Preacher's Assault

CHAPTER 17

Preacher wheeled around and broke into a run toward the source of the commotion. He heard growling and snarling and recognized the sounds of Dog fighting with something or someone. A man screamed, making Preacher think the big cur had gotten hold of someone.

He realized a second later the cries were coming from the wagon where he had been talking to Leeman Bartlett a few minutes earlier. Since he couldn’t think of any reason why Dog would attack Bartlett, he decided something else must be going on.

Horror washed through him a moment later when he rounded the back of the wagon and saw a towering figure. The grizzly bear was back, and it had Bartlett.

The man shrieked in agony as claws and teeth tore into him. Dog was trying to help Bartlett by darting around and snapping at the bear, but the grizzly ignored him. The creature seemed intent on mauling Bartlett to the exclusion of everything else.

Preacher jerked his rifle to his shoulder. Bartlett was in the line of fire, but it didn’t matter. He was doomed unless somebody did something fast. It might already be too late.

The light from the campfire that penetrated between the wagons was uncertain, but Preacher lined his sights on the bear’s head and pulled the trigger.

The grizzly roared as its head jerked back, so Preacher knew his shot had found its mark. The brute didn’t fall, but continued to savage Leeman Bartlett. Preacher suspected the ball from his rifle had struck the bear a glancing blow and bounced off the thick skull under the fur.

More men ran up in response to the screams and growls and gunshots. Roland shouted, “Pa!” and tried to rush past Preacher.

Preacher grabbed the young man’s arm and dragged him back. “You’ll just get yourself killed!” he said as he shoved Roland into the arms of several of the bullwhackers. “Hold onto him!”

Preacher dropped his empty rifle and pulled his pistols. He was going to have to get closer to the bear so he could fire a shot directly into one of the beast’s eyes, to reach its brain and stop it.

He feared it was too late to help Leeman Bartlett. Bartlett’s head lolled loosely on his neck, and his clothes, shredded by the grizzly’s teeth and claws, were soaked with blood.

Holding the pistols ready, Preacher moved closer to the bear. Suddenly, the grizzly threw Bartlett’s limp body aside like a child discarding a rag doll, its beady eyes focused on Preacher instead. With a thunderous roar, the monster charged.

“Everybody scatter!” Preacher shouted as he flung himself out of the way of the charging bear. The creature barreled past him with Dog still nipping at its heels. Yelling frightened curses, the other members of the party scrambled to get away from the grizzly.

The bear slapped at one of the bullwhackers who was too slow getting out of the way. The big paw smashed into the man’s back and lifted him off his feet. The bullwhacker yelled in pain and flew through the air for a short distance before crashing to the ground. Stripes of blood angled across the back of his shirt where the bear’s claws had ripped his flesh.

Preacher leaped to his feet and ran after the bear, yelling, “Hey! Hey, you big hairy bastard!” Reaching high, he reversed one of the pistols and slammed the butt into the back of the bear’s head, then dropped into a crouch as the grizzly wheeled around and swung a vicious blow at his head. He straightened, so close he could smell the bear’s fetid breath in his face.

Before Preacher could jam his pistol into the bear’s throat, the bear caught him with a backhanded swing that landed on the side of the mountain man’s head. The blow was a glancing one, strong enough to send Preacher flying off his feet, but not powerful enough to break his neck. He managed to hang on to the pistols as he rolled over a couple times on the ground.

The camp was full of yelling and cursing, and gunshots added to the chaos as the bullwhackers who had managed to reach cover opened fire on the bear.

The grizzly lunged back and forth, roaring out its defiance and anger. Suddenly it turned and ran straight at one of the wagons, crashing into the vehicle, causing it to shudder. Ripping off the canvas cover, the bear reached for the man inside and jerked him out of the wagon bed.

That grizzly was a damn smart critter, Preacher thought. Either that or guided by blind luck and instinct. The bullwhackers had to stop shooting for fear they would hit the man grabbed by the bear.

The bear lurched away from the wagon and threw the man among the livestock. The oxen were milling around in instinctive terror because of the grizzly’s presence and would trample the bullwhacker if someone didn’t reach him quickly.

Preacher darted into the press of oxen and reached the man’s side. He bent down to grab his arm and pulled him to his feet. The man was only semiconscious.

Preacher hauled him out of danger and looked around for the bear. Not seeing the grizzly, he shouted, “Where’d the varmint go?”

Several men leaped down from the wagons where they had taken shelter and ran toward Preacher. “It got out of the circle and ran off!” one of them said. “We tried to kill it, but it seemed like it didn’t even feel the shots!”

“Build the fire up bigger,” Preacher snapped. “Get one started on the other side of the circle. I don’t want that damn thing gettin’ close to the wagons again without somebody seein’ it!”

The bullwhackers hurried to carry out those orders. While they were doing that, Preacher went over to the last place he had seen Leeman Bartlett.

He found Roland sitting on the ground, cradling his father’s bloody, ravaged body, rocking back and forth in shock and grief. Tears rolled down the young man’s face. Casey knelt beside Roland with a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to know she was there.

Preacher looked at Casey with a question plain on his face. She shook her head. Bartlett was gone, which came as no surprise considering the amount of terrible damage done to him by the bear’s claws and teeth.

“Why?” Roland moaned. “Why did that monster do such a thing? My father never hurt it! My father never hurt anybody!”

Preacher hunkered on his heels on Roland’s other side. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That varmint’s crazy. Loco even for a bear. Somethin’ drove it out here on the prairie in the first place, and the way it followed us all those miles just ain’t normal. A bear’s brain ain’t very big, but this one’s big enough to hold a powerful lot of hate.”

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Roland choked out. “I just can’t believe it.”

“I reckon you don’t want to be thinkin’ about this right now, Roland, but you’re the boss of this wagon train now.”

Roland’s head came up as he glared at Preacher. “You think I care about something like that now?”

“I know you don’t,” Preacher said. “But you got responsibilities.”

“No. You’re in charge.” Roland’s voice held a bitter edge. “My father listened to you and took your advice on everything. Every time there was trouble, you gave the orders. You’re in charge, Preacher.”

Preacher wasn’t going to waste time arguing. Roland was too grief-stricken to be giving orders, anyway. Later on, he would be able to see the situation more clearly.

Preacher squeezed Roland’s shoulder and repeated, “I’m sorry about your pa.” Then he straightened and looked around. He saw the bullwhackers had followed his orders. The campfire was blazing brighter, and a fire burned on the other side of the circle, too. The light from the flames extended out from the wagons.

“I want a man on guard at every wagon,” Preacher said. “How bad are those other two fellas hurt?”

“Charley’s back is ripped up pretty bad,” one of the men replied. “We’ll clean it up. I think he’ll be all right. Pettigrew’s just shaken up from bein’ tossed around by that bear.”

Preacher nodded. He was glad to hear the other injuries weren’t too serious. Leeman Bartlett’s brutal death was plenty bad enough by itself.

When Preacher was satisfied the camp was well-guarded, he motioned for Lorenzo to follow him and returned to the place where Roland still sat, holding his father’s body.

“Casey, why don’t you take Roland into one of the wagons?” Preacher suggested. “Lorenzo and me will take care of his pa.”

Roland looked up at him. “What are you going to do? There’s nothing anyone can do for him now!”

“That ain’t true. We’ll clean him up, get him ready to be laid to rest proper-like in the mornin’.”

Casey said, “Preacher’s right, Roland. Come with me.”

For a moment, Roland looked like he was going to argue. But then he sighed and eased his pa’s body to the ground. He stood up shakily and allowed Casey to take his arm and lead him toward one of the wagons.

Preacher waited until the two of them had climbed into the vehicle, then said to Lorenzo, “Can you rustle up a blanket?”

“To wrap Mr. Bartlett in? Sure.”

“I know which wagon his gear is in. I’ll see if I can find him some clothes that ain’t all tore up and bloody.”

By the time half an hour had passed, they had Bartlett’s body cleaned up, dressed in fresh clothes, and wrapped in a blanket as it was laid out under one of the wagons. First thing in the morning, they would dig a grave and give him a proper burial.

“I never did expect to see that damned ol’ bear again,” Lorenzo said as he and Preacher looked out at the night where the fearsome creature had vanished. “Why do you reckon it’s followed us all this way?”

Preacher shook his head. “I don’t know. Somethin’ wrong in its head, more than likely. Just plumb loco, like I said earlier. But I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s time for that varmint to die,” Preacher said. “After we get Bartlett buried tomorrow, you and me are gonna do us some bear huntin’, Lorenzo.”

Bartlett was the one who had read from the Good Book at the previous burials. With him gone, that job fell to his son. Roland, who was still grief-stricken but more in control of himself the next morning, took on the task. His voice broke a few times as he read the Twenty-third Psalm and led a prayer, but he made it through the solemn ceremony.

When it was over, Preacher led Roland away from the grave while some of the bullwhackers filled it in. With Casey and Lorenzo accompanying them, they went to the other side of the camp.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, Preacher,” Roland mused. “About me being in charge. I’m not sure I’m up to the job.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Preacher said. “But I’ll do whatever I can to help you out.”

“What do you think we should do next? Move on to Santa Fe like we planned to do?”

“I don’t think it would hurt anything to stay here one more day. That’ll give Lorenzo and me time to do a little job.”

Roland frowned. “What sort of job?”

“We’re goin’ after that griz.”

Roland stared at him. “That won’t bring my father back,” he finally said, his voice grim.

“No, but maybe it’ll keep the varmint from killin’ anybody else. It’s got a taste for blood, that’s for dang sure.”

“You went after it before, remember?”

Preacher nodded. “I remember. And I wish we’d caught up to it then. This time we won’t come back until we do.”

“You think we should wait here for you?”

“You’ve got plenty of supplies,” Preacher pointed out, “and the best water supply in this part of the country. I’m hopin’ it won’t take us long to find the bear. We might be back later today. But if it takes a few days, you’ll be all right here. Just keep a full shift of guards on all the time.”

“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.