Preacher's Kill

by William W. Johnstone

  “What sort of expedition?”

  Merton’s response was curt. “I’ve said enough. Good day, sir.” He turned to Ryker. “Finish loading the supplies. Then we’ll all assemble at the hotel and set out from there. Understood?”

  “Sure,” Ryker said. “There won’t be any more trouble.”

  “There had better not be.”

  Merton turned, went down the steps, and strode through the crowd as if he expected it to open up before him—which it did. His son Oliver cast an unreadable glance at Preacher and Hawk and then followed.

  Ryker snapped at Fitzgerald’s clerks and got them started putting supplies in the wagons again. Pidge picked up the barrel and loaded it, then went into the store to get more. Preacher and Hawk stood off to one side, keeping an eye on things until the task was finished.

  Then Ryker took the reins of one team and Pidge the other. As they drove the wagons along the street toward the hotel where the Mertons were staying, Hawk watched them go and said quietly, “They plan to take those two fools out into the wilderness, kill them, and steal everything of value.”

  “I know,” Preacher said, “but we’ve done been told it ain’t any of our business.” He jerked his head toward the store’s entrance. “Come on. We got supplies of our own to buy.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Thomas Fitzgerald was a jowly, canny Scotsman who had been selling supplies to trappers for a long time. Preacher had known him for quite a few years, so after he’d introduced Hawk and while Fitzgerald’s clerks were putting together the order, the mountain man asked, “What can you tell me about that fella Merton, Tom?”

  Fitzgerald had a pipe clenched between his teeth. He took it out and said, “You wouldn’t be holdin’ a grudge agin the man because o’ wha’ happened out there on th’ loadin’ dock, would ye, Preacher?”

  “Nope. Just curious, that’s all. I don’t know if you heard or not, but Hawk and me ran into Merton’s boy last night over at Red Mike’s.”

  “Did this encounter involve yet another brawl?”

  “Well . . .” Preacher said with a smile, “it might have. Fact is, it did.”

  “’Tis no surprise to me. Trouble seems to follow ye around, man. And don’t go talkin’ about how peace-lovin’ ye are. Both of us know better.”

  “What about Merton?”

  Fitzgerald set his pipe aside and leaned both hands on the counter. “He come in here a couple o’ days ago with that fella Ryker. Had a big order for me to fill. Enough supplies t’ last a dozen or more men several months. Wherever he’s goin’, he plans to stay there for a while.”

  “But he didn’t say where that is?”

  Fitzgerald shook his head. “He dinna drop even a hint.”

  Hawk spoke up, saying, “They go to trap beaver.”

  “Now, that’s what ye’d think. An’ truth t’ tell, Merton bought a few traps. But not enough for a group that size. Not if they intend to take enough pelts t’ make th’ trip worthwhile.”

  Preacher rubbed his chin and said, “That’s interestin’. What other reason could there be for traipsin’ all the way out yonder, other than goin’ after furs?”

  “I’ve supplied a few expeditions of natural scientists, artists, and the like.”

  Preacher grunted. He had run into more than one expedition like that himself, and every time, the results had been violent. Scientists and artists always brought trouble along with them, it seemed like.

  Edgar Merton hadn’t struck him as being either of those things. Merton looked and acted like a businessman.

  “Do you know who recommended that he hire Hoyt Ryker?”

  “Can’t help you there, either,” Fitzgerald said. “I remember Ryker. Never heard anything good about the scoundrel, either. But he hasn’t been around for a while. Maybe he’s changed his ways.”

  Preacher knew better. He had seen enough of Ryker to know that the man hadn’t changed. He was still as dangerous as ever.

  Hawk said, “Ryker could have paid someone to suggest that Merton hire him.”

  “What would be the purpose o’ that?” Fitzgerald asked. “Unless . . .”

  He stopped, and Preacher nodded knowingly. If Ryker had pulled a scheme like that, then he had to be up to no good. But Preacher had known that already.

  “Somebody ought to have a talk with Merton,” Fitzgerald went on after a moment.

  “You reckon it’d do any good? I tried, but he didn’t seem to want to listen to me.”

  “Well . . . I can’t say I’m surprised,” Fitzgerald replied. “A fella like Merton, he’s got t’ be right all th’ time. Once he’s made up his mind about somethin’, he’s not likely t’ change it, because that would mean admittin’ he was wrong.”

  Preacher nodded and said, “That’s the way I’ve got it figured, too. I already told him that throwin’ in with Ryker wasn’t very smart, and he didn’t pay no attention. I reckon what happens from here on ain’t any o’ my lookout.”

  “True,” Fitzgerald agreed, nodding solemnly. “Still, I hate to see a man go off willingly to what might be his own doom.”

  “Folks do it all the time,” Preacher said. “We’re gonna go collect our horses and pack mule from Fullerton. You suppose our packs’ll be ready by the time we get back?”

  “I’ll see to it,” Fitzgerald promised.

  As they left the store, Hawk said quietly, “Despite what you said in there, you are not going to allow Merton and his son to leave with Ryker, are you?”

  “I don’t see how I can stop ’em,” Preacher said.

  “Then you are going to do nothing.”

  Preacher laughed humorlessly and replied, “I didn’t say that, neither.”

  * * *

  Dog and Horse were glad to see Preacher. The mule, as always, showed no reaction whatever. Preacher settled up with Ambrose Fullerton, then he and Hawk led the animals back to Fitzgerald’s store, where they fastened the packs containing their supplies to the mule.

  “Let’s stop by Red Mike’s and say so long,” Preacher suggested. An idea was stirring in the back of his mind, and he thought paying a visit to the tavern might help bring it into focus.

  “That will mean going out of our way,” Hawk said.

  “Not that far. And we don’t have to be anywhere at any particular time, do we? That’s one mighty good thing about livin’ the way we do.”

  Hawk just shrugged. What Preacher wanted to do might make no sense to him, but he was willing to go along with it.

  Even though it wasn’t the middle of the day yet, men had started to drift into Red Mike’s for a drink, either stealing a few minutes away from their work or getting a late start on it. The Irishman was staying busy pouring cups of coffee and filling mugs of beer. Nobody was drinking whiskey much this early except for the most devoted sots.

  “I figured you fellas would be pullin’ out for the mountains by now,” Mike greeted Preacher and Hawk.

  “We’re on our way,” Preacher told him. “Our outfit’s outside with Dog watchin’ over it.” Preacher looked around the tavern. “Appears you could use some help this mornin’.”

  Mike blew out a disgusted-sounding breath. “Yeah, I could, but you don’t see anybody pitchin’ in, do you? It’s too early for most o’ my other girls to show up, and Chessie seems to be gone!”

  “Gone!” Hawk repeated with a look of alarm on his face. “Where would she go?”

  “Beats me, friend,” Mike said with a shake of his head. “I figured she was still asleep, but when I went to her room a while ago and knocked on the door, she didn’t answer. I looked inside, and she wasn’t there. Looked like her bed had been slept in, but she was gone and so were her things.”

  “She has run away,” Hawk said. He sounded as if he couldn’t believe it.

  “Yeah. Sure took me by surprise, too. She had told me how grateful she was for me helpin’ her out, and I believe she meant it. But I reckon something came along that she wanted to do more than staying here working in a tavern.
” Mike chuckled wryly. “Can’t say as I really blame her for that. I hope she’s all right, though.”

  “I expect she is,” Preacher said, although he wasn’t really sure of that at all. “Young women have minds of their own, I reckon.”

  Mike snorted. “Yeah, and they never grow out of it, either. You two want some more coffee before you head out?”

  “No, the mountains are callin’ us.” Preacher stuck his hand across the bar. “So long, Mike. See you next time.”

  “And you’ll be bringing trouble along with you when you do,” Red Mike said as he shook hands with Preacher and then Hawk. “I’d bet one of those brand-new silk hats on that!”

  They left the tavern and walked west toward the edge of town. Their route took them past the hotel where the Mertons had been staying. Preacher looked for the wagons that had been at Fitzgerald’s earlier, but the vehicles weren’t there.

  It appeared that the “expedition,” whatever it was really after, was already on its way.

  “Where could the girl have gone?” Hawk asked as a frown creased his face. Preacher had been able to tell that his son had been chewing over that question ever since they’d left Red Mike’s.

  “Well, hell, haven’t you figured it out?” he said. “She went with the Mertons and Ryker.”

  Hawk drew in a sharp breath. “You believe this to be true, Preacher?”

  “Like Mike said, I’d bet a hat on it. Think about it. Oliver Merton comes to St. Louis with his pa, who’s puttin’ together an expedition to the mountains. He meets Chessie at Red Mike’s and decides that he’s sweet on her. But she’s already mixed up with Ryker, who tells her to string Oliver along once he finds out what Oliver’s pa is doin’. There’s a good chance Chessie’s the one who first said something about Merton hirin’ Ryker and his bunch to go along on the trip.”

  Hawk’s expression had darkened while Preacher was talking. He said, “Oliver’s father would not take the word of a tavern girl about who he should hire.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” Preacher agreed. “But she could have sold Oliver on the idea without any trouble, and he could’ve brought it up with his pa. And, Ryker could’ve bribed somebody—say, one of the local officials—to vouch for him with Merton. You got to admit, Hawk, it could’ve played out that way.”

  “It could have,” Hawk said with obvious reluctance, “but that does not mean that it did.”

  “Come up with a better explanation for everything that’s happened, and I’ll listen to it.”

  Hawk didn’t respond to that. He couldn’t, because Preacher’s theory made sense.

  After they had walked along for a few more moments, though, Hawk said, “Why do you think Chessie went with them?”

  “You heard what Mike said about her. Her folks are dead, and she don’t have any other family around here. She’s got nothin’ to hold her in St. Louis.”

  “The mountains are dangerous.”

  “They sure are, but she’ll be travelin’ with a large, well-armed group of men who are pretty rough around the edges. She’s got to figure that if there’s any trouble along the way, they’ll be able to handle it. Plus, if she’s fallen for Ryker, she’ll be around him.”

  “You said she has been making Oliver believe she cares for him.”

  “Well,” Preacher said with a smile, “she wouldn’t be the first gal to play two fellas against each other, would she?”

  Hawk shook his head and said curtly, “I know nothing about such foolish games.”

  “You will, if you live long enough. In the meantime, we’ll find out soon enough if I’m right about Chessie goin’ with Oliver and his pa and their expedition.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “We’re gonna follow ’em,” Preacher said. “Right now, they’re headed the same direction we are, so I don’t see any reason we can’t stay on their trail for a ways.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Preacher and Hawk walked, leading the horses and the pack mule, until they reached the outskirts of St. Louis. Dog bounded ahead of them and then ran back, happy to be traveling again instead of stuck in a barn. Horse had some extra spirit in his step as well, as if he sensed that another long trail lay before him, and he was eager to get to it. Hawk’s pony displayed some of the same excitement and anticipation.

  Once they were at the edge of town, they swung up into their saddles and set off at an easy pace. Hawk asked, “How long do you think it will take us to catch up to the expedition?”

  “Shouldn’t take long,” Preacher replied. “They’ve got at least two wagons with ’em. For all we know, they have more than that. Those wagons’ll have to move slower than we do on horseback. We should be within sight of them before nightfall.”

  Hawk nodded. Preacher knew he was anxious to confirm that Chessie Dayton actually was traveling with the Mertons. Of course, what Hawk would do once they found out about that, Preacher didn’t know. Chessie was old enough to make up her own mind about where she went—and who with—so it was none of Hawk’s business. The question was whether he would abide by that.

  The day had warmed considerably by noon. Preacher and Hawk didn’t push the horses. Even so, around midafternoon Preacher spotted some dust hanging in the air half a mile ahead of them. He pointed it out to Hawk and said, “They’re headed for Louinet’s ferry. That’s where I figured we’d catch up with them.”

  “They will not allow us to join their group,” Hawk said. “Ryker would not stand for that, and I do not believe Oliver Merton would like it, either.”

  “Never said we were gonna join up with ’em. I figure we’ll hang back far enough they won’t notice us, but close enough we can get a look and make sure Chessie’s travelin’ with ’em.”

  “And if she is?” Hawk asked.

  Preacher frowned. “That’ll complicate things,” he admitted. “I don’t trust Ryker and his bunch as far as I could throw that big varmint Pidge. They’re dangerous, and Oliver and his pa were fools to throw in with ’em, no doubt about it. But I don’t like to mix in another fella’s affairs. If Chessie’s with ’em, though . . . she’s gonna be in danger sooner or later, and I ain’t the sort to ride off and leave a gal in a bad spot.”

  “So we will follow them without them knowing about it and try to protect her.”

  “That’s sorta what I had in mind,” Preacher said. He shrugged and added, “And I guess while we’re at it, we can keep an eye on Oliver and his pa, too, and try to keep them from gettin’ killed if it ain’t too much trouble.”

  After some more riding, they reached the crest of a long, tree-covered ridge where they were able to look down at the broad Missouri River flowing at its stately pace toward the Mississippi. Louinet’s ferry was in sight, crossing the river on its heavy ropes drawn by a team of oxen plodding in circles around a big capstan on the southern bank.

  Preacher was pretty sure the wagon that was on the ferry at the moment was one of the vehicles that had been at Fitzgerald’s, being loaded with supplies. The other wagon of that pair was parked not far from the ferry landing, waiting its turn to cross.

  Another wagon was there as well, this one lighter and smaller, with an arched canvas cover over its back. From where Preacher and Hawk were, they couldn’t see whoever was handling the reins, but Preacher wondered if it might not be one of the Mertons.

  In addition, a dozen men stood around holding horses. Those would be Hoyt Ryker’s men. Ryker himself, identifiable by the tall hat with the feather in its band, stood beside the smaller wagon, talking to whoever was on the driver’s seat.

  The ferry reached the landing on the other side of the river. The man handling that wagon drove off onto the bank, then climbed down from the box and waved an arm over his head to signal that he was all clear. From the size of him, Preacher thought it was Pidge over there on the far bank. Another man was with him. The two of them would stay there and keep an eye on the wagon and its contents while the rest of the party made the crossing.

  Preacher
and Hawk watched this from the top of the ridge. Hawk said, “I do not see Miss Chessie anywhere.”

  “She could be inside that covered wagon, or up on its box,” Preacher said. “We can’t see that good from up here. We get any closer, though, and they’re liable to spot us.”

  “Oliver and his father are stupid,” Hawk said in a voice made sullen by jealousy. “They deserve whatever happens to them.”

  Preacher couldn’t really disagree with that sentiment. On the other hand, everybody had to learn one way or another how to survive on the frontier. He himself had had several mentors when he’d first come out here as not much more than a kid, plus he’d had the hard-won benefits of some bitter experiences. He hadn’t been impressed with Edgar Merton, but Oliver had shown that he was a fighter and that was a good start toward being a frontiersman. Oliver might not be such a greenhorn one of these days . . . if he lived long enough.

  When the ferry returned to the south landing, one of the men drove the second supply wagon onto it, and the crossing resumed. Preacher and Hawk dismounted and spent the next hour in the trees atop the ridge, watching as the second wagon and all the horsemen crossed, with the exception of Ryker, who was staying close to the smaller wagon.

  The reason for Ryker’s actions became clear when the time came for someone to drive that wagon onto the ferry. Two people climbed down from the seat, with the first one turning to help the second. Preacher believed the man was Oliver Merton; long, fair hair, shining in the sun, was clear evidence the second person was Chessie Dayton. Edgar Merton was probably inside the wagon, Preacher thought as Ryker stepped up to the driver’s seat to handle the team of mules hitched to the wagon.

  Preacher noted the way Hawk stiffened at the sight of Chessie. “If Oliver truly cares for her,” Hawk muttered, “how can he take her along on such a dangerous journey?”

  “Fella like that is used to gettin’ his own way. Oliver thinks about what he wants and not much else. He’s still got a heap of growin’ up to do.”

  “He will get himself killed, and her, too!”

  “Could be,” Preacher said. “But we’ll do what we can to keep that from happenin’.”