They dropped their weapons and followed him.
The women had heated up a stew and made strong coffee. The men ate without speaking. When all had finished, Broken Nose rubbed his belly and belched loudly. The others too laid their bowls aside and belched. When the chief quit eating, everybody was finished. They all wiped the grease from their fingers on their skin and leggin’s. “Good,” Broken Nose said, in perfect English. “Very good. Your women not only can fight like men, they can cook too. How are they in the robes?”
“Tolerable,” Preacher said, keeping his face straight despite the hard looks shot his way by Faith, Eudora, and others within earshot. “Only tolerable.”
“That is too bad,” Broken Nose said sorrowfully, looking at Bertha Macklin. “Nice round ass on that one.” He shrugged his shoulders philosophically. “Well, one cannot have everything. At least they are good for something.” He did not see Faith pick up a frying pan and start toward him, nor did he see Eudora grab the skillet from her and lead her off. “It is time for the truth. We were lied to, Preacher. A man by the name of Be-bell passed by and told us of a wagon train with women dressed like men. He said that from the seas of grasses to the east, all the way across, the women had lured Indian children to the wagons and then slaughtered them. I should have known when I saw you with the wagons that it was a lie. For that I am truly sorry.”
“If we didn’t make mistakes, Broken Nose, we wouldn’t be human, would we?”
“Preacher, as always, speaks the truth.”
“I wonder if he’s spreadin’ that lie all the way across?”
“Probably. But the closer he gets to the great mountains, the Ute, the Shoshoni, the Cheyenne, and the Crow, they will know he speaks nothing but lies. They might cut his tongue out.”
“No, I want do to that,” Rexana said, walking up to collect the bowls. She added another part of Bedell’s anatomy she wanted to cut off.
When she had gone, Broken Nose shuddered. “Sleep lightly, Preacher. You are in the midst of savages, surely.”
7
Louis, the boy the group had taken from Bedell’s outlaws, had suffered a slight wound during the Arapaho attacks, but the wound was not a serious one. The boy had done well and proved himself a person who would stand his ground and fight.
The only casualty, Miss Shivley, was buried the next morning, just as dawn was lighting the sky. The ladies gathered around and sang “Where Is Death’s Sting,” Eudora read from the Bible, and the wagon train pushed on.
Broken Nose had taken his band of warriors and his dead, and left, after swearing that his people would not bother the wagons again.
“Do you believe him?” Rupert asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Preacher said. He smiled. “At least for this trip.”
Preacher was keeping a good eye out on the building storm clouds in the west. Only a few drops of rain had fallen thus far, but the lightning was fierce and the clouds promised one hell of a storm.
After only a couple of miles had passed, Preacher ordered the train stopped and the canvas double-lashed. “We’re in for it,” he told the ladies. “You ain’t seen hail ’til you’ve gone through what this country can give you. Pray that them clouds hold only rain and not ice.”
“If it’s rained much to the west,” Snake said to Preacher, “we might have to cross the Platte more times than we want to.”
“If she’s spillin’ over, we’ll cross at the rocks,” Preacher said, looking around and receiving nods of approval from his friends. “If not, we’ll press on and plan on crossin’ at the Buttes.”
This storm held no hail—which the mountain men were thankful for—but it dumped torrents of water on the westward travelers and slowed them down to a mere crawl across the land. Once, Preacher had to halt the wagons because it grew so dark, and the storm was so intense, that the only way the drivers could see the wagon in front of them was by lamplight. By midafternoon he halted the wagons and told the ladies to circle. There wasn’t no point in goin’ on through this.
Squatting under canvas, Preacher told Eudora, “It ain’t worth the strain it puts on the animals and the risk of broken axles and wheels to go on. We’ll just sit it out.”
Covering three times on horseback what the wagons could do in a day, Bedell had linked up with his cohorts far to the west and was laying out his plans.
One man shook his head in doubt. “I know Preacher,” Villiers said. “I been in this country for years. Tanglin’ with Preacher ain’t smart, Vic. And Blackjack, Steals Pony, and Snake is just about as mean. I wish to hell your boys hadn’t a-killed his horse. Preacher set store by Hammer. He ain’t never gonna let you rest for doin’ that.”
“It was just a damn horse!” Bedell said to the Frenchman.
Another Frenchman, Trudeau, added, “Most men grow fond of their animals, Bedell. Out in this country a good horse is the most valuable thing a man can have. I’m in agreement with Villiers. Preacher ain’t never gonna forgive you for killin’ Hammer. But I’m in agreement with you ’bout the wagons. We can’t let them reach no post and make a report. If that was to happen, we could never show our faces in no civilized place again. All them folks got to die. That’s all there is to it.”
“Perhaps the Arapaho finished them off,” Bedell said, a hopeful note to his words.
“Don’t count on that,” a man called Tater said. “And don’t be tellin’ that big whoppin’ lie to no more Injuns we come up on out here. They know Preacher. This is Preacher’s stompin’ grounds. And whilst some of them might not like him much, they respect him a whole bunch, and they know Preacher wouldn’t have no part in harmin’ no woman nor child…no matter what color the skin. They’ll cut your tongue out for lyin’. And they’ll do it, too. I’ve seen them do it. It’s right unpleasant.”
Right unpleasant, Vic Bedell thought with a hidden shudder. Interesting way of stating it. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get to work on planning this out. I want this done right the first time.”
Steals Pony had been gone for several days. When he returned, his horse was tired and so was he. He was covered with dust—they had left the rain far behind them—and he swung wearily down from the saddle.
Preacher handed him a cup of coffee and the Delaware took it with thanks.
“Bedell waits for us about a hundred miles ahead,” Steals Pony told them. “I spoke with several Indians of different tribes. They all told me the same thing. Bedell’s force was just too large for them to attack. The outlaws are well-mounted, well-supplied, and well-armed. Several trappers gone bad are among them, so they will know this country.”
“Who?” Snake asked.
“Trudeau, Villiers, Logan, and Tater. There are many more in the gang, but those are the only ones I could identify from their descriptions.”
“I owe that damn Tater a lead ball or two,” Blackjack said. “He shot me some years ago. From ambush. He’s a no-count from way back.”
“I know him,” Preacher said, “and Trudeau too. They teamed up some years back and killed a friend of mine. Shot him in the back one evenin’ for his furs. Left him to die alone and hard. But they’re experienced men, and you’re right ’bout them knowin’ the country. And they ain’t cowards neither. If Trudeau and Villiers is there, you can bet their partner, Pierre, ain’t far away. Well, we shore can’t go back. All we can do is push on and stay alert.”
It was a strange sense of relief for the men, but relief nonetheless, to know that Bedell was waiting for them, and to know approximately where he was waiting. It ended speculation. The mountain men knew now they had a fight waiting on them.