Roland limped out to meet Preacher as the mountain man swung down from Horse’s back. He had a bandage tied around his right calf. His face was pale with pain.
“What happened here?” Preacher asked. “Where are the wagons?”
“Gone,” Roland replied in a choked voice.
“I can see that, damn it. Who took ’em?” Preacher knew it probably hadn’t been the Comanches. Indians didn’t have any use for wagons or slow-moving oxen.
“It was that man Garity and the other thieves with him. They must have been following us, just waiting for a good chance to jump us again.”
“Garity,” Preacher said. The name left a bad taste in his mouth. “I knew him and his bunch might still be around here, but I figured it was more likely they’d gone on to Santa Fe or wherever the hell else it was they were headed.”
Roland shook his head. “I got a good look at him. It was definitely Garity and his men. We tried to fight them off, but they hit us without any warning and killed several of the men before we knew what was going on. The rest of us were cut off from the wagons and had to retreat into these trees. Some of them kept us pinned down while the others hitched up the teams and got the wagons moving.”
A chill went down Preacher’s back as a thought occurred to him. “What about Casey?” he asked. “Was she hurt in the fightin’?”
“I don’t know,” Roland replied, his voice more tortured than ever. “She was with the wagons. Garity . . . Garity took her with them.”
Preacher went cold all over when he heard those words. Anger boiled up inside him. “What the hell were you doin’?” he demanded. “You were supposed to have guards posted, and you should’ve been with the wagons, not down here by the river !”
“I know,” Roland said, sounding miserable. “But some of the men decided they wanted to wash off, and I thought it would be better if they did that in the river instead of the pool at the springs, and . . . and—”
Preacher stopped him with a sharp slashing motion of his hand. “That’s enough,” he said coldly. “It was a damn fool thing to do, and just the sort of chance Garity had been waitin’ for, I reckon.”
“I know.” Roland’s voice sounded dull and defeated as he nodded. “It’s my fault.” His head came up. “That’s why I’m going after them. I’m going to get Casey and the wagons back. I want Lorenzo’s horse.”
“And leave me stuck out here?” Lorenzo asked. He snorted. “Not likely.”
“Hold on,” Preacher said. “These horses been travelin’ all day already. They’re in no shape to be rode all night. Anyway, there ain’t much light left. How good are you at trackin’ in the dark?”
Roland grimaced. “I’m not a tracker at all. You know that, Preacher.”
“So you figured I’d go with you, right?”
“I supposed you’d want to help Casey as much as I do.” Anger flared in the young man’s voice as he went on, “Or do you not give a damn about her now that she’s with me?”
“She ain’t with you,” Preacher pointed out. “She’s with Garity. And you’re damn right I want to help her. We can’t do that by rushin’ off, just the two of us.”
Roland glared at him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re right, of course. Garity has at least a dozen men. But what are we going to do?”
Preacher looked at the sky, where the last light of day was fading. “We’ll stay here tonight and pick up their trail in the mornin’,” he said. “Did you at least see which way they were headed when they left?”
“They were following the trail southwest.”
Preacher nodded. “They’re headin’ for Santa Fe. Nobody there will know the wagons and the freight don’t belong to them. They can sell ’em all off and make a killin’, then take the money and light a shuck out of there before anybody figures out the deal was crooked.” Preacher tugged on his earlobe. “Maybe we can go after the varmints tonight after all. When did the raid happen?”
“Around the middle of the day.”
“So they’ve had half a day to get a lead on us,” Preacher mused. “But even on foot, men can move faster than those oxen pullin’ those heavy wagons. We can catch up to ’em before the night’s over.”
Roland shook his head. “Some of the men are hurt too bad to march like that.”
“Then they’ll stay here with a couple men to watch over ’em while the rest of us go after Garity.”
“We’ll be outnumbered.”
“Not for long,” Preacher said.
Lorenzo didn’t like it, but Preacher asked him to stay behind to help guard the wounded men. The old-timer had been in the saddle practically all day and was worn out.
“The same thing is true of you,” Lorenzo pointed out, “and you got clawed by that damn bear, to boot.”
“Yeah, but I’m a heap younger than you,” Preacher responded with a grin.
“You just want me to give up my horse so that young whippersnapper can use it.”
“Roland’s spoilin’ for a fight. We’ll see to it that he gets one.”
Reluctantly, Lorenzo agreed. “Don’t push that horse too hard. It’s already been a long way today.”
Preacher nodded. “We’ll take it as easy as we can. Most of the time we won’t be movin’ any faster than those men can walk.”
In addition to Preacher and Roland, eight men were in the party going after Garity and the rest of the outlaws. Each man was armed with a rifle and a knife, and a couple had pistols as well. It wasn’t much of an army, Preacher thought, but it would have to do.
Starting out, Roland was the only one who rode, since he had an injured leg. Preacher walked alongside him, leading Horse. The other eight men followed behind them. The stars were out and provided enough light for Preacher to follow the well-defined wagon trail.
“What about the bear?” Roland asked after a few minutes. “I saw that you were hurt. You must have found it.”
“We did,” Preacher said. “Dog and me both tangled with the varmint close up, and Lorenzo shot the blasted thing again.”
“So you killed it?”
“Well . . . it was alive the last time we saw it, but as bad hurt as it was, it’s bound to be dead by now.”
“But you’re not sure?” Roland persisted.
Preacher shrugged. “I wish I was.”
He knew logically that the bear couldn’t have survived for much longer after their encounter earlier that day . . . but he had thought that on other occasions, too, he reminded himself.
Ghost bear. Spirit bear. The words forced themselves into his brain. He shoved them right back out. The bear was flesh and blood. He had felt it, smelled it, wrestled with it. Like everything else flesh and blood, it could be killed.
But he had to admit, that particular bear had been damned stubborn about dying.
“I hope Casey’s all right,” Roland said. “I . . . I hate to think about what might be happening—”
“Then don’t,” Preacher said. “Think about what we’re gonna do when we catch up to that bunch.”
“What are we going to do? We can’t just burst into their camp and start shooting. Casey might get hurt, and besides, they outnumber us, like I said before.”
“I plan to do somethin’ about that.”
“What can one man do?”
Preacher smiled in the darkness. “I’ve slipped into and back out of more than one Injun camp, and take my word for it, the Blackfeet and the Sioux and the Comanch’ are a hell of a lot harder to sneak around than those outlaws will be. I plan to find out just where Casey is—maybe even get her out of there before the shootin’ starts.”