Blood on the Divide by William W. Johnstone Page A

you.”
    Tom Shields smiled and died.
    * * *
    The men stood around the rock covered mound in the new light of day. Preacher took off his hat. “Lord,” he said. “We done buried two good men in the past few hours. We ask You to receive them with kindness and charity. They wasn’t perfect, but they were men to ride the river with. And I can’t say no more good about a man than that. Amen.” He plopped his hat back on his head. “Let’s ride, boys. We got some snakes to stomp on.”

S EVEN
    Preacher held the razor-sharp blade to the renegade’s throat. The renegade was wearing the buckskin dress of a Ponca berdache. A homosexual. Many Indians believed that the moon appeared to boys during puberty and offered both a bow and a woman’s pack strap. If the boy hesitated in reaching for the male symbol, the moon gave him the pack strap, and a female life-style. It was as good a theory as any.
    â€œI ain’t belittlin’ your way of life, Pretty Little Fallin’ Star,” Preacher said sarcastically, speaking in the berdache’s tongue. He had no way of knowing what the Ponca’s name was, but he wanted him to know that he spoke it and knew all about him. “But if you want to continue your way of life, you better not tell me no lies.”
    The Ponca was no coward, for he was a veteran of many battles, but the look in Preacher’s eyes spoke silent volumes. And the Ponca knew about the mountain man called Preacher. Many in his own tribe – before he got kicked out – called Preacher White Wolf. The Mandans called him Man Who Kills Silently. The Dakotas called him Bloody Knife. The Crow sang songs about his bravery and fierceness, as did most of the tribes, including the Blackfoot.
    â€œI will not lie,” the Ponca said.
    â€œThe Pardees and Red Hand. Where are they?”
    â€œRed Hand has left Pardee for a time. Probably half a moon or more. They will meet again when the next wagons try to cross. I do not know where Pardee and his people have gone, nor do I care. I left them and Red Hand. Their viciousness sickened me. War is one thing, but they go too far. A puking vulture would make better company.”
    Preacher pulled the knife away from his throat and stood up, sheathing the huge blade. “Get out here,” he told the Ponca. “Go on back to match-makin’ in your tribe.”
    â€œI cannot,” the Ponca said. “They have banished me forever. I am nothing. I am nobody. They even took my name. I would be better off dead.”
    â€œAll right,” Windy said, hauling out a pistol and cocking it, ready to give the Ponca his desires.
    â€œWait a minute,” Preacher said. “He leveled with us. Let him go his way.”
    The Ponca stood up from the ground, straightened his dress, and then swung onto his pony, showing a lot of leg. It was not a thrill for any of the mountain men. He looked at Preacher. “They plan to steal children from the next train.”
    Rimrock’s face grew hard. “To sell them to slavers?”
    The Ponca shook his head. “To use them and then kill them.” He rode away without looking back.
    â€œWe might not be able to wipe out Red Hand’s bunch,” Preacher said. “But we can damn sure put a dent in the Pardees’ operation.”
    â€œProvidin’ we can find them,” Caleb said, mounting up.
    Preacher stepped into the saddle and picked up the reins. “We’ll find them. ’Cause if we don’t, a lot of kids is in for a rough time of it.”
    * * *
    The Pardees and their followers left the abused and tortured body of the last woman captive dead on the ground. The carrion birds and the varmits would soon take care of the body. To the best of their knowledge, no one was now left alive to connect them with any atrocities. The gang of cutthroats and brigands saddled up and headed out.
    The Pardee gang had long been a scourge in the