Preacher's Fortune by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2015-04-08T04:00:00+00:00

Juanita Alvarez struggled madly in the stranger’s grip, but he was much stronger than her and his hands were like iron as he grasped her. She managed to get one hand loose and clawed at his face, trying to gouge out his eyes. He jerked his head to the side so that she merely scratched his cheek. He grunted in pain but didn’t loosen his grip. She felt her feet leave the ground as he lifted her and carried her toward the trees.

Several other men stepped out of those trees and fired rifles at Father Hortensio and the two Yaquis. Those shots were hurried, however, and all but one of them missed. The only one that hit its target just grazed Joaquin’s upper left arm. The impact was still enough to slew him around sideways. He recovered and snatched his rifle from the ground. Pablo had already grabbed his rifle and was drawing a bead on their attackers.

Father Hortensio was behind the horses, using the animals as cover from any more shots.

Pablo’s rifle blasted and one of the strangers cried out and went over backward. Joaquin knelt behind the pile of bags, knowing their contents might stop a rifle or pistol ball. Father Hortensio saw what he was doing and shouted, “No! The holy relics must be protected!”

Joaquin thought the world of Father Hortensio, but the priest did not always see the practical side of things. How could he, Joaquin, protect the holy relics if he allowed the gringos to shoot him? It made no sense.

So he dropped to a knee behind the sacks, raised his rifle to his shoulder, and fired. At the same time, one of the men loosed a round at him from a pistol. Sure enough, the ball smacked into the pile of sacks but didn’t penetrate all the way through it. Father Hortensio let out a cry as if the ball had struck him instead of the relics.

Joaquin’s shot passed close enough to the head of one of the men to make him duck frantically into the trees. All of the gringos were retreating now, including the one who had hold of Juanita. She continued to struggle until the fat gringo holding her drove a fist against the side of her head. Pain flashed through her skull, and she went limp in his arms, knocked unconscious by the blow.

There were two loaded pistols holstered on the saddle of Señor Preacher’s horse. Joaquin grabbed the butts of the guns and jerked them from their holsters, but as he spun toward the trees and lifted them, Pablo caught one of his arms and stopped him from firing.

“They have the señorita!” Pablo said. “If you shoot, you risk hitting her!”

Joaquin hadn’t thought of that. He nodded and lowered the pistols. Now that the shooting had stopped, Father Hortensio came out from behind the horses and began to harangue them.

“The gringos have stolen Señorita Juanita!” the priest said. “What will we do?” He crossed himself. “At least the holy relics and the gold are safe!”

But for how long? That was the question none of them could answer.

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