Heaven Is a Long Way Off Read Online Free Page A

swinging war clubs.
    Virgin went down, his skull bloodied.
    â€œRun!” yelled Hannibal.
    Sam and Hannibal sprinted toward the horses, a dozen Mojaves after them.
    Sam thought, I’m dead .
    He ran like hell and caught Hannibal and got half a step on him. Coy fell in with them.
    Suddenly, out of the brush downstream, the horses stampeded. Three or four Mojaves ran behind, driving them.
    Salvation! thought Sam.
    He put his fingers to his mouth and gave a loud, piercing whistle, rising low to high.
    Hannibal did the same, looping from high to low and back twice.
    Paladin and Ellie cut out of the herd and ran toward Sam and Hannibal.
    Thank God! Sam’s mind screamed.
    The herd followed Paladin and Ellie. “Hallelujah!” shouted Sam.
    When Paladin got close, Sam grabbed her mane and swung up bareback. Hannibal did the same on Ellie.
    Sam saw Virgin staggering toward the river alone, holding his bleeding head in both hands. Coy ran toward the old man, then pivoted and came fast after Sam.
    An arrow caught Paladin. She fell, and Sam pitched over her head.
    Hooves rat-a-tat-tatted all around him. Dust and horse manure flew everywhere. Coy poised himself and yipped furiously at the horses pounding by.
    A sharp edge slashed Sam’s hip.
    He whirled and swung his fist.
    The Mojave jumped back, cocking his spear. It was Stout, who had the face of a snake.
    Sam grabbed his butcher knife and thrust forward.
    Stout slammed his spear into Sam’s wrist.
    The butcher knife went flying.
    Stout grinned in triumph.
    Sam grabbed his empty pistol and threw it at Stout’s head.
    Stout ducked and the pistol sailed by. Stout laughed.
    Yes, you bastard, I’m disarmed.
    Sam fingered his trick belt buckle. Coy barked furiously at Stout.
    Sam smiled. “Right. Hey,” he told Stout out loud in English, “look what I’m doing.” He jerked at the buckle, and his breechcloth dropped.
    Stout’s eyes darkened at the insult. He bounded forward. Coy launched himself at the warrior’s groin. Somehow Stout thrust the spear.
    Sam spun.
    The point nipped his ribs.
    When Sam came full circle, he crowded inside the spear point. His belt buckle had turned into a steel blade in his hand, and he drove it into Stout’s belly.
    He jerked it out, looked at the blood, picked up his breechcloth, and wiped the blade.
    Stout sat down hard and loose.
    Sam looked with satisfaction at his glassy eyes.
    Coy gave a last bark and snipped at Stout’s face.
    â€œThanks, Gideon,” he said.
    His friend had smithed him a dagger with a belt buckle as a handle. Sam slid the blade back into his belt, deep, fastened the buckle, and put his breechcloth back on.
    He walked over and picked up his pistol. Since The Celt was lost, the pistol was essential. He looked around. The herd had run off toward the hills, and the Mojaves were chasing them. Thirty horses, he thought. A huge triumph for them.
    Where was Hannibal? Sam didn’t know. If he could, Hannibal would have led the herd into the river. Where was Paladin? With the herd. Injured.
    All right, no Mojave was close. A grove of cottonwoods marked the bank. Sam loped toward the water, Coy bounding alongside. He hit the top of the bank in stride and made a long, flat dive.
    The river was a turmoil. Waves slapped him in the face. They rolled him over. Suck holes grabbed at his legs.
    He flailed at the water with his arms, he kicked at it with his feet. He fought the goddamn water. He battered it. He punished it. The river laughed and tossed him up and caught him. It jerked him under and let him up.
    Sam whacked at the river with arms and legs.
    Long minutes later, minutes he couldn’t remember, a mewling woke him up. Coy, he realized. Consciousness picked at his brain.
    A hand touched him. He opened his eyes. Hannibal. They were on the far bank.
    â€œI’m checking your wounds.”
    He prodded at the gash in Sam’s hip and the slice along his