Swift thought about Preacher’s plan for a moment, then nodded his head. “It’s better than us losing a lot of people.” He lifted his bugle and tooted on it.
The wagons did not circle, but rather formed up into a long rectangular box-like fort, with the stock inside the box. Swift assigned young people to scoop up the mess the livestock would make. It was going to be close and odious, but all felt they could wait out the outlaws and Indians.
Men went to work immediately cutting down small trees and clearing them of branches. The logs would be used first as barricades from bullets and arrows, then, if need be, to use in the building of rafts to cross the river, although, at this point, Preacher did not think rafting would be necessary.
Across the river, Red Hand glared at Bum, his eyes hot with anger. “It is far too early in the day to stop for nightfall. Why don’t they begin crossing? Why do they stop and build fortifications?”
“I don’t know,” Bum lied, for he knew perfectly well what the movers were doing. He had a sinking feeling in his guts that Preacher had won another round. The outlaws were slap out of supplies. They were out of coffee, beans, sugar, salt, flour—everything. They had planned on existing on the supplies taken from the wagon train. Now? He didn’t know.
“We’ve got to attack, Bum!” Jack Harris said. “We’ve got to attack now, man.”
“Yeah,” Bull said. “We let them movers get all set over there, and we’ll never pry ’em loose from there. We’re out of grub, Bum. We ain’t got nothin’ to eat. And as soon as the shootin’ starts, there won’t be even a rabbit within five miles of this place.”
Bum was thoughtful for a moment. “Preacher’s countin’ on that. He’s countin’ on us sendin’ people out on a hunt. ’Cause come the night, him and them other ol’ boys down yonder is gonna slip out and circle around on all sides of us, waitin’ for a hunter to go out for game. And that hunter ain’t never gonna come back. Goddammit!”
“To attack now would be folly,” Red Hand said. “We would have to cross several hundred yards of open land, then ford the river. They would pick us off as easily as stepping on a bug. If we wait until night, many of the new warriors who have joined us will not take part. They will not fight at night.”
He walked away, to join a brave who was motioning to him. They talked for several moments, then Red Hand returned. “We are out of food.” He shrugged his muscular shoulders. “Of course, Indians are accustomed to that. So what do you say now, Bum Kelley?”
“I don’t know,” the outlaw admitted.
* * *
“Stalemate,” Richard said, standing beside Preacher, Swift and several others, as they looked toward the seemingly deserted timber across the river.
“How long could we last?” Melody asked.
“Days,” Preacher told her. “The last two or three wouldn’t be easy to take, ’cause the stock’ll be squallin’ for feed. But it’d be a discomfort to them whilst doin’ ’em no real harm.”
“Won’t those thugs across the river go hunting for food?” A mover’s wife asked. It was mid-morning of the second day camped by the river. No hostile action had been initiated by the other side, but all could see the thin tentacles of smoke from their campfires.
Preacher smiled. “Take a look around you, ma’am. You see Beartooth and Nighthawk and Trapper Jim or Dupre?”
Everybody turned their heads and looked. “No,” Edmond said. “Where are they?”
Preacher pointed to the other side of the river, as a horse came slowly walking up to the edge of the timber. A man was tied in the saddle. Using a spyglass, Swift could see the arrow still sticking out of the man’s back.
“He’s been scalped,” the wagonmaster said. “And he’s stiff in the saddle.”
“Yeah,” Preacher said. “And comin’ from that direction, I ’spect that’s Beartooth’s work. It’s like I been figurin’. Them folks over yonder is gettin’ hongry. They slap out of supplies. I ’spect they was countin’ on feedin’ off the supplies carried in this train. We done spoiled their plans, turned everything topsy-turvy. Now they sendin’ out hunters and them ol’ friends of mine is sendin’ the hunters back without their hair. Hee, hee, hee!” he chuckled. The others looked at him strangely as he chuckled in dark humor. “I do love it when a plan works out.”
“Will they attack, do you think?” a woman asked him.
“They might. But if they do it’ll be a hard one, in the hopes they can take us on the first run. But more than likely it’ll just be a short attack to let us know they ain’t forgot us and they’ll be waitin’ further on up the trail. If they had any sense, they’d go on and leave us be.”
Preacher looked across the river. If he thought either one of the leaders would honor a flag of truce, he’d borrow a petticoat and wave it at them and palaver with them. But Bum had about as much honor as a stump and Red Hand was even worse when it come to dealing with whites. Anyway, Preacher mused, that was just a dream. Red Hand could always drift back into the wilderness, but Bum’s situation was a different one. He had to keep trying until he succeeded in stopping the wagon train cold and killing everyone in it.
If the outlaw leader had had any foresight about him, he’d have had hunters out killing game and smoking and jerking the meat. But ’if’ don’t put a scrap of food in nobody’s mouth.
So what would I do if I was in Bum’s place, Preacher thought. I’d pull out right now, get a lot of distance between this place and the next point of ambush, and I’d be huntin’ all the time. That’s what I’d do, Preacher wound it up.
Melody broke into his thoughts as he caught the last of her question “... what month is it?”
“July,” a mover replied. “Near the last, I think. I’ll ask my wife. She’s keeping a diary of our adventure.”
Adventure! Preacher thought sourly. Then he had to smile and shake his head and silently ask himself this: Why are you so sour about it? You’re damn sure a part of it.
* * *
Swift awakened him. “They’re crossing the river, Preacher. Left and right.”
Preacher was fully awake and out of his blankets just about the time the words left his mouth. He looked up at the sky. It was cloudy with no moon.
Good night for it, he thought. “Get everybody up and ready. Buckets filled for flame arrows. The women can handle that. Have the men stand ready for a fight. Assign the younger kids to load weapons. Move.”
Preacher took his position by a wheel and stated into the darkness. He found him a target—albeit a long way off—and pulled the Hawken to his shoulder and let ’er bang. The man, he couldn’t tell if it was an outlaw or a renegade, screamed once and fell face first into the river.
A mover fired and another scream was heard in the night, followed by a lot of fancy cussing and floundering around in the water.
One Indian got close and Swift drilled him right through the brisket. The warrior hit the wet bank and lay still. “Damned red savages!” he shouted.
“Problem is,” Preacher muttered under his breath, “they was here ’fore us.” Then he saw a hat that he remembered seeing miles back, long before he’d reached Fort Hall. He lifted his Hawken, sighted just under the brim of the hat, and gently squeezed the trigger.
The big ball struck the outlaw smack between the eyes and tore out the back of his head. The man never knew what hit him.
“Adam’s down and dead!” a man called. “My God, the whole back of his head is blowed off.”
“Forward!” Bum shouted. “Charge, men! Charge!”
A mover’s wife said a very ugly word and cut loose with a shotgun. An outlaw began screaming in pain, the birdshot taking him in the face and neck, peppering him and blinding him in one eye. He began running toward the wagons, screaming in rage and hate. The mover’s wife gave him another charge, this time at much closer range. The shot tore into his throat and knocked him off his boots.
Hot bright flames began dancing in the timber on the outlaw’s side of the river.
> “Somebody’s burnin’ our possessions!” a man shouted. “Lookee yonder.” He turned around and pointed.
Richard leveled his rifle and shot the man in the ass. “Wow-eee!” the outlaw squalled, and went running for the river. He jumped into the water and sat down, letting the cold river waters momentarily soothe his butt.
Preacher grinned. His friends across the river had slipped in as soon as the outlaws had slipped out and fired their camps.
“Goddamn you, Preacher!” Bum shouted. Then he began shouting out all the things he’d do once he got his hands on Preacher.
“You wanna fight me, Bum?” Preacher shouted back. “How about it, you yeller-bellied son of a bitch? Just you and me, winner take all.”
Red Hand halted his men, flattening them out along the river’s bank, safe from shot. “We will see what kind of a man we have joined with,” he told his people.
The firing stopped. A half a dozen men, from Bum’s bunch and Red Hand’s, had left to return to their burning camps, to salvage what they could and to see what had become of the guards, both white and red. All pretty well suspected they would find them dead.
Bum didn’t know what to say, but he knew he had better choose his words carefully, for to an Indian, even a renegade, a challenge was something not to be taken lightly. If he screwed this up, Red Hand would take his men and leave.
“I don’t trust you, Preacher!” Bum shouted from the night. “’Sides, I ain’t got nothin’ to gain from whuppin’ your butt.”
“True,” Red Hand muttered. “There is that to be considered.”
“You kill me, Bum. You got one less mountain man on this train.”
Red Hand smiled grimly. “And there is that to be considered, as well.”
“You guarantee me when I kill you your buddies will pull off from the train?”
“I can’t speak for them, Bum. Just for me. I tell you what. I’ll make it a real sportin’ event. I’ll fight two of you at oncest. You and that sorry damn Jack Harris. Now, I can’t see how you can refuse me that.”
“Nor can I,” Red Hand said.
“If they do not fight him, I do not wish to ride with them any longer,” a Kiowa renegade said. “It is not good to be associated with cowards. Besides, I have thought for some time that there is a secret that Kelley is keeping from us.”
“What could it be?”
“I don’t know. But he lies.”
“He has always lied. What is so different about this time?”
“The value of what is in the wagons.”
Red Hand grew thoughtful. The Kiowa was right, of course. Bum had turned evasive each time. Red Hand tried to question him about the wagon train. “We will see what happens this night,” he finally said.
“It’s some sort of trick, Bum,” Jack Harris whispered hoarsely. “Don’t you be believin’ nothin’ that damn Preacher has to say.”
“Yeah, I know. But if we don’t fight him, we could see Red Hand and his bunch pull away. You know that, don’t you?”
“Come on, Bum!” Preacher yelled. “How ’bout it, Jack? Or are the both of you so damned yeller you got petticoats under your britches?”
The Kiowa chuckled and even Red Hand was forced to smile.
“It’s a trick, Red Hand,” Bum yelled. “It’s nothin’ but a damn trick. Don’t fall for it.”
“He is a coward,” the Kiowa said. “I am taking my followers and leaving. Now.”
“Wait! There is something in that wagon train that is of great value. The white man’s money, perhaps. If that is the case, we could use it to buy more guns and powder and shot. Think about that.”
“Bum Kelley is afraid of this man called Preacher.”
“Perhaps that is true. But Preacher is a man that any warrior would respect. Perhaps we are confusing respect with fear.” Red Hand knew he was telling a blatant lie; Bum Kelley was so afraid of Preacher he was probably pissing in his pants. But he wanted the Kiowa and his band to stay with the group. “Stay with us. When the time is right, we shall attack the wagon, seize the money, and kill Bum and his people.”
The Kiowa nodded his head. “I like that. All right. I shall stay. But only if you give Bum to me. I have a thought that he will not die well.”
Red Hand smiled in the night. “It is done. Preacher!” he shouted. “It is Red Hand.”
“What do you want, you damn renegade?” Preacher returned the shout.
“Your ugliness is exceeded only by your ability to lie. We do not blame Bum for not taking your offer. Since you are not to be trusted, we can only believe that your offer is a trick. You are trying to split our forces and it will not work. Go to hell, Preacher!”
“I never said he wasn’t smart,” Preacher muttered.
“Do you hear my words, Preacher?”
“Yeah, I hear you. You best break away from Kelley, Red Hand. You stay with that buzzard puke and he’ll get you killed. You best think about that”
“Buzzard puke!” Bum shouted. Then he began reiterating all the things he was going to do to Preacher once he got his hands on him.
Many of the women in the wagons held their hands to their ears.
“It’s over now,” Preacher said to Swift. “See ’em slipping acrost the river? Ain’t no use in shootin’. They’re out of range.”
“So we’ve bought some time, is that it?”
“That’s about it. But we didn’t lose nobody this night, and we can start crossin’ the river in the mornin’ knowin’ we won’t be attacked.”
“We should count our blessings for the small things,” Edmond said, walking up.
Preacher glanced at him. “Way I look at it, stayin’ alive ain’t no small thing.”
15
“Pulled out last night and headed north,” Dupre said, swinging down from the saddle and heading straight for the coffee pot. “And they didn’t even look back.”
“They gonna be a raggedly-assed bunch,” Beartooth added. “’Cause we shore made a mess outta they camps.”
“Clothes needed burning,” Nighthawk said, speaking perfect English. “Fleas and other crawling and jumping insects had infested the material.”
Richard sighed as he listened to the man speak. Whenever he tried to engage the Crow in conversation, the Indian resorted to grunting and broken phrases.
“We left six more dead at the camps,” Trapper Jim summed it up. “And they’s several bodies floatin’ in the river.”
“So our adversaries, while still quite formidable, have been drastically reduced in numbers,” Richard said.
Beartooth looked at Dupre. “What the hell did he say?”
“Take heap many scalps,” Nighthawk grunted, hiding his smile. “Count plenty coup.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Richard said, and stalked away.
The wagons began crossing the Powder that day and by late afternoon of the next day, all were across and the fording was accomplished with only one minor incident: Young Avery fell off his horse and very nearly drowned because no one in the party would offer to help him. The young man and his father were universally despised among the settlers. Edmond saw what was happening and tossed the youth the end of a rope and dragged him out.
“You didn’t do nobody no favors,” Preacher told him.
“I couldn’t just sit there and let the young man drown!”
“I could.” Preacher lifted the reins and rode off.
The wagons headed north by northwest, rolling through Thief Valley, then called Grand Ronde Valley, and that night camped close to the mountains. They found good water and plenty of good graze for the livestock.
“Any of you folks ever tasted salmon?” Preacher asked a group of settlers. None had. “Not all Cayuses is on the prod. We’ll run into some friendly ones and I’ll barter for fish. It’s right tasty. I think you’ll like it.”
Although it was summer, the weather was unpredictable in that area. When the movers awakened the next morning, they found the sky gray and the temperature hoverin
g around the freezing mark.
“My God!” Swift exclaimed. “It is going to snow?”
“It might,” Preacher told him. “Anything’s possible in this country.”
On the fifth day after the failed attack by the Powder, Beartooth rode up to Preacher at the head of the column. “Gettin’ plumb borin’, Preacher.”
“I hope it stays that way.”
The huge mountain man grinned. “Tell the truth, so does I. Nighthawk ought to be back today or tomorrow. Be right interestin’ to find out where Bum and Red Hand is plannin’ on springin’ their next surprise.”
“They’ve crossed the Columbia and is waitin’ for us up to the north.” He smiled. “But they’s in for a long wait, ’cause we ain’t crossin’ the Columbia and headin’ north.”
Beartooth looked hard at him. “What you got ramblin’ around in that noggin of yourn, Preacher? We got to cross the Columbia, man.”
“No, we don’t. And we ain’t gonna. We gonna raft these pilgrims acrost the Fall and stay to the south side of the river.”
“You’ve lost your mind, man! You can’t take these damn wagons thataway.”
“I know a way, Beartooth. I spent two year out here, ’member? I got a way all figured out in my mind. It’s gonna be rough, but we can do it.”
Dupre had ridden up and was listening with amazement on his face. He shook his head. “I know the way you’re talkin’ about, Preach. You gonna be crossin’ the Sandy four times. You best think about that.”
“The Sandy ain’t nothin’. Bum and Red Hand’s got scouts watchin’ the crossin’. Bet on that. They got people lookin’ and waitin’ all over the north side of the river. So we’ll stay to the south. By the time they figure out what’s happened, we’ll be so close to the fort they daren’t attack.”
“Have you told Swift?”
“No. Hell, don’t none of these movers know nothin’ ’bout this country. When you’re lost as a goose you ain’t got no choice in the matter; you got to follow the leader.”
“But you said yourself they’s gonna be scouts of Bum’s and Red Hand’s watching the fall,” Beartooth protested.
The First Mountain Man Page 25