Preacher took one look at the man and measured his next blow. It sounded like the flat side of an axe hitting a side of raw beef. Biggers went down and didn’t move. One side of his jaw was all cattywhompous; busted all to hell and gone. Cecil came and dragged the broken-nosed, busted-jawed, unconscious, and ass-cut Biggers off behind the trading post.
“He never did have no sense,” was Cecil’s summation of the entire affair. “I can’t speak for Jackson, but you’ll not see me no more.”
“Good,” Preacher said, taking the water bucket that Snake handed him and pouring it all over his head right good. He slicked his hair back with his fingers and looked around him. The women were all standing around, staring at him.
“All right. Let’s get this circus on the move, people,” Preacher said, plopping his hat on his head. “We got mountains to cross.”
And cross them they did.
Rejuvenated by the stop at the first lone light of civilization after hundreds of miles of plains and wilderness, the women picked up the reins, took their prod sticks, swung into their saddles, and pressed on westward. Preacher had warned them that the hardest part was still ahead, and they believed him. But they were trail-wise now, and felt that nothing could stop them—and nothing was going to. The mountain men knew that, too. They saw the change in the women, in the set of the jaw, the way they sat their saddles or handled the reins, and in the way they walked.
These women who now pushed westward bore little resemblance to the band of powdered, perfumed, and soft-handed ladies who had gathered back in Missouri for a grand adventure. Most had cut their hair short so they wouldn’t have to fuss with it. The women had become more proficient with weapons than most men of that time, handling them with an expert’s ease and sureness.
And Preacher, Steals Pony, Blackjack, and Snake were proud as punch of these women. They had taken more than their share of hard knocks and had bounced right back. These women would make fine partners for men, but the men who chose them had damn well better know right off the mark that these ladies would be their equals. The first men to raise a hand to these gals had best understand that when they did, odds were good they’d spend the rest of their life one-handed.
The hot and dusty days creaked and rattled past and the wagons pushed on without seeing any sign of Bedell and his gang. Two days after crossing the river, Steals Pony rejoined the train.
Before he said anything, he squatted down by the fire and poured a cup of coffee. “Tomorrow we fight,” he told Preacher and the other men. “Bedell and his men have laid out what appears to be a very elaborate ambush.” The Delaware smiled. “Perhaps too elaborate.”
“How many men?” Blackjack asked.
“I counted forty. They have pulled in their scouts and now wait in hiding.”
“You got a plan?” Snake asked.
“I do,” Steals Pony said. “But it is a very risky one for us. It could misfire.”
“Lay it out,” Preacher said.
The Delaware took a twig and started drawing in the dirt. He had worked his way in close to the encampment and memorized the positions of Bedell’s men. He now highlighted each ambush point. As before, it appeared to Preacher that Bedell was supremely confident. And now that over-confidence was going to blow right up in his face.
“He’s a fool,” Preacher said flatly. “He ain’t lookin’ to his back. Seems like Trudeau or some of them others would point that out to him.”
“I think that Bedell is a man who does not take kindly to the suggestions of others,” Steals Pony said.
“Ten women up here,” Preacher said, pointing to the top of the cliffs surrounding Bedell’s position. “We go in from the rear. The wagons stop here on the flats.” He jabbed at the ground. “And don’t move no further. They’ll be gone out of rifle range and safe. There ain’t no way Bedell’s men can approach them from any direction without gettin’ the crap shot out of them. The women on the ridges open fire and we move in. That it, Steals Pony?”
“That’s the way I see it.”
“Let’s do it.”
10
Preacher chose the women carefully and moved them into position that night. Ten women would be firing, and ten others would be reloading. Each woman carried two rifles. The hard practice Preacher had put them through at the beginning of the trip would now prove to be invaluable. There would be a nearly constant barrage from the ridges. The first wave of fire would cut Bedell’s band down by a full ten men. The rifle fire after that would keep them pinned down and cut off, allowing Preacher and the other men time to work their way in among those trapped near the rear. It would be a very bloody dawn.
“The man is no soldier,” Rupert pointed out, after reviewing the plan. “He positioned his forces all wrong. For which,” he added, “I am everlastingly grateful.”
“You real shore in your mind that you want to go in with us?” Preacher asked the young officer. “We ain’t plannin’ on takin’ no prisoners, son.”
Rupert cut his eyes over to Snake. The old man was patiently and skillfully sharpening his scalping knife to a razor’s edge. He was planning on taking some hair. All the mountain men had unpacked their bows and quivers of arrows for that first silent kill at dawning’s light. Steals Pony had gathered up some plants, pounded them into a thick and smelly pulp, and soaked his arrow points in the solution overnight.
“Poison,” the Delaware had told him. “Kills slow. Very painfully. These men deserve no better. I would not use it on an animal. I have too much respect for them.”
“Oh, yes,” Rupert said, a steely edge to his voice. “I’m going in.”
Preacher looked hard at the young man. He saw a very different person from just a few months ago. Rupert Worthington would never again fit entirely into genteel Virginia society. The west and the wilderness had left its mark on the career army man, and like a deep tattoo, it could never be removed. There was finely tempered steel in the man now. Many of his past illusions about right and wrong and the treatment of career criminals had been blown away like smoke in a high wind.
“You’ll never leave the west again, will you, boy?” Snake asked softly.
“I don’t plan to, sir. I will ask that I be posted to the wilderness. You see, I happen to know a new fort is to be built in the Dakota territory. I shall ask to be sent there. I have some experience in construction and engineering.”
“I wish you luck,” Snake said, sheathing his blade and getting up and walking away.
“Is he ill?” Rupert asked.
“No,” Steals Pony said. “He goes off to quietly sing his death song.”
“His death song?”
“He does not believe he will live to see another nooning. He told me.”
“But…”
“Leave it alone,” Preacher told him. “We know what to do. I done promised him I’d bury him high. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s gonna be right busy.”
After Rupert had gone to wrap up in his blankets, Preacher looked at Steals Pony. “You know something I don’t?”
“Snake has a sickness inside him. A growth that keeps getting bigger and more painful. I have seen them in others. The pain just gets unbearable at the end. He chooses to go out as a warrior. It is a good thing, I think. He told me about your promise to him.”
Preacher nodded. “He see a doctor?”
“Snake? You surely jest. No. Of course not. But he’s tired, Preacher. He wants to rest. Forever.”
“Ought to be right interestin’ come the dawnin’.”
Steals Pony smiled. “Quite.”
The women were in position an hour before dawn. Preacher, Snake, Steals Pony, Blackjack, and Rupert had Injuned up to the sleeping camp and were silently waiting for dawn and the wagons to start rumbling westward. Bedell had chosen a good ambush spot; Preacher himself couldn’t have done better. Only thing was, Bedell had not counted on having to protect his back and his north side. He was as exposed there as a newborn baby’s butt.