“I know that. Wouldn’t feel near as comfortable goin’ after Ozark if I didn’t.”

  Little Bear surprised the mountain man by saying, “I wish you’d let me come with you. I wouldn’t mind a chance at evening the score with some of those outlaws.”

  “Sorry, son.” Preacher clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I know you got the heart of a lot bigger bear, but the rest of you has got to grow into it. I want to make sure you get the chance to do that.”

  “Thank you, Preacher.” Little Bear squared his shoulders. “I’ll help protect Annie and the twins, too, if I need to.”

  “I know you will.”

  For now, Audie, Annie, Little Bear, and the infants would remain here at the camp. If enough time passed, though, they would need to flee just in case Ozark might be on his way back.

  Preacher and Nighthawk dragged the bodies of the dead outlaws into the woods, well away from the fire. Annie didn’t need to have those bloody carcasses around while she and the others waited, and they might attract predators, too.

  Audie found some tin cups among the gear that had belonged to the dead men and poured coffee into them. Preacher sipped the strong black brew and nodded in satisfaction.

  “This is just what we needed before settin’ out after Ozark,” he said. “It’ll sure fortify us, ain’t that right, Nighthawk?”

  The warrior grunted and nodded. His years of traveling with Audie had given him an appreciation for coffee that some of his fellow Crow didn’t possess.

  The two of them didn’t linger long. Before they left, however, Annie came over to Preacher and said quietly, “You just risk your life for us over and over, Preacher. Why do my children and I matter so much to you?”

  “Well, it’s the right thing to do, I reckon. A long time ago, I ran into a fella from Tennessee by the name of Crockett. He had a habit of sayin’, ‘Be sure you’re right, then go ahead.’ I was already tryin’ to live by that sentiment before I met him, but he did a pretty good job of puttin’ it into words.”

  Annie said, “Are you talking about David Crockett? The famous frontiersman who was killed down in Texas fighting the Mexican army?”

  “Yes’m, that was him. To tell you the truth, I’m a mite surprised those boys of Santa Anna’s ever managed to kill him. He went down fightin’, too, I ain’t got no doubt about that. Anybody who says different is just a dadblasted liar.”

  “I’m sure it would have been the same with you, if you had been there at the Alamo.”

  Preacher didn’t say anything in response to that. His involvement with the Texas Revolution was a story for another time and place.

  Impulsively, Annie gave him a hug.

  “Please be safe and come back to us,” she said as she stepped back.

  “I sure intend to,” Preacher pledged.

  He wasn’t sure he liked the look he saw in her eyes, as if she might be feeling things she shouldn’t feel for a rough-as-a-cob rascal nearly old enough to be her pa, especially when he believed that Audie would be a much more suitable match for her.

  But that was something for another time and place, too.

  He and Nighthawk mounted up and rode toward the mountain with Dog trotting before them. None of them looked back at the camp. Their attention was focused on the task ahead.

  They had to put an end to the threat of Mack Ozark, and that meant killing him. Nothing else would ever stop the outlaw from coming after them.

  They might not have to kill all the other remaining members of Ozark’s gang. It was possible some of them might give up and try to put some distance between themselves and Preacher if Ozark was dead.

  But it would be simpler and safer in the long run to go ahead and send all of them across the divide, so that was Preacher’s plan for now.

  It was midafternoon by the time Preacher and Nighthawk approached the area where the avalanche had swept down the mountainside and into the trees. That was the closest spot to the cave, so Preacher figured that was where Mack Ozark would try to reach Jonathan Collins’s hiding place, even though the climb would be tougher now.

  Looking up at the rocky slope from where they were hidden in the trees, however, Preacher saw that the ascent would be possible. Maybe, despite what he had thought, even easier than it had been before the avalanche, since the boulders had scraped a possible path in places where the slope had been almost sheer when Preacher and Nighthawk climbed it.

  Preacher grunted at the irony of it. He had started the avalanche hoping to drive Ozark away, and in the end, he might have made it easier for the man to lay his hands on the hidden treasure he sought.

  It didn’t matter, Preacher told himself. Mack Ozark wasn’t going to live to spend any of that ill-gotten loot.

  Preacher and Nighthawk had dismounted as they approached the tree line, and they went ahead on foot with Dog. As they neared the place where Ozark’s men had dismounted, they heard the outlaws’ horses moving around. Voices drifted to Preacher’s ears as the men talked.

  He didn’t hear Ozark’s gravelly tones. Had the gang’s leader already started up to have a look at the cave? If so, then Ozark hadn’t taken all of his men with him because some of them were still down here.

  That would be an opportunity he and Nighthawk couldn’t afford to pass up, Preacher thought.

  Silently, he signaled to Nighthawk, indicating what the giant warrior should do. Nighthawk nodded in understanding and moved off through the brush with astonishing stealth for a man of his great size.

  Preacher went the other way. They closed in from opposite directions on the spot where Ozark’s men waited.

  Preacher pressed his back against a pine tree’s thick trunk, taking as much advantage of the cover as he could. He edged an eye around the trunk for a good look-see so he could take stock of the situation.

  His hunch had been right. Ozark wasn’t there. He counted four outlaws standing around holding the reins of the horses that had brought them here, along with those of two other mounts. Ozark had brought five men with him, Preacher recalled. Six horses meant that he had taken one man up to the cave with him.

  This was a good chance for Preacher and Nighthawk to even the odds against them.

  Suddenly, the outlaws jumped and exclaimed in surprise as several rocks the size of a man’s head came tumbling down the slope. That set off a miniature avalanche as the rocks started more dirt and gravel sliding. It didn’t amount to much, though, as was obvious when the dust that had billowed up momentarily dissipated.

  “Damn, that just about scared me right outta my boots,” one of the men said. “I thought for a second the whole side o’ the mountain was about to come down on us.”

  “Probably the boss and Truett are diggin’ up there around the cave and started those rocks rollin’,” another outlaw said. He handed his horse’s reins to one of the other men, stepped forward, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted up the slope, “Hey, boss, are you all right up there?”

  “The entrance to the cave is blocked!” Ozark called back down. “But we can get in there with a little work! We’re going to need some picks and shovels!”

  Preacher had thought the same thing earlier. Ozark had confirmed it. What Preacher and Nighthawk had to do now was make sure none of the outlaws got a chance to dig out the entrance to the cave.

  He knew Nighthawk would be watching from the other side of the open space where the four outlaws waited. The big warrior would follow Preacher’s lead.

  It would be nice to take Ozark by surprise, Preacher mused. He knew that back-door trail was still intact enough to use. If he could get up there and deal with Ozark and the other man while Nighthawk handled the outlaws down here … That meant Nighthawk would be facing four-to-one odds, but if anybody could tackle such a battle, it was the giant Crow.

  Besides, he could leave Dog down here to give Nighthawk a hand—or a paw, so to speak.

  Preacher let out the soft coo of a bird that sounded absolutely real. One of the outlaws turned his head to listen but then ignored it, and none of the others even appeared to notice.

  Nighthawk heard the summons, though, and a few minutes later the warrior appeared in the brush beside Preacher almost as if by magic.

  In the faintest of whispers that couldn’t be heard more than a couple of feet away, Preacher explained his plan to his old friend. Nighthawk listened solemnly and then nodded to show that he understood and agreed.

  “You’ll know when you and Dog need to make your move,” the mountain man concluded. “I reckon you’ll be able to hear the ruckus up yonder.”

  For a second, Nighthawk almost smiled. Almost.

  His huge hand fell on Preacher’s shoulder and squeezed lightly for a second. The two men nodded to each other.

  Preacher whispered briefly to Dog, who whined softly. Preacher knew that meant Dog wanted to come with him. His voice was firm as he said, “Stay. Help Nighthawk.”

  Dog licked his hand in affirmation. Preacher rubbed the animal’s ears and then set out to circle around to the foot of the back-door trail.

  When he was far enough away from the spot where the four outlaws waited for Ozark, he stood up and moved faster. After Preacher had been over some ground, even if it was only once, he had no trouble retracing his steps. He knew exactly where he was going and the fastest way to get there.

  Because of that, it didn’t take him long to reach his destination. He followed the trail up the mountainside to the point where it entered the long, narrow cleft.

  As he started along that gloomy passage, he drew his Colts. If Ozark or that other outlaw happened to come this direction, he would be a perfect target in the confined space with no place to take cover. If they opened fire on him, all he could do was blaze away in return and pray for a miracle.

  But luck was with him and the trail remained empty as it climbed toward the cave. When Preacher came closer, he heard Ozark and Truett talking, their voices interspersed with the clatter of rocks.

  The two outlaws were digging at the barrier left behind by the avalanche, using bare hands to pick up smaller rocks and toss them aside. That was probably what they had been doing when they started the little rockslide earlier.

  The sounds paused, and the other man said, “I don’t think we can get through this way, Mack.”

  “No, I already said we’re going to need tools,” Ozark replied. “But until we get them, we might as well clear away what we can. Just think, Ed—there’s a fortune in there waiting for us, only a few feet away.”

  The avarice was so fervent in Ozark’s voice that he sounded like a man worshipping something he regarded as holy.

  Which, when it came to money, might just be true in Ozark’s case.

  The outlaws went back to work as Preacher edged closer. His hands were wrapped tightly around the gun butts. When he reached the end of the cleft, he stepped out into the open and narrowed his eyes against the bright sunshine.

  What was left of the rock outcropping that formed the “nose” blocked him from sight of the two outlaws. But if he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him, either. He began moving down the trail toward them.

  Preacher placed each foot carefully, not wanting to dislodge any small rocks that might tumble down and alert Ozark and Truett that someone was nearby. He was especially cautious when he had to step over small gaps in the trail caused by the avalanche or move around piles of rubble it had left behind. Thankfully, he was sure-footed and had good balance.

  He was almost to the outcropping when he heard Ozark say, “We’ve cleared away enough for now. I’m not sure we could do much more, anyway. We’ll get a dozen men up here in a day or two, and it won’t take them long to finish the job.”

  Preacher intended to finish his job right now. With his hands clamped tightly on the revolvers, he slid down the last bit of slope and landed on the level space in front of the cave. Ozark and the other outlaw heard his boots hit the ground and jerked around toward him, but by the time they turned, Preacher had the Colts aimed squarely at them.

  “Best not move, gents,” the mountain man drawled, “because it’d be a plumb pleasure to fill both you varmints with lead.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Despite giving them that warning, Preacher didn’t expect the men to surrender, and sure enough, they didn’t.

  The outlaw called Truett still held a good-sized slab of stone he hadn’t thrown aside, and with a sudden grunt of effort, he heaved it at Preacher as hard as he could.

  Preacher triggered both Colts, but Truett’s tactic proved surprisingly effective. Both bullets struck the rock slab and whined off harmlessly. Preacher had to duck to the side to avoid being struck and possibly knocked off the rim. The brink was dangerously close to his boot heels.

  Truett had followed the rock when he threw it. He was right behind it, and Preacher didn’t have time to brace himself before the outlaw tackled him.

  For a second as he fell, Preacher thought they were both going over the edge. But they landed right next to it, saving them from a fatal fall—for the moment.

  Preacher was on the bottom. Truett tried to ram an elbow into the mountain man’s stomach and a knee into his groin at the same time. Preacher writhed out of the way of the knee, but the elbow dug into his belly and made air gust from his mouth.

  At the same time, he swung the right-hand pistol and crashed it against Truett’s head. Preacher felt bone shatter under the powerful blow. Truett’s eyes widened in shock as he loomed over Preacher. Blood welled from his nose and ears. He collapsed on top of the mountain man.

  Spasms shook Truett’s body as death claimed him. That made it difficult for Preacher to get hold of him as he tried to roll the outlaw’s body off.

  While Preacher had his hands full with that, Mack Ozark rushed him. Preacher heard the boss outlaw’s hurried footsteps pounding on the rock and twisted his left wrist to squeeze off a shot in his direction.

  However, from that awkward position the bullet flew wide, and the next instant Ozark’s boot heel slammed down hard on Preacher’s wrist. The vicious blow caused Preacher to grimace. His hand opened involuntarily, and the gun skidded away.

  He finally got his right leg free from Truett’s deadweight and twisted onto his left side so he could kick Ozark in the left thigh. That knocked the outlaw back several steps and gave Preacher time to finally shove the dead Truett away from him. Truett toppled over the edge and tumbled down the slope, arms and legs flopping lifelessly.

  Preacher rolled away from the brink and came up on his knees just in time to see that Ozark had picked up one of the rocks that had been thrown away from the pile in front of the cave. He heaved it at Preacher, who once again had to dive to the side to avoid being struck and carried over the edge.

  He wasn’t able to avoid the rock entirely, though. It struck his right shoulder with enough force to make that arm go numb. He knew the other Colt slipped from his fingers because he saw it hit the ground, but he couldn’t feel it.

  Now he didn’t have either revolver, but Ozark didn’t reach for his own gun. Instead, he bull-rushed Preacher, clearly intent on forcing the mountain man over the edge.

  Preacher scrambled to his feet to meet the charge. Ozark wasn’t expecting that and couldn’t check his attack in time to stop. Preacher’s right arm was still numb, but he whipped a punch with his left that landed solidly on Ozark’s jaw and jolted the outlaw’s head to the side. His momentum carried him into Preacher and the two of them grappled, swaying and circling, no more than a step or two from falling.

  Preacher got his left foot behind Ozark’s right knee and jerked that leg out from under the man. Ozark went over backward, but he hung on to Preacher and dragged the mountain man down with him. They rolled away from the brink toward the cave mouth.

  Ozark got a hand under Preacher’s chin and levered his head backward. Preacher had to let go. They broke apart and surged upright with about ten feet separating them. Even though the fight had been short, it had been so intense that both men were breathing hard.

  Preacher heard shouts and gunfire from down along the tree line, punctuated by fierce snarls and howls of pain. Nighthawk and Dog had gone to work on the rest of the outlaws when they heard the commotion up here. Preacher wished fleetingly that he knew how they were doing, but he didn’t have time to wonder about that right now.

  Not with a maddened killer like Mack Ozark facing him.

  Ozark might have been trying to give himself a moment to catch his breath as he said, “You’re a damn fool, Preacher. We both know there’s a fortune in there.” A sly look appeared on his face. “Why don’t you come in on it with me?”

  “Because I ain’t a no-good thief and killer,” Preacher shot back at him. “Besides, I wouldn’t trust you as far as I can throw you. You’d double-cross me without thinkin’ twice about it.”

  An ugly grin stretched across Ozark’s face. “Yeah, you’re right, I probably would,” he admitted. “You know, you’re pretty hard to kill. I think this time I’m going to get my hands around your throat and choke the life out of you myself, just to be sure you’re finally dead.”

  “Come on and try,” Preacher invited. “Even if you do it, I got friends down there. Nighthawk and Dog’ll take care o’ you.”

  “Even if they defeat my men, I’m not worried about them. I’ll just kill them, too. You see, Preacher”—and the grin got even uglier—“nothing can stop me. I won’t allow that to happen. I always get what I want, and I just kill anybody who gets in my way. Man, woman, child, it doesn’t matter. I just kill them. I always have.”

  Rage at such callous, casual evil welled up inside Preacher and boiled over. He reached back, plucked the tomahawk from behind his belt, and threw it in a continuation of the same motion. He felt no more compunction striking like that than he would have felt about killing a snake.

  Ozark was worse than a snake because he had a human intelligence, warped and perverted though it might be. Maybe he’d been trying to goad Preacher into making that move. He was ready and darted aside. His hand flashed up and caught the tomahawk as it spun through the air.