Jonathan Collins had probably never had to deal with that problem. He had just forged straight on through to the cave, unloaded however many bundles of loot his pack animal was carrying, and returned to the compound a couple of days away on the creek.

  As Preacher hurried along, he wondered what Collins had planned to do in the long run, if Ozark hadn’t overthrown him and taken command of the gang. Would Collins eventually have taken Annie and the twins and disappeared, retreating to the valley below where the loot was hidden and living there for the rest of their lives?

  Surely not, the mountain man decided with a little shake of his head. There was nothing in the valley that the hidden loot could buy. Why go to the trouble of stealing a bunch of money from his own men just to live a primitive existence in a high mountain valley?

  No, he must have planned to strike out for the coast, taking one or two of the bundles with him so he’d have enough capital to set his family up in a new life there. Then he could return to the cache whenever he needed to in the future and pick up more of the loot.

  He must have known that the men he’d double-crossed might try to hunt him down. Maybe he’d been arrogant enough to believe he could stay one step ahead of them for however long it took before they gave up.

  Mack Ozark never would have given up, Preacher knew after having met the man. Jonathan Collins may well have been aware of that, too. In which case, he would have made sure to kill Ozark before he took off for the tall and uncut …

  All that was moot, as Audie would say. Things hadn’t worked out that way. Collins was dead, Ozark was alive, and Collins’s wife and children were his prisoners.

  At least, Preacher hoped that was the case.

  The crevice ran for a mile or so and finally opened onto a ledge that Preacher was able to follow all the way back down to the tree line. He was well to the south of the spot where the avalanche had rumbled down the mountain.

  He headed back in that direction, sticking to the trees and underbrush so he could use them for cover. He was eager to find Ozark’s bunch. Until he saw the prisoners with his own eyes, the uncertainty over their fate would gnaw at his guts.

  Without warning, something exploded out of the brush in front of him. Preacher’s hands dropped to the guns on his hips, but before he could draw them, he recognized the big, shaggy form charging toward him.

  A second later, Dog had reared up, rested his paws on Preacher’s shoulders, and was rasping his tongue over the mountain man’s beard-stubbled face.

  “Take it easy, old son,” Preacher said with a grin. Dog was wagging his bushy tail so hard his entire back half was wiggling. Preacher hugged the thick neck and went on, “I’m mighty glad to see you, too.”

  He enjoyed the reunion with the big cur for a moment longer and then asked, “Where’s Audie? Where’s Nighthawk?”

  Dog dropped his paws to the ground, darted a few steps away, then stopped and looked back at Preacher as he whined.

  “You can take me to ’em? I figured you could. Find Audie! Find Nighthawk!”

  Dog let out a quiet bark and then whirled away into the woods. Preacher loped after him, warmed by a deep sense of relief that at least one of his trail partners had escaped from the avalanche.

  A short time later, he paused to listen intently and made out the sound of numerous hoofbeats in the distance. It was possible someone else was riding through this valley, maybe an Indian hunting party or a group of fur trappers, but Preacher knew that wasn’t likely.

  His gut told him that was Ozark’s bunch he heard, and the prisoners, as well, he hoped.

  Dog trotted back to him and whined as if to confirm the mountain man’s hunch.

  “You follow them, Dog,” he told the big cur. “But don’t let ’em see you. I’d just as soon those varmints don’t know you’re still alive. I’ll try to keep up, but if I can’t, you come back and find me.”

  Dog looked at him for a moment, communicating almost as clearly as if he’d been human. Then, with a sweep of his tail, he whirled and dashed off through the woods.

  Preacher set out at a steady trot after Dog, both of them heading in the same direction as the horses Preacher had heard. His muscles were like cords of metal cable and could maintain that pace for hours if need be.

  Less than an hour had passed, though, when he caught a whiff of woodsmoke coming from somewhere in front of him. Ozark and his men must have retreated well away from the mountainside, just in case any more rocks started falling, and now they were making camp.

  Ozark didn’t intend to go any farther, Preacher thought. The boss outlaw wanted to stay close to that cave full of stolen loot.

  That indicated Ozark hadn’t bought Preacher’s story about the cave being empty. Well, he’d never actually expected that gambit to be successful. It had distracted Ozark for a few minutes, and that was the most Preacher could have hoped for.

  He stopped and waited where he was, knowing that Dog would return and lead him right to the outlaws’ camp. He could have found it anyway, of course, by following the smoke, but it never hurt to simplify things.

  Besides, he didn’t want to take a chance on stumbling right into that bunch of killers. Stealth was the most important consideration at the moment.

  After five minutes, Dog pushed through the brush and came up to Preacher. The mountain man scratched his ears and said, “Found ’em, did you? Good job, you hairy old son. Take me to Audie and Nighthawk.”

  The two of them drifted noiselessly through the undergrowth like phantoms. The woodsmoke smell grew stronger. After a while, Preacher began to hear voices as the outlaws talked among themselves. He was even able to pick out Mack Ozark’s harsh tones.

  Dog went to his belly and began crawling through the brush. Preacher did likewise. The outlaws’ voices grew louder. Preacher stopped when he heard a man say, “—do next, Mack?”

  Preacher was mighty interested in the answer to that question his own self.

  “Half of you are going to stay here and guard these prisoners,” Ozark replied. “The others are coming with me back to that cave. All those boulders will have stopped falling and rolling by now. I want to find out how much trouble we’re going to have getting in there to retrieve that money.”

  “You think all that loot Collins stole from us is really squirreled away in there?”

  “I don’t have any doubt that it is,” Ozark declared. “Collins wouldn’t have boasted to me about it if he wasn’t telling the truth. Preacher lied about the cave being empty. I’m sure of it.”

  “You reckon that crazy mountain man’s still alive?” another man asked.

  “I’m hopin’ he got caught in his own damn avalanche!” a third man put in.

  Ozark said, “There’s certainly a chance that’s true. But even if he’s still alive and tries anything, he won’t stand a chance against six of us.”

  Preacher heard a laugh and recognized it. Audie said, “You just keep telling yourself that, Ozark—right up until the moment Preacher kills you.”

  The former professor’s words were followed a moment later by the sharp sound of an open palm striking flesh. Preacher tensed and Dog growled softly. Audie had gotten himself a wallop from Ozark or one of the other outlaws.

  “You’re in no position to be mouthing off, runt,” Ozark said. “In fact, the only reason you’re still alive is because I might need you if I have to bargain again with your unwashed friend. But remember, I have other prisoners. Not all of you have to stay alive.”

  After that, Ozark picked the men who would go back to the avalanche site with him. The names meant nothing to Preacher. He didn’t care who stayed and who went with Ozark.

  He could kill them just as well whether he knew their names or anything else about them. He knew all he needed to know.

  They were outlaws, with plenty of blood on their hands. Death was all they had coming.

  Preacher and Dog waited while Ozark and the men going with him mounted up again. They rode out, heading back across the valley toward the mountain where the cave was located.

  Preacher waited until they were well gone and then edged closer to the camp. He parted some brush and peered through the gap at a roughly circular clearing about forty feet across. The small fire he had smelled burned in the center of it.

  He knew Audie was alive because he had heard his friend’s voice, but a surge of relief went through him when he saw Nighthawk, as well, sitting on the ground next to the diminutive former professor. Nighthawk’s wrists and ankles had rope wrapped around them and were tied tightly. Another rope encircled his torso, pinning his arms to his sides.

  The outlaws weren’t taking any chances with the giant Crow warrior. They had already suffered too many broken necks and stove-in skulls in their previous clashes with him.

  Audie was also tied, hands and feet, but didn’t have the extra rope around him.

  Preacher shifted slightly to get a better view of the rest of the clearing. He spotted Annie and Little Bear sitting on the opposite side of the fire from Audie and Nighthawk. Neither was tied; each held one of the twins.

  An outlaw stood close behind them, though, with a rifle in the crook of his arm. Obviously, Ozark had appointed him to guard these two prisoners.

  Audie and Nighthawk had guards, as well—two of them. Each of those outlaws held two pistols. Their thumbs were looped over the hammers, ready to cock and fire instantly. They probably had orders to shoot the prisoners without hesitation if any trouble broke out.

  Preacher knew that from where he was, he could kill both of those guards with a single shot each, before they had a chance to hurt Audie and Nighthawk.

  But could he then swing around and drill the man standing guard over Annie and Little Bear before the outlaw could get a shot off?

  It was likely, Preacher thought, even probable—but he couldn’t guarantee that outcome, and he hated to risk the prisoners’ lives on such a chance.

  Not only that, but two more members of Ozark’s gang were still here, one of them kneeling by the fire and putting a pot of coffee on to boil while the other roamed around over by where the horses were picketed, looking around as if he were keeping an eye open for any potential trouble.

  Either of those men could open fire on the prisoners at a second’s notice.

  Hoping that he could gun down all of them in time to save his friends was just too much of a risk, Preacher decided. Besides, an outburst of gunfire could be heard across the valley and would alert Mack Ozark that something was wrong.

  He needed to deal with those guards, Preacher told himself, but it would be a whole heap better if he could do it quietly.

  Putting his head close to the big cur’s ear, Preacher whispered, “Dog, go around yonder and make some noise in the brush.” He motioned toward the area on the other side of the horses. “See if you can get that fella’s attention and make him come lookin’ for you.”

  Another hand gesture reinforced the order. Dog crawled away through the brush. Preacher could count on his shaggy trail partner to follow orders.

  Preacher crawled the other way, toward the side of the camp where Audie and Nighthawk were sitting.

  The brush grew fairly close behind them, close enough for Preacher to reach the two guards in one long step. He would cause some noise when he made his move; there was no avoiding that. That would give them some warning, so he would have to strike quickly.

  When he was in position, he found a tiny opening in the brush through which he could watch the camp. The man at the fire had the coffeepot sitting at the edge of the flames. He straightened to his feet, but he still stood beside the fire with his hands on his hips, looking pleased with himself.

  The outlaw over by the horses was still there, holding himself tense and alert as he looked around. Preacher was glad to see that his own gray stallion was among the picketed animals, as were the other mounts and pack animals from his party.

  The sentry suddenly jerked his head a little to the right and leaned forward to peer intently into the trees and brush on that side of the camp.

  The man at the fire noticed that reaction and asked, “Something wrong, Moran?”

  “I thought I heard something out there,” the outlaw called Moran answered.

  “Probably just some varmint.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. A two-legged varmint.”

  The man standing behind Annie and Little Bear said, “Go take a look, but be careful. Mack will kill us if anything happens to these prisoners. He wants that money Collins stole so bad it’s got him half-loco.”

  “He’s already half-loco,” the man at the fire said. “That’s why I don’t ever want to get him mad.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be sayin’ things like that, Calder. If Mack ever found out about it—”

  The man at the fire, Calder, looked worried as he interrupted, “You fellas aren’t gonna say anything to him, are you?”

  “Just go on and take a look, Moran. I don’t trust that damn mountain man not to be sneakin’ up on us.”

  Preacher smiled faintly to himself at that comment. The outlaw had it figured out; he just didn’t know it. And Preacher was on the other side of the camp from where they were worried about.

  Holding his rifle at the ready, Moran pushed into the brush. It closed behind him. Preacher could still see a little movement through the branches.

  He heard a startled curse erupt from the searcher, followed instantly by a savage growl. Moran yelled but thankfully didn’t get a shot off as the snarling and growling grew louder.

  The two outlaws standing behind Audie and Nighthawk stiffened. One of them exclaimed, “What the hell!”

  That exclamation, along with the commotion in the woods, helped mask the sound as Preacher surged smoothly to his feet and stepped out of the brush. In the same swift, efficient manner, he drew his knife and tomahawk.

  The knife plunged into the back of the outlaw on his right, directly into the man’s heart. He died so quickly that the pair of pistols in his hands slipped unfired from suddenly nerveless fingers and fell to the ground at his feet.

  Preacher struck simultaneously with the tomahawk in his left hand, chopping down on the back of the other guard’s head. The man’s hat was nowhere near enough to blunt the powerful blow. Bone shattered as the tomahawk drove through the man’s skull and into his brain.

  Instantly, Preacher jerked the weapon back. This man didn’t drop his pistols as he fell. His hands clamped around them in his death spasm. One of them went off, but the man’s own body muffled the blast to a certain extent as he folded over the weapons.

  As the outlaw was falling, Preacher’s arm flashed back and then forward. The tomahawk spun across the clearing, above the campfire, and struck the forehead of the outlaw behind Annie and Little Bear in a perfect throw.

  That man died as quickly as the others, dropping his rifle and falling backward awkwardly, but the one beside the fire was still alive and clawed at a pistol thrust into his waistband as he whirled toward Preacher.

  Even though Nighthawk was trussed up like a pig on its way to market, the warrior’s enormous strength enabled him to lever himself to his feet. He threw himself forward, a human battering ram, and crashed into Calder’s legs. With no chance to brace himself, the impact drove the outlaw off his feet. He sprawled on his back in the flames.

  Screaming and thrashing as his clothes caught on fire, Calder forgot all about trying to pull his gun. Preacher stepped around Audie. Two long strides brought him to the fire, where he leaned over and drove his knife into Calder’s chest, putting the man out of his misery. Calder arched his back and then sagged as death claimed him.

  The sickening smell of burned meat filled the air. To keep it from getting worse, Preacher took hold of an ankle and dragged the corpse out of the flames.

  “I knew you’d be showing up soon, Preacher,” Audie said. “It was just a matter of when.”

  Preacher grunted and wiped his knife blade on what was left of the dead man’s shirt. Nighthawk had wound up lying on the ground after he’d knocked Calder into the fire. He had rolled onto his side to put himself farther from the flames.

  Preacher bent to saw the knife blade against the big warrior’s bonds.

  “Are all of you all right?” he asked as he was doing that. “Miz Collins? Little Bear?”

  “Ozark didn’t hurt me or the twins,” Annie said, “but those outlaws were awfully rough with Little Bear and your friends.”

  “I’m fine,” Little Bear insisted. His face was bruised, and Preacher saw a little dried blood on it from some scrapes, but the young man wasn’t badly hurt.

  The same was true of Audie and Nighthawk. “Those scoundrels would have to do a lot worse to inflict any real damage on us,” Audie said. “Are all of them dead? What about the man who went into the woods?”

  Dog chose that moment to arrive in camp with blood on his muzzle, wearing a satisfied expression. Preacher chuckled and said, “Yeah, I reckon it’s a safe bet all the varmints are done for, includin’ that other fella.”

  He looked across the valley toward the mountain and added, “But Ozark and the rest of them no-good killers are still up yonder, and pretty soon it’s gonna be their turn.”

  CHAPTER 31

  After freeing Nighthawk, Preacher cut the bonds off Audie’s wrists and ankles. Audie joined Nighthawk in rubbing circulation back in their hands and stomping around to get the blood flowing in their feet again.

  “You’re not going to ask me to stay behind again when you go after Ozark, are you?” Audie asked Preacher.

  “Somebody needs to stay here with Miz Collins and Little Bear and the young’uns,” Preacher pointed out.

  Audie grimaced. “I know, I know. And from a practical standpoint, it makes the most sense for me to do it. I’m fully aware of that, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “No, it sure don’t,” Preacher agreed.

  Audie nodded and said, “All right. I understand. If you two don’t come back—not that I believe there’s any chance in the world of that happening—I’ll get our friends back to safety.”