With a silent urge the first wave of attackers came out of the night like deadly wraiths.
The attacking Arapahos were met by an almost solid wall of heavy-caliber lead balls. One buck leaped between two wagons directly at Preacher. Preacher lifted his right-hand gun and stopped the Arapaho in midair, the twin-balls slamming into his belly and chest. He fell back—his bare chest and belly torn open and bloody—dead before he hit the ground.
One suddenly screaming Arapaho leaped at Faith, his lips peeled back in a snarl. She lifted her rifle and shot him in the face, the ball entering his open mouth and exiting out near the top of his head. He fell soundlessly to the earth and did not even twitch.
Yet another enraged buck got inside the circled wagons and managed to get his hands on Eudora’s shirt. She bodily threw him against the side of a wagon and proceeded to club his head in with the butt of her rifle.
“Come on in, you bastard!” Blackjack roared over the sounds of screams and gunfire, closing his hands around the neck of a very surprised buck and dragging him over a wagon tongue. With one quick and powerful move, the huge mountain man snapped the warrior’s neck. Blackjack then picked the man up effortlessly and tossed him back outside the wagons.
Snake looked down to see a dusty hand closing around one of his spare rifles. The aged mountain man slashed down with his razor sharp knife and the Arapaho was suddenly one-handed. The Indian screamed in pain and rolled back out into the night, blood streaming from his mangled arm.
The attack ended abruptly, the brown shapes rushing back into the darkness, carrying or dragging their wounded, dead, and dying.
“Get a head count, Rupert,” Preacher said. “Let’s see what damage they done. Every other woman reload and face forward and keep your eyes sharp; the others tend to the wounded. And we got some. I heard ’em scream.”
One woman was dead, four were wounded. But the wounded were not hurt too bad. They were in some pain, but would live.
Preacher knelt down beside one woman with an arrow stuck in her shoulder. “Get some whiskey,” he told Eudora. “And pour some down her throat.” When the lady had taken several good slugs, Preacher took a taste himself, wiped his mouth, and grasped the shaft of the arrow. “This ain’t gonna be no fun, but I got to do it.”
“Do it,” the woman said through gritted teeth.
Eudora and Wallis held the woman’s arms while Preacher pushed the point of the arrow all the way through. The woman shrieked once and then passed out.
“Good,” Preacher said, breaking off the arrowhead and then pulling the shaft out. He poured whiskey into both entry and exit wounds and then left her for the women to bandage and tend.
“Who’s dead?” Preacher asked Rupert.
“Miss Shivley. She took an arrow right through the throat.”
“Let’s wrap her up and stash her under a wagon ’til mornin’. We’ll plant her then. Any livestock get hurt?”
“None. Will the savages return this night?”
“They’ll be back.”
The attackers were back long before Preacher anticipated their return. Something was really eating at them and he could not figure out what it was. But nevertheless, he had his people ready for the angered Arapaho. But this time they not only came slipping out of the night on foot, they were charging their ponies into the battle, with many of them leaping over the tongues and into the circle.
“It’s all up to you, ladies!” Preacher yelled. “We’re gonna have our hands full out here.” He was yelling as he ran to face a buck charging him in the semigloom, the only light coming from the moon. The warrior had a long lance and there was murder in his eyes. Preacher lifted his right hand pistol and fired, the ball striking the Arapaho in the throat, lifting him off his horse and sending him tumbling and rolling on the ground.
Ol’ Snake had two bucks backing up. Neither one of them liked that long bladed Bowie knife that glistened and gleamed in the faint light. And they didn’t like the sight of the blood that dripped from the blade. Arapaho blood. Snake faked to one side while a buck went with the fend, and Snake brought up a pistol with his left hand and shot the Arapaho through the heart just as Steals Pony picked up a dropped lance and threw it. The lance went all the way through the other brave and pinned him to the side of a wagon. He died soundlessly.
Blackjack picked a buck up bodily and brought him down back-first over his knee. The sound of the Indian’s back breaking was audible even over the screaming and gunfire.
Preacher jerked a buck off his horse and both of them fell to the ground. They came to their feet fighting and the Arapaho swung a war-axe, but Preacher caught the Indian’s wrist and stopped his swing cold in an iron grip. The brave tried to kick Preacher and Preacher flipped him over one hip, bouncing him off the side of a wagon. The Arapaho lost his axe and jerked out a knife. Preacher jerked out a pistol and ended that brief argument with one ball through the heart.
He looked around. The clearing held no more live hostiles. Preacher raced to the wagons and faced the attack from the night. But the attack was over. The Arapaho had taken quite a beating in the two charges and they had had enough.
Preacher had him a sudden thought. “Broken Nose!” he shouted. “Wait.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Faith demanded angrily.
“Hush up, woman. Broken Nose! You hear me?”
“I hear you, Preacher. What trick do you have now?”
“No tricks, Broken Nose. You and your people fought bravely and well. I would not have such brave men to wander forever in the darkness. That would be wrong. We will carry them to the edge of the wagons. You and your people can pick them up there for proper burial. Is that fair?”
“Good thinkin’, Preacher,” Snake whispered, walking up. “He’ll owe you for that and won’t attack no more.”
“It is a trick!” Broken Nose called.
“No trick, Broken Nose. I give you my word. And you know I don’t break my word.”
“That is truth,” the voice came out of the night.
“Think of the wives and mothers of your fallen men. If you bring them back home, the women won’t have to slash themselves in grief.”
“That is also truth,” Broken Nose said, his voice calmer now.
Preacher stepped into the space between two wagons, holding his rifle high. “I’m puttin’ down my rifle, Broken Nose. And my pistols.” He laid his Hawken down and his pistols beside it. “I’m goin’ back to fetch one of your brave men, Broken Nose.”
“And the rest of us, too,” Blackjack said, laying down his weapons.
“We’ll tote them to the clearin’,” Snake said.
“I shall meet you at the wagons,” Broken Nose said. “And I, too, will be without weapons.”
“Bring some of your people with you,” Preacher said. “With horses so’s you can take your dead back home,” Preacher told Eudora, “Put on some coffee and fix something to eat,” I’m gonna get to the bottom of why peace-lovin’ Arapaho attacked us.”
Preacher and the mountain men handled the bodies with the respect due to the dead and the Arapaho noticed this. When the dead had been carried off, Preacher invited Broken Nose and some of his people inside the circle.
“No tricks, Broken Nose. We fought us a fight, now it’s over. I want to know why you wanted to fight us. Let’s have coffee and food and talk some.”
Broken Nose stared at Preacher for a long moment. Then a very faint smile creased his mouth. “Yes. That would be a good thing. There is no need for more blood to be spilled. Your women are warriors, Preacher.”
“Ain’t they, though?”
Broken Nose waved a few of his men forward and stepped over the tongue and into the clearing. “Leave your weapons outside the wagons,” he told them. When they hesitated, he again said, “Leave your weapons!”