Due to the narrowness of the gulch, only about twenty feet separated the base of the ridge from the back of the tipi. Preacher crouched behind a deadfall. Some dry brush had accumulated around the fallen tree and provided even more cover. From here, it would take him mere seconds to reach his destination.

  He didn’t have to wait long before a surprised shout told him that Nighthawk had been spotted approaching the village. The towering Crow warrior was hard to miss. Carefully, Preacher parted the brush to look back along the trail that followed the bottom of the gulch.

  Nighthawk strode along with confidence that bordered on arrogance, as if he had every right to be where he was. His expression was solemn but friendly as he lifted a hand in greeting, palm out in the universal signal that he came in peace.

  Several warriors immediately moved to meet him, their attitudes wary, as they would be of any stranger. The gray-haired man Preacher had taken to be the chief of this band emerged from his tipi and strode forward with a confidence that matched Nighthawk’s.

  The other warriors waited to allow the chief to take the lead then fell in close behind him, ready for trouble if any should develop. The men weren’t armed with bows or lances, but each of them carried a knife or tomahawk, if not both.

  The chief spoke first, no doubt welcoming Nighthawk to the village. As usual under such formal circumstances where Indians were concerned, quite a few high-flown words were required to convey a simple greeting.

  Nighthawk responded in kind, his deep, booming voice ringing out and filling the gulch. He spoke the Salish tongue well enough to be understood. Notoriously taciturn, this was more words than Nighthawk usually came out with in a month of Sundays.

  Preacher smiled. His old friend was doing a fine job of keeping the villagers distracted. Most of the warriors had turned out to take a look at the huge newcomer, and many of the women and kids had straggled up behind the warriors, too.

  From where Preacher was, he couldn’t see the front of the tipi where Little Bear and the twins were, but he assumed the two guards were still there and hadn’t gone to get a better look at the visitor. No matter which tribe they belonged to, warriors didn’t take their duties lightly.

  As far as Preacher could tell, everyone was looking the other way now. He stepped out from behind the deadfall and brush and darted toward the tipi. Dropping to his knees when he reached it, he took hold of the tanned hide out of which the dwelling was made and lifted it.

  No one inside responded. Preacher squirmed his head and shoulders under the hide and looked around. Little Bear sat cross-legged a few feet away, facing away from him. The two infants lay on the ground beside him.

  The two women were at the entrance. They must have heard the commotion outside caused by Nighthawk’s arrival and had pulled the flap back to see what was going on. Preacher heard them talking to the guards but paid no attention to what they were saying.

  Preacher pulled the bottom half of his body into the tipi. He lifted himself onto his knees. His left hand went around Little Bear’s head and clamped over the young man’s mouth so Little Bear couldn’t cry out and alert the women. At the same time, Preacher grasped Little Bear’s shoulder with his right hand and squeezed reassuringly.

  Little Bear jerked in surprise but didn’t try to pull away. Preacher was glad the young man had that much self-control. Little Bear’s eyes were wide with shock as he looked over at Preacher, but he remained quiet as Preacher took his hand away.

  A curt gesture from the mountain man told Little Bear to crawl out under the tipi’s rear wall. Little Bear nodded to show that he understood. He gathered up one of the babies in his arms, evidently thinking that Preacher would bring the other infant.

  That was what Preacher planned to do, but he had to wait for Little Bear to get out of the tipi first. The young man moved as quietly as he could, but he couldn’t help but make some noise as he struggled under the buffalo hide wall.

  And that made one of the women glance around. She cried out in alarm when she saw Preacher and leaped toward him, her hands extended with the fingers hooked and ready to claw at his face.

  CHAPTER 19

  Preacher surged to his feet, grabbed the woman’s right wrist, and slung her away from him, sending her rolling across the ground beside the now-cold fire ring in the middle of the tipi.

  The other woman shrank back at the sight of the mountain man, giving the two guards room to charge through the entrance. Preacher sprang forward to meet them. If he could dispose of them without too much ruckus, he hoped he and Little Bear could still get away with the twins before the rest of the village knew what was going on.

  That hope disappeared as the second woman rushed out and started screaming her head off.

  The warrior closest to Preacher tried to tackle him. Preacher twisted aside, and as the man lunged past him, he hammered the edge of his hand against the back of the man’s neck. The warrior went down hard, stunned by the blow.

  The second guard was armed with a knife, but he didn’t draw the weapon, trying to get closer to Preacher and wrestle instead.

  However, it was hard to maintain a grip on Preacher’s bare torso. He writhed free, got behind the warrior, and clamped his left forearm across the man’s neck, anchoring it in place with his right hand gripping his left wrist. Preacher’s arm was like a bar of iron cutting off the warrior’s breath.

  The first guard, still a little disoriented from being knocked down, tried to get back to his feet. He made it as far as his knees.

  Without loosening his grip on the second guard’s throat, Preacher kicked the first warrior in the face and knocked him sprawling on his back.

  Angry shouts sounded from outside. Preacher couldn’t tell what was going on, but he was willing to bet that Nighthawk was trying to keep the rest of the warriors occupied. That would be a well-nigh impossible task even for the giant Crow, but Preacher knew Nighthawk would do his best.

  Nighthawk would sacrifice his own life if it meant giving Preacher a chance to get away with Little Bear and the babies.

  The warrior Preacher was choking suddenly went limp as he passed out from lack of air. Preacher flung him down on top of the other man, who was only half-conscious after being kicked in the face.

  The woman Preacher had slung to the other side of the tipi was on her feet again, but she backed away and didn’t try to stop the mountain man as he scooped the other crying infant from the ground. Preacher didn’t try to get out the back of the tipi; there was no longer any point in stealth.

  Instead, he wrapped his left arm around the baby and ducked out through the entrance, shouldering the flap aside as he did so.

  He stopped short as he found himself facing a half-circle of warriors. Judging by their fierce expressions, they were all ready to attack, but the gray-haired chief Preacher had noted earlier held them back. His arms were out to the side in a signal for them to wait as he stepped forward toward Preacher and Little Bear, who stood nearby holding the other infant.

  Preacher glanced toward the edge of the village where Nighthawk stood, also surrounded by warriors. A couple of men were sprawled on the ground nearby, doubtless where Nighthawk had tossed them, and two more sat shaking their heads as they tried to recover from whatever the big Crow had done to them. Preacher figured they had probably been introduced to Nighthawk’s fists.

  The chief spoke angrily in the Salish tongue, addressing Preacher. The mountain man made out some of the words, but Little Bear gave him a full translation.

  “Red Shirt wants to know why you and Nighthawk have intruded on our village and caused injury to our people.”

  “He’s the chief o’ this bunch?” Preacher asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “He ain’t wearin’ a red shirt.”

  Despite the danger they faced, Little Bear smiled. “He had one, once, and liked the name so it stuck.”

  “And these are your people? This is your village?”

  “It was.” A sorrowful note entered the young man’s voice. “I have no more living relatives, and I’ve spent so much time at the compound with Annie, and Annie and Jonathan before that, they don’t really consider me one of them anymore. My grandfather and Bluebird and I were all that was left of our family.”

  The gray-haired chief was regarding Preacher with an unfriendly gaze. Preacher could have responded to Red Shirt’s question directly, but Little Bear might be able to phrase things better, he decided.

  “Tell him we mean no harm to him or his people, but we only wished to help our friends who are bein’ held against their will,” Preacher said to the young man. “I reckon that’s true, ain’t it? You don’t want to be here, do you? Those fellas grabbed you and the young’uns and brought you here.”

  “That’s right. It was all Standing Cloud’s idea.”

  One of the warriors stepped forward with a fierce scowl on his face. Preacher recognized him as the one who had been arguing with the chief earlier. From the looks of the angry expression he wore now, he realized that Little Bear was talking about him.

  “That’s Standing Cloud, eh?” Preacher said. “Not too friendly, is he?”

  “Definitely not friendly to me,” Little Bear answered under his breath. “He wanted to take Bluebird as his third wife, but she refused. That didn’t make him like me any better—not that he had a high opinion of me to start with. I never showed any signs of being a good warrior, and that’s all Standing Cloud cares about.”

  Red Shirt snapped something, no doubt demanding an answer to the question he had asked. Quickly, Little Bear spoke, relaying the message Preacher had given him.

  That prompted a half-shouted response from Standing Cloud, who waved an arm and looked like he was about to attack Preacher. Red Shirt spoke sharply and gestured for him to move back.

  “Why’d they grab you and the twins to start with?” Preacher asked Little Bear.

  “Because Standing Cloud thought it would be a good idea to—”

  Before Little Bear could finish, Standing Cloud started haranguing them again, loudly and emphatically, accompanied by more arm waving.

  Preacher was surprised when he picked out the name “Ozark” among the warrior’s ranting.

  “What’s his connection to Mack Ozark?” Preacher asked Little Bear while Standing Cloud continued yelling.

  “I told you we trade with Ozark. When Standing Cloud found out that Ozark was pursuing us, he got the idea that capturing us and turning us over to Ozark would improve our standing with him, maybe get us better terms when we trade.”

  “He wanted to curry favor with Ozark, you mean.”

  Little Bear nodded. “That’s it. But Red Shirt thought it wouldn’t be a good thing to do and told Standing Cloud he wouldn’t have anything to do with it. He said it was dishonorable to use children that way.”

  “Good man,” Preacher said.

  “That doesn’t mean he’s willing to overlook you sneaking into the village and fighting with those men, though. That offended the chief’s honor, too.”

  Standing Cloud finally ran out of steam and stood there glowering at Preacher and Little Bear. Red Shirt didn’t look much happier with them.

  Preacher said, “Tell the chief that if he’ll allow us to leave with the babies, we won’t cause any more trouble.”

  Little Bear translated that proposal.

  Red Shirt answered immediately, and as he spoke at length, Standing Cloud began to smile. It was an ugly expression, more of a drawing back of his lips from his teeth rather than an actual smile.

  Little Bear swallowed and said, “Red Shirt says that whether he agrees with it or not, since the twins and I are Standing Cloud’s prisoners, it’s up to him what he does with us. As for you, you gave offense to the entire village, and you can’t leave without being punished.”

  “What’s he figure on doin’?” Preacher asked. He was getting a little angry himself.

  Standing Cloud jerked a hand toward Preacher and spouted some more words.

  “He’s asking Red Shirt to turn you over to him, too,” Little Bear said.

  “Now that just ain’t gonna work,” Preacher said. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  “You’d better let me have it quick, then. I think the chief is seriously considering Standing Cloud’s suggestion.”

  “Let me fight Standin’ Cloud. Just him and me, man to man.”

  Little Bear looked sharply at Preacher, his eyes widening at the audacity of the mountain man’s words.

  “If I win,” Preacher went on, “then I leave here with you and the young’uns, and nobody from the Salish tribe bothers us again. If Standing Cloud wins …” Preacher shrugged. “I reckon he can do whatever he wants. I won’t be there to stop him ’cause he’ll likely have to kill me to beat me.”

  “I can’t challenge him to a … a fight to the death like that!”

  “Say it any way you want,” Preacher told the young man. “As long as I’ve got a fightin’ chance to leave here with you and the twins, I don’t care about nothin’ else.”

  Little Bear let out a resigned sigh and then began speaking to Red Shirt. As Standing Cloud listened, his ugly grin widened even more.

  When Little Bear finished, Standing Cloud flung both arms out wide and rattled off more words. Preacher only understood what he was saying here and there, but the warrior’s contemptuous tone was easy to recognize.

  Red Shirt wasn’t going to be rushed into a decision, though. He pondered everything that had been said to him as a tense silence settled over the gathering. The other warriors and the women were clearly eager to hear what the chief was going to decide.

  Preacher could tell by the looks in their eyes that they liked the idea of him and Standing Cloud battling each other.

  None of them would be rooting for him, the mountain man knew. It would be just fine with them if Standing Cloud emerged triumphant.

  And it might be even better, as far as they were concerned, if he didn’t survive the battle.

  Red Shirt raised both hands, drawing out the dramatic moment just a little more. Evidently, he had made up his mind. He looked at Standing Cloud, looked at Preacher, and then barked a command.

  “Fight!” Little Bear cried, but that was unnecessary because Standing Cloud was already charging at Preacher with hate and murder in his eyes.

  CHAPTER 20

  Preacher sprang forward to meet Standing Cloud’s attack. The mountain man had never been one to sit back and let trouble come to him.

  He swung his right fist at Standing Cloud’s face. The warrior jerked to the side. Preacher’s blow scraped his ear. Standing Cloud’s momentum carried him forward. His right arm shot out, looped around Preacher’s chest, and drove him backward off his feet.

  Both men went down hard.

  Preacher landed on his back with enough force to knock the breath out of him, but he knew he couldn’t allow that to slow him down. He brought his elbow up and drove it into the side of Standing Cloud’s head.

  A blow like that would have been enough to knock most men out cold, but Standing Cloud must have had a hard head. He just grunted and grappled at Preacher with both hands. Preacher knew his opponent was trying to get a grip on his throat so he could choke the life out of him.

  Preacher grabbed Standing Cloud’s shoulders and rolled to his left, forcing the warrior to go with him. Standing Cloud wound up on the bottom. Preacher tried to ram his knee into Standing Cloud’s groin, but the man writhed aside and avoided it.

  Standing Cloud threw his right leg up, hooked it across Preacher’s chest, and levered the mountain man off him. Both combatants rolled away from each other to give themselves more room to maneuver as they surged back to their feet.

  Indians generally preferred wrestling to fist-fighting, Preacher knew, but Standing Cloud was completely caught up in the heat of battle now and threw wild punches with both fists as he drove in on Preacher.

  Preacher gave ground deliberately, drawing the warrior on. He was able to block most of Standing Cloud’s blows. He had to just absorb the punishment from the ones that got through. They rocked Preacher but didn’t put him down.

  When Standing Cloud was out of control and starting to stumble, Preacher ducked under a wild, roundhouse swing and caught hold of the warrior’s arm with both hands. He pivoted and heaved, and Standing Cloud lost his balance and footing. He flew through the air and crashed to the ground, landing where several women had to scamper out of the way to avoid being hit.

  As Standing Cloud rolled in the dirt, some of the village dogs dashed forward and capered around him, barking wildly in excitement.

  That humiliation just infuriated him more. When he came to a stop, he yelled at the dogs to chase them away, then pushed himself to his hands and knees and looked up at Preacher with pure murder on his face.

  “You’re pretty damn handy when it comes to pushin’ around a youngster and a couple o’ babies,” Preacher said. “How’s it feel goin’ up against somebody your own size?”

  He didn’t know if Standing Cloud understood any of those words, but the mountain man’s mocking, derisive tone was unmistakable. Standing Cloud let out a furious roar and powered to his feet in another wild charge.

  This time, Preacher didn’t back off. He met Standing Cloud’s attack head-on. He blocked Standing Cloud’s first swing with his left arm and hammered a powerful right hook into the warrior’s midsection.

  That brought Standing Cloud to a sudden stop and left him in position for the left cross Preacher shot to his jaw. Standing Cloud’s head jerked to the side, and for a second his eyes went vacant.

  Preacher took advantage of that opening to lift his right in an uppercut that exploded under Standing Cloud’s chin and lifted the warrior off his feet. Standing Cloud went down hard on his back with his arms and legs splayed out to the sides.

  Confident that Standing Cloud was out and wouldn’t be getting back up again for a spell, Preacher turned to Red Shirt. The mountain man was breathing a little hard from his efforts, and beads of sweat coated his bare torso even though the morning wasn’t really that warm.