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

armed, several of them grabbed at her but had to jump back to keep from being slashed by the blade she held. She whirled and leaped and danced, keeping her captors at bay with the flashing knife.
    Clint Mayhew strode up and leveled his arm so that the pistol in his hand pointed straight at the woman. “Drop it,” he ordered, “or I’ll kill you.”
    “Don’t shoot her, Clint,” one of the other men objected. “She’s the prettiest one of the bunch!”
    “Yeah? Well, what good’s that gonna do you if she’s liable to geld you if you get anywhere near her? All these bitches better learn right now, they don’t have any say in what happens to ’em!”
    The woman with the knife didn’t drop the weapon. Instead, she backed away and directed her curses at Clint.
    “Blast it, I mean it,” he told her. “I’m gonna kill you.”
    A hundred yards away, Crazy Bear whispered to Preacher, “We cannot allow him to harm her.”
    “I can drop him from here with a rifle shot,” Preacher said, “but that’s gonna make it a lot harder to get her and the rest of the prisoners free.”
    It was a difficult decision, balancing the life of one woman against the lives of all the other captives. Preacher and Crazy Bear guessed there were probably a couple dozen women and girls being held in those wagons.
    At that moment, the sound of hoofbeats made itself heard in the night air, and they didn’t have to make the decision. The pounding rumble meant many horses, and the large group seemed to be coming straight toward the camp. Some of the outlaws turned toward the sound and lifted their rifles.
    The newcomers distracted the woman with the knife, too. One of the men was able to get behind her. He tackled her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he drove her off her feet. “I got her, Jord!” the man shouted.
    Jord Mayhew leaped forward and brought a booted foot down on the knife, pinning the blade to the ground. He leaned down and took hold of the woman, then dragged her to her feet. She fought against him, but he slammed the back of his hand across her face, stunning her. She slumped in his grip. Still holding her, he turned with the others to watch as the large group of riders came loping up to the camp.
    One of the outlaws stepped forward and raised his voice. “Welcome, Red Moccasins!” he called.
    Preacher heard Crazy Bear’s breath hiss between his teeth. “Red Moccasins,” the Crow chief repeated. “He is a Sioux war chief. We are too late to save the prisoners from being handed over to them!”

Chapter 7

    Even at that distance, Preacher could tell an atmosphere of tension filled the camp as the dust from the arrival of the Sioux warriors settled. The darkness made it impossible to get an accurate count, but he estimated that the newcomers numbered about thirty. The white men were betting their lives the Indians would abide by whatever bargain had been struck with them.
    “Greetings, Lupton,” one of the warriors said in English. “What do you have for us this time?”
    “Great bounty, Chief. Fifty oxen, and nearly half that many female slaves.”
    Red Moccasins made a curt gesture with the lance he carried. “Oxen!” he said with disgust in his voice. “What need do the Sioux have of oxen when there are more buffalo on the plains than there are stars in the sky?”
    “You don’t have to hunt these critters, chief, and risk having some of your warriors caught in a stampede. You can slaughter one for meat any time you need to.”
    Red Moccasins shook his head. “A true warrior fills his belly and the bellies of his family with his own skills! Only a woman would do as you say!”
    The tension in the air grew worse. Preacher wasn’t surprised by Red Moccasins’ reaction to Lupton’s proposition. The Sioux war chief regarded it as an insult. One more such spark might set off an explosion of violence that would leave the outlaws dead and their captives in the hands of the Sioux. That might not be such a