Save It for Sunday by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2023-01-17T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

“Here’s the man . . .” Callahan had to fill his lungs with oxygen again. He exhaled, breathed in deeply once more, and pointed at the prostate form of Iron Tom. “He shot you.” His lungs still worked hard, but maybe not as hard as his legs had to work to keep him from dropping on top of the surveyor boss. “Don’t know . . . why.”

He had to clear his head, which he did by shaking it. “No, I do know why.” He thought a drink of spring water would be mighty helpful. Or like back in his younger, wilder years, a swallow or two of Bubba Sam McTavish’s corn liquor. “He thought you were Stands Firm.”

Killer of Ten Crows nodded as if he already knew, cringing at the pain the mere movement of his head caused. “We have ways of dealing with his kind.”

Callahan’s eyes found the warrior closest to the Arapaho leader. A younger man than Killer of Ten Crows, his body not as scarred, the eyes not as wise. Shirtless, and wearing only a loin cloth made of some wild, furry animal, and moccasins, his dark eyes looked at the form of Iron Tom with pure hatred. His left hand gripped a knife that remained in its fringed and beaded deerskin sheath.

Killer of Ten Crows said something in the language of the Arapaho, and the younger warrior bristled, but said nothing. Looking at Callahan, Killer of Ten Crows asked, “You give him to us?”

“He shot you. It’s your call, but you should know this about him.” Callahan wet his lips and swallowed. “This man.” His right arm swept up toward the hilltop where the rest of the party looked down, ready to fight, or ready to hightail it back to Peaceful Valley or, more than likely, Fort Centennial. “He and the men he brought with him have been hired by the . . . Iron Horse.”

Killer of Ten Crows smiled. “You mean . . . railroad.”

Callahan’s lips curved upward. He liked this Arapaho. “Yes. The railroad is powerful among my people. And the railroad has the soldiers to protect it. You kill him”—he jutted his jaw toward Iron Tom—“there could be trouble between your people and mine. Our army is powerful.” He turned to look up the hill. What he saw made him take a step back.

Kit Van Dorn stood, not ten feet from him. Flanking her were the two Thompson boys, and beside them, looking mean but nervous, was Missoula Milford.

Callahan frowned, and stared up the ridge.

“Don’t worry, Preacher,” Knight Thompson said. “Our boys are keeping an eye on his boys.” His right finger pointed at the groaning surveyor.

“And,” Knight’s brother added, “we thought Mr. Milford would be better off with us.”

Callahan felt stronger and turned back to face the Arapahos. “Killer of Ten Crows, these are the sons of Iron Hand. They are your friends, as Iron Hand was your friend. This man is called Knight. And this is his brother, Walker.”

They were twins, but far from identical.

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