“You should if you love her. We’re her only hope.”
Every fiber of his being screamed for him to ride like the wind, but Chases Rabbits slowed the pinto to a walk. “There. Happy?”
“Don’t take it out on us,” Zach said. “We didn’t steal your one and only.”
Chases Rabbits had not sulked since he was small, but he sulked now. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
A series of hills appeared, broken by bluffs and patches of woods. They spooked a few deer, but Chases Rabbits hardly noticed. In his mind, he saw only Raven On The Ground’s face, floating in the air and beckoning him to hurry. “Me kill Geist for this,” he vowed.
“You’ll have to get in line,” Zach said.
Chases Rabbits refused to be denied his coup. “Him not take your woman. Him take mine.”
“We all have a stake in this,” Nate said. “The mountains are our home. Anyone who poses a danger to one of us is a threat to all.”
Chases Rabbits had to think for the right word. “This personal.”
“I get the chance, he’s dead,” Zach said.
A bluff reared ahead, its face split by cracks.
Nate reined up. “Do you see what I see?”
“What?” Chases Rabbits asked.
Zach produced his spyglass. He trained it on the bluff, and swore.
“What?” Chases Rabbits said a second time.
“Take a gander,” Zach said, handing him the brass tube. “But keep hold of yourself.”
“What you mean?” Chases Rabbits asked, and pressed the spyglass to his eye.
“Turn it a bit if you can’t see clearly.”
Chases Rabbits saw a blur. He fiddled with the end, and the bluff came into focus. So did the two figures wedged into cracks, their long hair loose and spilling over their shoulders. It was Raven On The Ground and Flute Girl. They were bound and naked.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Zach was reaching for the spyglass when Chases Rabbit let out a war whoop and slapped it against the pinto. “Don’t!” Zach cried.
Pumping his rifle in the air and yipping, Chases Rabbits charged toward the bluff.
“Consarn it. He’ll get us all killed.” Nate charged after him.
Zach slapped his legs and reined to the right, then to the left. High on the bluff, a rifle boomed and a leaden wasp buzzed his ear, missing by a whisker’s width. Bending, he lashed the reins. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed his father swing on the offside of the bay. He did likewise on the dun.
Chases Rabbits, though, continued to charge straight ahead and was almost to the bluff when a blast from a cleft sent him catapulting backward over the pinto’s rump.
Zach let go of the reins and dropped. He was in waist-high grass and hidden from the shooter in the cleft, if not from the rifleman on the bluff. As if to confirm it, a shot cracked from up high and dirt kicked into the air a few inches from his face. He crabbed into thicker grass. The shooter in the cleft must have spotted him, because another shot clipped stems close to his head. He heard his pa’s bay galloping around the bluff, and figured his pa was going after the rifleman.
A low groan fluttered on the breeze. It had to be Chases Rabbits, but there was nothing Zach could do for him until he dealt with the killers. Wisps of gun smoke told him which cleft the shooter was in, and when a shadow moved, Zach reared up and fired. The shadow pulled back.
Zach reloaded. Whoever was on top of the bluff had stopped shooting at him, no doubt to deal with his pa. He fought down a bout of worry. His pa could take care of himself.
“You hear me out there, boy?” Geist yelled.
The man did love to talk, Zach thought, as he tamped the patch and ball down the barrel with the ramrod.
“No need to answer. The important thing is that you listen.”
Zach wondered how Geist had lasted so long, with the mistakes he made.
“I want you to stand up where I can see you, with your hands in the air.”
Zach almost laughed.
“If you don’t, your friend’s sweetheart dies. I planted a keg of black powder at her feet. All I have to do is light the fuse, and she’s a goner.”
Zach didn’t recall seeing any kegs of black powder at the mercantile—but there could have been.
“I’ll count to five, boy, and then it’s all over for her,” Geist hollered.
Zach slid the ramrod into its housing and took aim at the cleft Geist was in.
“One.”
Both Raven On The Ground and Flute Girl appeared to be unconscious.
“Two.”
Zach debated firing even though he couldn’t see him. The slug might ricochet and score.
“Three.”
Zach coiled his legs under him but didn’t show himself.
“I thought you liked that simpleton,” Geist said. “Or is it that the squaw means nothing to you?” He paused. “Four.”
Zach’s every instinct was to stay put. Instead, he laid the Hawken on the ground and rose with his arms overhead. “Don’t kill her.”
From the cleft came a cackle. Geist stepped out, a burning lucifer in one hand, a pistol in the other. “Well, now. I honestly thought you’d let me do it.” He blew on the lucifer. “Tell me true. Dryfus, Gratt, and Berber, are they dead?”
“Dead as dead can be.”
“Damn, you are a hellion. Any last words before I squeeze the trigger?”
“The war party will be here soon,” Zach said, and took a step.
“What are you talking about?” Geist peered past Zach to the west. “What war party?”
“About a dozen Crows.” Zach took another step. “They showed up at the mercantile as I was heading out. We split up to cover more ground, but they were bound to have heard the shots.”
“You’re lying.”
“Suit yourself. But I sure wouldn’t want to be in your boots when they get their hands on you.” Again Zach edged forward.
“I have the squaws.”
“You disgraced those girls. The warriors might figure they’re better off dead.” Zach advanced another stride. He was close enough; he might take a slug, but he mustn’t let it stop him.
“I hate those damn Crows almost as much as I hate you. Their women aren’t the whores I thought they were.”
“You made the same mistake a lot of whites do,” Zach said, and took another step for good measure. “You think Indians are inferior. You think they’re animals. That they’re nothing but savages. But most of them are smart, and decent human beings.”
“Don’t lecture me, boy,” Geist snapped. He was still scouring the terrain to the west for any sign of the war party.
“People are people. They might dress different, and talk different, and eat different, but that doesn’t make them less than you.”
“I said no lectures!”
“How about I just kill you,” Zach said, and sprang. Geist thrust his flintlock out to shoot, but Zach swatted it. The gun went off, but the barrel was pointing down. Zach got hold of Geist’s wrist. Geist cursed and punched Zach on the chin. It hurt, but Zach stayed on his feet and slugged back.
There was a flash and puff of smoke, followed by a loud hiss.
Zach glanced down. Geist hadn’t been lying; there was a fuse, and it had somehow ignited. Sparks and smoke were rippling along it toward Raven On The Ground. At her feet was a small keg with the other end of the fuse attached. Zach let go and turned to try to stomp the fuse out, but Geist slammed the spent pistol against his temple while flinging out a leg and tripping him. Zach fell to his knees. Before he could rise, Geist was behind him, his boots on either side, the pistol against his throat. Zach’s breath was choked off as Geist, holding the pistol in both hands, sought to throttle the life from him.
Zach pried at the flintlock. He tore at Geist’s hands, but they were vises. All the while, the fuse crackled and hissed, and the sparks were that much closer to Raven On The Ground.