They crept forward, and it wasn’t long before Preacher caught sight of a faint, inconstant glow through the brush. That was the campfire he had smelled. He went to hands and knees and crawled ahead slowly, moving the brush aside a bit at a time to avoid making any racket.

  As he drew closer to the fire, he stretched out on his belly. Dog was close beside him, scooting along as carefully as Preacher. Hearing low-pitched male voices ahead of them, Preacher stopped and parted some branches to create a gap through which he could peer.

  Fifty yards away, a ridge jutted up from the landscape, rising to a protruding eminence that bulged out and overhung some flat ground forming a cave-like area under the rock. A small campfire burned in a ring of rocks underneath that overhang. The smoke drifted out into the darkness. Two horses were picketed off to the side, away from the camp. One man sat cross-legged beside the fire while another paced restlessly back and forth nearby.

  On the other side of the fire lay two small, motionless bundles. Preacher recognized the blankets in which Apollo and Artemis had been wrapped the last time he saw them.

  He would have felt better if the babies had been squalling or even moving around a little. The way they were lying there so quietly worried him.

  Of course, it was possible they were just sleeping, he told himself. Right from the start, Mack Ozark’s men had acted as if they didn’t want any harm to come to the infants, although they hadn’t cared at all who else they hurt or killed.

  Preacher couldn’t make out the words as the men talked. The one on his feet seemed upset about something. He waved his arms as he paced. Maybe he believed this was a foolish errand Mack Ozark had sent them on. Recovering the babies had cost quite a few men their lives. Maybe this hombre didn’t believe they were worth it.

  Or maybe something else entirely was bothering him. Preacher might ask him later—assuming he didn’t kill the baby-stealing son of a buck first.

  It wouldn’t take him long to go back to where he’d left Audie and Nighthawk and tell them what he’d found. But as he studied the situation, he decided that might not be necessary. A plan formed in his mind. He whispered to Dog for a few minutes, instructing the big cur on what he needed to do. Most folks would think he was crazy, trusting a dog to understand him like that, but Preacher knew from experience that this dog could grasp more things than anybody else would believe.

  “Stay,” he concluded, and was confident that Dog would wait right here until Preacher was ready for him to carry out the other commands he’d been given.

  Preacher backed off a ways and then got to his feet. He moved to his left, staying low and being as quiet and careful as he had been approaching the camp. When he had gone a quarter of a mile or so, he angled back toward the ridge. In the thick shadows of night, he was well out of sight of his quarry when he reached it. He could still see the campfire’s faint glow in the distance, but the two men couldn’t see him.

  He scrambled up the slope with ease, using rocks and the roots of the brush that grew there for footholds and handholds. He was cautious in his ascent, making sure not to dislodge anything that would fall and make a noise.

  When he reached the top, he catfooted toward the large, bulging rock that hung out over the camp.

  Within minutes, he had crawled out onto that rock and could see the trees and thick underbrush where Dog waited. He couldn’t see the camp itself, but the flickering light from the fire spilled out onto the open ground in front of it.

  The two men below him were quiet. If they had been arguing about something earlier, they had settled the dispute or at least given up on it for the night. Preacher could tell by the quality of the firelight that the flames were dying down. The two men must have turned in for the night.

  Preacher cupped his hands around his mouth and made a quiet, hooting sound. If the two men even noticed it, they would take it for a night-hunting owl.

  Dog knew better, though. That was the signal for the big cur to put Preacher’s plan into action.

  Dog pushed through the brush and stalked into the open. He stopped at the edge of the light from the fire and let out a loud, menacing growl.

  The two horses reacted immediately, throwing up their heads and trumpeting frightened neighs. That finished the job of waking the two men. One of them yelled, “What the hell!”

  The other man cursed and said, “It’s a damn wolf! Shoot it!”

  “Take it easy,” the first man responded. “That old mountain man and his friends may be looking for us. I don’t want a gunshot to lead them right to us if I can help it.”

  “But the wolf—”

  “I’ll scare it off.”

  So far, the men were reacting just the way Preacher hoped they would. He moved closer to the rock’s edge. Out there at the boundary of the light, Dog continued growling and snarling, acting like he was going to attack at any second.

  “Do something!” the first man urged. “If we let a wild animal drag those babies off, Mack will kill us.”

  There was confirmation the two varmints were working for Mack Ozark, Preacher thought. Not that he had doubted it for a second.

  “Keep your blasted shirt on,” the second man said, raising his voice to be heard over the commotion Dog was creating. “I don’t care if it is a wolf, it’s bound to be scared of fire.”

  The man strode out from under the overhang, brandishing a burning branch he had taken from the fire. He waved it toward Dog and yelled, “Get out of here, damn you! Go away!”

  Dog stood his ground, his hackles rising even more. The man drew back his arm as if he intended to throw the branch at the big cur.

  Preacher leaped off the rock.

  He only fell about twelve feet before his feet slammed into the man’s back, but that was far enough to give him considerable momentum. The unexpected weight and impact drove the man forward and knocked him to the ground. The torch flew out of his hand and sailed toward where Dog had put on his threatening show.

  The big cur was no longer there, however. He was already dashing forward, headed for the cave under the rock.

  Preacher landed on his feet and nimbly kept his balance. The man he had just jumped on was sprawled in front of him. Preacher sprang forward, planted a knee in the middle of the man’s back to pin him to the ground, and drew his right-hand Colt. He pressed the muzzle to the back of the man’s head.

  The man had started trying to move as he regained his senses after being knocked to the ground, but he went absolutely still when he felt the gun barrel prodding him.

  “That’s mighty smart,” Preacher told him. “Stay still like that and maybe I won’t blow your brains out. Maybe.”

  He glanced over his shoulder as terrified screams rang out. Dog had knocked the other man onto his back and was ripping at him with razor-sharp fangs. The man flailed madly but couldn’t get away from the animal. Gradually, his struggles weakened as he lost more blood through the gaping wounds Dog’s teeth had opened in his throat. He stopped screaming and then lay still. Dog savaged him for a few more seconds before backing off and continuing to snarl as blood dripped from his muzzle.

  “You hear that?” Preacher said to the other man. “You give me any trouble and I’ll turn you over to that wolf of mine. He’ll rip you to pieces just like he did your partner.”

  Dog wasn’t a wolf, of course, but the prisoner didn’t have to know that. He said, “Please, mister, whatever you want, I—I’ll go along with it. Don’t let that beast anywhere near me!”

  Preacher took the gun away from the man’s head, rose to his feet, and backed off a few steps. He kept the Colt trained on the man as he said, “All right, get up. Don’t try anything.”

  The man climbed shakily to his feet. He didn’t appear to be carrying a pistol, but he had a sheathed knife at his waist. Preacher reached in from behind with his left hand and drew the blade from its sheath. He tossed the weapon aside, well out of reach.

  Then he moved around where the man could see him and motioned with the revolver.

  “Go on back to the fire. You damn well better hope those little ones are all right, or else you’re sure gonna pay for whatever happened to ’em.”

  “They’re fine,” the man said. “Clark and me took good care of them, I swear it. Our boss wants the little varmints back safe and sound.”

  “That’d be Mack Ozark, eh?”

  A look of surprise crossed the man’s beard-stubbled face. “You know Ozark?”

  “I ain’t never crossed trails with him, but I sure as blazes know who he is.”

  A sigh of resignation came from the prisoner as he said, “Then you know why you might as well go ahead and shoot me, mister. When Mack finds out we had those babies and then lost them, he’ll kill me. He’s liable to take his time about it and make me suffer, too.”

  “Don’t sound like a very good fella to work for.”

  “Not in some ways. But he always comes up with good ideas for us to make money. Once you’re part of the bunch, though, there’s no way out except dying. So men are willing to do whatever it takes to keep him happy.”

  As they moved under the overhang, the prisoner stopped to stare down at the gruesome carcass of his former comrade. Dog growled at him and made him shy away.

  “Poor Clark,” he muttered. “He never had a chance.”

  “No, but you do,” Preacher said. “Why does Mack Ozark want them babies so bad?”

  The prisoner laughed, but the sound held no genuine humor. He seemed to have gotten over his momentary fear of Dog and was now more concerned about the threat of Mack Ozark’s wrath.

  “Do you think I’d tell you, even if I knew? Crossing Ozark is the best way to wind up dead.” The man shook his head. “But as it happens, I don’t know, and that’s the God’s honest truth. When he found out they were gone, he sent out search parties to look for them, and then once he got word that the old Indian and the girl were dead and some other fellas had the babies, he just about went crazy. He never told us what’s so important about them, though, just that we’d better find them and bring them back to him just like they were when they disappeared, even wrapped in the same blankets and everything.”

  “Who do they belong to? Are they Ozark’s kids?”

  “I’ve told you all I’m going to tell you, mister.” The prisoner scowled. “What business is it of yours, anyway? Why are they so important to you? Judging by what I’ve heard from the fellas who made it back from Dutch Charley’s, you never even saw those babies until the fight at the trading post.”

  “I gave that Flathead gal my word I’d take care of ’em,” Preacher said. “Seems to me the best way to do that is to take ’em back to their ma. Tell me who that is and where to find her, and maybe you’ll come through this whole mess alive.”

  “I’m not saying anything else, mister. Hell, you can even sic that wolf of yours on me. I’d rather that than have Mack Ozark mad at me.”

  “You’re a damn fool,” Preacher snapped. “But if that’s what you want—”

  He was about to order Dog to threaten the prisoner, but before the words could come from his mouth, the big cur whirled around and growled as he peered out at the night. Preacher knew instantly from Dog’s reaction that some other danger was lurking out there in the shadows, so he wasn’t surprised when he saw orange muzzle flame rip the darkness apart.

  CHAPTER 10

  The crack of a rifle sounded at the same time. A split-second later, Preacher sensed as much as heard the wind-rip of a rifle ball past his head as he darted aside and threw himself forward onto his belly.

  By the time he landed on the hard-packed ground, he had drawn the second Colt. With irons in both hands, he opened fire on the spot where he had seen the muzzle flash.

  The guns hammered out a crashing melody as Preacher thumbed off shot after shot. Tongues of flame a foot long licked from their muzzles as they bucked in his strong hands.

  When the hammers fell on empty chambers, he rolled to one side and kicked out at the fire, scattering the burning chunks of wood so the flames wouldn’t light up the cave-like area. He made sure to kick the fire away from the two blanket-wrapped bundles lying nearby.

  While he was doing that, Preacher caught a glimpse of the prisoner he had been questioning. The man lay on his back with his arms flung out to the sides. He wasn’t moving. Preacher remembered the rifle ball that had missed him so closely and wondered if it had flown on to strike the prisoner.

  He could check on that later, assuming he survived this fight. For the moment, the fella didn’t appear to be any threat, so Preacher wasn’t going to worry about him.

  Preacher holstered the Colts and crawled quickly over to the infants. He scooped them up and moved closer to the rock wall at the back of the camp where the shadows were thicker. Apollo and Artemis began to squirm and fuss. Those cries were welcome sounds. They proved to Preacher that both babies were still alive and evidently unharmed.

  He settled them on the ground and stayed on his knees beside them as he began reloading the Patersons. He carried spare, already-loaded cylinders so he could swap them out quickly when he needed to. He felt a little better when he had ten rounds ready to fire again.

  So far, only the one shot had come from outside the cave. Preacher glanced at the prisoner again. The man still hadn’t moved. Preacher was convinced the stray shot had struck him and either killed him or badly injured him.

  A grimace crossed the mountain man’s face. He probably could have found out more from the man if he’d had the chance to keep questioning him. Now that opportunity might well be lost.

  Apollo and Artemis stopped crying quite so frantically, although they still made fretting noises. Preacher tried to shush them, but it didn’t do any good. He hoped they wouldn’t cover up any sounds an enemy might make trying to sneak up on him.

  He didn’t see any sign of Dog and knew the big cur must have taken off in an attempt to find whoever had fired that shot at them. Dog was smart enough to know there was an enemy out there in the shadows, and he would do his best to deal with that threat.

  A few moments later, a familiar voice called, “Preacher! Where are you?”

  That was Audie. If he and Nighthawk were out there, the unknown rifleman must have fled. Preacher was cautious, anyway, as he moved closer to the open and replied, “Over here at the base of the ridge under this big rock.”

  Audie and Nighthawk both had keen enough vision to locate the place he was talking about. Most of the flames had died out since Preacher had scattered the campfire, but a few of the embers still glowed enough to cast a faint light. That light revealed Audie and Nighthawk as they approached the cave. Dog trotted up with them.

  “I heard Apollo and Artemis crying,” Audie said. “Are they all right?”

  “I ain’t had a chance to check them over yet,” Preacher said, “but they sound like they’re fine. Leather-lunged, just like always.”

  “Nighthawk, gather up that wood and build the fire up again.” Audie knelt next to the infants and added over his shoulder, “Preacher, I thought you were going to come back and get us once you’d scouted the situation. Then the next thing we know, we hear those Colts of yours thundering as if all hell were breaking loose.”

  “When Dog led me up here, I realized I stood a good chance o’ dealin’ with those two varmints my own self,” Preacher explained. “Darned near did, too, but there must’ve been a third one I didn’t know about, or else he came up lookin’ for them just like I was. He took a potshot at me, so I figure he must’ve been one of Ozark’s men, too.”

  “There didn’t seem to be anyone around when Nighthawk and I arrived.”

  “He lit a shuck after he saw he’d missed me and I started throwin’ a heap of lead right back at him.”

  “That makes sense.” Audie had unwrapped one of the babies by now and held the infant up to have a better look. “Apollo doesn’t seem to be hurt, thank goodness.”

  Apollo must have recognized Audie. He was making cooing noises now, sounding much happier than he had been only moments earlier.

  Audie wrapped up the little boy again. Nighthawk had the fire blazing by now, and by its light Audie checked on Artemis, too. “She’s all right,” he reported with obvious relief in his voice. “Once again, fortune has smiled on us. The question is, how long will it continue to do so?”

  Preacher went over to have a look at the man he’d been interrogating. He had a dark-rimmed hole in his forehead where the rifle ball had struck him and was as dead as he could be. Luck had ended his life just as surely as it had preserved those of Apollo and Artemis.

  “I tried to find out from this fella why Ozark wants those young’uns so bad,” Preacher said. “He swore up one way and down the other that he didn’t know, only that Ozark ordered his men to find the kids and bring ’em back safe and sound. I asked him who their ma is, but he wouldn’t tell me that and I didn’t get around to forcin’ it out of him before the shootin’ started.”

  “So actually, we don’t know any more than we did before,” Audie said.

  Preacher grunted. “Well, we know this here Mack Ozark is one mighty bad hombre. That fella saw what Dog did to his partner and that spooked him pretty bad at first, but when I threatened to let Dog loose on him unless he talked, he still didn’t want to cooperate. Said he was more scared of what Ozark would do to him if he ever found out.”

  “And that’s the man who wants to get his hands on these children,” Audie said with a shake of his head. “We can’t allow that to happen, Preacher.”

  “We won’t,” the mountain man said. “You can bet a hat on that. But what if their ma is dead, or worse, is willin’ to turn the little ones over to Ozark?”

  “No mother would ever do something like that!”

  “I reckon you have a heap more faith in human nature than I do.”

  Audie frowned. “Think about it, though. Perhaps she sent the children away with Bluebird and her grandfather because she wanted to get them away from Ozark.”

  “If that’s what happened, then we’re takin’ ’em right back to where their ma didn’t want them to be.”