Absaroka Ambush

2

Charlie Burke was no spring chicken, but neither was he likely to fall over from old age anytime soon. Preacher just wanted to play the game as long as possible. He might be able to come up with several more if he kept this sham up long enough.

“Old age!” Charlie fumed at him. “If I didn’t like you so much I’d flatten your snoot, you damn whippersnapper. Let’s go lead these poor pilgrims ’crost the plains and the mountains.”

Preacher grinned at him. “Don’t get all worked up, Charlie. You liable to have a seizure, or something.”

Charlie glared at the younger man, and then a slow grin creased his lips. “These others,” he said, jerking a thumb toward Blackjack and Ned, “they don’t know what you’re up to. But I do, you connivin’ horse thief.”

“What’s he up to?” Ned demanded. “What’s he talkin’ ’bout, Preacher?”

“I ain’t got no idee,” Preacher said innocently.

“Say!” Blackjack said. “How about ol’ Snake?”

“I thought he was dead!” Preacher blurted.

“Naw. He just looks dead. He’s ‘bout as old as dirt.”

“You know where he is?”

“Shore. He’s got him a cabin ’bout two days south of here.”

“What’s Preacher up to, Charlie.”

“You boys try to figure it out,” Charlie told the pair. “While we ride.”

The old mountain man known as Snake was ancient. He could have been anywhere between seventy and ninety. Not even he knew. But what Snake did know was every trail between the Missouri River and the Pacific Ocean, and for his age, he was almighty spry and as tough as a boot. He still had enough of his teeth to gnaw with, and was no man to try to push around. Snake would either cut you or shoot you faster than a striking rattler. Hence, his name.

“I ain’t never in my life been around a hundred and fifty females,” Snake said. “And I ain’t right sure I wanna be now. But you boys is friends, and a friend is a valuable thing. So count me in.”

They were gone within the hour, heading east toward what would someday be called Kansas. Days later, they rode into a sea of waving grass and rolling hills and hostile Indians. And the men knew they were very likely to run into any number of tribes: Kiowa, Comanche, Pawnee, Osage, Shawnee, Arapaho, Wichita, and Kansa. None of whom would be terribly thrilled to see a hundred wagons come lumbering across their land. But a war party would be delighted to spot five men alone with no place to run.

“Been years since I been this far east,” Charlie said, waiting for the coffee to boil over a hat-sized fire. “Ten years, at least.”

“Longer than that for me,” Snake said, gnawing on a piece of jerky. “I had me a runnin’ battle with a war party of young bucks not too far from right where we’s sittin’. That must have been, oh, 1820 or so. I think they was a raidin’ party from down south that had just got whupped and they decided to take it out on me. They fought me pretty good and I still got a piece of arrowhead in my back from that skirmish. They chased me for miles, but my good horse carried me safe. I finally lost ’em up past the Little Beaver.”

“What tribe?” Preacher asked.

“I never knowed. I gleaned right off that they didn’t appear to be in no mood for genteel conversation. As a matter of fact, they was right unfriendly.”

Blackjack said, “Preacher, there ain’t no way the five of us is gonna be near enough. Have you give that any thought?”

“Practically every hour on the hour,” Preacher replied, dumping cold water into the coffeepot to settle the grounds. “I’m hopin’ they’ll be some ol’ boys we know around the stagin’ area that’ll be willin’ to throw in with us.

“And if they ain’t?” Ned asked.

“We hire some pilgrims, I reckon.”

Snake shook his head. “We’re gonna need at least twelve to fifteen more men to see to the needs of all these heifers. And that ain’t takin’ into consideration them that might feel the need for some servicin’.” He lifted wise old eyes to Preacher. “And that’s gonna create problems, Preacher.”

“I been givin’ that some thought, too. I’m just gonna have to lay the law down to the men and the ladies. I can’t keep men and women from doin’ what comes natural, but I can damn sure warn them that something like that could tear this wagon train apart. Well, we got about three hundred miles to go ’fore we have to do much worryin’. I think it’s the first week in March. We’re s’pposed to be there in three weeks. Give or take a day or two. I figure a week or ten days to sort things out and hire men. Then, boys, our troubles really begin.” His eyes cut around as Hammer’s ears pricked up. “Look sharp. We got company.”

The men had picked up rifles and taken up positions before Preacher’s words had stopped echoing in the cool air.

“Relax,” Charlie said, standing up. “It’s Ring and Steals Pony.”

No one knew if Ring was the man’s first or last name, and he never volunteered any explanation. Ring had come west about the same time as Preacher and was a man with no backup in him. Steals Pony was a Delaware Indian who had been taken in as a child by a white family and educated back east until he was about thirteen. He’d then said, “To hell with it,” and took off for the far western mountains. He had never been back. He was the finest horse thief Preacher had ever seen and he had a wicked sense of humor.

“What the hell are you two doin’ comin’ in from the north?” Charlie asked, as the men rode in and dismounted.

“Runnin’ from the goddamn Pawnee,” Steals Pony said, walking to the coffeepot.

“I think we lost ’em,” Ring added.

“You think?” Preacher said.

“They might show up,” Steals Pony replied, pouring a cup of the hot, black brew. “I told Ring not to mess around with that girl. She was a chief’s favorite daughter.”

Ring grinned. “I can’t help it if I’m so handsome women just naturally throw themselves at me.”

“The girl’s name was Stands Like Dog,” Steals Pony told them. “That ought to tell you something about how attractive she was.”

“How many Pawnee is there?” Snake asked.

“Oh, ’bout fifty or so,” Ring said casually.

“Fifty!”

“How far behind you and how long have they been chasin’ you?” Ned asked.

“They’ve been chasin’ us for a week,” Steals Pony said. “And I think they’re about two hours behind us.”

Ten minutes later, the mountain men had packed up and were moving east. Rapidly.

The days passed as the men left the rolling sea of grass, the endlessly blowing wind, and entered the flint hills section of what would someday be called Kansas; that gave way to the rolling hills and forested eastern one-third of the region. A half a day’s ride from the Missouri border, the men stopped at a clear-running little creek and took turns bathing while some others watched for trouble. They then shook out their best duds—mostly buckskins—and let them air some.

“This town we’re s’pposed to meet the wagons at,” Snake said. “How big you reckon it is?”

“I was told about five hundred or so people live there,” Preacher replied.

“Why?” Charlie asked.

Preacher shook his head. “I sure can’t give you no answer to that, Snake. Takes all kinds to make up this old world, I reckon.”

“Fools,” Steals Pony said. “I lived like that for years in my youth. All jammed up like pickles in a barrel. No good way to live.”

The same man who had approached Preacher with the envelope from President Van Buren last fall was waiting for them on the trail, accompanied by a half dozen other men, who, while dressed in civilian clothing, all bore the stamp of cavalrymen. Those men stared openmouthed at the seven mountain men.

Even though they had bathed and either shaved clean or trimmed their beards and mustaches, they were still a wild-looking bunch—faces burned dark by years of sun and wind, hats that had lost their shape months back. All carried at least two pistols at their waists, and four or five more hung on their saddles in addition to at least one rifle, which they carried across the saddle horn; another rifle was in a boot. Each man carried at least one war-axe and a long-bladed knife, either in a sheath or jammed behind a waist sash. They all had bows and quivers of arrows on their pack animals.

“Howdy, Mister Government Man,” Preacher said, swinging down from the saddle. “I’m here like I said I’d be. Where’s all the females?”

“Ah…in Missouri. Just a few miles away. I take it these are to be your assistants?” He waved at the others.

“No, they ain’t my assistants,” Preacher told him. “I brung ’em along ’cause they’s first class fightin’ men, hunters, scouts, trailblazers, liars, drunkards, card-cheats, and for the moment, clean. Although I can’t guarantee they’ll stay that way for very long. I also trust ’em with my life, and a man can’t say that about very many other folks. I told ’em what this here job would pay, and they agreed to that. If you don’t, we all just get back in the saddle and head west and you can push this gaggle of hens to the coast yourself.”

“Oh, I’m sure the sum is agreeable, Preacher. As I told you last fall, I would leave that entirely up to you. I have taken the liberty of hiring on a dozen or so other men—subject to your approval, of course.”

“Let’s go look this mess over,” Preacher said, and turned toward his horse.

A hand fell on his shoulder and spun him around. Preacher faced a young man who carried himself like some army officers Preacher had known over the years. Very arrogant ones.

“Git your goddamn hand off me, pup,” Preacher told the young man.

“I take exception to your surly attitude and your very cavalier approach to this important historical undertaking, sir,” the stuffed shirt said.

Preacher smiled while his friends rolled their eyes and elbowed one another, all knowing that Preacher was about two heartbeats away from knocking the young man on his butt.

“I’ll tell you one more time, sonny-boy,” Preacher said. “Git your goddamn hand off me.”

The young man’s hand tightened on Preacher’s shoulder. “I am Lieutenant Rupert Worthington, sir. United States Army. I will be in command of the small detachment of troops accompanying this train. All in civilian clothing, for obvious reasons. At least to those of us with some formal education. I might have to explain that to you and your…assistants. But one thing we shall straighten out right now is this: You will take orders from me.”

Preacher hit him with a left that crossed the lieutenant’s eyes and set him down on the ground, on his U.S. Army butt.

Then Preacher turned and stepped into the saddle, the other mountain men following suit. The president’s man’s eyes were amused. Preacher looked down at the young officer, being helped to his feet by two of his men.

“I figure, boy, that you just got out of some sort of highfalutin’ military school and you’re still pretty wet behind the ears. I also figure you ain’t never heard a shot fired in anger. I figure, too, that you got all sorts of ideas about fair play and rules of war and that sort of crap. Leave them here. They don’t work in the wilderness. And don’t you ever speak down to me again, young feller. Not to me, not to none of us. Mayhaps we don’t have no fancy de-gree from some university. But what we do have is about three hundred years of experience in stayin’ alive in hostile country. When one of us tells you the trail is wrong, you leave it. When we say don’t drink the water, don’t drink it. And when one of us tells you to get ready for an Injun attack, you damn well better get ready. And then you might stay alive out here.”

Preacher and the others swung their horses and rode off at a trot.

“Savage!” Rupert said, holding a dampened handkerchief—handed to him by one of his men—to his swollen jaw.

“Son,” the president’s man said. “Preacher might be wild and woolly and uncurried, but he and those men with him opened up this country. Neither you, nor I, can even come close to understanding the hardships and mind-numbing deprivations they have stoically endured over the years. There is no law past this point, Lieutenant. None except what powder and shot the individual carries with him. There are no courts of law. Past this point, it is a hard and violent land, where life is cheap and death can be either quick or terribly long and painful. You don’t know the breed of men called mountain man. And I scarcely know much about them. But I do know this: crowd them and they’ll hurt you. The best advice I can give you all is to keep your mouths shut and your ears wide open.”

The president’s man swung into the saddle and rode after Preacher and the others.

“It’s going to be a very interesting journey,” a young soldier said.

“Sergeant Scott,” Lieutenant Worthington said, after rendering the young man silent with a hard look, “mount the men.”