Preacher's Fortune

by William W. Johnstone

  Esteban took up the speculation. “But they never returned, and over the years rain washed out some of the earth they used to block the tunnel, until it was open again except on top.”

  Preacher nodded and said, “That’s the way it looks to me. Pablo came along and moved the rock, which changed the stress on the ground, and then stepped where he shouldn’t and it all went out from under him.”

  Father Hortensio stopped mumbling prayers and sniffed. It wasn’t a sound of disdain this time, however. “What is that smell?” he asked.

  “Volcanic gas would be my guess,” Preacher said. “It’s comin’ up from underground somewheres. There are cracks in the cave wall down there, and the stink is comin’ through them.”

  “It smells like the very fires of Hades itself,” Father Hortensio said darkly. “To think that relics dedicated to the Lord have been sealed away in that hellhole for all these years. It is shameful!”

  “Yeah, well, them Pueblo Indians would’ve melted ’em down if they’d got their hands on ’em,” Preacher pointed out. “Then they would have been gone for good.”

  “Es verdad,” the priest admitted grudgingly.

  “What do we do now?” Juanita asked. “How do we get the treasure out of there?”

  “First thing we need to do,” Preacher said, “is to gather some dead branches and some brush and toss it down the hole. That way we can make a little fire down there so we can see what we’re doin’. The torch we had down there is burned out by now. Once we’ve done that, somebody can climb down, get the fire started, and tie the rope to one of those bags. The rest of us can pull it up. It’ll take a while, and we might have to use Horse to lift them chests full o’ gold bars, but we’ll get it all done.”

  “It is hard to believe we finally found it,” Esteban said. “This has been a dream of mine ever since I first read that old manuscript, penned so long ago by my ancestor.”

  Preacher clapped a hand on Esteban’s shoulder and grinned. “You can believe it, amigo. Now, let’s get to work.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Esteban and Father Hortensio both insisted on going down into the cave so that they could see the treasure where it had been hidden for the past century and a half. Preacher figured it wouldn’t hurt anything, so he didn’t argue the matter. Once they had thrown enough branches and dried brush into the hole, he shinnied down the rope again and got the fire started. He kept it small, not wanting the air in the cave to get stifling hot. Then he called up and told Esteban and the priest it was all right to descend the rope.

  Father Hortensio came first, and Preacher looked away, not particularly enchanted by the view of the priest’s hairy legs under the robe. When Father Hortensio reached the bottom, he dropped to his knees in front of the treasure, crossed himself, and began to pray as if he were kneeling in front of an altar. That made Preacher frown. It didn’t seem right somehow for a holy man to be so impressed by a pile of riches.

  Esteban climbed down and dropped easily to the floor of the cave. He crossed himself, too, and said a prayer of his own as he looked at the heaped-up treasure, but at least he stayed on his feet. He went over to one of the bags and untied the rawhide thong that held it closed. The thong had been in place for so long that Esteban had to struggle with it for a moment, but finally he got it loose. He opened the bag and reached inside to withdraw an object wrapped in oilcloth.

  Father Hortensio got to his feet and said, “Esteban, what are you doing? It is not our place to disturb these relics. They should not be unwrapped until we have returned them to the mission where they belong.”

  Esteban shook his head. “I understand, Father, but after all this time, I must see for myself that we have succeeded. I will do nothing to dishonor whatever artifact this may be.” He ignored Father Hortensio’s scowl and continued unwrapping the object in his hands.

  Underneath the oilcloth was another layer of coverings, this one of fine linen. Esteban unwound it carefully, and the firelight suddenly gleamed on the heavy candlestick that was revealed. It appeared to be cast of solid gold. Esteban’s hands shook a little as he peered down at what he held.

  “That candlestick should be on an altar, not in this cave that stinks of the very devil himself,” Father Hortensio said. “Please, Esteban . . .”

  Slowly, Esteban nodded. “You are right, Father.” He began to carefully wrap up the candlestick again. Father Hortensio helped him.

  Meanwhile, Preacher tried to heft one of the chests. He was able to lift it slightly, but he knew he could never climb up the shaft with it. He was confident that Horse could raise it, though. They would probably need a second rope, so that two of them could be fastened around the chest.

  “We’ll get the bags out first,” he said as he brought the end of the rope over to where Esteban and Father Hortensio stood. Esteban had replaced the candlestick in the big sailcloth bag. Now he tied the rawhide thong around the bag again, closing it, and Preacher tied the rope to the bag.

  He stepped over to the opening of the shaft, carrying the bag. He set it on the ground, cupped a hand at his mouth, and called up, “Haul away!” The rope grew taut as Pablo and Joaquin began pulling it up hand over hand. The bag of holy relics rose from the floor of the cave. Preacher took hold of it and reached above his head to guide it into the shaft. The bag disappeared from sight.

  “You fellas might as well climb out when the rope comes back down,” Preacher told his two companions. “I can handle this part of the chore, at least for now. Might need a hand when it comes time to boost those chests up.”

  Esteban shook his head. “I think you should go back to the surface, Preacher. It is still possible that the men who attacked us several days ago could have been trying to stop us from reaching the treasure, rather than simply intending to rob and murder us. If that is true, they could still be around, waiting to, how do you say, jump us again. I would feel better if you were up there to protect us while we work.”

  “Well, you might be right about that,” Preacher allowed. “I’ll climb up and keep an eye on things.”

  A few minutes later, the end of the rope came slithering down the shaft again and dropped into the cave. Preacher nodded to Esteban and Father Hortensio, then grasped the rope.

  “I’m comin’ up,” he called, and he started to climb.

  Professor Rufus Chambers could barely contain his excitement as he lowered the spyglass. “They’ve found the treasure!” he said. “I’m certain of it!”

  Cobey Larson reached for the glass. “Lemme see.”

  “There’s some sort of tunnel,” Chambers went on. “Preacher and one of the Indians climbed out of it. There must be a cave down there, below the cliff. What better place for Don Francisco to have concealed the treasure?”

  Chambers and his group of hired gunmen had followed the Alvarez party along the river that morning, and when everyone except the two Yaquis who had remained with the wagons had started up the canyon across the way, Chambers had suspected that was the one Don Francisco had talked about in his manuscript. Arnie Ross, who seemed to be more intelligent than he appeared, had suggested that some of them climb to this ledge on the opposite side of the river where they might be able to see what was going on at the head of the canyon where Preacher and the others had gone. The climb had been long and hard, but it had been rewarded. From this vantage point, with the help of the spyglass, they could see what was going on over there, a good half mile straight across the valley of the Purgatoire. A distant shot had drawn their attention and helped them to focus on the right place. Chambers, accompanied by Larson and Ross, had watched as the Alvarez siblings, the priest, and one of the Yaquis had converged on the spot. The professor had wondered where Preacher and the other Indian were, when lo and behold, the two of them had climbed into sight, apparently from out of the ground.

  From there, it took no great reasoning skills to deduce that there was a cave over there, and from the excited attitude of the individuals gathered around it, Chambers knew they m
ust have located the lost treasure of Mission Santo Domingo. That was the only thing that would produce such a reaction.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Cobey said. “They’re throwin’ branches and such down the hole, so they must be plannin’ to build a fire in that cave.”

  “There’s no point in waitin’ any longer,” Ross put in. “We need to climb back down, join up with the rest o’ the fellas, and get over there to jump those folks before they know we’re anywhere around.”

  Cobey nodded in agreement. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Wait just a moment,” Chambers said. “Perhaps it would be better to wait and let them bring all the treasure out of the cave before we make our move.”

  “Hell, no,” Cobey said emphatically. “I didn’t have a problem with lettin’ them find the cache, but there are plenty of us to haul it up outta that cave. We need to jump ’em now, while all their attention is on what they’re doin’. If we wait until they’ve brought the treasure out and loaded it on the wagons, Preacher will be on his guard even more than he was before.” He clenched a fist. “I want that son of a bitch dead before he knows what’s hit him.”

  Chambers thought it over for a moment and then nodded. “I think you’re right, my friend. Let’s go. It will take us a while to climb down, and then we have to get up that canyon and take them by surprise.”

  “That’ll mean killin’ the two Yaquis they left with the wagons,” Arnie pointed out.

  Chambers just smiled and said, “Yes. So it will.”

  Preacher climbed out of the hole and saw that the first bag of treasure had been tied to the saddle of the horse that had carried the two Yaquis up here. Juanita said, “I thought we could go ahead and send Joaquin down to the wagons with it, but I wanted to be sure you approved of that first, Preacher.”

  After a moment’s thought, Preacher shook his head. “We need to get all the loot out first, so we can carry as much down as we can at one time. We’ll want to ride guard on it, too, in case anybody tries to take it away from us.”

  Juanita frowned. “You think that is possible?”

  “Anythin’s possible,” Preacher said. “Especially when you’re dealin’ with a fortune in gold.”

  “Very well. I trust your judgment, Preacher.”

  He hoped she was right in doing so.

  For the next hour, they worked steadily. Preacher checked the other horses, but none of them had a rope tied to the saddle, which put a minor crimp in his plans. They could pull the chests out with only one rope, but it would be a trickier chore and they would have to be careful not to break the rope or to let any of the chests slip out of the loop and fall while they were being hauled up. He was sure they could manage, though.

  In the meantime, raising the bags of relics to the surface one at a time was fairly easy, though time-consuming. They had to take a break from the work, too, while Father Hortensio climbed out of the cave. He was rather pale and claimed that the smell bothered him.

  “I do not know what is sickened more, my stomach from the fumes or my soul from the reminder they carry of the infernal realm ruled by El Diablo.”

  “You figure Hell is really down there under the ground, Padre?” Preacher asked.

  “Where else would it be?” Father Hortensio snapped.

  Preacher scratched his bearded jaw. “I dunno. Don’t reckon I’ve ever really thought about it that much.”

  “You should spend more time in religious contemplation.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Preacher said dryly. Father Hortensio’s skeptical expression made it plain that he didn’t believe the mountain man for a second.

  They got back to work, and the pile of bags on the ground near the entrance to the cave continued to grow. Finally, Esteban called up, “This is the last bag, Preacher.”

  “All right,” Preacher replied. “We’ll haul it up, and then I’ll climb down and we’ll see about bringin’ those chests outta there.”

  A few minutes later, the bag was on the surface and added to the pile that had grown over the past hour. Preacher took hold of the rope and let himself down into the cave.

  He found Esteban waiting for him with one of the chests open. The young man reached into it and took out one of the heavy bars of gold.

  “I have been thinking, Preacher,” he said. “You should take this.” He held out the ingot.

  Preacher frowned. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “You deserve it for all the help you have given us. The Church is willing to let Juanita and me keep some of the gold, so that we can revive our family’s fortunes. You are equally deserving.”

  Preacher shook his head. “A bar o’ gold would just weigh me down. Anyway, it ain’t like I’m headin’ back to St. Louis or some other place where I could do anything with it. Once I get back to my old stompin’ grounds in the Rockies north o’ here, I wouldn’t have no use for any gold.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Certain sure,” Preacher said. He added, “I might let the Church buy me some supplies once we get back down to the tradin’ post, if Father Hortensio will go along with it.”

  “I will see that he does,” Esteban promised.

  Preacher knew the youngster meant well by that, but he wasn’t sure Esteban was in any position to deliver on that promise. When Father Hortensio didn’t want to do something, he seemed to be harder to budge than a Missouri mule.

  Esteban replaced the ingot in the chest and closed it. He and Preacher got at each end of the chest and lifted it, carrying it over to where the rope waited. They set it down, and Preacher looped the rope around the chest so that it crisscrossed itself before he tied it securely. The chest couldn’t slip out of that arrangement. The only question was whether a single rope was strong enough to lift the great weight of the chest.

  “All right, somebody lead Horse away from the shaft!” he called to those on the surface. “The rest of you haul on the rope, too!”

  As the rope grew taut, Preacher and Esteban lifted the chest as well, boosting it toward the opening of the shaft. They had to raise themselves on their toes to guide the heavy box into the opening. Then Preacher stepped back and motioned for Esteban to do the same.

  “If that rope was to snap, we don’t want that chest fallin’ back down on us,” he explained. “It’s heavy enough to bust a fella’s head wide open.”

  They heard the chest scraping against the sides of the shaft as it rose steadily. After a few moments, the noises stopped and Juanita called excitedly, “The chest is here. We have it!”

  “Good!” Preacher replied. “Untie the rope and toss it back down, and we’ll get the next one ready to haul up.”

  He stood underneath the opening now, waiting for the end of the rope to tumble back down to the cave. When it didn’t appear after a moment, he began to frown.

  “Juanita? Somethin’ wrong up there?”

  Suddenly, there was a muffled half scream, cut off abruptly, and somewhere above them a gun roared, the blast echoing down the shaft to the two startled men below the surface.

  EIGHTEEN

  For a moment, while they were on that ledge high above the river, Cobey Larson had considered pushing the professor over the edge. It would have been pleasurable to watch the arrogant bastard flail his arms and legs and listen to his terrified screams as he plummeted through empty air to his death. Cobey had kept Chambers alive until they found the treasure, but they didn’t really need him anymore.

  Still, you never could tell what might happen. A situation could arise in which it would be handy to have Chambers around, although for the life of him, Cobey didn’t know what it would be. He supposed they could let the professor live a while longer.

  They climbed down and rejoined Bert McDermott, Hardy Powers, George Worthy, Wick Jimpson, and Chuck Stilson. Wick and Chuck were still the walking wounded, and Stilson didn’t mind bitching about how bad his hip hurt where one of Preacher’s bullets had grazed it during the fight a few days earlier. Wick limped arou
nd in silence. He had complained about his wound at first, but after Cobey had lost his patience and snapped at the dim-witted giant to shut his pie hole, Wick had stayed quiet for the most part. In his doglike loyalty, he didn’t want to upset Cobey.

  “What did you find out?” Bert asked eagerly. “Have they found the treasure?”

  “Yeah,” Arnie Ross replied. “We saw ’em bringin’ it up out of a hole in the ground, on a shelf up at the head of that canyon.”

  “Are we goin’ to get it?” Powers asked.

  Cobey nodded. “Yeah, mount up. They left a couple of the Yaquis with the wagons at the mouth of the canyon. We’ll take care of them first and then sneak up on the others.”

  The men swung up into their saddles. Chambers was a surprisingly graceful rider for an Easterner. They started along the river toward the spot where the Alvarezes had left the wagons.

  Cobey called a halt before they got there, and the men dismounted. “Arnie an’ me will take care of those Yaquis, quietlike so the ones up at the other end of the canyon won’t hear anything. Hardy, you and Bert come along, too, in case we need a hand.”

  “Yaquis are supposed to be pretty tough sons o’ bitches,” Arnie pointed out.

  “That’s why we’re takin’ Hardy and Bert along.”

  Arnie nodded, but still looked worried.

  They set off on foot, slipping quietly through the trees. The Yaquis were from farther south in Mexico, Cobey reflected. They weren’t at home up here in the Sangre de Cristos any more than the gringos were. He hoped that unfamiliarity with the territory would even the odds a little. It was important that they dispose of the Indians without warning the others.

  Using every bit of cover they could find and moving with all the stealth they could muster, the four hard cases snuck up on the wagons. Cobey lifted a hand to signal a stop when they were about fifty yards away, crouched behind some brush. He peered through a gap in the dense foliage to study the layout.