Preacher could steer by the stars winking into existence in the ebony sky above them. There was no chance of them veering off in the wrong direction. Audie and Nighthawk were just as capable of steering by the stars.

  Eventually, though, they had to stop. The horses couldn’t keep going, and neither could Annie and Little Bear. They weren’t used to spending long hours in the saddle as they had today.

  Preacher found a good spot to camp up against a bluff. It would be a cold camp, though, since they couldn’t risk a fire. They would have to make do with jerky and leftover biscuits for supper.

  Edward and Elizabeth each had a few teeth, but they couldn’t handle jerky, of course. Audie crumbled one of the biscuits and moistened it to make a sort of mush. It wasn’t much of a supper for growing youngsters, but it was the best they could do.

  “I wish I could still feed them,” Annie commented. “But they were gone long enough that I’m afraid that’s not a possibility anymore. My milk has dried up.”

  Little Bear looked embarrassed at the mention of breastfeeding. He shuffled away from the campfire to tend the horses.

  Audie continued using a finger to scoop up some of the mush and put it in the infants’ mouths, first one and then the other. Annie said, “Let me help,” and sat down cross-legged beside him. Audie had both twins in his lap but shifted one of them over to her, then held the bowl of mush so she could dip her finger into it as well.

  The light from the stars was bright enough that Preacher could see the smile on Annie’s face as she beamed down at the baby in her lap. He was glad that he and his friends had been able to reunite them.

  Annie had sent the twins away so they would be safe, and now they were back in danger, but the mountain man could tell that she had regretted that decision and was happy to be with her children again.

  Now the challenge would be to keep them all safe until they reached someplace where they could be protected against Mack Ozark and his men. Maybe that marked location on the map was just such a place.

  Preacher had his doubts about that, however. He was generally familiar with the Bitterroot Mountains and knew there were no settlements in the direction they were traveling unless it was one he had never heard of.

  That didn’t seem likely. It probably would have been better for them to head south as they fled from Ozark’s men. Eventually, they would have reached Santa Fe. The authorities there would have looked after Annie and the little ones.

  But it was too late for that now. The way things had worked out, the outlaws were between Preacher’s party and any safety they might have found to the south. All they could do now was continue heading north.

  Preacher and Nighthawk hunkered on their heels and gnawed on jerky while Audie and Annie fed the babies. Preacher heard Little Bear moving around where Horse and the other mounts and pack animals were picketed. Dog was off hunting somewhere, trying to find a small animal for his supper.

  Preacher’s head jerked up as he heard a sudden scuffle of feet from somewhere close by. A second later, someone grunted, and he could tell the sound came from the other side of the horses.

  Trouble—and that was where Little Bear was!

  CHAPTER 22

  Preacher sprang to his feet with Nighthawk right beside him. They rushed around the horses and spotted several struggling figures in the shadows.

  At that moment, one of the shapes broke free of the others and let out a yell. That had to be Little Bear.

  The young man surprised Preacher by whirling around and throwing a punch at the nearest figure. Little Bear was fighting back instead of fleeing.

  His attack was awkward, though, and the man easily avoided the blow. He lashed out and his fist connected with Little Bear’s face. The stocky young man stumbled backward a couple of steps and fell.

  Preacher suspected these intruders were some of Mack Ozark’s men. It appeared only a few of them had stumbled upon the camp, but the main party could be nearby.

  Because of that possibility, Preacher didn’t haul out his Colts and open fire on the men, although he could have and probably would have gunned down all of them if he had.

  Instead, he and Nighthawk leaped to the attack, wanting to dispose of these outlaws without creating a lot of commotion and attracting the attention of any other varmints who might be within hearing.

  The man who had struck Little Bear followed up on that, rushing after the young man and leaning down to swing a fist at him again.

  That fist stopped short and the blow never fell as Preacher met it with the palm of his left hand. The nighttime gloom was too thick for anybody to see very well, but Preacher’s eyes were keen enough that he could tell what he was doing.

  The attacker grunted in surprise as his fist seemed to run into a rock wall that somehow closed around it and held it in place with inexorable force.

  A heartbeat later, Preacher’s right fist exploded in the man’s face and crushed his nose. The impact drove him backward and he would have fallen if Preacher hadn’t still grasped his hand so tightly.

  Preacher jerked the man back toward him, and this time he hit the intruder in the belly, hooking his right fist into the man’s midsection as hard as he could. When Preacher let go of him and stepped back, the man fell to the ground, gagging and retching.

  Meanwhile, Nighthawk had gotten his hands on the other two men. His long, incredibly strong fingers wrapped around their throats as he lifted them until their feet were off the ground and their legs flailed around.

  They kicked wildly and pawed at Nighthawk’s hands in utter futility for a moment before the giant Crow warrior slammed their heads together.

  Preacher winced as he heard the sound of bone shattering. At least one of the men had a broken skull; quite possibly both.

  Sometimes, Nighthawk just didn’t know his own strength.

  When he let go of the men, they fell bonelessly to the ground and sprawled there. Preacher had a hunch both of them were dead, or soon would be.

  But the man Preacher had tangled with was still alive. He dropped to one knee beside him, grabbed the man’s hair with his left hand, and yanked his head back.

  With his right hand, he held the razor-sharp edge of his knife to the drawn-tight skin of the man’s throat.

  “You know it won’t take much effort for me to open up your gullet clean from one side to the other, old son,” Preacher said in a quiet voice that conveyed a tone of deadly menace. “Just a leetle pressure on this blade and you’ll be spoutin’ blood five feet in front of you. If you don’t want that to happen, you’ll answer my questions mighty quick-like and tell me the truth.”

  The man couldn’t nod or speak with Preacher’s knife so tight against his throat like that, but he managed to make a slight noise and lifted both hands, palms out, as if he were surrendering.

  Preacher took it to mean that and lessened the pressure on the blade just enough so the man could swallow without cutting his own throat.

  “Are you one o’ Ozark’s men?” Preacher asked, leaning close to the prisoner and keeping his voice down.

  “Y-Yeah.”

  “Were there just three of you in this bunch?”

  “Th-That’s right. Just me and Dooley and Fred.”

  “Dooley and Fred are done for, but you’re still alive and might stay that way if you cooperate,” Preacher said. “How close are the rest?”

  “I … I don’t know. We split up … to cover more ground …”

  “How many followed us from Ozark’s compound?”

  “Six … sixteen men.”

  “Why are those young’uns so damned important to him?”

  Preacher figured there was a good chance the man didn’t know the answer to that question, but he didn’t see any harm in asking it.

  “He … he never said. He just told us … to bring them back … just like they left … with their blankets … and everything.”

  Preacher’s mouth quirked a little in the darkness. Without knowing it, the outlaw had confirmed Preacher’s suspicion.

  It wasn’t Edward and Elizabeth who were important to Mack Ozark, although he probably figured it would be a good idea if he had them in his hands to use as possible leverage in the future. And maybe just to get back at Jonathan Collins.

  No, it was the blankets that mattered to the boss outlaw, and the map that Collins had concealed in the beadwork was the only reason Preacher could think of for that to be true.

  Preacher was sure now the map would lead them to something hidden at the circle-marked location, and if it meant so much to Ozark, chances were it was something valuable. The whole thing was starting to come together in Preacher’s head and make sense now.

  As Preacher was mulling that over, the prisoner asked haltingly, “Are … are you gonna kill me?”

  “Well, now, I reckon that’d be the smartest thing to do. Wouldn’t take but a second to cut your throat, and then we wouldn’t ever have to worry about you no more.”

  “Don’t, mister! Please! You let me go and I’ll turn around and head the other way. You’ll never see me again, I swear it!”

  “Are you tryin’ to tell me you’re more scared o’ me than you are of Mack Ozark?” Preacher asked. “Because I just plumb don’t believe that. If I was to let you go, sure enough, as soon as you were well away from here, you’d double-cross us and go runnin’ right back to the rest of Ozark’s bunch.”

  “No, sir, I give you my word, I wouldn’t! I don’t even like most of those fellas who work for him. They’re a wicked bunch, mister. They were a bad influence on me after I fell in with ’em. I wish I never had—”

  The man fell silent as Preacher took the knife away from his throat. He must have believed that his pleas had convinced Preacher to spare him.

  A second later, Preacher turned the knife and slammed the brass pommel at the end of its handle against the man’s head. The outlaw jerked and then stilled, knocked unconscious.

  Preacher cut some strips off the man’s shirt and used them to bind his wrists behind him. He tied the man’s feet, as well, and then gagged him.

  As Preacher came to his feet, he said to Nighthawk, “Toss this varmint in the brush and leave him. When he comes to, maybe he can thrash around enough that some of his friends will find him. If they don’t … well, maybe a mountain lion or a bear’ll be the one to come across him.”

  Nighthawk grunted in agreement. That wouldn’t be a good way to go—but the man shouldn’t have set out to rob and kill folks, and for sure he shouldn’t have tried to steal a woman’s young’uns away from her.

  While Nighthawk was doing that, Preacher went over to Little Bear, who had gotten back to his feet, and asked, “Are you all right, son?”

  “Yes, I think so.” Little Bear took hold of his chin and worked his jaw back and forth. “He hit me pretty hard, but nothing seems to be broken. And at least they didn’t take me completely by surprise this time! I realized they were there before they jumped me, just not in time to yell a warning to you and the others.”

  “That’s all right. You put up a good scrap and raised enough of a ruckus for us to realize that somethin’ was goin’ on. That’s about as good as a yell. Maybe even better, since you didn’t know whether more of Ozark’s men were close by.”

  “Are they?”

  Preacher said, “That fella couldn’t tell me. We have to figure they are. Because of that, we need to light a shuck outta here.”

  “The horses have barely had time to rest.”

  “I know, and I don’t like it,” Preacher said. “But I ain’t gonna be easy in mind until we’ve put some more distance betwixt ourselves and those varmints chasin’ us. You go tell Audie and Annie we’re gonna be pullin’ out soon. I reckon I’ll do a mite of scoutin’ around before we start.”

  When Preacher moved off into the darkness, he let out a low whistle that most people would have believed was the call of a night bird.

  But he knew that if Dog heard the summons, the big cur would return as quickly as possible.

  Preacher had to whistle twice more before Dog appeared out of the shadows as if by magic. Dog could move through the brush almost as silently as Preacher.

  Dropping to a knee beside him, Preacher told Dog to hunt. Dog drifted off into the night. Preacher waited for five minutes, and when Dog returned and didn’t seem bothered by anything, the mountain man knew that no enemies were close by.

  That was a relief. Preacher headed back to camp with Dog following him.

  He found Nighthawk getting the horses ready to ride while Little Bear packed up the camp and Audie and Annie prepared the twins. When the infants were wrapped securely once more in those all-important blankets, they were loaded into the cradleboard slings.

  Tired from traveling, they were cranky and wanted to settle down for a night’s sleep, but Preacher figured they would quiet down and doze off from the horse’s steady movement once they got started.

  He hoped so, because he didn’t know how far the sound of a crying baby would travel at night, up here in the thin air of the high country.

  He swung up into the saddle on Horse’s back and waved the party forward. Annie and Little Bear came next, flanking the pack horse carrying the twins in their slings. Audie and Nighthawk brought up the rear.

  Audie had been staying close to the babies during the journey, but with pursuit possibly coming up fast behind them, Preacher wanted both of his old friends back there, ready to fight a delaying action if need be.

  He had no doubt that both Audie and Nighthawk would sacrifice their lives to protect the infants if things ever came down to that. So would he, and he figured Little Bear would, too.

  Those two little ones might not know it, but they had some good folks protecting them.

  Preacher told Dog to scout. The hound loped off into the darkness. If he encountered any signs of danger, he would be back to alert the mountain man to its presence.

  Despite the urgency of their situation, Preacher had to set a deliberate pace. There were ravines and gullies in these parts, and he didn’t want to lead his companions into any of them. Any kind of accident would just slow them down more.

  Even without rushing, they made steady progress. It could have been pure bad luck that the small search party had stumbled across them, Preacher reflected, and it was possible none of Ozark’s other men were very close behind.

  Even knowing that, he would feel better once they had covered more ground.

  The stars wheeled through the ebony sky above them as they continued northward. As Preacher had hoped, Edward and Elizabeth fell asleep in their slings and slumbered peacefully. It had to be long after midnight when the mountain man called another halt and told his companions they would stop for a few hours.

  Annie and Little Bear were both stumbling with exhaustion when they dismounted and moved away from their horses.

  “You two get some sleep,” Preacher told them. “We’ll look after things.”

  “What about you, though?” Annie asked. “You must be tired, too.”

  “Shoot, me and Audie and Nighthawk are used to goin’ without sleep durin’ times of trouble. And we’ll trade off standin’ guard, too, so each of us can get a little shut-eye. Don’t worry about us.”

  “Preacher is right, Mrs. Collins,” Audie added. “Why, I feel almost as fresh as a daisy.”

  Nighthawk let out one of his grunts that passed for laughter.

  “Yes, I know, none of us are exactly what you’d call fragrant,” Audie said. “But you know what I mean.”

  Annie and Little Bear spread their bedrolls. Audie got the babies from their slings and nestled them next to Annie, between her and the Salish youth. As far as Preacher could tell, the young woman was sound asleep almost as soon as she had closed her eyes.

  Audie volunteered for the first watch, Nighthawk for the second, and Preacher would get up early and take the third. It was so late now that none of them would get much sleep, but like all seasoned frontiersmen, they knew how to snatch what moments of rest they could and let that be enough to keep them going.

  Preacher seemed to have barely closed his eyes when Nighthawk touched his shoulder and said softly, “Umm.”

  Preacher sat up, instantly wide awake, and asked in a half-whisper, “Any trouble?”

  The Crow warrior shook his head. Preacher stood up while Nighthawk stretched out and closed his eyes.

  The eastern sky held just the faintest tinge of gray. The sun would rise in another couple of hours. Preacher figured they would be on the move again before that happened.

  A chill had crept into the air. A fire would have felt good, and he would have paid a hefty price for a cup of strong black coffee right now. He didn’t want to risk that, however, so he would just have to do without, as would the others.

  Later this morning, maybe, if they could find a good spot, they would stop for a little while and fix some breakfast.

  He walked back and forth to warm up and stay alert. The night was quiet. Dog padded into camp from somewhere and sat, then lay down and rested his head on his front paws. Some of the horses moved around idly.

  Preacher stopped short as the hair on the back of his neck stood up and the skin there prickled. His instincts were trying to tell him that something was wrong.

  A second later, Dog lifted his head and growled softly. Whatever it was that Preacher had sensed, Dog was aware of it, too.

  Preacher’s hands dropped to the butts of the Colts holstered on his hips. He didn’t draw the revolvers, but he was ready as he turned slowly. His senses, already on high alert, were especially keen as he searched the gray gloom around him for any sign of danger.

  He heard a faint snap, recognized it as the sound of a twig breaking under someone’s foot, and whirled in that direction as he pulled iron. His knees bent as he dropped into a crouch and the Colts came up.

  A gun roared and muzzle flame spurted from the nearby brush. Preacher felt as much as heard the wind-rip of a rifle ball slicing through the air inches from his head.

  A split-second later, before he could return the fire, a horde of howling demons burst out of the fading night shadows and charged into the camp.