Preacher's Fury. William W. Johnstone
Читать онлайн книгу.
is true,” Raven admitted. “My people’s village is less than half a day’s ride from here. You can present your request to Bent Leg and see what he says. If he refuses, you will still have time to look elsewhere.”
“Fair enough,” Preacher said. He hunkered on his heels and picked up the coffeepot to pour a little in his cup. “If you don’t mind my askin’, where’d you learn to speak English? You seem to savvy it pretty good.”
“My father was a trapper who came up the Missouri River to Fort Lisa,” she explained, naming the outpost that the first American fur trappers had founded. “He remained in the mountains for the rest of his life. He married my mother and taught me the white man’s tongue.”
“What was his name?” Preacher asked. “I’ve been out here for a good many years myself. Maybe I ran into him at a rendezvous or somethin’ like that.”
“His name was George Harris.”
Preacher grinned.
“Ol’ Georgie? Shoot, yeah. I never knew him well, but we shook and how died a few times.” He grew more solemn. “You say he’s crossed the divide?”
“Two years ago,” Raven said with a nod. “A fever took him.”
“Well, I’m right sorry to hear that. He was a good man, and I never heard anybody say any different.”
“Thank you.”
“He did a good job teachin’ you white man’s lingo, too.”
“Yes, indeed,” Audie agreed. “Have you ever given any thought to going East to attend a real school, Raven?”
She gave him a look like he had gone mad.
“Everything I need is in these mountains,” she said.
“But with an actual education, you could—”
Preacher silenced Audie with an outstretched hand. He had heard something in the trees. He knew better than to think it was the Gros Ventre raiders come back to life. Noises meant flesh and blood. He reached for his rifle.
As Preacher touched the weapon, a man stepped out of the trees holding a bow and arrow. The bowstring was drawn back tautly, and all it would take to send the arrow driving deep into Preacher’s body was the slightest motion of the man’s fingers.
CHAPTER 7
Raven’s Wing spoke sharply in Assiniboine. Preacher was fairly fluent in the language, so he had no trouble translating the words.
“Two Bears, no! These strangers are friends. They rescued me from Snake Heart’s men!”
The bow and arrow didn’t budge a fraction of an inch in the warrior’s hands. Preacher didn’t make any threatening moves. He told his companions, “Better stay still as you can be, fellas. I’d bet this ol’ hat of mine there are more of ’em in the trees, just waitin’ to turn us into pincushions.”
The warrior Raven had called Two Bears was a big, husky man with a couple of feathers in his slicked-down black hair. From the looks of the way he was glaring at Preacher, he had taken a dislike to the mountain man right off.
“Two Bears,” Raven said, still speaking Assiniboine, “the raiders are all dead. This man killed five of them by himself. He is the one called Preacher.”
Two Bears’ eyes narrowed.
“Preacher?” he repeated in a guttural voice.
“That’s right,” Preacher said, also speaking the Assiniboine tongue. “It’s been a while since I’ve visited Bent Leg, Two Bears, but you ought to remember me. And this is Audie and Nighthawk, you ought to know them.”
“The Little Man,” Two Bears said as he looked at Audie.
“I know you mean no insult by that,” Audie said, also in Assiniboine.
“Could somebody maybe tell me what’s goin’ on?” Lorenzo asked in English. “Are we all gonna die?”
“Eventually,” Preacher said dryly, “but I got a hunch it ain’t gonna be tonight.”
Two Bears slowly lowered his bow and let the tension off the string. He made a curt motion, and one by one, nearly a dozen more Assiniboine warriors stepped out of the trees. Their bows were still raised and ready to launch their arrows.
“Lord have mercy,” Lorenzo muttered. “We was in a fix, all right.”
“Still might be,” Preacher told him. “Stay calm and follow my lead.”
“Easier said than done when you start jabberin’ in that redskin talk and I don’t have no earthly idea what you’re sayin’.”
“Stay where you are,” Preacher said. He stood up and moved deliberately toward Two Bears, keeping his hands in front of him so it was obvious they were empty. He confronted Two Bears and went on, “I have always been friends with the Assiniboine. And the Gros Ventre and their cousins the Blackfeet are my enemies. The people who live in the mountains know that.”
Two Bears nodded.
“This is a thing that is known.”
“You probably already found the bodies of the three Gros Ventre raiders in the trees. There are three more atop the bluff. They attacked us, and we killed them. Then we found the one called Raven’s Wing, who was their prisoner.”
“He speaks the truth, Two Bears,” Raven said.
“Then the people of Bent Leg owe you a debt,” Two Bears said, “for saving one of our fairest maidens.”
Preacher couldn’t argue with that assessment of Raven’s beauty. Instead he held out his hand and said, “The friendship of Two Bears and the rest of the Assiniboine is ample payment of that debt.”
Two Bears hesitated, but only for a second. He gripped Preacher’s hand, then ordered the other warriors to lower their weapons.
“Should I be heavin’ a sigh of relief about now, Preacher?” Lorenzo asked.
“I reckon you could do that,” the mountain man said. “We’re all friends now.”
“Thank the Lord for that. I was about to mess my drawers when all them Injuns stepped outta the woods like that.”
The Assiniboine warriors hunkered near the fire, except for a couple who moved off into the trees at Two Bears’ command. Preacher knew they would stand watch, although it was unlikely there were any more enemies in this valley who would attack such a large group.
Two Bears himself sat close to Raven’s Wing, and Preacher sensed the possessiveness in the man. He didn’t exactly act like Raven was his wife, but he had it in mind that she might be one of these days, thought Preacher.
“After the Gros Ventre raided your village, you pursued them?” he asked.
Two Bears nodded solemnly.
“At first Bent Leg said we would not give chase, since they stole no ponies, but I persuaded him that we should pursue them anyway.”
“To rescue Raven’s Wing, you mean.”
“Yes. She is his niece, and he did not think it was right to risk the lives of his warriors for one prisoner, even though he is her uncle.”
Preacher understood. As chief, Bent Leg’s first responsibility was to the entire band, and he couldn’t be seen to be playing favorites because one of his relatives was in danger.
“But you changed his mind.”
“I had no choice. Raven’s Wing could not live her life as a slave to the filthy Gros Ventre.”
Yeah, he was definitely sweet on her, Preacher thought. Well, there was nothing wrong with that. He wouldn’t have wanted