The women gave Preacher a loud hip, hip, and a hooray and Hammer just about came unhinged. Preacher had to fight to keep a hold on the reins. The president’s man came riding to his rescue.
“There will be a meeting right after lunch tomorrow afternoon, ladies,” he said. “Any and all questions will be answered then. Shall we go, Preacher?”
“With pleasure,” Preacher muttered.
The president’s man tried to put Preacher and his friends up at an inn, but the mountain men would have no part of that. The feather ticks were always too soft and the rooms too small. The men preferred to sleep out under the skies and stars.
Later that afternoon, Preacher went strolling amid the wagons and the women. There were some kids, but not many—something that Preacher was profoundly grateful for. He smiled and spoke to the women as he walked, but did not stop to talk. That would come in a day or two. He wanted to personally talk with every female there, to spot the strong as well as the weak.
Quick as a sneaky snake, Faith Crump was by his side, tablet and pencils at hand. “So what do you think about this venture, Mister, ah, Preacher?”
“I ain’t paid to think, lady. I’m paid to get you people through.”
“Do you always carry that big gun wherever you go?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if I run into Jack Hayes, I might take a notion to shoot him.”
“Why don’t you leave Mister Hayes to the proper authorities?”
“What proper authorities, Lady? He’s been loose and free for years after all the bad he done back east. Don’t seem to me like anybody’s doin’ anything to grab him and string him up. And this is the last chance for anybody to do something legal-like.” He stopped, turned, and pointed west. A dozen other women had stopped what they were doing and gathered around, listening. “A few miles yonder, Missy, the laws that you live under stop. For hundreds of miles the only law is that which a man carries in his heart and mind and what comes out of the barrel of a gun. Missy, you ain’t never seen nothing like what you’re a-fixin’ to see in a few days. None of you. You’re all a-thinkin’ this is some sort of grand adventure. But I’ll tell you what it is right now. It’s dirt and sweat and pain and grief. It’s bein’ so tired you can’t even think. It’s pushin’ and tuggin’ and heavin’ and jerkin’ ’til your hands bleed. You ever seen a person die, Missy? No? I thought so. You’re goin’ to. You’re goin’ to see painted up Injuns who, rightly or wrongly, don’t like people comin’ through lands they been callin’ their own for hundreds of years. You folks back east, now, you think the Injun is dumb and savage. He ain’t dumb. Far from it. He’s just got a way of life that suits him just fine and he’s prepared to fight and die to keep it that way. And who are we to say that he’s wrong and we’re right? Missy, you better stock up on writin’ tablets and quills and ink, ’cause you’re gonna have a lot to write about. And you all had better reach down deep inside you and find all the strength you can muster up. Because you’re damn sure goin’ to need it.” Preacher turned and walked away from the group.
“He’s just trying to scare us off this journey.” Faith finally broke the silence after Preacher had gone.
“No, he isn’t,” Eudora said. “I think we’ve finally found a person who is telling it straight. And I think we all had better remember every word.”
“Nonsense!” Faith scoffed. “The man is no more than an uneducated lout and a bully.”
Eudora looked at the fast-fading back of Preacher, striding through the camp. She was thoughtful for a moment. She came from a long line of seafaring stock, and was quite familiar with the type of man called adventurer. She knew that while they were among the best at spinning tall tales and great yarns, when they became serious, it behooved a body to listen and pay close attention. And she believed every word she’d heard from Preacher.
“Gales are going to blow,” she muttered. “And the seas will be running high before we finally make port.”
“Beg pardon?” a lady asked.
“Nothing, Madeline,” Eudora said. “Nothing at all.”
On the morning of the second day, Preacher eyeballed the ten men who’d volunteered to accompany the wagon train to the coast. There had been fourteen originally. Preacher had now kicked out Jack Hayes and three others. There would be eight soldier boys, including Sergeant Scott and Lieutenant Worthington.
Bad thing about it, Preacher thought, is that none of these men have ever been more than a few miles past the Missouri line. There ain’t an Injun fighter in the lot.
“Get ’em outfitted,” Preacher said to Blackjack. “Plenty of powder and shot and spare molds. I done looked over the spare mounts. They’ll do. You boys take a look at them, too. See what you think. I got to go see…what is that damn feller’s name from Washington?”
“He never said,” Snake replied.
“Smart. This thing goes bad, nobody can blame him. I’ll see you boys this afternoon at the meetin’.” Preacher went in search of the mysterious man from Washington and found him at a pub, having him a drink of whiskey. He was sitting alone at a corner table. Just him and the jug. Preacher fetched a cup from the bar and joined him.
“You lay in them britches and shirts like I told you?” Preacher asked quietly, filling his cup.
“That I did. And I approve of your plan. But whether the ladies will, remains to be seen.”
“They ain’t gonna have nothin’ to say about it. After we pull out, am I gonna see you again?”
“Doubtful.” He pushed a wax-sealed envelope toward Preacher. “Your money will be waiting on the coast. This venture is backed by the government of the United States and there are payment on demand vouchers in there. Open it and look for yourself if you doubt my word.”
“I don’t have to do that. ’Cause if I get out there and find that you’ve cheated me, I’ll track you through the gates of Hell and kill you personal.”
The man nodded his head. “I am fully aware of that, Arthur.”
Preacher cut his eyes to the man. First time he’d heard his Christian name spoke aloud in years. “Done some checkin’ on me, did you?”
“As much as we could. We had to be sure you were the right man for this assignment. You are. Your parents are alive and very well and living comfortably in retirement. They have moved up into southern Ohio. Near your mother’s relatives. You have several brothers and sisters still living. They didn’t seem to be particularly interested in your whereabouts or well-being.”
“I left home when I was about the size of a tadpole, Mister. I wouldn’t know none of them if they was to walk through that door right now. They went their ways, I went mine.”
“You haven’t communicated with them at all over the long years?”
“No. Well, that ain’t rightly true. I posted a letter to ma and pa some years back. I never knowed if it got through to them. Then I heard they had died. I sorta lost interest in going back.”
“They know you are alive and doing well and they’ve been reading about you. They are both very proud of you.”
“Mayhaps I’ll go back east after this is over and visit with them some. Might be the last chance I’ll ever get. They sure as hell ain’t gettin’ no younger. You gonna be here when we pull out?”
“Oh, yes. I shall leave for the east as soon as I see you off.”
“I’m probably off, all right, for taking this job. Off in the head.”
The man from Washington smiled. “Oh, I think not.” He splashed some more whiskey into Preacher’s cup. He lifted his own cup. “Shall we drink to the success of this journey?”
The mountain man and the bureaucrat—circa 1839—smiled at one another and clinked their cups.
“You gonna be at the meetin’ this afternoon?”