“Drop guns,” Standing Cloud ordered.

  Preacher shook his head. “I don’t reckon I will.”

  “I throw baby off cliff!”

  Preacher had to take a chance. Sometimes that was the only way.

  “I don’t believe you’ll do that,” he said, keeping his voice calm and level. “You’re smart enough to know that if I don’t have to worry about hittin’ that kid, I’ll fill you so full o’ lead that you’d sink all the way to the bottom of the ocean.” He laughed. “I don’t expect you’ve ever seen the ocean, but it’s mighty deep.”

  “You not care if I kill baby?” Standing Cloud challenged.

  “Oh, I care, all right. That’s why you’ll be dead half a second later if you do anything to hurt it.” Preacher cocked his head a little to the side and added a question. “Is that the boy or the girl you got there?”

  Standing Cloud’s scowl darkened. “Is little boy.”

  Preacher had a hunch his question had accomplished its purpose, which was to remind Standing Cloud that he had a human being in his arms, a young, innocent life that deserved a chance to continue.

  “Now listen here,” the mountain man said, hoping to take advantage of this opportunity. “I don’t believe you really want to hurt that young’un. You’re a warrior. You don’t make war on kids. You might’ve wanted to give those babies back to Mack Ozark, but that don’t mean you wanted any harm to come to them.”

  “Salish people owe nothing to white woman and her squalling brats!”

  “Maybe not,” Preacher allowed.

  “You and your friends enemies to Salish people.”

  “Not at all. You could ask Little Bear about that.”

  Standing Cloud made a face like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Boy is traitor to his own people!”

  “No, he’s not, and you know it. He’s got good reason for hatin’ Ozark.” Anger surged up inside Preacher at the insult to Little Bear. “Just because he wants to help Mrs. Collins and those children don’t make him a traitor.”

  “Mack Ozark trades with village. Helps us.”

  “And that don’t make him any less of a monster, either. He’s just takin’ advantage of you, Standin’ Cloud. You figure turnin’ Annie and her babies over to him would put him in your debt, but he wouldn’t give a damn about that, not really. He’d still just use you for whatever you could do for him. That’s what varmints like Ozark do. They use people and then cast ’em aside when they’re done with ’em. That’s what he did to Jonathan Collins, and he was downright evil about it, too. He made sure Collins suffered the torments o’ the damned before he died.” Preacher nodded emphatically. “He’s liable to do the same thing to the Salish people one o’ these days.”

  Standing Cloud’s jaw was a tight, grim line.

  “You talk, talk, talk,” he said. “I seek vengeance! What would you have us do?”

  “Well, that’s simple enough,” Preacher said. “We fought before. We’ll have it out again—and this time it’ll be to the death.”

  Standing Cloud’s eyes lit up with anticipation at that idea, but then he became suspicious again almost immediately.

  “What I do with baby?”

  Preacher looked around, saw a little hummock of ground with grass around it about fifty feet away from the edge. He pointed and said, “Lay the little varmint over there. He ought to be safe enough.”

  “I set baby down, you shoot me!”

  Preacher shook his head. “I give you my word I won’t use my guns. We’ll settle this however you want. Knives, tomahawks, bare knuckles, you name it.”

  Standing Cloud frowned narrowly at him and demanded, “Your word?”

  “My word,” Preacher said.

  The warrior glared at him for a few heartbeats longer, then turned and strode over to the hummock. As he placed Edward on the ground, he looked over his shoulder and asked, “Can baby crawl?”

  “Yeah, he can, some.”

  Standing Cloud looked at the brink, back at the baby, and then a second time at the bluff’s edge. He shook his head.

  “Too close. Dangerous. Baby might crawl off.” He picked up the infant again. “Take him over there by trees.”

  “All right,” Preacher agreed. “Reckon that’s pretty good thinkin’. And it just goes to prove I was right when I said you don’t really want any harm comin’ to those little ones.”

  Standing Cloud glanced back at him. “Maybe I give them to Ozark. Maybe I do not.” The warrior’s mouth twisted in a snarl. “But either way, I kill you!”

  “Fair enough,” Preacher said. “You can try.”

  Standing Cloud carried the infant to the edge of a line of trees and found a good spot to place him on the ground where Edward would be comfortable. The baby had stopped crying and now had his thumb in his mouth, sucking on it furiously.

  The little one was hungry, Preacher realized. Maybe he’d have him back with the others soon and Audie and Annie could come up with something to put in the empty little belly.

  “Be safe there,” Standing Cloud said with a decisive nod as he straightened. He turned and walked back toward Preacher, who was unbuckling his gun belt.

  “What do you reckon?” Preacher asked. “What sort o’ fight is this gonna be?”

  “Knives,” Standing Cloud said.

  “Knives it is.”

  Preacher coiled his gun belt and holsters and set them aside. He pulled his tomahawk from behind his belt and dropped it beside the Colts. Then he drew his knife from its sheath just behind his right hip.

  He had just raised his eyes to Standing Cloud when the warrior charged at him, knife upraised in his right hand and poised to strike.

  CHAPTER 25

  However, Standing Cloud had launched his attack too soon and left himself with too much ground to cover before he reached his opponent. Preacher had no trouble whirling aside and getting out of his way.

  The mountain man lashed out with the knife in his hand, thinking that he might draw first blood as his enemy’s charge missed, but Standing Cloud veered instantly to his right, away from Preacher, when he realized his miscalculation. Preacher’s blade missed his left shoulder by inches.

  “Too slow, white man,” Standing Cloud taunted as he turned to face Preacher again.

  “I ain’t the one who was lumberin’ along like an ox,” Preacher shot back. “If you think you’re fleet-footed as a deer, old son, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Standing Cloud snarled and came at him again, moving much more deliberately this time. He waved his knife back and forth in front of him, but Preacher didn’t fall for the trick of watching it. He studied Standing Cloud instead, and when he saw the warrior’s muscles tense, he was ready.

  Standing Cloud leaped at him, drove the knife in low, then whipped it up.

  Preacher hadn’t fallen for the feint, either. His blade met Standing Cloud’s and turned it aside with a ringing clash of steel against steel.

  Preacher sprang back. Frustrated, Standing Cloud thrust again, but he was more careless this time. Preacher not only avoided the strike, but he was also able to land an attack of his own during the split-second when his opponent was off-balance and open.

  The razor-sharp edge of Preacher’s knife raked across Standing Cloud’s forearm. It wasn’t a deep wound because Standing Cloud was already pulling away, but it was first blood and Standing Cloud didn’t like it.

  Bellowing in rage, the warrior came at Preacher again, slashing wildly back and forth. Preacher parried some of the attacks and avoided others.

  Then he realized that, whether it was intentional or not, Standing Cloud was forcing him steadily toward the edge of the bluff.

  Aware of that potential danger now, Preacher took a step to his right, then another. Standing Cloud lunged to his left and tried to turn Preacher back. The warrior committed himself too much, and Preacher darted even farther in that direction. In order to keep facing him, Standing Cloud had to swing around.

  That neat maneuver had taken only seconds, but in that time, Preacher had turned the tables on his opponent.

  Now Standing Cloud was the one with his back mostly toward the brink.

  If that bothered him, he didn’t show it. He attacked as ferociously as ever, and Preacher had his hands full for the next few minutes fending off a series of slashes and thrusts and jabs that were delivered almost too fast for the eye to follow.

  Like all battles, the tides of this one ebbed and flowed. Eventually, Standing Cloud began to tire. His movements became just a little slower. It was barely noticeable—but Preacher noticed.

  He deliberately made a misstep. Standing Cloud came at him with a burst of renewed energy, but that burned out quickly and left him even more tired than before.

  As they fought, they had moved closer and closer to the edge. Now it was only about twenty feet away. Preacher waited until Standing Cloud launched another barely controlled assault and dropped underneath the warrior’s blade. He felt the steel brush his hair as it narrowly missed him.

  Preacher caught himself on his left hand and left hip and brought his right leg around. It caught Standing Cloud at an angle behind his left knee and swept both legs out from under the warrior. Standing Cloud went down hard, landing on his rump, and the fall caused both his arms to shoot into the air.

  Preacher sprang up and kicked with his right foot. It struck the wrist of Standing Cloud’s right hand with enough force to make the man lose his grip on his knife. The weapon sailed back away from him, landed near the brink, bounced—and vanished over the edge.

  Well, that little move had worked out better than he’d hoped for, Preacher thought. He had figured he might disarm his opponent, but now Standing Cloud’s knife was gone, out of his reach for good.

  But that surprising outcome had a disadvantage, too, and as Preacher backed off and held his own blade ready, his mouth tightened into a grim line.

  Standing Cloud was winded. He sat up and stayed there with his shoulders hunched and his chest heaving for a long moment before climbing wearily to his feet.

  “Knife or no knife, this is fight to the death,” he said. He raised his hands and beckoned for Preacher to attack him.

  “Son of a …” the mountain man muttered. He half-turned, drew back his arm, and threw his knife so that the blade buried itself in the earth next to where his gun belt, holstered Colts, and tomahawk lay.

  It was a foolish gesture, he knew, but sometimes that was what honor demanded.

  Before he could turn back to Standing Cloud, the warrior roared and charged. The brief rest might have done him some good; he was fast enough to tackle Preacher around the waist and drive him to the ground.

  Preacher hammered both fists against the sides of Standing Cloud’s neck where it met his shoulders. Standing Cloud grunted from the brutal impact, but he didn’t let go. In fact, he tightened his grip on Preacher. His arms had shifted upward so they put more pressure on Preacher’s lower ribs.

  His ribs might crack under that bear hug, Preacher knew. He rolled over a couple of times but couldn’t shake Standing Cloud loose. He got his hands on Standing Cloud’s face and dug his thumbs at the man’s eyes. Standing Cloud jerked his head back and forth to avoid the crippling attack. Preacher couldn’t hang on to him.

  Balling his right hand into a mallet-like fist, Preacher swung it up and around and brought it down with all his strength on the top of Standing Cloud’s head. He struck the warrior like that again and again, as if his fist were a hammer and Standing Cloud’s head a nail he was trying to drive into a board.

  That constant jarring finally weakened Standing Cloud’s hold. Preacher grabbed his arms and pulled them loose. Standing Cloud tried to get another grip on him, but Preacher drove both hands up under the warrior’s chin and levered Standing Cloud’s head back so far that the man had no choice except to break away from Preacher. Standing Cloud threw himself backward and rolled to put some distance between him and the mountain man.

  Preacher was glad for the respite. His ribs twanged and ached from the bear hug as he climbed to his feet. Standing Cloud was a mighty strong varmint.

  Standing Cloud made it upright again, too. He stood a dozen feet from Preacher, slowly shaking his head as if it were clogged with cobwebs and he couldn’t get them cleared away.

  He summoned up enough breath and energy to repeat, “To the death … white man … That is what you said.”

  “Unless you want to call it off,” Preacher countered, knowing how unlikely it was Standing Cloud would ever accept that.

  Another furious charge was the warrior’s only answer.

  This time, Preacher met the attack head-on. Both of them were too tired and battered for anything fancy now. Instead, they stood there toe to toe, slugging away at each other, brute strength and endurance against brute strength and endurance.

  Such an epic contest couldn’t last long, despite the almost superhuman abundance of strength and stamina each man possessed. A battle of the titans, Audie might have called it. But sooner or later, one of them would make a mistake.

  In this case, it was Preacher.

  One of Standing Cloud’s roundhouse swings slipped unimpeded through Preacher’s defense and exploded on the mountain man’s jaw. The punch felt like it was almost strong enough to tear his head off.

  His head stayed where it belonged on his shoulders, but suddenly Preacher found himself sailing through the air. He landed on his back with bone-jarring, tooth-rattling force. The world spun crazily around him, whirling not only with dizzying speed but seemingly in the wrong direction. Preacher was a whisker away from losing consciousness.

  He clung to awareness grimly, knowing that if he passed out, Standing Cloud would see to it that he never came to.

  But that might not matter, because the warrior was coming after him, clearly intent on leaping on top of Preacher and pinning him to the ground.

  Once he had done that, he would clamp his hands around the mountain man’s throat and choke the life out of him.

  Somewhere deep inside him, Preacher found the strength to pull his legs up and then thrust his feet out as Standing Cloud sprang at him. The kick drove into Standing Cloud’s belly and doubled him over, but his weight and momentum continued carrying him forward. With a herculean effort, Preacher straightened and lifted his legs and tossed Standing Cloud over and behind him.

  Preacher didn’t hear the warrior hit the ground.

  Even in his somewhat addled state, that didn’t seem right to Preacher. He heaved himself onto his stomach and lifted his head to peer toward the spot where Standing Cloud should have landed.

  Sometime in the past few seconds, the world’s rotation had slowed back to normal and it was turning the right way around now. Preacher blinked, shook his head, and stared at the empty ground where he expected to see Standing Cloud sprawled. With any luck, he would be unconscious.

  Instead, there was no sign of the warrior, but Preacher saw that they had been a lot closer to the edge than he realized. The bluff dropped off sheer no more than ten feet away.

  Oh, hell, Preacher thought.

  Slowly, he pushed himself onto hands and knees and then struggled unsteadily to his feet. He took a few shaky steps before realizing that he probably shouldn’t get too close to the edge, as wobbly as he was.

  But he had to go close enough to peer over the brink and see Standing Cloud lying face down, fifty feet below at the base of the bluff. The warrior wasn’t moving. A small, dark pool spread on the rocky ground around his head.

  The way Standing Cloud was lying, he must have seen his death rushing up at him. Although the fall would have lasted only seconds, that was long enough for him to know what was going to happen.

  Yet he had made no sound. No scream, no angry yell, nothing. Just silence as his life ended.

  Preacher liked to think he had enough self-control that he would have gone out the same way if it had been him.

  But he couldn’t be sure of that.

  He didn’t say anything now, no utterances to mark Standing Cloud’s passage from this life to the spirit world. The surly varmint wouldn’t have appreciated that, and the most he would have said over Preacher’s body was a shrill, triumphant yip.

  Preacher just turned away from the brink and trudged toward the trees where Standing Cloud had left little Edward Collins.

  CHAPTER 26

  By the time Preacher rode up to the circle of boulders, mounted on the pony on which Standing Cloud had fled, not only were Little Bear and Elizabeth waiting for him there, but so were Audie, Nighthawk, and Annie Collins.

  When Annie saw Preacher riding toward them, she cried out and ran to meet him. Preacher had Edward’s blanket-wrapped form nestled in the crook of his left arm. He bent down from the pony’s back to hand the infant to his mother.

  “Here you go, ma’am,” he said. “A mite hungry and annoyed, I expect, but other than that, safe and sound.”

  “Thank you, thank you!” Annie clutched the little boy in both arms and rocked him back and forth. “Oh, Edward, I was afraid I’d never see you again!”

  Little Bear came up alongside the pony and asked, “Standing Cloud?”

  Preacher shook his head.

  Little Bear sighed. “He despised me, but he was a fine warrior and did many good things for our tribe.”

  “I’m sure he did.” Preacher swung a leg over the pony’s back and dropped to the ground. “But he got to thinkin’ that he could trust Mack Ozark, and that was a mighty bad mistake.”

  The warrior Dog had killed still lay within the circle of boulders. Preacher assumed he was the man Standing Cloud had left behind to watch the horses. On the way back here, he had figured out that it must have been Standing Cloud who hit him, stepping from concealment to do so. More than likely, he had used the horse-holder’s empty rifle as a club to wallop the mountain man.

  None of those details mattered now. The members of their little group were reunited.

  “What about the rest of the bunch that was with Standing Cloud?” Preacher asked.

  Nighthawk’s emphatic grunt and slashing hand motion provided all the answer he needed.