Preacher's Fire

Chapter 2

Preacher had left his family’s farm at a young age, driven by an undeniable wanderlust. Many of the years since then had been spent in the Rocky Mountains, although his fiddle-footed nature had taken him as far south as Texas and as far north as Canada. He had also made a number of trips back east to St. Louis, and that was his destination now.

He wasn’t going there to sell furs that he had trapped in the mountains, though, as he had done in the past.

This time, he was going to kill a man.

Twice now, Shad Beaumont had dispatched agents to the mountains in an attempt to take over the fur trade. Beaumont was the boss of the criminal underworld in St. Louis, but that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to branch out, to spread his unholy influence over the mountains, and when Preacher had helped foil his first effort in that direction, Beaumont hadn’t hesitated to send hired killers after him.

Preacher was still alive, and those would-be assassins were dead, but they weren’t the only ones who had died. Innocent folks had been killed, and Preacher was filled with righteous wrath over those deaths. Some of the people who had died hadn’t exactly been what anybody would call innocent, but they hadn’t deserved to die, and Preacher wanted to avenge what had happened to them, too.

It all added up to Preacher going to St. Louis and confronting the arch-criminal on his own stomping grounds. Venturing into the lair of a vicious animal was always dangerous, but it was also the fastest, simplest way to deal with the threat.

So Preacher and Uncle Dan Sullivan had ridden out of the mountains, following the North Platte River to the Missouri and then following the Missouri on its curving course through the heart of the country toward St. Louis. Uncle Dan had his own grudge against Beaumont, since his nephew Pete Sanderson had died as a result of Beaumont’s latest scheme. Over and above that, Preacher and Uncle Dan had become friends, and the old-timer hadn’t wanted Preacher to set out alone with a broken arm. It was true that by now Preacher’s arm was almost healed, but he had to admit, it had come in handy having Uncle Dan around to help with setting up camp and tending the horses and all the other chores that had to be taken care of when a fella was riding just about halfway across the continent.

Today, of course, Uncle Dan had proved to be even handier than usual by blowing that Pawnee’s head off before he could ventilate Preacher’s hide with an arrow.

The two men rode roughly parallel with the river, through the rolling hills about a mile south of it. The Pawnee and the Cheyenne liked to lurk in these parts, waiting for unwary travelers to come along, and they were worse along the river. Of course, you could run into hostiles just about anywhere out here, as Preacher and Uncle Dan had seen with their own eyes today.

They didn’t encounter any more trouble before nightfall, but they made a cold camp anyway and had a skimpy supper of jerky and hardtack. The two men took turns standing guard during the night.

Other than the sounds of small animals, the prairie was quiet and peaceful, and there had to be about a million stars up there in the deep black heavens, Preacher thought as he lay in his blankets and gazed upward briefly before dozing off. The stars were like jewels, shining with a brilliant intensity, and Preacher felt as if he could just reach up and pluck them out of the sky. He would be a rich man if he could do that.

But he wouldn’t be a free man anymore, not with the sort of freedom that he had craved all his life, and he wouldn’t trade that for all the diamonds and emeralds and rubies in the world.

The next day, they pushed on south and east toward St. Louis. Around mid-morning, Preacher reined in suddenly and leveled an arm to point at the ground ahead of them.

“Look at those tracks,” he told Uncle Dan.

The old-timer had brought his mount to a stop, too. Now he edged the horse forward and leaned over in the saddle to study the faint markings on the ground.

“Unshod ponies,” he said after a moment. “Looks like about twenty of ’em, too. That’d be Standin’ Elk and his glory boys, just like ol’ Bent Stick said.”

Preacher’s eyes narrowed. “Headin’ north toward the river, I’d say. Maybe figure on ambushin’ a flatboat or some pilgrims who come along on horseback, headin’ for the mountains.”

Uncle Dan spat on the ground. “None of our business. Anybody venturin’ into this here country had damned well better know there’s Injuns about. It’s ever’ man’s duty to keep his own eyes open and his powder dry.”

“You’re right,” Preacher said. “Looks like Standin’ Elk and his war party passed through here early this mornin’. I’m glad we missed ’em.”

“You and me both, Preacher.”

Preacher lifted the reins and heeled Horse into motion. With Dog bounding out ahead, as usual, and the pack animals trailing them, the two men rode across the trail left behind by the Pawnee war party.

They didn’t see any other signs of human beings until later in the day. The solitude was magnificent, with just the two men and their horses—insignificant specks, really—moving leisurely across the vast, open prairie. Eagles cruised through the arching bowl of blue sky. Antelope raced by, bounding over the landscape with infinite grace and beauty. Herds of buffalo as seemingly endless as a brown sea drifted slowly this way and that, following the grass and their instincts. Preacher always felt more at home in the mountains than anywhere else, but the prairie held its own appeal, too.

Came a time, though, late that afternoon, when Uncle Dan pointed to the northeast, toward the river, and said, “Look at that dust up yonder.”

Preacher nodded. “Saw it ten minutes ago.”

“Well, why in blazes didn’t you say somethin’ about it then?”

“Wanted to see how long it’d take you to notice it,” Preacher replied with a grin.

“Uh-huh. And if you hadn’t spotted it first, you wouldn’t admit it, would you? Let a feeble old man beat you to it.”

“You’re about as feeble as a grizzly bear. You are old, though.”

“You will be, too, one o’ these days, if you live long enough. Which means you better stop mouthin’ off to your elders. Now, what’re we gonna do about that dust?”

“Why do we have to do anything about it?” Preacher asked as he shrugged his shoulders. “Probably just some buffs driftin’ along the river.”

“You know better’n that,” Uncle Dan said. “Buffler move too slow to raise a cloud o’ dust except when they’re stampedin’, and if that was the case, there’d be even more of it in the air. No, I seen dust like that before. It comes from ox hooves and wagon wheels.”

“A wagon train, in other words.”

“Damn right.”

Preacher sighed. The same thought had occurred to him, but he had pushed it out of his head. He didn’t want anything else interfering with the mission that was taking him back east to St. Louis.

Now that Uncle Dan had put the problem into words, though, Preacher knew he couldn’t very well ignore it.

“And you know what them pilgrims may be headed right into,” Uncle Dan went on. “They keep movin’ upriver, they’re liable to run smack-dab into Standin’ Elk and that Pawnee war party.”

“They’re bound to know they might encounter hostiles. You said it your own self this mornin’, Uncle Dan. Anybody who’s gonna come out here on the frontier needs to keep his eyes open and his powder dry.”

The old-timer ran his fingers through his beard and scratched at his jaw. “Yeah, I did say that, didn’t I? But I was thinkin’ more o’ fur trappers and river men. Fellas who can take care o’ themselves. There’s liable to be women n’ kids with that wagon train.”

Preacher figured it was a safe bet there would be women and children with the wagon train. He had seen it happening all too often in recent years. With the population growing back east, folks were starting to get crowded out. They wanted to come west to find new land and new opportunities. He supposed he couldn’t blame them all that much. He had done pretty much the same thing himself, after all.

But he hadn’t dragged a wife and a passel of young’uns with him when he lit out for the tall and uncut. In fact, he’d been nothing but a youngster himself, with no one else to be responsible for. He couldn’t imagine a man packing up his family and bringing them out here.

These days, a lot of men did just that, though. Preacher didn’t figure the trend would stop any time soon, either. Once it had started, trying to stop it was like standing in front of an avalanche and hollering, “Whoa!”

“You think we ought to go warn ’em,” he said now to Uncle Dan. “Tell ’em to be on the lookout for Standin’ Elk.”

“Seems like the neighborly thing to do.”

“I don’t recollect askin’ a bunch of immigrants to be my neighbors,” Preacher pointed out. “Fact of the matter is, I wish they’d all stayed back east where they belong.”

“Wishin’ that’s like tryin’ to push water back up a waterfall,” Uncle Dan said, which worked just as well as thinking of the tide of immigration as an avalanche, Preacher decided. “We won’t have to go all that far out of our way, and it won’t take that long. We can just tell ’em about them Pawnee and then go on our way.” Uncle Dan paused. “Or they might invite us to stay the night with ’em. Might be nice to eat a woman-cooked meal for a change, or unlimber that fiddle o’ mine and play a few tunes with some other fellas.”

Preacher had to admit that didn’t sound so bad. At most, detouring to warn the wagon train about the war party wouldn’t cost him and Uncle Dan more than part of a day. And that wouldn’t make a bit of difference in the long run.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go see if we can head ’em off.”

They turned their horses and rode due north toward the river. That would put them in front of the wagon train. Fifteen minutes later, they came to the broad valley of the Missouri. The Big Muddy had some size to it here. In fact, it wasn’t even muddy at the moment. It was a wide, pretty blue stream that flowed between green, grassy banks. Preacher and Uncle Dan rode down to the edge of the river and reined in.

Dog ran at some ducks floating around at the edge of the stream and barked enthusiastically at them. The ducks continued paddling around regally, ignoring the big cur until Dog couldn’t stand the temptation anymore and splashed out into the water. Then the ducks squawked and took flight, rising above the water. Preacher had to laugh as Dog emerged from the water, dripping wet, and then shook off sheepishly.

“Yeah, you showed them ducks who’s boss, all right,” Preacher told him.

“Yonder come the wagons,” Uncle Dan said.

Preacher looked along the stream. The wagon train was on the same side of the river he and Uncle Dan were. Several men rode out in front of it on horseback, about fifty yards ahead of the lead wagon. They ought to have at least one scout farther ahead than that, Preacher thought, and wondered if the man had already gone past this spot. Behind the outriders came the wagons themselves, a line of canvas-covered prairie schooners so long that Preacher couldn’t see the end of it, each wagon being pulled by a team of either four or six oxen.

“Fella in charge is probably one of those out in front there,” Preacher said. “Let’s go talk to him.”

He and Uncle Dan heeled their horses into motion and rode toward the wagon train. The four riders leading the way brought their mounts to a halt, evidently waiting for Preacher and Uncle Dan to get there. As they came closer, Preacher saw that one man was sitting his saddle slightly ahead of the other three. He was a barrel-chested hombre wearing a flat-crowned hat. A brown beard came halfway down his chest. Preacher pegged him for the boss of the wagon train.

As they came up and brought their horses to a stop again, Preacher lifted his right hand, palm out, in the universal sign that said their intentions were peaceful.

Those fellas with the wagon train must not have known that, though, because the one with the beard snapped, “Now!” and the other three suddenly jerked pistols from their belts and leveled the weapons at Preacher and Uncle Dan.