CHAPTER 34
Inside the trading post, Stahlmaske looked around for something else he could grab and use as a weapon. Russell had dropped to one knee, bleeding from the wound in his side, as he tried to reload his pistol. He knelt in front of Gretchen and shielded her with his own body.
Dog attacked like a whirlwind, dashing among the British agents, ripping and tearing with his fangs. Some of the men shot at him or tried to strike him with their rifles, but they were always a little too slow. The big cur kept them stalemated for a moment, and that was long enough for the situation to change again.
Allingham appeared in the doorway, herding his wife and daughter along with him. He steered them to cover behind some barrels and then thrust a pistol at the Englishmen. When the gun roared and smoke spouted from the muzzle, Rothfuss spun around from the impact of the ball and collapsed.
Heinrich Ritter burst through the doorway, shrieking incoherently in vengeful rage. He lunged at the kidnappers and swung his empty rifle like a club.
Egon and Ludwig were right behind Heinrich. They had loaded pistols that they fired into the mass of Englishmen. Two brawny crewmen from the riverboat lunged into the trading post as well and instantly were locked in hand-to-hand combat with the enemy. Rock-hard fists thudded against flesh and bone.
Chaos reigned inside the trading post as the melee surged back and forth. All the guns were empty now, but they could still be used as bludgeons. Stahlmaske jerked one of the hatchets he had thrown from the throat of a dead man and waded in swinging with it.
With all this going on, no one spared a glance for Roderick, who had fallen in a corner after Stahlmaske kicked him. Curled in a ball around the pain in his belly, he crawled behind some kegs to take shelter from the battle.
Outside, Preacher fired his remaining loaded pistol toward the Pawnee warriors charging toward him. The weapon was double-shotted, as usual, and the distance was far enough for the balls to spread out a little as they flew through the air.
One of them struck a warrior in the jaw, ripping away a large chuck of it. The man stumbled forward with blood sheeting down his chest from the gruesome wound but collapsed after a few steps and pitched forward onto his ruined face.
The other ball punched into a warrior’s chest and ripped through his right lung. He hit the ground, too, unable to go on as he began to drown in his own blood.
Preacher shoved the empty pistol behind his belt and jerked out his tomahawk and knife. The Pawnee probably could have riddled him with arrows as he stood there, but the defiance that showed in every tense line of his body was too much of a challenge to them. Several of the warriors yipped war cries and charged forward to take him on hand to hand.
Preacher had counted on them reacting like that. He met the attack with blinding speed, whirling, twisting, striking out faster than the eye could follow. His tomahawk crushed the skull of one warrior. His knife slashed deeply into the throat of another. He kicked a Pawnee in the belly, spun and shattered another’s jaw with a swing of the tomahawk. Bodies littered the ground around him as more of the Indians closed in around him.
With blood dripping from the hatchet in his hand, Stahlmaske realized that none of the British agents were on their feet anymore. Caught up in the fever of battle like he was, for a second it was hard not to continue lashing out. He dragged in a deep breath, controlled his rampaging emotions, and took stock of himself.
He had several small wounds but nothing serious. Satisfied of that, he turned toward the counter to see if Gretchen was all right.
She was on her feet, having been freed by Simon Russell, who leaned on the counter and pressed a hand to his bloody side.
As Russell met the count’s gaze, he said, “Preacher’s still out there! Somebody needs to go help him!”
Stahlmaske nodded. He turned and started for the door, but as he did he bumped shoulders with Senator Allingham. The two men paused to glare at each other for a second, then Allingham said, “We should go give Preacher a hand.”
Stahlmaske jerked his head in a nod and said, “Ja.”
They rushed out the door, Stahlmaske slightly in the lead.
At first he couldn’t see Preacher, then he realized that the mountain man must be in the middle of the group of Pawnee warriors. He and Allingham charged the Indians and hit them from behind. Stahlmaske’s hatchet rose and fell, chopping brutally, while Allingham wielded a broken rifle like a deadly club, smashing skulls and knocking warriors to the ground.
It took only a few seconds of bloody violence for Stahlmaske and Allingham to fight their way to Preacher’s side. When they reached the mountain man, he didn’t seem surprised to see them. The three of them stood back to back and continued battling the remaining warriors.
The combat didn’t last long, however, and when it was over, Preacher, Stahlmaske, and Allingham were the only ones left on their feet. Blood smeared their hands and had splattered on their faces, but none of them were hurt seriously.
“Josiah!”
The cry made all three men turn quickly toward the trading post. Margaret and Sarah emerged from the building and ran toward them. They threw their arms around Allingham and hugged him tightly as they sobbed. He returned the embrace with a look of huge relief on his face.
“You’re all right,” he said as if he couldn’t believe it. “You’re both all right.”
Gretchen was the next one out the door. She hurried to Stahlmaske and looked like she was going to hug him, too, but she stopped short and rested a hand on his arm instead.
“You’re injured,” she said.
He shrugged and told her, “Nothing to be concerned about. There is something I must tell you, though.”
“What is it, Albert?”
“I was . . . wrong about you,” Stahlmaske said, and clearly it cost him an effort to make that admission. “I thought you to be only a spoiled girl with a rich father. I see now that nothing could be farther from the truth.”
Coolly, she said, “You think I didn’t know you were marrying me in hopes of one day controlling my father’s fortune?”
“If you wish to end our betrothal—”
“I didn’t say that.” She moved closer to him. Now her arms went around his waist. “I didn’t say that at all.”
Stahlmaske lifted a hand, rested it lightly on her hair. It was an uncharacteristically tender gesture for him, but he thought he might grow to enjoy such things.
Heinrich Ritter came up to them to check on his sister. Stahlmaske kept his left arm around Gretchen’s shoulders as he extended his right hand to the younger man.
“I saw you doing battle with the enemy,” the count said. “You fought well, my friend.”
Heinrich looked surprised but pleased by Stahlmaske’s praise. He clasped his future brother-in-law’s hand and said, “I fought to avenge poor Hobart. I could not let his memory down.”
“You didn’t,” Stahlmaske told him. “I’m sure he is very proud of you.”
Gretchen put her arms around her brother and hugged him.
“I know you would come after me, Heinrich,” she told him. “I never lost faith in you.”
Despite the grief over his twin’s death that he obviously still felt, Heinrich beamed with pleasure at this reunion.
A few feet away, Simon Russell came up to Preacher with Egon and Ludwig on either side of him, helping hold him up. The mountain man said, “Blast it, Simon, you’re hurt. Somebody needs to tend to that before you lose too much blood.”
“I know, but I wanted to make sure you were all right first,” Russell replied.
“Just banged up a mite,” Preacher said with a smile. “I’ll be fine. Now let’s get you back inside and see if we can patch up that hole in your side.”
They turned toward the trading post, and as they started in that direction, Egon frowned and asked, “What happened to Herr Roderick? I did not see him inside.”
Preacher frowned and said, “I reckon he’s got to be in there. There’s no place he could’ve—”
He stopped short as a disheveled figure appeared in the doorway. Roderick stood there swaying a little, his eyes unnaturally wide and shining with an insane hatred. He held a keg in his hands and as he stumbled forward he raised it above his head.
“Albert!” he screamed hysterically. “Albert, you’re not going to win again!”
Sparks sputtered from a length of fuse that disappeared into one end of the keg. Preacher realized there had to be black powder in there, and if Roderick succeeded in throwing it among them, the explosion might send them all flying into the air in pieces.
He reached over to Simon Russell and pulled the pistol from behind Russell’s belt.
“Loaded?” he snapped.
Russell nodded.
Preacher pivoted smoothly, raised the pistol as he pulled back the hammer, and fired. The ball tore through Roderick’s right arm, shattering the elbow. Roderick howled in pain and dropped the keg, which fell to the ground behind him. He collapsed, clutching his wounded arm as he screamed in agony. He landed almost on top of the keg.
“Everybody down!” Preacher shouted as he dived to the ground.
The blast shook the earth underneath him. The thunder of the explosion was like a physical blow, stunning the mountain man for several seconds and making his ears ring. As that sensation faded, he lifted his head. Dirt and rocks pattered down around him. Some of the debris struck him in the back, but not hard enough to do any damage.
There was only a smoking crater in the ground where Roderick had been. Preacher looked but didn’t see any of the young man left.
Gradually he became aware that he heard crying. He pushed himself up and looked around. All the others seemed to be all right as far as he could tell, but Margaret and Sarah were both sobbing, probably from the horror of what had happened. Allingham tried to comfort them.
Gretchen was pale and clearly shaken, too, although no tears ran down her face as she sat up from the ground. Stahlmaske was beside her, and his aristocratic features might as well have been carved from stone. Preacher didn’t figure the count would grieve much for his brother.
As for Preacher, though, he was sorry for the fate that had overtaken Roderick Stahlmaske. He’d had to stop the crazed young man from killing all of them, so he didn’t regret what he’d done, but it was a damned shame Roderick’s jealousy and resentment had brought them all to this point and caused not only his own death but so many others. If things had been different, Roderick might have really been the likable young man he had pretended to be.
But there was no changing what was done. Preacher helped Russell to his feet and with assistance from Ludwig and Egon took his old friend inside the trading post so Russell could get the medical attention he needed.
They went around the hole in the ground, all that was left of Roderick Stahlmaske.