Preacher's Fury. William W. Johnstone

my dear. It was getting a bit nerve-wracking having it there. My Adam’s apple was rather jumpy.”

      Preacher heard the woman moving. After a moment, she said, “Here is your knife. Are you sure you are not a child?”

      “Quite certain,” Audie told her. “And again, I apologize for any inadvertent improprieties.”

      “Someone help me up.”

      The gal was good about giving orders, Preacher thought. But he stepped forward and extended a hand.

      “Here,” he said.

      A second later he felt her fumbling in the darkness for his hand. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and lifted her effortlessly to her feet. That brought her closer to him, and even in this bad light he could make out the shape of her face and the long wings of dark hair that framed it.

      “Thank you,” she murmured. She let go of his hand and tried to take a step, but her balance deserted her and she leaned toward him suddenly. Preacher slipped his arm around her waist to steady her.

      That brought her even closer to him. He smelled the bear grease on her hair and the slighty musky but pleasant scent of her skin. Her waist was trim and warm where his arm encircled it.

      “You’ve been tied up for a while, haven’t you?” he asked. “Your legs don’t want to work right just yet.”

      “I’m fine,” she insisted. “You can let go of me now.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “I am certain.”

      Preacher took his arm away and stepped back. The woman seemed to be steady on her feet now.

      “We have a camp down below,” he told her. “You can get some hot food in you and then tell us what happened to you.”

      “What will you do with me?” she asked, and he heard worry and suspicion in her voice.

      “Why, we’ll return you to your home as soon as it gets light tomorrow, dear lady,” Audie said. “Isn’t that right, Preacher?”

      “Yep,” the mountain man said. “We’ll take you back to Bent Leg’s village.”

      “Thank you,” she said again, but Preacher couldn’t tell if she completely believed them. She would have to see it for herself.

      “Come,” he said. “There’s a path over yonder where we can get down the bluff.”

      He led the way, holding the branches aside so the Assiniboine woman could get through the brush easier. Stepping to the edge of the bluff, he called to Nighthawk and Lorenzo, “We’re comin’ down. We found a prisoner up here.”

      A few minutes later, the three of them walked into camp. Nighthawk had built up the fire so the flames cast a large circle of light. When the woman stepped into that reddish-gold glow, Preacher got his first good look at her.

      She was a sight worth waiting for.

      She was medium height and well-shaped in the buckskin dress she wore, with wide hips, muscular calves, and high, firm breasts. Her face was slightly rounded. Long hair the color of midnight surrounded it and flowed down over her shoulders. Her cheekbones weren’t quite as high as those of most Indian woman, and her skin was a slightly lighter shade of copper. Those were indications that she had some white blood in her, and her dark blue eyes confirmed that. Probably her father or grandfather had been white, either an American or a French-Canadian fur trapper, more than likely.

      And she was as downright pretty a woman as Preacher had seen in a long time.

      As they all stood by the fire, Preacher told her, “You already know who I am. This is Audie, Lorenzo, and Nighthawk.” He nodded to each of the men in turn.

      “I am called Raven’s Wing, or simply Raven,” the woman said. Preacher figured she’d been named for the color of her hair. “Thank you for helping me. It might have taken me a long time to get free if you had not found me.”

      “Nighthawk, you reckon you can rustle up some grub for Raven?” Preacher asked.

      “Umm,” the Crow replied. He went to their supplies and set to work.

      “Did the Gros Ventre capture you when they raided your village?” Audie asked.

      Raven nodded.

      “Yes. I was the only captive they managed to get away with. Even though they took us by surprise, our warriors were able to make them flee. They didn’t even get any of our ponies.”

      “Just one woman,” Preacher said.

      Raven looked at him with a challenging expression in her dark eyes.

      “Yes,” she agreed. “Just one woman.”

      “And when they smelled our smoke and decided to have a look, they tied and gagged you and stashed you in that brush?”

      “Yes. They warned me that if I tried to escape, they would come back and cut my throat.” With a look of savage satisfaction, she added, “Now they are the ones who are dead.”

      “You have Preacher to thank for that,” Audie said. “He did for five of them.”

      Preacher said, “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have had the chance to do that if you hadn’t shot that varmint who was about to brain me with a tomahawk.”

      “Nighthawk and me helped keep ’em busy,” Lorenzo put in.

      Preacher nodded.

      “You sure did,” he said, then asked Raven’s Wing, “How come you didn’t make any noise when I first came up there lookin’ for their ponies?”

      “I did not know who you were,” she explained. “You might have been someone even worse than the Gros Ventre. I thought I could get loose on my own after you left.” She shrugged. “But then I tried and realized I was tied too tightly. If no one found me and freed me, I might have died of thirst. So I started making noise in hopes that you would return.” She smiled. “And you did, along with this little one … and his hands.”

      Audie said hastily, “I told you, Miss Raven’s Wing, how sorry I am that I—”

      “I think she’s joshin’ you now, Audie,” Preacher drawled. “She’s got a mischievous look about her.”

      “That is right,” Raven admitted. “I know you were just trying to help me. I thank you for that.”

      “Oh, well, uh, you’re welcome,” Audie said. For once he wasn’t as glib as he normally was.

      Nighthawk fried some salt jowl and heated a couple of biscuits left over from their supper. When he gave Raven the food, she knelt beside the fire and ate hungrily, washing down the food with water from Preacher’s canteen.

      “Why are you men in the valley of the Assiniboine?” she asked when she had finished licking the last of the grease from the salt jowl off her fingers.

      “We came to see if Bent Leg would be willin’ to let us spend the winter with you folks,” Preacher said. “I know he’s let trappers do that before.”

      Raven looked at him with increased interest.

      “You have never wintered with the Assiniboine before. I would remember if you had.” She glanced around at the other men. “That is true for all of you.”

      “This is my first winter out here,” Lorenzo said, “so I ain’t never stayed with any of the tribes.”

      “And Nighthawk and I have spent most winters with his people, the Crow,” Audie said.

      “Why do you not go to the Crow this winter?” Raven asked.

      Audie shrugged.

      “A man likes to do something different now and again.”

      Raven snorted and said,