Preacher's Pursuit by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Action & Adventure, Westerns, General, Fiction, Preacher (Fictitious Character), Romance, Cultural Heritage
ISBN: 9780786020041
Publisher: Pinnacle
Published: 2009-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Preacher didn’t know how far behind him the main body of the war party was, but they had to be pretty close. The settlers had only minutes to get to safety inside the stockade.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a man rush out of the first cabin as Horse flashed past it. The man had a flintlock in one hand, and was using the other to pull up his suspenders as he stared in alarm at Preacher riding by.

More people scurried out of the other cabins to see what all the commotion was about. Preacher kept shouting, “Indians! Head for the stockade!”

Men grabbed their wives and kids and hustled them through the night toward the trading post. There were quite a few youngsters at the settlement, some white, some half-breed children of trappers and their squaws. Their Indian blood wouldn’t save them from the marauding Blackfeet, though.

Preacher was close enough now to yell to the men inside the stockade, “Open the gates! Folks comin’ in! Open the gates!”

For a moment, he thought the guards were going to ignore him, thinking that this might be some sort of trick on the part of an enemy who wanted to get inside. He was about to shout out to them who he was when he saw the gates begin to swing back slowly. He hauled back on the reins, pulling Horse into a tight turn.

He wasn’t going to dash inside to safety when there were folks out here trying to reach the stockade. He saw them running toward the trading post and heard their frightened yells. He waved an arm at them and called, “Hurry! No time to waste!”

His eyes searched the darkness for any sign of the war party. He listened intently, and after a moment he heard hoofbeats in the night like the sound of distant drums.

They were closing in. A matter of minutes now, Preacher thought.

The trading post was ablaze with light. Every lantern in the place looked to be burning. Torches placed at intervals along the stockade wall were set ablaze so that they cast their glare over the surrounding area. That light would help the defenders on the parapet aim their rifles when the enemy rushed the walls.

Right now, that light showed frightened settlers hurrying frantically toward the stockade. Several of them ran past Preacher, and he began to think that maybe they were all going to make it inside before the Blackfeet struck.

Then guns began to roar on the outskirts of the settlement, followed by shouts and screams, and Preacher knew that despite his desperate race, not everyone was going to make it.

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