“Oohhh!” Faith said, tossing her head. She stalked away.
The ladies marched off, Eudora lingering with the men for a moment. Eudora smiled and asked, “When do you intend to temper that fire in her, Captain?”
“Why, Miss Hempstead,” Preacher said with a grin, “whatever in the world do you mean?”
Eudora laughed and walked off.
“That New England woman, now,” Blackjack said, with admiring eyes on Eudora, “she’s the first woman I’ve met in many a year who could make me settle down to hearth and home.”
“If I was fifty years younger,” Snake said. “I’d bundle her up and tote her off. That there is one hell of a woman, I tell you. Mighty fine. Mighty fine.”
“Be right interestin’ to see what kind of man she’s got all staked out on the coast,” Preacher opined. “If she’s got one a-tall.”
“What do you mean?” Steals Pony asked.
“I just got me a hunch that maybe that government man lied,” Preacher replied. “I think they’s some men in the valley who knows these ladies is comin’. But not many. Maybe they’s another government plan in mind. Hell, there ain’t a hundred an’ fifty spare men in the whole damn Willamette Valley.”
“I think you be right, Preacher,” Snake agreed. “This setup didn’t seem right from the git-go. Not to me.”
“But what do the government hope to gain by doin’ this foolishness?” Blackjack asked.
Preacher shook his head. “To in-tice more men from the east, maybe. Government wants this area settled. And fast. I mean, ever’thing from the Mississippi to the Pacific.”
“That’s foolish thinkin’,” Snake said.
“Yes, it is,” Steals Pony said. “But I agree with Preacher. The government wants this nation settled. What better way to get men out here than with the knowledge that women are waiting for them. I think you are correct, Preacher.”
“Why, them lyin’ no-counts!” Blackjack said. “The government ain’t supposed to lie. They supposed to be honorable men, doin’ the biddin’ of them that voted for them.”
“You livin’ in a dream world,” Preacher countered. “I allow as to how I seen more politicians than near’bouts any one of you. And I ain’t got no use for none of them.”
Rupert had been listening, saying nothing. But now he nodded his head. “I am forced to agree with you, Preacher. A mere few weeks ago I would have taken exception to your words. But no more. I now believe the government wants the entire Willamette Valley firmly established in American hands. And this wagon train is just one of their plans for doing that. But we’ll never know for sure, will we?”
“If the men in Washington ain’t honorable men now,” Snake said. “Reckon what it’ll be like there a hundred or so years from now?”
“Awful,” Preacher replied.
The wagons reached the trading post without event and the trappers and fur buyers gathered there stood and looked on in astonishment as the women stepped down and returned their stares.
“Women!” one man said, awe in his voice. “I ain’t never seen so many women in one place in all my life.”
“That there’s Preacher!” another said. “Preacher! What the hellfire’s goin’ on, you old warhoss?”
“I’m a-leadin’ these ladies to the promised land,” Preacher said. “You git whiskey around here?”
“What’s wrong with right here?” another man asked, eyeballing Faith. She was mighty fetchin’ in her men’s britches. Especially walking away.
“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with right here,” Preacher said, taking the jug offered him and knocking back a huge swallow of whiskey. He lowered the jug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But these ladies is bound for the Willamette.”
Much to the surprise of the men who ran the huge trading post, after the women had seen to their teams, they all crowded into the dark and dank-smelling building and were pawing through blankets and cloth, holding up this and that, and generally having a good time. This was the first small touch of civilization they’d experienced in several months, and they were determined to make the most of it.
“Why Willamette?” a trapper asked.
Preacher started to tell him because it was another of the government’s damn fool ideas, but he’d given his word not to talk about that, so he said, “They got men waitin’ on ’em out yonder. Gonna get all hitched up.” He took another swig. “You boys seen a big bunch of men anywheres around here lately?”
“A bunch come through here about ten days ago,” a man behind the counter said. “And they bought too many supplies for their number. I figure they was buyin’ for a lot of people. I didn’t like the looks of them at all.”
“How many in the bunch that stopped by here?” Blackjack asked, after buying a huge handful of twist chewing tobacco.
“Ten. But they bought enough for fifty or so. Had them a string of packhorses that was loaded down when they left. Headed in the same direction you folks are going.”
“Know any of them?” Snake asked.
“Yes. That no-good Villiers was with them. But what made me suspicious was that Pierre and Trudeau were nowhere to be seen. You boys know something that we need to know?”
Preacher poured himself a brimming cup of whiskey and sat down at a table. He first drank half the cup, then he told the sordid tale of Bedell from the beginning, telling everything that had occurred on the trail since leaving Missouri. The trappers, traders, scouts, and Hudson’s Bay men, all seasoned veterans of the wilderness, were shocked and their faces showed it.
One man broke the silence. “They’re dead men if they return here,” he said, his voice thick with anger. “I can guarantee you they will be shot on sight.”
“You were right, Godfrey,” a trapper said to the counterman. “We should have put lead in the scummy whole bunch of them.”
“We were just about to set out for Canada, Preacher,” a buckskin-clad man said. “But we can change our plans and ride with you.”
Preacher drained his cup and shook his head. “No. No point in any of you riskin’ your skins for this government foul-up. And you people keep your mouths shut about what I told you. Bedell and his crew find out you know about the evil deeds, they’ll come back here and do some butcherin’ in the night. If any of ’em get away from me, that is,” he added.
The men gathered in the trading post exchanged knowing glances. They all knew Preacher, and his reputation. Preacher had been wronged, and his good horse had been killed. Those who had done it would be called to account. And with Preacher that usually meant guns or knives.
“Preacher,” a man called. “Them’s the most terriblest lookin’ pistols you got strapped around you I ever seen. Where can I get me a set?”
“I don’t know. Feller back east made ’em. I took ’em off a dead outlaw I kilt last year. I…”
“He was a friend of ours,” a voice spoke from the open doorway.
Preacher turned around and faced the three men. They were dirty, stinking, and the fleas and lice were fairly hopping on them. Probably jumping from one to the other, Preacher thought. Maybe for a change in menu. Preacher grinned at the thought.
“Whut are you grinnin’ about, you ugly bastard?” one of the trio asked.
Several of the men who knew Preacher well and could guess what was about to happen, hustled the women out a side door. Eudora and Faith were standing off to one side in the shadows, and did not move.
Preacher smiled slow and easy. “Why…I’m laughin’ ’cause in my mind, I just told myself a joke that I never had heard before. It was right funny.”
The trio of brigands looked at one another, all of them attempting to figure out what Preacher had just said. “He’s makin’ fun of us,” the original loudmouth said. “What he just said just ain’t possible.”
“Whut did he say?” another asked.
Preacher laughed at him.