“In case the Indians come back.”
Preacher shrugged. “It could happen.” He rubbed his bearded jaw. “And it’d be better if I was here to help you fight ’em off.”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt of that.” Roland frowned. “Why don’t we compromise? You and Lorenzo see if you can trail the bear. But if you don’t find it, come back tonight and we’ll move out for Santa Fe tomorrow morning.” He took a deep breath. “I hate the idea of letting that creature get away with killing my father, but as you pointed out, Preacher, I have other responsibilities now, like all the men who work for him. Who work for me.”
Roland might still have a ways to go, but he was starting to grow up, Preacher thought. He said, “All right. We’ll ride out now and be back tonight, one way or the other.”
Roland nodded. “Thanks, Preacher. I feel like I ought to come with you, instead of asking you to avenge my father.”
“Nope, be better for you to stay here,” Preacher said with a shake of his head. “Somebody’s got to be in charge, and I reckon that’s you.”
Roland drew in a deep breath. “That still sounds wrong to me, but I’ll do what I can.”
Preacher clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Just keep your guard up, son. That’s the most important thing you can do right now.”
Motioning for Lorenzo to follow him, Preacher started toward the horses. He put his saddle on the big gray stallion while Lorenzo got the other horse ready to ride.
In a low, worried voice, the old-timer said, “You know, Preacher, I’m startin’ to think that bear can’t be killed. We done shot it and shot it, over and over, and the damn thing keeps on a-comin’ back.”
“Ain’t nothin’ ever lived that can’t be killed,” Preacher said.
“What if it ain’t . . . a real bear? What if it’s some kind of spirit?”
“A ghost bear?” Preacher shook his head. “It’s real, all right. My jaw still aches from the wallop it gave me last night. It’s real, and with enough powder and shot, it’ll die.”
Or else I’ll die tryin’ to kill it, he thought.
CHAPTER 18
Accompanied by Dog, they rode out of camp heading north, the same direction the bear had gone. The trail was harder to follow since the ground was hard and didn’t take tracks well. Dog also seemed to have trouble picking up the scent.
Preacher’s keen, experienced eyes were able to spot the little signs of the grizzly’s passage: the rocks that had been overturned recently, the marks in the dirt left by a dragging claw, the occasional drops of blood that testified to the fact the bear was wounded again.
If Preacher had been the superstitious sort, he might have wondered about the bear, just like Lorenzo. There was no telling how many times the big varmint had been wounded, and yet it was still alive, still vicious, still determined to wreak havoc on the wagon train. Preacher had no explanation for how it had survived or why it was so hell-bent on delivering death and destruction to the caravan, but he had seen men who were hard to kill, as well as men whose violent actions made no sense. If a human could go crazy, he supposed a bear could, too.
After a while, Lorenzo said, “I hope you know where you’re goin’. I don’t see no trail.”
Preacher pointed out the sign he was following. “If you’re gonna live out here on the frontier,” he said, “it’s time you started learnin’ some of the things that’ll help keep you alive.”
“I’m all for stayin’ alive,” Lorenzo said.
The bear’s trail led due north, through some bleak, rugged country. “Looks like he’s headed for Canada,” Preacher commented after a while.
“How far’s that?”
“Too far for us to follow him all the way there,” Preacher replied with a smile. “Maybe we’ll catch up to him.”
Lorenzo was silent for a few moments, then asked, “What do you think about that young fella Roland? Is he gonna be able to take over and run things like his pa?”
“Maybe,” Preacher said. “Bartlett didn’t really know what he was doin’, either. He just bought some wagons and freight and started out to Santa Fe, trustin’ to luck.”
“What was lucky was him runnin’ into you. That whole bunch’d likely be dead now without the help you give ’em.”
“Well, they gave us a hand back yonder in Independence, remember? Seems fittin’ we’d do what we can to help them, too.”
“Speakin’ of Independence . . . Casey seems taken with the boy now. You finally got her to give up on you?”
“So it appears,” Preacher said dryly.
“And that don’t bother you none?”
“That was what I wanted. What I’m worried about now is what will Casey do when Roland starts back to St. Louis.”
“Go with him?” Lorenzo suggested.
“I thought about that. What if some of your old boss’s friends recognize her?”
The old-timer snorted in contempt. “I ain’t sure Shad Beaumont ever had any friends. Just folks who worked for him and folks who was scared of him . . . or both, like me.” Lorenzo shook his head. “But I been around them crooked folks enough to know they don’t care about much of anything except money. They won’t have no reason to bother Casey, even if somebody does recognize her.”
“Roland might find out about her past if that happens,” Preacher pointed out.
“That’s likely to happen anyway, sooner or later.” Lorenzo shrugged. “Roland’ll just have to get over it, if it bothers him. Maybe it won’t.”
“Maybe not,” Preacher said.
While they were talking, he’d kept his eyes on the ground ahead of them, intently picking out the little indications that the grizzly had passed that way. He hadn’t seen any blood for quite a while, telling him the bear’s wounds were superficial and had stopped bleeding.
Dog ranged back and forth in front of them, sometimes with the scent, sometimes not. Preacher lost the trail a time or two himself but was able to find it again.
Around midday, they came to a dry wash, about a dozen feet deep and steep-walled. The bear’s tracks led right up to the edge. Preacher frowned as he swung down from the saddle and studied the ground. It looked like the bear had walked straight up to the wash and fallen into it. Preacher saw where the dust had been disturbed on the floor of the arroyo by the creature’s landing.
More tracks led off to the west. Preacher pointed them out and said, “Looks like he got up and kept movin’.”
“How come he fell off of there?” Lorenzo asked. “I know you said bears don’t see too good, but there ain’t no way he missed somethin’ as big as this wash.”
“Maybe he just didn’t care,” Preacher said. “Maybe he’s dyin’ at last, and he knows it.”
“We gonna follow him?”
Preacher looked up, studying the sun’s position in the sky. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I think we can stay on his trail for a couple more hours if we need to, and still get back to the wagons before dark if we push the horses a little.”
“You’re the boss.” Lorenzo looked and sounded a little nervous.
“You’re not still worried about the bear bein’ supernatural somehow, are you?” Preacher asked. “I tell you, the blamed thing’s real, and it can be killed.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Lorenzo said. “But he’s been mighty hard to kill so far, and I’m just wonderin’ how much more damage he can do ’fore we finish him off.”
“Not much, I’m hopin’,” Preacher said.
They rode along the edge of the wash, following it as it twisted and turned in a generally westward direction. Preacher was able to see the tracks from up there. As far as he could tell, the bear wasn’t making any effort to climb out of the wash.
After about a mile, he began seeing blood on the ground along with the tracks. One of the bear’s wounds must have broken open, he thought. His anticipation increased. Mortality might finally be catching up to the giant creature.