“You’ve been discovered now,” Jerome said. “That changes everything.”
Preacher scratched at his bearded jaw and said, “I ain’t so sure about that.”
They all stared at him again. He went on. “Think about it for a spell. Miss Morrigan spent nearly a week ridin’ in that wagon, hidin’ out so that we didn’t find out about her, and that couldn’t have been easy.”
Deborah sniffed. “I should say it wasn’t easy. I made myself a hiding place in the middle of the cargo, stacking the crates around me so that no one could see me. It was cramped and hot and . . . and miserable. Delicacy forbids me from telling you just how miserable it was at times. But I persevered.”
’Just because you’re stubborn doesn’t mean it’s all right for you to go to the mountains with us,” Corliss said.
Preacher said, “Sometimes pure mule-headedness is the only thing that keeps folks alive out on the frontier.”
Jerome shook his head. “I don’t understand you, Preacher. You were dead set against Miss Morrigan coming along with us, and now you seem to think it’s a good idea.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Preacher said, giving Deborah a hard stare. “It’d be a whole heap better if the lady was back yonder in St. Louis where she’s supposed to be. But if we can’t leave her here and we can’t send her back, maybe lettin’ her come would be a better idea than turnin’ the whole wagon train around.”
“That’s our decision to make, not yours,” Jerome snapped. “I don’t want to put her life in danger.”
“Why, Jerome,” Deborah said. “How sweet of you.”
“He’s not sweet,” Corliss said. “He’s a fool. Every week we delay gives someone else a chance to get to the mountains before us and establish a trading post in the same location we want.”
Jerome stared at him. “You’d put business over your own fiancée’s life?”
“I didn’t say that.” Corliss made a growling noise in his throat, shook his head, and threw up his hands. “You’ve all got me half-crazy here! I don’t know what to do!”
“Let me come with you,” Deborah suggested calmly.
“Well . . . it might work out,” Jerome said with grudging reluctance. “If Preacher thinks that might be best . . .”
“I suppose we could give it a try,” Corliss allowed.
Preacher shook his head. “There won’t be any givin’ it a try. Miss Morrigan either comes along, or she stays here and takes her chances. Once we get farther west, there sure won’t be any turnin’ back.”
“I still have reservations,” Jerome said. “But if you think that’s what we should do, Preacher, and if Corliss agrees . . . then I say we let Miss Morrigan accompany us.”
“All right, fine,” Corliss said. “She can come.”
Deborah’s eyes sparked with anger. “You could at least act like you’re happy to see me.”
“I could,” Corliss said with a nod, “but I’d really rather you were back in St. Louis.”
Deborah lifted her chin again and turned away from him, sniffing, clearly put out by his reaction.
“You can continue sleeping in Carey’s wagon,” Jerome said, “but we’ll rearrange the cargo and make a better place for you, since you don’t have to hide anymore.”
“Thank you, Jerome,” she said. “I know you don’t really want me here either, but at least you’re considerate.”
Deborah and the cousins walked off toward Pete Carey’s wagon. Preacher and Jake watched them go, and after a moment the youngster said, “This is just the start o’ more trouble, ain’t it?”
“More’n likely,” Preacher said with a nod. “More . . . than . . . likely.”
Fifteen
When Pete Carey came dragging in from his night of carousing in Westport and found out that his part in Deborah’s deception had been discovered, he apologized to Corliss and Jerome up one way and down the other.
“Just be glad we need you to drive one of the wagons,” Corliss told him in a cold, angry voice. “Otherwise, you’d be looking for a job right about now, Carey.”
The chunky, sandy-haired teamster shook his head ruefully and said, “I knew better, I really did. But when Miss Morrigan looked at me like that, and her bottom lip started to tremble just a mite when she said she really needed my help, I . . . I just couldn’t stop myself from goin’ along with what she wanted.”
Now that Deborah’s presence was no longer a secret, she rode openly on the seat of the second wagon the next day, next to Corliss. The Missouri River took a sharp northwestward turn here, but as the wagon train rolled out of Westport, Preacher led them almost due west again, along the southern bank of a stream he told the others was known as the Kansas River. The Kansas, which flowed into the Missouri, was smaller than the Big Muddy.
“We’ll follow this one a ways, then cross it at a good ford I know and head north to the Platte,” Preacher explained. “That’ll lead us the rest of the way to South Pass.”
“And that’s where we’ll set up our trading post?” Jerome asked.
Preacher nodded. “That’s up to you, o’ course. I’m no storekeeper, so it don’t matter none to me. But it’s a good place. If the immigrant wagons really do start rollin’ to the Oregon country like folks say they will before long, they’ll have to travel right through there. Time they get that far, they’ll need to stock up on supplies, too. There’s a tradin’ post at Fort Laramie, but it’s a mighty long haul from there over the mountains to Fort Hall. Your place will be right about in the middle o’ that stretch.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jerome said, and Corliss nodded his agreement. Corliss had been unusually quiet since Deborah’s discovery the night before, as if he were holding in his opinions because he didn’t want to start another argument. And he was probably feeling a mite humiliated that his fiancée had gone directly against his wishes—and gotten away with it.
That night, Deborah joined the men around the fire. As Preacher hunkered on his heels and ate salt pork and beans, washed down with coffee, he didn’t look directly into the flames because that was the fastest way to ruin a man’s night vision. Instead, he glanced at the faces of the other men, and saw the way Gil Robinson and Lars Neilson watched Deborah without appearing to do so.
She was a pretty woman, so naturally the men were interested in her. One might have thought that Robinson and Neilson might have gotten their fill of whores back in Westport, but when it came to women, most men could never get enough.
Even though the two teamsters were trying to be careful, Corliss noticed the way they were looking at Deborah. The frank admiration in their eyes bordered on outright lust. Corliss put his coffee cup down, frowned, and said, “All right, Deborah, go get in the wagon.”
“What?” She looked and sounded genuinely surprised. “Why should I do that, Corliss?”
“Because I don’t like the way these two are staring at you,” he snapped as he nodded toward Robinson and the big Swede.
“We’re not looking at anybody,” Robinson said, a defensive tone in his voice. “And we didn’t mean any offense.”
“Well, you’ve offended Miss Morrigan,” Corliss said.
Deborah shook her head. “No, they haven’t, Corliss. I’m fine.”
“Don’t argue with me. You didn’t see the way they were staring.”
Robinson got to his feet. “Keep your seat, ma’am,” he said to Deborah. “Lars and I will go on over to the other side of the wagons. Come on, Lars.”
Neilson stood up, too, but Corliss wouldn’t let them walk off. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve apologized to Miss Morrigan.”
Deborah caught at his sleeve. “Really, Corliss, that’s not necessary. Even if Mr. Robinson and Mr. Neilson were looking at me, I’m not insulted or offended. There’s no need for an apology—”
He pulled away from her. “And I say there is.”
Robinson’s jaw was tight with anger, but he swallowed and said, “Sorry.” The single word came out brusque and h
ard and not the least bit sincere.
Corliss shook his head. “Not good enough. You didn’t mean it.”
“I said I was sorry. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“If you care about your job—” Corliss began.
Jerome stopped him. “That’s enough, Corliss,” he told his cousin. “Gil apologized, and Deborah’s not upset. Now stop aggravating the situation.”
Corliss swung toward Jerome. “Oh, it’s Deborah now, is it? Are you going to get too familiar with her, too, Jerome?”
“Oh, stop being so blasted touchy. There’s no need for this.”
On the other side of the fire, Jake glanced up at Preacher and asked in a low voice, “Is there gonna be a fight?”
“Don’t know,” Preacher said with a shake of his head. “As long as they don’t kill each other and can still handle those oxen in the mornin’, it ain’t any o’ my business.”
That was really the way he felt, too. Deborah’s presence with the wagon train had practically insured that there would be trouble sooner or later. One woman and six or seven men was a recipe for disaster, especially when she was spoken for by one of the men. But they would have to sort that out on their own, Preacher thought, because he wasn’t getting involved.
Robinson said again, “Come on, Lars. I ain’t hungry no more.”
Corliss took a quick step toward him and reached out to grab his shoulder. “Damn it, I’m not through with you!”
Preacher could have told Corliss that wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t have a very high opinion of Gil Robinson—the man had fallen asleep on guard duty, after all, and was slow to do any more than he absolutely had to when it came to work—but just about anybody would react badly to being manhandled like that. Robinson was no exception.
He whirled around, moving fast enough so that Corliss was taken by surprise. Robinson’s bony fist lashed out and cracked against Corliss’s jaw. That knocked Corliss’s grip loose and sent him stumbling backward. He looked like he was about to trip and fall over into the fire when Jerome leaped up and caught him.
“For God’s sake, Corliss!” Jerome said as he steadied his cousin. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Fighting for the honor of the woman I love!” Corliss rasped as he pulled free from Jerome. With an angry shout, he launched himself at Robinson, tackling the teamster around the waist.
They both went down. Corliss began slugging at Robinson as they sprawled on the ground. Robinson tried to cover up, but Corliss pounded a couple of blows into his face. City-bred or not, Corliss Hart was no weakling, and clearly he knew something about fighting.
But before he could continue the battle with Robinson, he was grabbed from behind by Neilson. The big Swede lifted Corliss into the air. Corliss yelled and flailed, but to no avail. Neilson got his brawny arms around him in a bear hug and called to Robinson, “I ban got him, Gil!”
“Hang on to him,” Robinson rasped as he pushed himself to his feet and closed in on Corliss, who was held helpless in Neilson’s arms. Robinson’s fists clenched. From the savage look on his face, he intended to give Corliss a beating while Neilson held him.
Jerome threw a wild-eyed look at Preacher and asked, “Aren’t you going to do something?”
“This ain’t my fight,” Preacher said with a shake of his head.
Deborah didn’t wait for anyone to do anything. She took matters into her own hands by running up behind Neilson and pounding her small fists against his back. “Let go of him, you brute!” she shouted.
Neilson ignored her, as if he didn’t even feel her blows against his broad, muscular back. Maybe he didn’t, Preacher thought.
“Hold him still,” Robinson snarled at the Swede as he closed in on Corliss, who continued his futile writhing in Neilson’s grasp. Suddenly, Robinson slammed a punch into Corliss’s belly. Corliss gasped in pain and stopped struggling as he turned gray in the firelight.
“By God, that’s enough! ”Jerome said. “Deborah, get out of the way!”
Then with a yell, he charged across the intervening ground, leaped into the air, and landed on Neilson’s back. He wrapped his legs around the Swede’s waist and one arm around his neck. With his other hand he started hammering punches against the side of Neilson’s head.
“This is the best fight I ever seen,” Jake said as he stared raptly at the knot of struggling men.
It looked pretty damned ridiculous to Preacher, but he supposed it was possible one of the men might accidentally hurt himself or somebody else. He started giving some thought to putting a stop to the fracas, but he wasn’t going to get in any hurry about it. They would still be out here on the prairie for a long time, and it would be better to go ahead and clear the air now. Otherwise, Deborah’s presence would be like a festering sore all the way to the mountains. If Corliss was going to stake his claim to her and make it stick, he needed to do it now. That was the only way the other men would respect him—and her.
Corliss’s arms were pinned to his sides by Neilson’s bear hug, but his legs were still free. He jerked one booted foot up and drove it forward in a kick that sank into Robinson’s midsection. Robinson doubled over and staggered back.
Meanwhile, Jerome stopped punching Neilson in the head, which was having about as much effect as hitting a block of wood, and grabbed one of the Swede’s ears instead. He hung on tight and twisted it as hard as he could.
Neilson bellowed in pain, and let go of Corliss to reach up and swat and claw at Jerome, who was still viciously twisting his ear. Neilson got hold of the smaller man’s shirt. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bunched as he hauled upward and bent forward. Jerome let out a startled shout as he found himself flying over Neilson’s head and somersaulting toward the ground.
Corliss rushed Robinson while the man was off balance. His arms pistoned forward as he threw a flurry of punches. Several of the blows landed cleanly, jerking Robinson’s head from side to side and rocking him back even more. Corliss swung a long, looping right that caught Robinson on the chin and sent him flying through the air.
Corliss didn’t have time to feel any triumph, because now that Neilson was free of the annoyance that was Jerome, he rushed at Corliss’s back, sledgehammer fists raised. However, he had to charge right past Jerome, who had crashed to the ground on his back so hard that all the breath was knocked out of his slender body.
Despite being half-stunned, Jerome had enough of his wits about him to realize that Neilson was going after Corliss again. He reached out, grabbed hold of one of the Swede’s legs, and hung on tight, forcing Neilson to curse in Swedish and drag him along. Neilson tried to kick himself free of Jerome’s grip.
The distraction provided by Jerome gave Corliss enough time to reach into the back of one of the wagons and grab an ax handle from a stack of them bound for the trading post. He swung the makeshift club at Neilson’s head and bounced it off the Swede’s skull. Neilson was tough enough to take a lot of punishment, but being clouted by an ax handle like that fazed even him. His fists dropped and he stood there for a few seconds, shaking his head groggily, before Jerome finally succeeded in jerking his feet out from under him. Neilson crashed to the ground like a falling redwood. Jerome clambered upright.
“Holy cow!” Jake said. “Mr. Hart and Mr. Hart won!”
It was true. Corliss and Jerome were both still on their feet, while Robinson and Neilson lay stunned on the ground with all the fight knocked out of them. Preacher hadn’t really been expecting that outcome either, but he was glad to see that things had worked out that way.
He looked over at Pete Carey and Blackie, saying, “You boys got any stake in this fight?”
Both men shook their head. “No, sir,” Blackie said. “That was all their lookout.”
“Yeah,” Carey agreed. “Gil and Lars ain’t bad fellas, but they was out of line, I reckon. Of course, so was Mr. Hart. Seems like everything’s pretty much square to me.”
Deborah hurried over to Corliss, who stood there bruise
d and disheveled, with his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “Oh, my God!” she said as she clutched at his arms. “Are you all right, Corliss?”
“I’m ... fine,” he managed to say. He looked over at Jerome, who was also some the worse for wear. “Thanks for . . . giving me a hand.”
“I couldn’t let them . . . gang up on you like that,” Jerome responded. “It wasn’t . . . fair.”
“Yeah, but you’re no fighter. You’re lucky they didn’t kill you.”
Jerome summoned up a grin. “I guess I’m ... tougher than you thought I was.”
Preacher stood up and leaned on his long-barreled flintlock rifle. “Before you boys go to congratulatin’ yourselves too much,” he said, “you best remember that you still need Robinson and Neilson to drive a couple o’ those wagons.”
Jerome nodded as if he understood what Preacher was talking about. “Yes, you’re right,” he said. “We need to mend some fences now.”
He stepped over to Neilson, who was starting to get his wits back about him, even after that wallop from the ax handle. As the Swede sat up and shook his head, Jerome extended a hand to him and said, “That was a good fight, Lards. Let me help you up.”
Neilson blinked and stared at Jerome’s hand for a second before a grin appeared on his face. “Yah, good fight,” he agreed. He took Jerome’s hand, his massive paw practically swallowing up the smaller man’s fingers. The scene reminded Preacher of a bear being helped to its feet by a badger.
Corliss didn’t look happy about it, but he went over to Robinson and hauled the man upright. As Robinson tried to shake the cobwebs out of his head, Corliss said, “No hard feelings, Gil?”
“No . . . No, I reckon not,” Robinson said.
Sternly, Corliss added, “But you’ll have to treat Miss Morrigan with respect from now on. Keep a civil tongue in your head, and don’t stare at her.”
“Sure,” Robinson muttered with a nod. Eyes downcast, he faced Deborah and went on. “I’m mighty sorry, ma’am.”
“That’s all right,” she told him. “I accept your apology. Now, why don’t we all sit down and continue our supper?”
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