Free The Family Jensen by William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone Page B

arrogance.
    On the frontier, arrogance could get a man killed pretty damn quick-like.
    Preacher didn’t see any of the women or girls around the camp, which meant they were all in the wagons. Good. The guard posted near the vehicles moved back and forth, trying to stay awake. Preacher slipped into the thick shadows between the wagons and waited until the guard passed just outside the shrouding darkness.
    The man was one of the Mayhews. He let out a long, weary sigh…and that was the last sound he ever made. The next instant, Preacher’s left hand clamped like iron over his mouth and pulled him backward across the wagon tongue into the shadows. At the same time, the knife in Preacher’s other hand drove into the man’s back. The mountain man guided it with practiced ease between a couple ribs so that the razor-sharp blade penetrated the guard’s heart. It paralyzed the man, and in a couple seconds he went limp.
    Preacher lowered the body, then turned and whispered to Mala, “Come with me.”
    They slipped along the side of a wagon that was away from the fire. Preacher cut the ropes that held the arching canvas cover over the vehicle and pulled it away from the sideboards. Then he told Mala, “You do the talking. Tell them to come with us. But be mighty quiet about it, all of you.”
    “I understand,” she said. She stuck her head and shoulders through the opening Preacher had made and hissed to get the attention of the captives. “Wake up! Wake up, we must go!”
    Several of the prisoners exclaimed in surprise, but others were already crying and whimpering so Preacher hoped the sounds wouldn’t be noticed. The gypsy woman quickly hushed them up, saying, “It’s Mala! I have come back for you. Be quiet now, we must go.”
    Preacher held his breath, hoping the women would understand and realize their lives depended on swiftness and silence. After a moment, Mala backed away slightly from the wagon and held the canvas up so one of the captives could climb out of the vehicle. From the size of the dim shape, Preacher figured it was a girl, not a full-grown woman.
    The escaping prisoner was followed by another and another. “This is Preacher,” Mala told them. “He is a friend and will help us get away. Do as he says.”
    Preacher pointed into the hills and whispered, “Head that way as fast as you can. Be careful. Don’t make any more noise than you have to. Watch out for each other and give a hand to whoever needs it. Keep movin’ no matter what you hear goin’ on back here.”
    The women and girls were clearly terrified, but they understood it was their only chance of escaping the awful fate planned for them. They moved off into the darkness in ones and twos as others continued to climb out of the wagon.
    When the first wagon was empty, Preacher and Mala moved on to the second one. No one seemed to have missed the guards Preacher had killed. There hadn’t been any uproar yet. Preacher cut the canvas loose, then whispered, “Let’s get these other women out.”
    The second part of the rescue operation went off without a hitch. When all the women were out and moving up the hill through the trees, Preacher said to Mala, “All right, you’ll have to look after ’em now. It’ll be light soon, so you ought to be able to find your way into the foothills. Keep an eye out for that canyon Crazy Bear and I were talking about. That’s where we’ll rendezvous with you in a little while.”
    “What are you going to do now?” she asked.
    “Improve the odds as much as I can,” Preacher said. “Get goin’.”
    “Preacher…”
    “No time,” he said as he glanced at the lightening sky. “Go!”
    Mala went, hurrying up the wooded slope after the others. Preacher waited until she was out of sight, then he turned to face the camp. He sure as hell hoped Crazy Bear was ready to stampede those horses.
    Preacher pulled both the Dragoon Colts from behind his belt, looped his thumbs over the hammers, stepped out from