Then, almost too fast to see, he whipped it back at the mountain man.

  Preacher’s reflexes were just as fast. He leaped to the side and landed running. That lunge brought him to Ozark. Preacher’s right arm was working again. He swung that fist at Ozark’s face, and the outlaw had to jerk away from the punch. Preacher tackled him.

  They reeled back against the pile of rocks in front of the cave. Preacher got his shoulder against Ozark’s chest and rammed him into the rocks as hard as he could. Ozark finally showed some pain as his back struck against the rough stones.

  Preacher lifted a knee into Ozark’s belly. He was fighting with a seldom-seen desperation now. The two of them were evenly matched, but Preacher had suffered a lot more punishment over the past days. Ozark was fresher, maybe even stronger. Plus, he had an incredible amount of arrogance fueling him.

  But Preacher had an indefinable something that had carried him through decades of danger and uncountable adventures. Audie might call it a refusal to be defeated. Maybe it was just plain old muleheadedness. But Preacher had no give-up in him, and no back-up, either. He fought until a normal man would have given up—and then he fought some more.

  Ozark tried to throw punches at him to fend him off, but those blows were steadily getting weaker now. Preacher grabbed the front of Ozark’s shirt, jerked him away from the rocks, and slammed him against them again. And again.

  Somewhere close by, above Preacher’s head, stone rasped against stone.

  Ozark looked up, and for the first time, the confidence in his eyes disappeared and fear replaced it. Preacher knew the reaction was genuine. He glanced up, as well, and saw that one of the slabs of rock about ten feet above them in the pile was balanced delicately on some smaller rocks—and was leaning toward them. The slab was the size of a man’s torso and probably weighed a thousand pounds or more.

  “No!” Ozark shrieked.

  Preacher pulled him forward and then hammered him against the pile again. The big rock tipped and fell. Preacher let go and flung himself backward. Ozark’s scream was cut short by the huge crash as the stone slab came down on him.

  Preacher had lost his balance and fallen as he got out of the way. He lay there where he was and looked at Mack Ozark, who was pinned to the pile by the rock. Ozark’s body was visible only up to his upper chest. The rest of his torso and his head were underneath the slab. His arms and legs jerked and flailed for a couple of heartbeats, then sagged and hung loose and still. A crimson trickle began to run out from under the stone.

  Mack Ozark had died less than twenty feet from the fortune in hidden loot he had wanted so badly.

  Wearily, Preacher pushed himself to his feet. He went over to the edge and peered down at the tree line a couple of hundred feet below. The shooting and yelling had stopped down there, and as Preacher stepped into view, Nighthawk and Dog came out into the open where he could see them. The giant Crow lifted an arm over his head and waved to let Preacher know that everything was under control down there.

  A wave of relief went through the mountain man. He returned the wave and then started looking for his Colts and tomahawk. He wanted to retrieve the weapons before climbing down to rejoin his friends.

  He didn’t even glance at Ozark’s body again. The outlaw was dead, a richly deserved fate. That death wouldn’t bring back any of the innocent people Ozark had slaughtered during his bloody-handed career as an outlaw—but at least he would never take another life.

  Sometimes that had to be enough. Preacher picked up the revolvers, pouched the irons, tucked away the tomahawk, and started down to where Nighthawk and Dog waited for him.

  St. Louis, six weeks later

  The sun was barely up and mist still hung over the great river as Preacher and Nighthawk led their horses out of the livery stable where the animals had been kept the past few days. Dog was with them and looked as eager to be back on the trail as the big gray stallion was.

  They found Audie waiting for them, standing in the hard-packed dirt street with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face, the same stern look that had struck fear into the hearts of countless students during his university career.

  “So the two of you were just going to sneak off and head for the high country without bidding anyone farewell, is that it?”

  Nighthawk just looked uncomfortable. Preacher said, “We told you we were gonna be ridin’ out today. You won’t have no trouble findin’ us when you get back out there to the mountains. We’ll be somewhere around Dutch Charley’s. If we ain’t there, he’ll know where we are.”

  “It’s going to take quite a while to accompany Annie back to Illinois and see to it that she’s settled in a new life,” Audie pointed out. “I don’t expect you two footloose rapscallions to sit around and do nothing while you wait for me.”

  “I didn’t say we were gonna do nothin’. We’ll trap a mite, maybe do some fishin’. I don’t really care as long as no trouble crops up.” Preacher sighed. “It seems like I never can get out o’ the shadow of some ruckus for very long.”

  Audie nodded. “That does seem to be your destiny. And Nighthawk here isn’t much better at avoiding trouble.”

  “Umm,” the giant Crow said.

  “I know, I know, it’s not your fault. Someone always drags you into it.” Audie nodded toward Preacher. “And he’s worse about that than anyone else.”

  “Hey, now, I’m a peaceable man—”

  Dog barked. Preacher looked around to see Annie Collins and Little Bear hurrying toward them in the dawn light.

  Annie rushed up to Preacher and hugged him. “Don’t go back to the mountains,” she said. “Come with us to Illinois.”

  With Audie’s help and advice, she was going to found a school there, using the money they had brought back from the cave. They would never be able to find everyone the gang had robbed over the years, but at least that would be doing something worthwhile with the money.

  The outlaw compound had been empty when they got back to it. They had gotten word from some of the Salish that Mack Ozark was dead and so were all the men he had taken with him after the hidden loot. A hunting party from Red Shirt’s village had witnessed the battles from a distance and returned with the news.

  In return for the lion’s share of the supplies left at the village, Red Shirt had provided men to help Preacher and Nighthawk dig out the cave and recover the money. Preacher had a hunch the chief was a little embarrassed about cooperating with Ozark in the past, but the man hadn’t had much choice about that. He’d wanted to protect his people, and Preacher couldn’t fault him for that.

  “Civilization?” Preacher said now in response to Annie’s invitation to accompany her to Illinois. He made a face. “St. Louis is too civilized for my taste. I ain’t sure I could breathe the air back yonder in Illinois anymore.” He patted her shoulder. “But don’t you worry. Audie’ll take good care o’ you and the young’uns. Where are the young’uns, for that matter?”

  “They’re asleep at the hotel. The proprietor’s wife is looking after them. We had to come and say goodbye, at least.”

  Little Bear stepped up and said, “That’s right. And you don’t have to worry, either, Preacher. I’ll help Audie make sure the journey goes smoothly.”

  “I know you will,” Preacher said. “Are you comin’ back to the mountains?”

  “I don’t know yet. Maybe someday. I suppose that will depend on how things are in Illinois. I told you, I never really fit in on the frontier. But … I’m an Indian. I may not be welcome back east, either.”

  Annie said, “You’ll be fine wherever you go, Little Bear. You’re a fine, intelligent young man. I’m proud to call you my friend.”

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “And I’m very happy to have you as my friend.”

  Annie moved over beside Audie and rested a hand on his shoulder. Little Bear stood on the former professor’s other side. All three of them lifted hands in farewell as Preacher and Nighthawk swung into their saddles and turned the horses west, leading a couple of pack animals behind them.

  “This is the first time you and the little fella been apart in a good long while, ain’t it?” Preacher asked as they rode away.

  Nighthawk’s massive shoulders rose and fell.

  “You know, there’s a chance he might not come back to the mountains,” Preacher mused. “He’s a mighty good fit with Annie, if the two of ’em could ever open their eyes and realize it.”

  Nighthawk grunted.

  “You’re probably right. Audie’s got too much o’ the wild frontier in him to stay away permanent-like.” Preacher chuckled. “Just like you and me. We ain’t fit company for civilized human bein’s no more!”

  He looked back over his shoulder, something he hadn’t done too often in his life. He’d always been more focused on where he was going rather than where he had been.

  But sometimes there were moments … moments when it was all right to think about all the places he had been and all the things he had done … and lurking in the back of his mind, dreams of all the adventures yet to come.

  He looked—but only for a moment—at the three people waving goodbye, and then he turned his eyes westward again, toward the high country. Dog was bounding ahead as usual, full of energy and enthusiasm, and a grin creased the mountain man’s rugged face.

  “Let’s go home,” Preacher said.

 

 

  William W. Johnstone, Preacher's Hell

 

 

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