“This is terrible,” Bartlett complained. “Just terrible.”
“Talk to your son,” Preacher said. “He’s the one who got trigger-happy.”
Bartlett frowned. “But that savage grabbed Casey. He was going to drag her off with him.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Preacher said. “He just wanted to show what a big man he was. We would have offered him something else in trade instead of Casey, and that would have been the end of it.”
“You sound awfully certain of that.”
“I am. Seen it happen before. I would’ve handled it without anybody gettin’ hurt, but Roland didn’t give me a chance.”
“We don’t all know as much about life on the frontier as you do, Preacher.”
“That’s why you asked me to come along,” Preacher snapped. “Let’s get those wagons pulled in a circle.”
He retrieved his rifle and reloaded it while keeping watch all around them. He didn’t expect the Comanches to allow them to circle the wagons in a defensive arrangement without attacking again, but to his surprise, that was what happened. The Indians were probably doing some considerable wrangling among themselves about what to do next. Either that, or one of their medicine men was trying to whip up some powerful medicine to protect them when they attacked.
As soon as the wagons were in position, the men began unhitching the teams and leading them into the center of the circle. While that was going on, Lorenzo came up to Preacher and reported, “Ain’t nobody on our side dead, but we got half a dozen wounded men.”
“Any of ’em hurt too bad to fight?” Preacher asked.
“Only one. Some of his friends loaded him in one of the wagons.”
Preacher nodded. “We’ll see if Casey can look after him. Tell Roland to stay with her.”
“That boy ain’t going very far away from her,” Lorenzo said with a snort.
“That’s good. I’m countin’ on him to keep her safe when those Comanch’ hit us again.”
“When’s that gonna be, you think?”
“Soon,” Preacher said grimly. “Any time now.”
As the minutes dragged past he came to the conclusion the Comanches were deliberately stringing it out. They wanted the men with the wagons to get nervous. When Preacher looked at the bullwhackers and listened to their worried, low-voiced conversations, he knew the tactic was working. Their nerves were quickly stretching to the breaking point.
Since the lull in the fighting continued, Preacher walked out several yards from the wagons and gave a piercing whistle. He repeated it a couple times before he saw Horse and Dog trotting toward him over the prairie. Two more of the saddle mounts trailed the stallion and the big cur. Preacher held his rifle ready for instant use as he watched the animals come in.
When he got them safely inside the circle of wagons, he found Leeman Bartlett and told him about the extra horses that had avoided capture.
“That’s one bit of good luck, anyway,” the man said. “Lord knows we can use all of it we can get.”
“I want half the men to rest while the other half stand guard,” Preacher said. “Those Injuns could come from any direction, so we got to look ever’ which way we can.”
Bartlett nodded. “I understand. I’ll give the orders.” He hesitated. “Preacher, I know you’re right about what Roland did. I’m sorry.”
“We’ll worry about that later. Right now let’s just try to get through this alive.”
He went to the wagon where the seriously wounded man had been placed and found Casey wrapping strips of cloth around the man’s midsection to serve as makeshift bandages. He appeared to be unconscious.
“An arrow went all the way through his side,” Casey said. “He lost a lot of blood, but I cleaned the wounds. I’ll bind them up and maybe he’ll have a chance.”
Preacher nodded. “The fella’s better off that the arrow came out the other side. Gettin’ one of the blamed things out usually tears a fella up worse’n it did goin’ in.”
Roland was hovering over Casey as she worked. He clutched a rifle in his hands and had a pistol behind his belt. He glared at Preacher and said, “My father tells me you think I’m to blame for this attack.”
“I won’t lie to you, boy,” Preacher said. “You caused it, all right. You lost your head and shot Lame Buffalo when there wasn’t any need.”
“No need? My God, man, that savage was trying to kidnap Casey!”
Preacher was getting tired of explaining what had really been going on. He said, “It was just part of the game. We would’ve bartered for her, and she wouldn’t have gone anywhere.”
“How in blazes was I supposed to know that?”
“Maybe if you’d waited a minute instead of pullin’ that trigger—”
The wounded man let out a groan.
“That’s enough,” Casey said sharply. “Arguing about it now isn’t going to change things. Roland, you don’t have to stay here with me.”
“Yes, he does,” Preacher said. “I want him to watch out for you when the Comanch’ jump us again.”
“I thought they ran away,” Roland said.
Preacher made a disgusted sound. “We’re damn lucky they ain’t back already.”
Casey said, “No one has to watch out for me. Give me a pistol and some powder and shot, and I’ll handle my share of the fighting.”
As Preacher looked at her determined face, he knew she meant it. He said, “That ain’t a bad idea. Roland, you’ve got extra pistols in the freight these wagons are carryin’. Go rustle up one for her. I’ll stay here for the time bein’.”
Roland looked like he wanted to argue, but after a second he nodded. “I’ll be right back,” he told Casey. He climbed out of the wagon.
“Don’t you think you were too hard on him?” Casey asked when Roland was gone.
“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t the truth.”
“Maybe not, but he’s just learning his way around out here, like I am.”
“He won’t live long enough to learn much of anything if he don’t start payin’ more attention to the folks who know better.”
“Maybe you’re right. But I was scared that Indian was really going to take me with him, and I was glad when Roland stopped him.”
Preacher shook his head. “I never would’ve let that happen. I’d have shot the varmint myself before I let him carry you off.”
Casey’s voice softened a little as she said, “I know that. I just didn’t stop to think about it at the time.”
Preacher didn’t have anything to say to that. He hunkered on his heels in silence as Casey sat beside the wounded man.
He didn’t stay that way for very long. A shout went up somewhere outside, and a second later Preacher heard running footsteps approaching the wagon. He straightened as much as he could in the cramped confines of the wagon and shoved the canvas flaps aside to see Lorenzo hurrying toward the wagon.
“Preacher!” the old-timer called. “It’s them Injuns. They’re attackin’ again!”
CHAPTER 16
Preacher bit back a curse. Roland hadn’t come back yet with that pistol for Casey. He pulled one of his own pistols from behind his belt and pressed it into her hand.
“Did this fella you patched up have a powder-horn and shot pouch?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I didn’t see them if he did.”
“All right. You got one shot here. If you need it, make it count. I’ll send Roland back here if I see him.”
“Don’t worry about me, Preacher. I’ll be fine.” Her face was pale with fear, making the scar on her cheek stand out more than usual. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and climbed quickly out of the wagon.
He saw dust boiling up from the hooves of the Indian ponies as the Comanches charged toward the circled wagons. They must have been making medicine to have taken this long to attack again, he thought. He shouted to the men crouched behind the wagons, “Hold your fire until they’re closer!” He added the same advice he had given Casey. “Make your shots count, boys!”