From time to time during the day, he swung closer to the group of riders to check on their progress and make sure they were still heading out of the valley. They didn’t seem to be deviating from their course.
Preacher imagined there had been quite a ruckus in their camp that morning when they discovered the dead men. The survivors must have realized that it could have just as easily been them lying there growing cold, and they had risen against Fairfax’s leadership and insisted on going back.
Either that or Fairfax himself had decided to give up his vengeance quest. Maybe he had figured out that killing Preacher wasn’t worth his own life or the lives of the men with him. From what he had seen of Fairfax in the past, the man didn’t care that much about anybody else, so it must have been concern for his own hide that sent him scurrying…if indeed it was even his idea to leave.
Late that afternoon, the men rode through the pass. Preacher was a quarter of a mile away in the top of a pine tree as they did so, watching them depart from the valley.
When they were gone, he shinnied back down the tree, mounted up, and rode hard for the pass. He scouted it on foot when he got there to make sure the varmints hadn’t doubled back, but there was no sign of them except what they had left going through the opening in the mountains. When Preacher studied the far side of the pass, he saw that they were out of sight.
He was glad they were gone, gladder still that he hadn’t been forced to kill all of them. It didn’t bother Preacher to take the life of some no-good bastard who had it comin’, but he didn’t believe in wholesale slaughter.
When he got back to the place where he had left Horse and Dog, he told his old friends, “Well, I reckon this trouble is all over. We can go back to what we were doin’ before it started.”
Colin Fairfax’s heart pounded in his chest. He had a hard time believing that once again he was alone out here in the wilderness…and that it was his own choice this time.
More than that, it was even his idea. He had sent the rest of the men away this morning with orders to head east out of the valley. One of them, a weasel-faced killer named Campbell, wore the beaver hat in which Fairfax took so much pride. He hated to give it up, but he was convinced that Preacher would be keeping an eye on the group, and he wanted the mountain man to think that he was leaving along with the others.
Instead, he had lain low in some brush for a couple of hours after the others pulled out, until he was convinced that Preacher was nowhere around. Preacher would have followed the rest of Beaumont’s men to make sure they left the valley. Fairfax felt certain that Preacher wouldn’t take their departure at face value. He would want to see for himself that they really were gone.
At least, that was what Fairfax was counting on…
He tramped along, carrying his rifle and heading south from the place where the group had been camped. The Hart cousins’ trading post lay in this direction, he knew. He couldn’t go all the way to the post because Corliss, Jerome, and Corliss’s wife Deborah all knew him and would recognize him. Deborah had even been his prisoner for a short time the previous year, when he and Schuyler were trying to stop the cousins from ever reaching this area where the fur trade was proving so lucrative.
His plan called for him to get close to the place, close enough to keep an eye on it until the opportunity arose for him to slip into the settlement and kidnap Deborah again. By that time, Sherwood and the other men would have turned back, entered the valley again, and if all went as it was supposed to, they would be close by so that he could rendezvous with them.
Then, using Deborah Hart as the bait, they would lure Preacher into a trap from which he would never escape. Fairfax didn’t have all the details figured out yet, but he knew he could come up with something foolproof. The first and most important step was to get his hands on Deborah again.
That thought put a faint, fleeting smile on his face as it went through his head. Deborah Hart was a damned attractive woman. He would enjoy having her in his power for a while. He didn’t care what happened to her in the long run. She was just a means to an end.
And that end was Preacher’s death.
That evening, a stranger showed up at the trading post, which was nothing unusual in itself. Newcomers were common. There seemed to be no limit to the number of men who wanted to come west to make a new start for themselves or amass a fortune or simply to avoid something—or someone—unpleasant back east.
So not many people paid much attention to the bearded man with the long black hair hanging down around his shoulders under a flat-crowned hat. He wore a beaded buckskin jacket, rode a paint pony of the sort that the Indians preferred, and had a squaw trailing him on another pony and leading a packhorse. The stranger balanced a long-barreled flintlock across the saddle in front of him. The barrel had a couple of eagle feathers tied to it.
The pair rode through the open gates and headed for the trading post. They drew their ponies to a halt in front of the building. The man dismounted and spoke to the Indian woman in a low voice. She stayed where she was while he climbed the steps to the porch and went inside.
Jerome Hart was behind the counter at the rear of the big room. Corliss and Deborah had gone to their quarters behind the main building for supper. There had been a time when Jerome harbored romantic feelings for Deborah himself, but he had accepted the fact that she was married to his cousin now and wished them both well.
Lifting a hand in greeting to the tough-looking stranger who had just come into the trading post, Jerome called, “Hello! Welcome, friend. Come right on in. What can we do for you?”
Moving with an easy, catlike grace, the man strolled back to the counter. He had the flintlock cradled in his left arm. With a nod to Jerome, he said, “Howdy, mister. You the boss around here?”
“I’m one of the proprietors, yes,” Jerome answered. He introduced himself. “Jerome Hart.” He didn’t offer to shake hands. The stranger was a bit too intimidating for that.
The newcomer didn’t extend his hand either, but he nodded and said, “Name’s Ezra Flagg. My squaw and me are lookin’ to pick up some supplies.”
Jerome smiled and waved a hand at the shelves full of goods. “We have everything you might need, Mr. Flagg. This is the finest trading post between St. Louis and the Pacific Ocean.”
Flagg grunted. “Damn near the only one, ain’t it?”
“Well…the only one in these parts. What sort of supplies do you and your, ah, wife require?”
A thin smile curved Flagg’s lips for a second. “She ain’t my wife. She’s my squaw. Weepin’ Willow, I call her, ’cause that’s the kind o’ tree I caught her under.”
“Caught…her?” Jerome repeated with a frown.
“That’s right. She’d gone down to a stream to do some wash, and I come ridin’ along and seen how comely she was, so I decided to take her with me.” Flagg chuckled. “She put up a fight at first, but I beat that outta her pretty quicklike. She jus’ does what I tell her to now.”
Jerome kept the revulsion he had begun to feel off his face. He had learned early on that the frontier was a rough, violent place. Many of the men were unsavory types who were accustomed to taking whatever they wanted, by force if necessary. But as long as they didn’t cause any trouble here at the trading post, Jerome and Corliss didn’t judge them. What their customers did away from here was none of the cousins’ business.
“I’ll, uh, start putting together an order of staples for you,” Jerome said. “If that’s all right.”
“Yeah, I reckon.”
“The supplies will be ready in about half an hour.”
Flagg nodded. “Gimme a jug o’ whiskey first. Got to have somethin’ to kill the time whilst I’m waitin’.”
Lips pursed, Jerome took a jug from the shelf underneath the counter and set it on top. Without offering to go ahead and pay for the whiskey, Ezra Flagg picked up the jug and strolled toward a table in the corner. “I’ll just count that in the total with the supplies,” Jerome called aft
er him, but Flagg didn’t give any sign that he’d heard. Glaring in disapproval now that Flagg’s back was safely turned, Jerome started putting together the order.
Flagg sat down at the table, propped one foot on another barrel chair, laid the flintlock across the table, and used his teeth to work the cork out of the jug’s neck. With his forefinger through the loop and the jug’s weight resting on his forearm in mountain man fashion, Flagg lifted it and took a long swallow of the fiery liquor.
When he lowered it and thumped it onto the rough-hewn table, he let out a sigh of satisfaction and wiped the back of his other hand across his mouth. Then he glanced up as a man stepped into the doorway of the trading post and looked around the room.
Flagg didn’t know the man’s name, but it was Clyde Mallory who had just entered the trading post. Mallory looked around the room, spotted the rifle with the eagle feathers tied to its barrel, and gave the weapon’s owner a curt nod before withdrawing from the doorway.
Flagg took another long drink from the jug, then stood up and moseyed over to the counter. “I’ll be back,” he told Jerome.
When he stepped out onto the porch, he saw the man who had just nodded to him. The man lounged near the back of a parked wagon. He moved out of sight. Flagg ambled in that direction. He put his right hand on the butt of the pistol tucked behind his belt. If this was a trick or a trap of some sort, the son of a bitch would be sorry he had tried to fool Ezra Flagg.
Even though a faint crescent of orange remained in the western sky above the mountains, thick, dark shadows had already gathered behind the wagon. As Flagg stepped around it, he drew his pistol and eared back the hammer. He froze as he heard the unmistakable sound of another flintlock being cocked.
“For king and country,” Clyde Mallory said.
“For five hundred dollars,” Ezra Flagg said.
Both men lowered their weapons. The phrases they had just exchanged confirmed their identities to each other.
“You’ve got the rifles?” Flagg asked.
“Of course,” Mallory replied. “You’ve made the arrangements with the Indians?”
Flagg said, “Yeah, the Blackfoot war chief Walks Like a Bear is chompin’ at the bit to get ’em. You can be sure that him and his bucks’ll raise holy hell once they get their hands on those guns.”
“Splendid,” Mallory said. “My wagons will leave tomorrow. We’ll meet at some spot you select, well away from the trading post, and transfer the rifles to this Chief Walks Like a Bear and his men.”
“And transfer my money to me,” Flagg said.
“Of course. You’ll be amply rewarded for your services as arranged. That goes without saying.”
Flagg shook his head. “Nothin’ goes without sayin’ where money’s concerned.”
Mallory rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. “Very well. I think that concludes our business for tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You don’t want to know my name?” Flagg asked with a sneer.
“Frankly, sir,” Mallory said, “I don’t care what your name is. All that matters to me is that you’re willing to betray your countrymen for the sum of five hundred American dollars.”
Flagg laughed. “Beats thirty pieces o’ silver, don’t it?”
Chapter 14
The next morning, the men who worked for Clyde Mallory got busy early hitching up the teams of mules to the wagons. Corliss Hart spotted the activity and walked out of the stockade to talk to Mallory, who was standing near the wagons overseeing the work.
“Leaving so soon, Mr. Mallory?” Corliss asked.
The Englishman smiled and nodded. “No need to stay longer,” he said. “The furs you and your cousin are sending back to St. Louis are loaded, and it’s time to return for more supplies. By the time we get back here in a couple of months, you’ll be ready for more supplies.”
“We sure will,” Corliss agreed. “The way the settlement is growing, you can probably have wagon trains coming and going all the time before much longer.”
“A lucrative arrangement for all of us, eh?” Mallory chuckled.
“Darned right.” Corliss shook his head. “I’ve got to admit, though, that I’ll miss having your sister around here. A lady like that always brightens a place up.”
“Oh, Laura isn’t going back to St. Louis with us. She’s going to stay here to look after our interests.”
“Really? I’d heard rumors that she might stay behind, but I wasn’t sure that was what you planned to do. You don’t have to worry about her, Mr. Mallory. We’ll see that she’s well taken care of.”
Mallory knew how Corliss Hart would like to take care of Laura. The lust was apparent in the boorish American’s eyes every time he so much as glanced at Laura. Mallory wasn’t sure why Corliss’s wife put up with it.
Deborah Hart was quite an attractive woman herself, even with her delicate condition beginning to show. Perhaps he would take steps to see that she was spared from the bloody Indian uprising to come, Mallory mused. If he saved her life, she might be properly grateful to him…
Laura emerged then from the cabin where she would be staying and walked toward them. Corliss’s eyes followed her avidly. Why don’t you just lick your lips in anticipation, you bloody fool? Mallory thought. He wished that he could take his pistol and blow a hole in the American.
That day was coming, Mallory assured himself. He probably wouldn’t have the privilege of killing Corliss Hart himself, but he could rest comfortably in the knowledge that Corliss was doomed, along with the rest of the settlers.
“Good morning,” Laura greeted the men. Her smile was brilliant as she turned it toward Corliss. “I suppose Clyde told you that he’s leaving today, Mr. Hart?”
“He certainly did,” Corliss replied. “He also told me that you’ll be staying here with us while he returns to St. Louis. Let me assure you, Miss Mallory, we’ll do everything we can to make your stay here pleasant and safe.”
“I never doubted that.” Laura turned to her brother. “Are the wagons almost ready, Clyde?”
Mallory nodded. “We’ll be leaving within the hour.”
She put a hand on his arm and said, “I’ll miss you, but don’t worry about me. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“And I’m sure that I’ll be back before you know it.”
As if sensing that the siblings wanted some privacy to say their farewells, Corliss said, “I’d better get back to the trading post.” He extended his hand. “Good luck on your journey, Mr. Mallory.”
The Englishman shook hands with him, concealing his distaste for the American with consummate skill. “Thank you, sir,” Mallory said.
He kept the smile on his face until Corliss had vanished back into the trading post. Then Mallory turned away, scowled, and muttered under his breath, “Lecherous fool. You be sure and keep your distance from him, Laura. And don’t let yourself be caught alone with him.”
She laughed. “Stop being the protective brother, Clyde. You know perfectly well that I’m just as capable of taking care of myself as you are.”
“Yes, perhaps, but still…I’ll be glad when this is all over.”
“So will I.” Laura frowned slightly. “I don’t look forward to the bloodshed. There are quite a few women and children here.”
“I know what you mean,” Mallory said with a sigh. “Certain losses are inevitable, though. I’m glad that Preacher fellow isn’t here. It’s difficult to fight side by side with a man and then betray him. I rather liked him, despite the fact that he’s an American.”
“So did I,” Laura said. “There’s something about him…” She let her voice trail off, then gave an abrupt shake of her head. “But we’re here to carry out an assignment, and we cannot let anything deter us from it.”
“We won’t.” Mallory’s voice was strong and confident again. “If all goes as planned, before the day is over, those rifles will be in the hands of the Blackfeet…and in the end the blood will be on their hands.”
He on
ly wished he believed that as strongly as he made it sound that he did.
True to Mallory’s prediction, the wagon train pulled out of the settlement less than an hour later with the shouting of drivers, the rattling of harness chains, the creaking of wheels, and the plodding of hooves. Most of the people who were around the trading post turned out to watch the wagons leave. Their arrival had been a welcome break from the monotony, and so was their departure.
Corliss, Deborah, Jerome, and the boy Jake stood on the porch of the trading post and waved through the open gates as the wagons rolled past. Other people lined the walls of the stockade, and still others stood outside their cabins and shaded their eyes against the sun. It was still fairly early in the day, and the wagons were heading east, into the sun.
Laura stood by herself, the only one remaining at the settlement who knew that her brother would be back much sooner than anyone else expected. She lifted a hand in farewell, but Clyde wasn’t looking back.
Mallory felt better once the settlement was out of sight. He had known when he came here that the plan devised by Lord Aspermont included arming the savages and stirring them to attack the settlement.
Once this American foothold in the wilderness was wiped out, Lord Aspermont was certain they would abandon their plans to settle this vast territory. Then British settlers could come down from Canada and establish their own trading post and community.
By the time the Americans came back again, this would be de facto British territory. New boundary lines could be negotiated then. The Americans would have no choice except to concede part of the territory they had acquired from France in that damned Louisiana Purchase, and their greedy, grasping overreaching would be blunted at last.
There was room for only one empire in the world, Mallory told himself…and that was the British Empire.
Rule Britannia.
He didn’t know exactly where Ezra Flagg and the Blackfoot chief Walks Like a Bear would rendezvous with the wagons. Somewhere east of the settlement and well away from it, Flagg had said. His instructions had been for Mallory to take the wagons east as if he were really heading back to St. Louis, and they would be met.
Preacher's Pursuit (The First Mountain Man) Page 10