“I know him. He’s a bad one. And that scum he’s got with him is just as bad. And they ain’t amateurs, neither. They’re mean and low-down, but they’re all game to the end.”
“Ain’t Bedell the one you whupped in St. Louie, Preacher?” Blackjack asked.
“One and the same. He’s a cheat, a murderer, a liar, a whoremaster—beggin’ you ladies’ pardon, but he is—and anything else mean and low-down you can think of. Army run him out of St. Louis; had a noose waitin’ for him, they did. The man will do anything. He’s as poison mean as a copperhead.”
“You have a plan, Captain?” Eudora asked.
Preacher shook his head. “I surely don’t. But startin’ tomorrow, we’ll have more outriders roamin’ a couple miles from the train. In all directions. And y’all ain’t gonna be seein’ much of me. I’m gonna be doggin’ Bedell and his men.” He cut his eyes to Blackjack and the huge mountain man smiled. Blackjack knew that doggin’ Bedell’s gang wasn’t all that Preacher would be doing.
He’d be head-hunting, too.
Lieutenant Worthington came to Preacher later on that evening and asked if he could sit and talk.
“Sure,” Preacher said. “The ground’s free.”
“I think I shall disobey orders and have my men unpack and wear their uniforms from this point on.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I have discussed it with my sergeant and I believe that merely the sight of the United States Army would deter Mister Bedell from any acts of violence against the wagon train.”
The mountain man paused in his lifting of the coffee cup. “All eight of you?” Preacher asked softly, pouring the young officer a cup of coffee.
Rupert looked over the small fire at him, frowned for a moment, and then grinned boyishly. He shook his head. “I see what you mean, Preacher. Yes. Thank you for not letting me make a fool of myself.”
“We all get to do that bunches of times over the years, Rupert. You boys stay in civilian clothing. That’s my thinkin’ on it. Them pretty uniforms make dandy targets.”
The young officer was silent for a moment, sipping his coffee. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “I love this country, Preacher. What’s it like further on?”
“The most inspirin’ thing you’ll ever see. Exceptin’ the second comin’ of Christ, I reckon. It’ll grab you, son. When you get in the middle of what we call the Rockies, it’ll fling something fierce all over you. And if you’re lucky, it’ll never turn you loose. I ain’t got the words to describe it. It’d take a man with a poet’s heart to put it in words. You’ll feel like you’re so close to God, you can just reach right out and touch his face.”
“That is lovely, Preacher,” Faith said. Neither man had heard her walk up.
Rupert immediately sprang to his feet and whipped off his hat. Preacher sat where he was and grunted his greeting. But he did snag another coffee cup, fill it up, and wave the woman to a ground sheet.
“Thank you,” Faith said, sitting down and accepting the cup of coffee. She smiled at Preacher. “You have the soul of a poet and don’t realize it, Preacher.”
“Just don’t let it get around. Something like that would ruin my reputation.”
Then Sergeant Scott called for the lieutenant, and Rupert excused himself and vanished into the shadowy darkness.
“You’re leaving in the morning?” Faith asked.
“Long before dawnin’, Missy.”
“Aren’t you ever afraid, Preacher? I mean, out here?”
“Hell, yes! Man who says he ain’t never been afraid is either a fool or a liar. You just got to overcome it, live with it, and go on about your business.”
“You think we’re really in trouble, don’t you? You believe that this Bedell person and his thugs will actually attempt to harm us.”
“Yes, I do, Missy. And I ain’t a man to deliberately cause a person undue alarm. I ain’t no see-er into the future. I can’t tell you where or when Bedell will strike. But strike he will. Y’all got to be extra careful. I got to convince you of that. He’ll come on like a real gentleman. He can do that. I ’spect that what him and his men has planned is to get all mixed up with the members of the train and then strike like lightnin’ when your guard is down. That’s what I think.”
Blackjack and the other mountain men were staying away from Preacher and the lady on this night. The wagon train was quieting down as the women were preparing for their night’s rest. Guards had been doubled. Slowly, the fires were being extinguished within the huge circle.
“You best get on back to your wagon, Missy,” Preacher told her. “People will talk.”
“You care about things like that, Preacher?” she asked, standing up.
“Not one twit.”
“Neither do I,” she whispered.
Their eyes met and held for a moment. Faith smiled at Preacher and then walked away into the gloom of the pale canvas-ringed circle. She stopped, turned around, and stared at him for a moment.
Preacher lay back on his blankets, his head on his saddle, and looked up at the diamond-pocked heavens far above him. After a moment, he sighed heavily. “That woman’s gonna get you in trouble,” he muttered.
“Hee-hee-hee,” Blackjack giggled from a few yards away, and Ned, Steals Pony, and the other mountain men joined in the snickering.
“Oh, shut up!” Preacher told them.
Charlie Burke then stepped out of the shadows and went swishing across the clearing like a fop, both hands on his hips. He sashayed about. Soon Blackjack and the others stepped out and began mincing about like fops, with the huge Blackjack closely resembling a drunken grizzly bear. Preacher just lay on his blankets and let them have their fun.
Preacher had to stick his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing when he spotted Eudora, Faith, and about twenty other ladies all hunkered down on the ground, peering intently through the wheel spokes at the foppish dancing and other strange antics of the mountain men.
He figured Blackjack and the others would have some tall explainin’ to do come the dawnin’.
12
Preacher was a good five miles from the wagon train when the eastern sky began splitting into color. He’d had him several cups of strong coffee ’fore he left the circle—he stopped a woman just in time to keep her from throwing it out; told her he didn’t give a damn if it was hours old, it was still hot, wasn’t it, so turn the pot a-loose, you crazy female! And when he reached a clear running creek, he swung down from Hammer to eat some cold biscuits and salt meat he’d snitched from an oven.
He ruminated as he chewed. Preacher figured that Bedell and his trashy bunch would be starting to close the distance now, maybe laying no more than a day’s ride behind. In two or three days, the wagons would have reached the Platte and be heading west along its southern banks.
“That’s where they’ll hit ’em,” Preacher said, finishing off his breakfast. He took a long drink of water from the creek, and tightened the cinch on Hammer. Hammer pulled his usual stunt and puffed up. If Preacher didn’t catch it, when he tried to step into the saddle, Hammer would exhale, loosening the cinch strap, and Preacher would hit the ground. Hammer would then roll his eyes and show his big teeth. Preacher always swore the damn horse was laughing at him.
“Caught you that time, didn’t I?” Preacher said to Hammer. The big horse tried to step on Preacher’s foot but the mountain man was too quick for him. Preacher knew all of Hammer’s tricks. But ever’ now and then Hammer would catch him.
To listen to Preacher cuss his horse, a stranger might have thought the two hated each other. But exactly the opposite was true. Hammer would kill anyone who tried to harm his master, and Preacher would kill anyone who tried to do harm to his horse.
Preacher rode another six or seven miles, then reined up before he topped a fairly high ridge. He picketed Hammer and, taking his spyglass, bellied up to the top of the ridge and began scanning. It didn’t take him long to spot the riders. They were closing fast now, riding at a distance-consuming pace, but not a punishing one for their horses. And their horses, Preacher had noticed the other night, were all top quality mounts. Preacher had never seen so many fine horses in one bunch.