Free Absaroka Ambush by William W. Johnstone Page A

they were just too hot.
    Preacher—as did the other mountain men—had him a hunch this unnaturally warm weather was only a fluke. It was not yet mid-April, and the weather could, and probably would, abruptly shift and turn very cold. Here on the plains, this warm rain could just as easily have been sleet slashing at them.
    About an hour before the nooning, Preacher made up his mind. “Find us a place to hole up,” Preacher told Steals Pony, his mouth only a few inches from the Delaware’s ear, because of the howling winds. “There ain’t no point in goin’ on through all this crap. They’ll be a bad accident if we keep on like this.”
    â€œHave already found one, Preacher,” Steals Pony said. “Just up ahead. Maybe a half an hour. No more than that.”
    â€œLead us to it.” Preacher rode over to Eudora’s wagon. “Follow Steals Pony. We’re gonna sit it out.”
    She nodded and lifted the reins, hollering at her big mules, which were just as unhappy with the weather as the women.
    The place Steals Pony had found was a thin stand of trees. The women circled the wagons and climbed under the canvas to change into dry clothing. Preacher rode around the wagons several times, seemingly oblivious to the raging elements. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Captain?” Eudora shouted, during Preacher’s third pass.
    He rode over to her wagon. “I don’t know. But something is. Get a head count, Eudora. I got a bad feelin’.”
    One wagon and three women were missing.

Eight
    â€œNora Simms, Betty Rutherford, and Phyllis Reed,” Eudora told the men, who had strung up a sheet of canvas and were crouched under it. “But they were in the center of the column. How could they just disappear?”
    â€œEasy, in this weather,” Blackjack said. “I’ll wager it was during that real bad spell when couldn’t none of us see nothin’.”
    â€œEudora,” the soft southern voice came from the edge of the group. They all turned to face April Johnson, a slim and attractive young woman from Georgia.
    â€œI overheard Nora and her group talkin’ the other night. I thought they were only funnin’, They were talkin’ about turnin’ back. Then they saw me and all of them laughed. I . . . should have reported it. I’m sorry.”
    â€œIt isn’t your fault,” Eudora said, putting an arm around the smaller woman’s shoulders. She looked at Preacher and he jerked his head toward the wagons. Eudora led the young woman away, back to her wagon.
    â€œWe wasn’t a mile out when that bad storm hit,” Preacher said. “I figure we’ve come five miles. So if they kept on and didn’t stop, they’re a good eight to ten miles back.” He waved at a Missouri man. “Saddle us some fresh mounts, Felix. The best in the herd.” Felix took off at a run. “Snake, you and Charlie stay with the women. Let’s go, boys. We got to find them women ’fore Indians or that trash that’s followin’ us does.”
    Lieutenant Worthington burst onto the scene. “Is it true about the women?”
    â€œYeah. It’s true,” Preacher told him. “Stay with the wagons and be sure to post extra guards this night. The goddamn Pawnee love to strike in this kind of weather. And in this part of the country, them goddamn Pawnee are liable to be right over the next rise.”
    Preacher rarely spoke of the Pawnee without putting some sort of oath before them. Preacher and the Pawnee just did not like one another. Never had. But he never underestimated them. The Pawnee were sly, slick, and the best horse thieves on the plains. The story goes that a Crow warrior decided to rest during the heat of the day. He tied his horse’s reins to his wrist and stretched out and went to sleep in the shade of trees. A