out of their misery. He wiped the blood off the blade, sheathed it, and then looked up at the rimrock again, where Big Thunder still stood. The sun was down, but a few stray beams still slanted to that high ground and lit up the giant Crow warrior as he waved excitedly.
“Big Thunder threw rocks!” he shouted down, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Preacher returned the wave and called, “You sure did!”
“Is Preacher mad that Big Thunder followed him?”
“Not a bit, old son! You did good!”
Up on the rimrock, Big Thunder did a little jig of pure happiness at the praise.
Preacher went over to his son and grandson, ruffled Eagle Feather’s hair, and asked, “Are you all right?”
The boy had been crying, but he put a brave look on his face now and said, “The bad woman told me she would hurt me. She said many mean things. But I was not scared.”
“She won’t hurt anybody again,” Preacher said. He glanced at the sprawled shape of Winter Wind, who lay on her back with one knee drawn up a little, her hair loose now and spread out around her head like a black cloud on the ground.
Never again.