“My stars and garters, Captain!” Eudora exclaimed. “It’s good to see you.”
There were seven women. Eudora, Faith, Cornelia, April, Lisette, Madeline, and Claire. They all hugged him, with Faith doin’ a bit of rubbin’, too; then Preacher took the cup of coffee Eudora handed him and sat down to hear their story.
“It appears that Bedell had women loyal to him on the train,” Eudora said. “About twenty or so of them. Whores from out of New Orleans and Natchez. They turned out to be meaner and crueler than the men with Bedell. They tortured poor Anna to death while some of the men were busy raping and others gathering up the stock and wagons.”
“I seen the young girls and boys,” Preacher said, his words hard-edged. “I buried ever’body I found. I reckon they took the girls that was of age. I didn’t see none of them. Do you know what happened to Steals Pony, Snake, and Blackjack?”
“The Delaware and Blackjack were both wounded, I know that much,” Madeline said. “I witnessed that. I don’t know what happened to the old man.”
“You don’t look well, Preacher,” Claire said. “Are you all right?”
“I was shot a couple of times,” Preacher said. “But it ain’t serious. They’re healin’ up proper. I just ain’t got all my strength back yet. It’ll come soon.”
“That’s a terrible gash on your head,” Eudora said, peering at the wound. “But it seems to be healing.”
“I been treatin’ it with poultices. Same with the bullet hole in my side and back. It’s still some sore. But the bleedin’s long stopped and it’s closin’ up. I just need two/three days to take it easy.”
“We can take the time,” Eudora said firmly.
“But the ladies…” Madeline said.
“What’s happened to them has happened,” Eudora said. “They’re not going to die from being raped.”
“I’d rather die!” Madeline Hornbuckle said, closing her eyes and pressing the back of one hand to her forehead dramatically.
“Then you’re a damn fool,” Eudora told her bluntly. “And I don’t want to hear anymore such talk.” She looked at Preacher. “What are we going to do, Captain?”
“We’re going to attack,” Preacher said.
Preacher moved everyone back close to the trail and then he ate, slept, ate again, then slept again for three days. He knew there was no point in his jumping right out after Bedell when just shoveling a few spades of dirt over the dead had damn near tuckered him out total. While he rested and got his strength back, he had the ladies over at the ambush site going over the weapons he’d took from the dead.
Food was a problem, but it wouldn’t be for long. Just long enough to catch up with the wagons. Bedell and his bunch liked to terrorize people. Preacher would soon see how he liked it when the tables got turned around.
“How about Rupert?” Preacher asked, on the morning they were saddling up to pull out.
“None of us saw him,” Faith said. The city woman had toughened, both mentally and physically. Her face and forearms were tanned now, and while her tongue could still be as sharp as a rapier, she had softened it quite a bit. All the women knew they were in a real pickle; Preacher had laid that out strong to them. There was little joking now. The women and Preacher were quite alone in a vast and terribly inhospitable wilderness…as Faith had put it.
“And it’s gonna get vaster, a lot more inhorsetable, and wilder’an hell,” Preacher added.
“Inhospitable,” Faith gently corrected.
“Whatever, Missy.”
In the chilly gray light of morning, Preacher looked at the ladies. They were all dressed in men’s clothing. They had chopped their hair off even shorter than before. Each carried a rifle in one hand and another in a saddle boot. They had pistols hung everywhere and each woman carried two buckled around her waist.
“We got it to do, ladies,” Preacher said, stepping into the saddle. His side and back still bothered him a little, but the head wound was very nearly healed. Neither wound had been serious, just painful. Preacher had been shot before, and knew how fast he would heal. By the time they caught up with the wagons, he’d be 100%. “Let’s ride.”
About six or seven miles from the ambush site, Preacher called a rest period along a little creek shaded by cottonwoods. He’d seen something glittering brightly and wanted to check it out. While the ladies rested, he found the source of the twinkling. Rupert Worthington’s cavalry saber. Had his name engraved right on the blade. He showed it to the women.
“I seen some tracks leadin’ toward that ridge yonder. I’m goin’ on foot. Stay here.”
He found the young lieutenant. He was lying on his belly in a clump of brush just off the crest of the small ridge. He was sound asleep.
Preacher took the officer’s rifle and slipped his pistols from their holsters. Then he squatted down beside the sleeping young man. He tickled his nose with a long stem of grass. Rupert brushed at his nose. Preacher tickled the man’s ear. Rupert grunted and opened one eye. Then both eyes opened wide.
“My God!” Rupert said. Preacher then noticed the front of Rupert’s shirt was covered with dried blood.
“No, it ain’t. It’s just me. You hurt bad, boy?” Preacher looked at the bump on his head and the split skin.
“I thought I was.” Rupert sat up and then noticed that Preacher was holding his rifle and his pistols. “You’re quite the expert at sneaking up on people, Preacher.”
“Tolerable, boy. Tolerable. Are you hurt?”
“Not badly. I thought I was mortally wounded at first. The ball struck a watch I’d been carrying in my shirt pocket. My father gave it to me. I was proud of that watch. I don’t know how I’ll break the news to him…”
Preacher sighed and waited.
“…Anyway, the shot knocked me off my horse and I struck the back of my head on a rock and fell into unconsciousness. When I awakened, I found that fragments of the watch had penetrated my flesh and the wound had bled quite profusely for a time.”
Preacher looked at the back of the young man’s head. Had himself a pretty good bump there, too. “What happened to the front of your noggin?”
“I tried to catch up with a frightened horse and got kicked in the head. I feel like an idiot. When I came out of that, I was discombobulated. I wandered lost for several hours in a daze. I remember I was waving my saber and ranting like a wild man. But I don’t recall ever going to the wagon for my saber. Then my next conscious thought was that I was burning up with fever. I don’t remember coming here. But I lost my saber.”
“I found it. I left it with the ladies down by the crick.”
“The ladies! They’re alive?”
“Seven of ’em with me. The others was took prisoner by Bedell and his trash. A few was killed outright. So was the kids. And your command,” he added as gently as he could.
Rupert put his face in his hands and wept. Preacher couldn’t fault him for that. He’d bawled himself over Hammer.
Whilst the lieutenant was clearin’ his emotions, Preacher looked out over the land. No smoke. No signs of Injuns—not that that meant a whole lot. He stepped to the crest and called down to the ladies.
“Build a fire and boil some water. And save some to clean up Rupert’s wounds. He ain’t hurt terrible bad. We’ll be down directly.”
Preacher knelt down beside the young army man. “It all right to cry, Rupert. Damn people who say a man ain’t s’pposed to weep. Them rotten sons of bitches kilt my good horse Hammer, and I squalled something fierce, I did. So you go right on and get it clear of your system. When you feel up to it, we’ll head on down to the crick and get you tended to. We got spare mounts, so don’t worry about that.”