“They blame me,” Chases Rabbits said sadly.
“Who does?”
“Flute Girl and Lavender. Maybe more of my people when hear of this.”
“Geist had most everyone fooled. He even had Toad hoodwinked. I’ll speak to your people for you, make it clear how two-faced Geist was.”
“Him have two faces?”
“It’s a white expression. It means a person who smiles at you and acts all friendly while at the same time he’s reaching behind you to stab you in the back.”
“That Geist,” Chases Rabbits agreed.
Zach stood and scanned the prairie. “Where did Dryfus leave his horse?”
“In old buffalo wallow, that way.” Chases Rabbits pointed, his lips compressed against the pain. “We go after them right away?”
“We sure as hell do.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“Dryfus should have caught up with us by now.” Geist paced and glowered, his hands clasped behind his back, his fingers constantly flexing and un-flexing.
“He’s damn good with that knife of his,” Gratt said.
“From what I heard, so is Zach King.” Geist stopped and stared to the west and swore. “Lesson learned. The next time it will be two.”
“Why not all four of us?” Berber asked.
“Two will be enough.”
“You said that about Dryfus,” Berber said.
Geist stopped pacing and turned. “Something on your mind?”
“I’m just saying four is smarter than two.”
“Are you saying I’m dumb?”
Gratt glanced at Berber and gave a barely noticeable shake of his head.
“Yes,” Berber said. “I am.”
“You don’t say.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not bucking to take your place. I’m only saying that if this Zach King is as tough as everyone says, it might take all four of us and not just two.”
Geist walked up to Berber and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you have a point.” With his other hand, Geist drew a pistol and slammed it against Berber’s temple. Berber staggered, and Geist hit him again, and then a third time. With a groan, Berber collapsed to his knees.
“And maybe if you ever talk back to me again, you’re dead as dead can be,” Geist said.
“Please,” Berber pleaded.
“Please what? Don’t hit you again?” Geist hefted the pistol, then jammed it under his belt. “You’re right. I need you in fighting shape for Zach King.”
“Let me try next,” Petrie said.
“Always save the best for last.” Geist grinned. “Or next to last.” He stepped to where the three Crow maidens lay on their sides, bound fast. “Ladies, I know you can’t understand a goddamned word I say, but I want you to know that after we take care of the half-breed, we’re going to celebrate by treating ourselves to you. Then we’re going to cut your hamstrings so you can’t walk and leave you for the wolves and the coyotes to finish off.”
Gratt was giving a wobbly Berber a hand up. “What’s the next trap going to be?”
“How would I know? I haven’t thought it up yet. Depends on the lay of the land.” Geist scratched his chin. “It has to be something the half-breed won’t expect, like that trick with the sod.”
Petrie had a hand to his brow to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. “I see trees yonder. Could be a stream.”
Geist smiled. “Ask and you shall receive.”
Zach and Chases Rabbits drew rein well out of rifle range. Zach took the spyglass from his parfleche and swept the belt of vegetation for movement.
“Are them there?”
“I don’t see anyone. But it’s where I’d try next if I was him.” Zach replaced the telescope and gigged the dun.
“Me much want to kill them,” Chases Rabbits said. He had Dryfus’s rifle, pistols, and knife. He had also appropriated the man’s ammo pouch and powder horn.
“Some folks deserve to die,” Zach said.
“Them bad people.”
“Whites would call it being our own judge and jury, but this isn’t the States.”
“Sorry?”
“Whites don’t believe in killing bad people outright. They put a bad man on what they call a trial, where one side says how bad he is and another side says he’s not as bad as everyone claims. Then a chief decides whether to throw him in an iron cage or hang him.”
“Apsaalooke banish bad men.”
Zach patted his rifle. “Quick and final is best. Then they can never cause you trouble again.”
The trees were a mix of cottonwoods and oaks. In places the brush was thick. A blue ribbon of water flowed as slow as molasses.
Tracks revealed where Geist and the others had stopped to let their horses drink and ridden on.
Chases Rabbits started to climb down.
“Wait,” Zach said.
“Something wrong?”
Zach raked his gaze over a patch of brambles. He had the sense that something was amiss, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“We not take long,” Chases Rabbits chafed. “Raven On The Ground need us.”
“We won’t be any help to her if we’re dead.” Zach looked at the brambles again. Few would choose it as a spot to hide, what with all the thorns. The center of the patch was especially dense, which would also discourage anyone from crawling in. Almost too dense, he thought, at the same moment that Blaze growled.
Details came into focus with sharp clarity—a squat form that seemed to be part of the brambles, but wasn’t; branches that were going every which way, when most grew straight up or at right angles to the main stems; and the dark eyes that were fixed on him with fierce intensity.
Zach snapped his Hawken up. In the brambles a gun boomed. He felt a searing shock to his shoulder, and then his right arm and fingers went numb. He lost his hold on the rifle. As it fell, he dove from the saddle and clawed at a pistol with his left hand. He heard another shot behind him, and Chases Rabbits cried out. The water rushed up to meet him. He came down hard, but the stream was a wet cushion. He managed to hold the pistol in the air so that it didn’t get wet. As he heaved to a knee, he pointed it at the form in the brambles and fired.
A few yards away, Chases Rabbits was thrashing in the stream and turning the water red.
“I’ve got you now, you stinking half-breed.”
Zach whirled.
Berber was on the bank, a smoking pistol in one hand, a cocked pistol in the other. He glanced at the brambles in fury. “You shot him, damn you.” Berber took aim. “Now it’s your turn.” He smiled, and then the top of his forehead exploded in a shower of skin, bone, and flesh, spattering in the stream and on Zach like so much grisly rain.
Hooves pounded, and from behind Berber appeared a giant rider on a black bay, holding a smoking Hawken. He drew rein and stared down at Berber’s body and said, “I don’t much like it when someone tries to kill my son.”
“Pa!” Zach blurted.
Nate King swung down. “Are you hit?”
Zach examined his right shoulder and his arm and shook his head. “I don’t appear to be.” He snatched his rifle from the stream. A gouge on the stock explained the jolt and the numbness. The ball had struck the rifle instead of him.
“Thank God,” Nate said. “I’ve been riding like the devil to catch up to you.”
“You’ve been following us?”
“Your ma and your wife were worried and sent me to find you,” Nate explained. “I came on your trail and have been after you ever since.” He paused. “I had a talk with Toad. He told me everything.”
“There are only two left. If we ride hard, we can end this before the day is done.”
“I should have listened to you. You were right about them. I’m sorry.”
“Toad is decent enough.” Zach tried to wiggle his fingers, and found that some of the numbness was gone. “I reckon I won’t have a problem with him.”