Read Online The Family Jensen by William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone - Free Book Online
Authors: William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone
Tags: Fiction, General, Western Stories, Westerns, Fiction - Western, Westerns - General, American Western Fiction
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bad thing—it would cut down the odds against Preacher and Crazy Bear—except for the fact that some of the women and girls might be killed in the fighting.
“I apologize, Red Moccasins,” Lupton said. “I know better than to make an offer like that to a man such as yourself. We will keep the oxen, but the slaves are yours. We ask only safe passage through your lands, and a dozen buffalo hides.”
“And all the loot they already stole from the wagon train,” Preacher added in a whisper to Crazy Bear. The Crow chief spoke little English, so Preacher had been keeping up a running translation for him.
Crazy Bear nodded and said in his own tongue, “The Blackfeet would have taken the oxen as well as the prisoners. Those white men were ready for whichever tribe they encountered.”
Preacher agreed. The man called Lupton must have traded with the Indians before. He probably made a regular business of smuggling guns and whiskey to the various tribes, as well as preying on immigrant trains whenever he got the chance. He had slipped for a moment there with his Sioux customers, a mistake that had come close to getting him and the others killed, but that moment of danger seemed to have passed.
“You have a jug?” Red Moccasins asked.
“Of course,” Lupton replied.
The chief gestured with his lance again. He and his men began to dismount.
Lupton said to one of his men, “Build a fire. The chief and I are going to parley.”
There would be a lot of talk before Lupton and Red Moccasins settled the details of the deal they were striking. The parley might last until morning. The rest of the Sioux and the other outlaws would share the whiskey the white men had brought along, and most likely share the women as well. It would be a long, ugly night.
But it could pay some dividends for him and Crazy Bear, Preacher thought. By morning a lot of their enemies would be drunk and less alert.
The two men put their heads close together. “We cannot kill all of them,” Crazy Bear said. “Not even Ghost-Killer could do that.”
“You’re right,” Preacher agreed. “And we can’t drive off in those wagons, either. That would be too slow We’ll have to slip in before dawn and take the women out of there on foot. Then we’ll stampede the horses through the camp and scatter them. Maybe that’ll give us time to get the women into the hills and hide them.”
Crazy Bear nodded. “It is not a good plan…but with two against fifty, it is all we can do.”
The Crow chief was right about that. They’d likely wind up getting themselves killed, Preacher thought, but there was no alternative.
The white outlaws had kindled a fire and they heaped wood on it until the flames leaped high and cast a garish light over the camp. In that glare, Preacher and Crazy Bear got their first good look at their enemies.
The man called Lupton, who sat down to negotiate with Red Moccasins, was tall and rail-thin, with a jutting spade beard. Preacher recognized the Mayhews from his encounter with them at Boadley’s trading post. They were all brawny, fair-haired men. Clint Mayhew, the oldest and the leader of the clan, sported a silvery beard. The rest of the outlaws were typical frontier scum, some dressed in homespun and whipcord, the others in buckskins.
They were heavily armed. Preacher saw lots of rifles and pistols around the camp, although all the pistols seemed to be single-shot flintlocks. He didn’t spot any of the new Colt revolvers, just Dragoons like he carried or the earlier model Patersons.
After a while, Lupton stood up, went over to the wagons, and said, “Climb out of there, ladies. Make it quick now.” Evidently, Red Moccasins demanded a look at what he would be getting if he dealt with the white men.
As the women climbed out of the wagons and lined up like terrified sheep, Preacher looked for the woman who’d given Jord Mayhew so much trouble earlier. It was impossible to tell which one she was. He didn’t see anyone
“I apologize, Red Moccasins,” Lupton said. “I know better than to make an offer like that to a man such as yourself. We will keep the oxen, but the slaves are yours. We ask only safe passage through your lands, and a dozen buffalo hides.”
“And all the loot they already stole from the wagon train,” Preacher added in a whisper to Crazy Bear. The Crow chief spoke little English, so Preacher had been keeping up a running translation for him.
Crazy Bear nodded and said in his own tongue, “The Blackfeet would have taken the oxen as well as the prisoners. Those white men were ready for whichever tribe they encountered.”
Preacher agreed. The man called Lupton must have traded with the Indians before. He probably made a regular business of smuggling guns and whiskey to the various tribes, as well as preying on immigrant trains whenever he got the chance. He had slipped for a moment there with his Sioux customers, a mistake that had come close to getting him and the others killed, but that moment of danger seemed to have passed.
“You have a jug?” Red Moccasins asked.
“Of course,” Lupton replied.
The chief gestured with his lance again. He and his men began to dismount.
Lupton said to one of his men, “Build a fire. The chief and I are going to parley.”
There would be a lot of talk before Lupton and Red Moccasins settled the details of the deal they were striking. The parley might last until morning. The rest of the Sioux and the other outlaws would share the whiskey the white men had brought along, and most likely share the women as well. It would be a long, ugly night.
But it could pay some dividends for him and Crazy Bear, Preacher thought. By morning a lot of their enemies would be drunk and less alert.
The two men put their heads close together. “We cannot kill all of them,” Crazy Bear said. “Not even Ghost-Killer could do that.”
“You’re right,” Preacher agreed. “And we can’t drive off in those wagons, either. That would be too slow We’ll have to slip in before dawn and take the women out of there on foot. Then we’ll stampede the horses through the camp and scatter them. Maybe that’ll give us time to get the women into the hills and hide them.”
Crazy Bear nodded. “It is not a good plan…but with two against fifty, it is all we can do.”
The Crow chief was right about that. They’d likely wind up getting themselves killed, Preacher thought, but there was no alternative.
The white outlaws had kindled a fire and they heaped wood on it until the flames leaped high and cast a garish light over the camp. In that glare, Preacher and Crazy Bear got their first good look at their enemies.
The man called Lupton, who sat down to negotiate with Red Moccasins, was tall and rail-thin, with a jutting spade beard. Preacher recognized the Mayhews from his encounter with them at Boadley’s trading post. They were all brawny, fair-haired men. Clint Mayhew, the oldest and the leader of the clan, sported a silvery beard. The rest of the outlaws were typical frontier scum, some dressed in homespun and whipcord, the others in buckskins.
They were heavily armed. Preacher saw lots of rifles and pistols around the camp, although all the pistols seemed to be single-shot flintlocks. He didn’t spot any of the new Colt revolvers, just Dragoons like he carried or the earlier model Patersons.
After a while, Lupton stood up, went over to the wagons, and said, “Climb out of there, ladies. Make it quick now.” Evidently, Red Moccasins demanded a look at what he would be getting if he dealt with the white men.
As the women climbed out of the wagons and lined up like terrified sheep, Preacher looked for the woman who’d given Jord Mayhew so much trouble earlier. It was impossible to tell which one she was. He didn’t see anyone
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