Absaroka Ambush

8

The way was every bit as tough as Preacher and the other mountain men had promised…and more.

South and slightly west of South Pass, Preacher halted the wagons early and told the women to make camp. They were going to rest up and fill every barrel and container they had with water. Preacher had had them gathering up twigs and sticks and buffalo chips for a week. “’Cause if you think it’s been slim pickin’s so far, just wait ’til you see this trail.”

“Hell,” Faith summed it up the middle of the next day, fanning herself with her hat.

It was a fairly apt description, for the sun was beating down mercilessly and the powderlike dust whirled under the hooves of the animals and the wheels of the wagons.

“It gets worser,” Preacher said, riding up to end the short break. “Let’s go.”

When they made camp for that night, after having traveled about fifteen miles, the women were furious with Preacher because he would not let them use one drop of water for anything other than cooking and the taking care of their animals. He even rationed the drinking water.

“We are filthy!” Faith told him. “I positively reek!”

“You’ll get reeker,” Preacher informed the indignant lady. “Whatever that means. Beat the dust offen you with your hat and quit gripin’ about it.”

“Ohh! You insufferable ass!” Faith said, then wheeled around and stalked off.

“You lost a little ground there that time, Preacher,” Blackjack said. “You keep on like that, you’ll never get that woman ’tween the blankets.”

“She’ll get over it,” Preacher replied. “Eudora’ll settle her down.”

Whether the tall and handsome New England woman settled her down or not, Faith did stop her complaining and rode stoically on westward, grimy hands, dusty face, disheveled hair, and all. But she didn’t speak to Preacher for the next four days.

Which was sort of a relief for Preacher. Faith Crump could be a real pain in the butt when she took a mind to be.

“Green about five miles ahead,” Steals Pony informed Preacher, reining up in a cloud of fine dust.

Preacher rode back to Eudora. “Keep a firm hand on them reins, ladies. The mules and oxen will be smellin’ that cold, clear water in a minute, and they’ll try to run.”

“I certainly wouldn’t blame them,” Faith said, more ice in her voice than it took to cool off a barrel of beer.

The other men were riding up and down the wagons, warning the drivers to keep a tight rein on the mules and the drovers and prodders to grab ahold of the oxen and try to hold them back when they smelled the water.

“The Green’s fed from the snow up yonder in the mountains,” Preacher said, Faith’s words not fazing him one bit. “She’s cold and sweet and once you’ve drunk your fill, y’all can move upstream a bit and take shifts a-bathin’. But wait a time so’s you can wash down the livestock. They deserve a good bath, too. They sure earned it.”

“I certainly concur,” Eudora said. “They have performed magnificently.”

“We bathe the animals before we bathe ourselves?” Faith questioned.

“You take care of what’s the most important on the trail first,” Preacher said with a straight face, then rode on back to the head of the long train, leaving Faith sputtering and Eudora smiling.

The drivers and drovers tried their best, but they could not contain the animals’ excitement when they smelled the cold fresh water of the Green. Mules and oxen broke into a lumbering trot when the river was near. After days of savage heat and choking, blinding dust, the animals headed for the river despite everything that could be humanly done to hold them in check, which included a lot of fancy cussing by the ladies. And Preacher discovered that Eudora really knew how to sling the four, six, and eight letter words around. One wagon overturned, but suffered only minor damage, the driver sustaining nothing more than a few cuts and bruises and loss of temper.

The overturned wagon was righted and checked for damage and declared trailworthy. The driver had her scratches tended to and her temper calmed. Although it was only midday, Preacher told the ladies to make camp. They all needed to rest and they sure needed a good bath.

“How far is it to this Soda Springs?” Rupert asked.

“’Bout a week, I’d say,” Preacher told him. “’Bout fifty miles past that, they’s a tradin’ post. Belongs to the Hudson’s Bay Company. We can stock up on provisions there.”

“A few folks have taken to callin’ that the split-up post,” Snake offered. “Just past the post is the trail—if that’s what you want to call it—that leads to Californy. But it’s a killer, I tell you. I wouldn’t lead no wagons crost it.”

“What’s that like?” Faith asked, walking up to join the group with a few other ladies. Faith had her writing tablet in her hand.

“Hot and dry,” Preacher told her. “Rocks, sagebrush, dust, and alkali water. That place ain’t fit for man nor beast. Hell on earth is what I call it.”

“And the route we’ll take from the post?” Eudora asked.

“As we have tried to tell you all,” Steals Pony said. “It’s very dangerous. It’s, well, difficult to describe. At the Columbia, I suggest rafting the final leg. But Preacher is the only man to ever take a train through the mountains. Is that the way this train is going, Preacher?”

“That’s my plan now. We’ll just have to wait and see the condition of the women, the wagons, and the livestock when we get there. And let’s don’t forget Bedell. We still got him and his scum to deal with. Despite all the misfortune the ladies has gone through, we been lucky so far. Real lucky.”

“Lucky!” Faith blurted.

“Yes,” Blackjack spoke up. “You see, Missy, what them people from back east didn’t tell y’all, is that they’s been several wagon trains ’fore this one that just vanished on the trail. I mean, no trace of them has ever been found and no trace of them ever will be found. All we had was a few minor run-ins with the Injuns. We got that to face on the next leg of this journey. Plus Bedell and his trash. You’ll see. All of you. You’ll see just how lucky you’ve been so far.”

Faith scribbled in her journal for a moment and then lifted her eyes to Preacher. “The animals have been watered and bathed, your dictatorship. May we now take our baths?”

“Have at it, Missy. Just do it in shifts with ample guards all around. When y’all are done we’ll take our spruce-ups. Take your time a-splashin’ and a-soapin’ and a-rubbin’ this and that.”

“Oohhh!” Faith said, tossing her head. She stalked away.

The ladies marched off, Eudora lingering with the men for a moment. Eudora smiled and asked, “When do you intend to temper that fire in her, Captain?”

“Why, Miss Hempstead,” Preacher said with a grin, “whatever in the world do you mean?”

Eudora laughed and walked off.

“That New England woman, now,” Blackjack said, with admiring eyes on Eudora, “she’s the first woman I’ve met in many a year who could make me settle down to hearth and home.”

“If I was fifty years younger,” Snake said. “I’d bundle her up and tote her off. That there is one hell of a woman, I tell you. Mighty fine. Mighty fine.”

“Be right interestin’ to see what kind of man she’s got all staked out on the coast,” Preacher opined. “If she’s got one a-tall.”

“What do you mean?” Steals Pony asked.

“I just got me a hunch that maybe that government man lied,” Preacher replied. “I think they’s some men in the valley who knows these ladies is comin’. But not many. Maybe they’s another government plan in mind. Hell, there ain’t a hundred an’ fifty spare men in the whole damn Willamette Valley.”

“I think you be right, Preacher,” Snake agreed. “This setup didn’t seem right from the git-go. Not to me.”

“But what do the government hope to gain by doin’ this foolishness?” Blackjack asked.

Preacher shook his head. “To in-tice more men from the east, maybe. Government wants this area settled. And fast. I mean, ever’thing from the Mississippi to the Pacific.”

“That’s foolish thinkin’,” Snake said.

“Yes, it is,” Steals Pony said. “But I agree with Preacher. The government wants this nation settled. What better way to get men out here than with the knowledge that women are waiting for them. I think you are correct, Preacher.”

“Why, them lyin’ no-counts!” Blackjack said. “The government ain’t supposed to lie. They supposed to be honorable men, doin’ the biddin’ of them that voted for them.”

“You livin’ in a dream world,” Preacher countered. “I allow as to how I seen more politicians than near’bouts any one of you. And I ain’t got no use for none of them.”

Rupert had been listening, saying nothing. But now he nodded his head. “I am forced to agree with you, Preacher. A mere few weeks ago I would have taken exception to your words. But no more. I now believe the government wants the entire Willamette Valley firmly established in American hands. And this wagon train is just one of their plans for doing that. But we’ll never know for sure, will we?”

“If the men in Washington ain’t honorable men now,” Snake said. “Reckon what it’ll be like there a hundred or so years from now?”

“Awful,” Preacher replied.

The wagons reached the trading post without event and the trappers and fur buyers gathered there stood and looked on in astonishment as the women stepped down and returned their stares.

“Women!” one man said, awe in his voice. “I ain’t never seen so many women in one place in all my life.”

“That there’s Preacher!” another said. “Preacher! What the hellfire’s goin’ on, you old warhoss?”

“I’m a-leadin’ these ladies to the promised land,” Preacher said. “You git whiskey around here?”

“What’s wrong with right here?” another man asked, eyeballing Faith. She was mighty fetchin’ in her men’s britches. Especially walking away.

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with right here,” Preacher said, taking the jug offered him and knocking back a huge swallow of whiskey. He lowered the jug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But these ladies is bound for the Willamette.”

Much to the surprise of the men who ran the huge trading post, after the women had seen to their teams, they all crowded into the dark and dank-smelling building and were pawing through blankets and cloth, holding up this and that, and generally having a good time. This was the first small touch of civilization they’d experienced in several months, and they were determined to make the most of it.

“Why Willamette?” a trapper asked.

Preacher started to tell him because it was another of the government’s damn fool ideas, but he’d given his word not to talk about that, so he said, “They got men waitin’ on ’em out yonder. Gonna get all hitched up.” He took another swig. “You boys seen a big bunch of men anywheres around here lately?”

“A bunch come through here about ten days ago,” a man behind the counter said. “And they bought too many supplies for their number. I figure they was buyin’ for a lot of people. I didn’t like the looks of them at all.”

“How many in the bunch that stopped by here?” Blackjack asked, after buying a huge handful of twist chewing tobacco.

“Ten. But they bought enough for fifty or so. Had them a string of packhorses that was loaded down when they left. Headed in the same direction you folks are going.”

“Know any of them?” Snake asked.

“Yes. That no-good Villiers was with them. But what made me suspicious was that Pierre and Trudeau were nowhere to be seen. You boys know something that we need to know?”

Preacher poured himself a brimming cup of whiskey and sat down at a table. He first drank half the cup, then he told the sordid tale of Bedell from the beginning, telling everything that had occurred on the trail since leaving Missouri. The trappers, traders, scouts, and Hudson’s Bay men, all seasoned veterans of the wilderness, were shocked and their faces showed it.

One man broke the silence. “They’re dead men if they return here,” he said, his voice thick with anger. “I can guarantee you they will be shot on sight.”

“You were right, Godfrey,” a trapper said to the counterman. “We should have put lead in the scummy whole bunch of them.”

“We were just about to set out for Canada, Preacher,” a buckskin-clad man said. “But we can change our plans and ride with you.”

Preacher drained his cup and shook his head. “No. No point in any of you riskin’ your skins for this government foul-up. And you people keep your mouths shut about what I told you. Bedell and his crew find out you know about the evil deeds, they’ll come back here and do some butcherin’ in the night. If any of ’em get away from me, that is,” he added.

The men gathered in the trading post exchanged knowing glances. They all knew Preacher, and his reputation. Preacher had been wronged, and his good horse had been killed. Those who had done it would be called to account. And with Preacher that usually meant guns or knives.

“Preacher,” a man called. “Them’s the most terriblest lookin’ pistols you got strapped around you I ever seen. Where can I get me a set?”

“I don’t know. Feller back east made ’em. I took ’em off a dead outlaw I kilt last year. I…”

“He was a friend of ours,” a voice spoke from the open doorway.

Preacher turned around and faced the three men. They were dirty, stinking, and the fleas and lice were fairly hopping on them. Probably jumping from one to the other, Preacher thought. Maybe for a change in menu. Preacher grinned at the thought.

“Whut are you grinnin’ about, you ugly bastard?” one of the trio asked.

Several of the men who knew Preacher well and could guess what was about to happen, hustled the women out a side door. Eudora and Faith were standing off to one side in the shadows, and did not move.

Preacher smiled slow and easy. “Why…I’m laughin’ ’cause in my mind, I just told myself a joke that I never had heard before. It was right funny.”

The trio of brigands looked at one another, all of them attempting to figure out what Preacher had just said. “He’s makin’ fun of us,” the original loudmouth said. “What he just said just ain’t possible.”

“Whut did he say?” another asked.

Preacher laughed at him.

“It ain’t possible, I say,” the spokesman insisted. “It just ain’t.”

“Are you callin’ me a liar, you bear-butt ugly son of a bitch?” Preacher asked, his voice suddenly hard and all traces of the smile gone from his lips.

“Take your troubles outside,” Godfrey said from behind the counter.

“Shut up!” one of the men told him. He cut his eyes back to Preacher. “Yeah, I reckon I am callin’ you a liar. Now let’s see what you intend to do about it.”

“Well, I reckon I’ll just have to kill you,” Preacher replied.

And the huge room became as quiet as a tomb.