“I’ll be right behind you!” he said, then leaped out of the vehicle.
Something crashed into him just as he landed. The collision was enough to knock him off his feet. A weight came down on top of him, and foul breath gusted in his face. He was reminded of wrestling with the bear, but it was no giant grizzly trying to kill him. His hands grabbed bare flesh slick with sweat and grease, and he knew he was fighting with one of the warriors.
Preacher’s eyes caught a glimpse of starlight winking on steel. He jerked his head aside. The knife skimmed past his cheek, leaving a scratch behind as it buried itself in the ground. Preacher brought an elbow up under the man’s chin, catching him hard in the throat. At the same time, Preacher rolled to the side and threw the warrior off him.
His hand snatched up the knife the man had dropped and brought it around in a looping blow that plunged the blade into the man’s chest. The warrior spasmed, his back arching up off the ground as he pawed at the knife’s handle for a second. Then he sagged back in death.
Preacher scrambled up and looked around for Casey. He didn’t see her, but he hadn’t heard her cry out while he was struggling with the Indian, so he hoped she had gotten away and was running back up the Santa Fe Trail toward Roland and the other men. He headed in that direction, but his way was suddenly blocked by a pair of warriors.
One of them thrust a lance at him. He dived under it, rolled again, and lifted his leg to smash his heel into the man’s groin in a savage kick. The Indian howled in pain as Preacher’s foot crushed his privates and sent him staggering backward as he doubled over in agony.
Preacher flung himself aside as the second man jabbed at him. He caught hold of the lance and used it to brace himself as he pulled himself upright. He and the warrior panted in each other’s faces as they struggled over the weapon.
Preacher’s left shoulder and arm hurt like blazes. The pain stole some of Preacher’s usual strength in that arm, and he felt his grip on the lance start to slip.
Knowing he couldn’t afford to weaken any more, Preacher used his legs to shove his opponent backward, then let go of the lance. The move gave him just enough time to pull one of the loaded pistols at his belt and cock it before the Indian caught his balance and lunged forward again with the lance. The tip landed in the space between Preacher’s arm and his side. He fired the pistol at point-blank range as he thrust the muzzle at the warrior’s chest. The shot blasted the Indian off his feet and left him lying on the ground, gasping out his life through the big, blood- bubbling hole in his chest.
A hand grasped Preacher’s arm. He started to turn, intending to club the man who’d grabbed him with the empty pistol in his hand, but before he could launch the blow, the man said, “Good job! You blew the hell out of that redskin! We got the bastards on the run!”
Preacher recognized the voice. It was Garity himself, the leader of the outlaws, who had grabbed him, thinking Preacher was one of them.
At the same time Garity realized his mistake. He yelled a curse and swung a punch at Preacher’s head. Preacher jerked free from Garity’s grip and ducked under the outlaw’s fist.
“Help!” Garity shouted. “Over here! Over here!” Preacher hooked a hard left into Garity’s belly and the man doubled over. Knowing the pistol in his hand was empty Garity straightened and slashed at Preacher’s head with the barrel. The gun raked across Preacher’s forehead, opening up a cut that leaked blood into the mountain man’s eyes.
Garity had been right about the Indians: the ones who were left alive were retreating, and the sound of gunfire was dying out around the camp. Garity’s men were able to hear his shouts. As they neared, Garity bellowed, “It’s Preacher! Get him!”
Preacher had one loaded pistol left. He jerked it out. As he pointed it at Garity and pressed the trigger, someone tackled him from behind around the knees. His legs collapsed underneath him and the shot went wild. Someone else hit him and knocked him the rest of the way to the ground.
Fists and feet hammered into him. He reached up and grabbed the leg of a man trying to kick him. With a heave, Preacher sent the man flying into a couple of the others. All of them went down in a tangle.
At least half a dozen more of Garity’s men surrounded him. They were liable to stomp him to death if he didn’t get away. Hooking a foot behind a man’s knee and sweeping his legs out from under him, Preacher tried to bolt up through the momentary gap in the circle of would-be killers surrounding him.
The opening was too small. One of the men got an arm around Preacher’s neck and held on for dear life, squeezing tighter and tighter. Two men began pounding Preacher’s ribs. Pain shot through him with each blow. Red rockets went off behind his eyes as the lack of air began to make everything spin crazily around him. The world seemed to be receding.
But he heard Garity say, “Don’t kill him! Damn it, I don’t want that bastard dead yet!”
That was the last thing Preacher knew except pain. A crazy blood-red whirling filled his head, then utter blackness.
CHAPTER 21
The first thing Preacher was aware of was light, bright and searing against his eyelids. Then pain came flooding in along with the radiance.
But he was alive, and while that surprised him at first, a moment later he began to remember how Garity had said he wanted Preacher kept alive.
That beat the alternative, Preacher supposed, but under the circumstances he wasn’t sure how long it was going to last. He hurt like hell, from head to toe, and the heat that enveloped him felt like it was about to cook him. He was frying in his own juices.
He tried to force his eyes open but couldn’t do it. The light was just too bright. Preacher knew it had to be the sun beating down on him. No campfire had ever been painfully brilliant.
Gradually he became aware that he was lying on his back with his arms stretched out on either side of him. His legs were painfully extended, too, and couldn’t move. Once he had realized that, it wasn’t much of a stretch to figure out he had been staked out on the ground.
