“You think we should wait here for you?”
“You’ve got plenty of supplies,” Preacher pointed out, “and the best water supply in this part of the country. I’m hopin’ it won’t take us long to find the bear. We might be back later today. But if it takes a few days, you’ll be all right here. Just keep a full shift of guards on all the time.”
“In case the Indians come back.”
Preacher shrugged. “It could happen.” He rubbed his bearded jaw. “And it’d be better if I was here to help you fight ’em off.”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt of that.” Roland frowned. “Why don’t we compromise? You and Lorenzo see if you can trail the bear. But if you don’t find it, come back tonight and we’ll move out for Santa Fe tomorrow morning.” He took a deep breath. “I hate the idea of letting that creature get away with killing my father, but as you pointed out, Preacher, I have other responsibilities now, like all the men who work for him. Who work for me.”
Roland might still have a ways to go, but he was starting to grow up, Preacher thought. He said, “All right. We’ll ride out now and be back tonight, one way or the other.”
Roland nodded. “Thanks, Preacher. I feel like I ought to come with you, instead of asking you to avenge my father.”
“Nope, be better for you to stay here,” Preacher said with a shake of his head. “Somebody’s got to be in charge, and I reckon that’s you.”
Roland drew in a deep breath. “That still sounds wrong to me, but I’ll do what I can.”
Preacher clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Just keep your guard up, son. That’s the most important thing you can do right now.”
Motioning for Lorenzo to follow him, Preacher started toward the horses. He put his saddle on the big gray stallion while Lorenzo got the other horse ready to ride.
In a low, worried voice, the old-timer said, “You know, Preacher, I’m startin’ to think that bear can’t be killed. We done shot it and shot it, over and over, and the damn thing keeps on a-comin’ back.”
“Ain’t nothin’ ever lived that can’t be killed,” Preacher said.
“What if it ain’t . . . a real bear? What if it’s some kind of spirit?”
“A ghost bear?” Preacher shook his head. “It’s real, all right. My jaw still aches from the wallop it gave me last night. It’s real, and with enough powder and shot, it’ll die.”
Or else I’ll die tryin’ to kill it, he thought.
CHAPTER 18
Accompanied by Dog, they rode out of camp heading north, the same direction the bear had gone. The trail was harder to follow since the ground was hard and didn’t take tracks well. Dog also seemed to have trouble picking up the scent.
Preacher’s keen, experienced eyes were able to spot the little signs of the grizzly’s passage: the rocks that had been overturned recently, the marks in the dirt left by a dragging claw, the occasional drops of blood that testified to the fact the bear was wounded again.
If Preacher had been the superstitious sort, he might have wondered about the bear, just like Lorenzo. There was no telling how many times the big varmint had been wounded, and yet it was still alive, still vicious, still determined to wreak havoc on the wagon train. Preacher had no explanation for how it had survived or why it was so hell-bent on delivering death and destruction to the caravan, but he had seen men who were hard to kill, as well as men whose violent actions made no sense. If a human could go crazy, he supposed a bear could, too.
After a while, Lorenzo said, “I hope you know where you’re goin’. I don’t see no trail.”
Preacher pointed out the sign he was following. “If you’re gonna live out here on the frontier,” he said, “it’s time you started learnin’ some of the things that’ll help keep you alive.”
“I’m all for stayin’ alive,” Lorenzo said.
The bear’s trail led due north, through some bleak, rugged country. “Looks like he’s headed for Canada,” Preacher commented after a while.
“How far’s that?”
“Too far for us to follow him all the way there,” Preacher replied with a smile. “Maybe we’ll catch up to him.”
Lorenzo was silent for a few moments, then asked, “What do you think about that young fella Roland? Is he gonna be able to take over and run things like his pa?”
“Maybe,” Preacher said. “Bartlett didn’t really know what he was doin’, either. He just bought some wagons and freight and started out to Santa Fe, trustin’ to luck.”
“What was lucky was him runnin’ into you. That whole bunch’d likely be dead now without the help you give ’em.”
“Well, they gave us a hand back yonder in Independence, remember? Seems fittin’ we’d do what we can to help them, too.”
“Speakin’ of Independence . . . Casey seems taken with the boy now. You finally got her to give up on you?”
“So it appears,” Preacher said dryly.
“And that don’t bother you none?”
“That was what I wanted. What I’m worried about now is what will Casey do when Roland starts back to St. Louis.”
“Go with him?” Lorenzo suggested.
“I thought about that. What if some of your old boss’s friends recognize her?”
The old-timer snorted in contempt. “I ain’t sure Shad Beaumont ever had any friends. Just folks who worked for him and folks who was scared of him . . . or both, like me.” Lorenzo shook his head. “But I been around them crooked folks enough to know they don’t care about much of anything except money. They won’t have no reason to bother Casey, even if somebody does recognize her.”
“Roland might find out about her past if that happens,” Preacher pointed out.
“That’s likely to happen anyway, sooner or later.” Lorenzo shrugged. “Roland’ll just have to get over it, if it bothers him. Maybe it won’t.”
“Maybe not,” Preacher said.
While they were talking, he’d kept his eyes on the ground ahead of them, intently picking out the little indications that the grizzly had passed that way. He hadn’t seen any blood for quite a while, telling him the bear’s wounds were superficial and had stopped bleeding.
Dog ranged back and forth in front of them, sometimes with the scent, sometimes not. Preacher lost the trail a time or two himself but was able to find it again.
Around midday, they came to a dry wash, about a dozen feet deep and steep-walled. The bear’s tracks led right up to the edge. Preacher frowned as he swung down from the saddle and studied the ground. It looked like the bear had walked straight up to the wash and fallen into it. Preacher saw where the dust had been disturbed on the floor of the arroyo by the creature’s landing.
More tracks led off to the west. Preacher pointed them out and said, “Looks like he got up and kept movin’.”
“How come he fell off of there?” Lorenzo asked. “I know you said bears don’t see too good, but there ain’t no way he missed somethin’ as big as this wash.”
“Maybe he just didn’t care,” Preacher said. “Maybe he’s dyin’ at last, and he knows it.”
“We gonna follow him?”
Preacher looked up, studying the sun’s position in the sky. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I think we can stay on his trail for a couple more hours if we need to, and still get back to the wagons before dark if we push the horses a little.”
“You’re the boss.” Lorenzo looked and sounded a little nervous.
“You’re not still worried about the bear bein’ supernatural somehow, are you?” Preacher asked. “I tell you, the blamed thing’s real, and it can be killed.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Lorenzo said. “But he’s been mighty hard to kill so far, and I’m just wonderin’ how much more damage he can do ’fore we finish him off.”
“Not much, I’m hopin’,” Preacher said.
They rode along the edge of the wash, following it as it twisted and turned in a generally westward direction. Preacher was able to see the tracks from up th
ere. As far as he could tell, the bear wasn’t making any effort to climb out of the wash.
After about a mile, he began seeing blood on the ground along with the tracks. One of the bear’s wounds must have broken open, he thought. His anticipation increased. Mortality might finally be catching up to the giant creature.
He spotted something up ahead. A dark hole in the side of the wash marked the mouth of a cave. As Preacher and Lorenzo approached it, Preacher saw the tracks and the blood leading into the opening. Instinct had drawn the grizzly to a place where it could den up.
The two men reined to a halt. Lorenzo frowned at the cave mouth and said, “What do we do now? That damn thing found itself a hole to crawl into!”
“To crawl into and die, more’n likely,” Preacher said. “But I ain’t turnin’ back until I know for sure.”
Lorenzo looked over at him, frowning in surprise. “You don’t mean to tell me you figure on goin’ in that cave?”
“Chances are it ain’t even a real cave, just a hollowed-out place,” Preacher said. “Probably not more’n eight or ten feet deep. If I can get down there, I ought to be able to see into it enough to tell if the bear’s dead.”
“What if it ain’t dead?”
Preacher thought about it for a minute. “Tell you what. We’ll tie a rope around me and fasten the other end to Horse, so if I need to get out of there in a hurry, he can pull me out.”
Lorenzo didn’t look convinced, but he said, “All right. It’s your skin. Just don’t be expectin’ me to climb down in there after you if you get in trouble.”
“I don’t,” Preacher assured him. “Just keep your rifle handy.”
He dismounted and took the coiled rope off Horse’s saddle. He made a loop in one end and slipped it over his head and shoulders, tightening it under his arms and around his chest. The other end he tied to the saddle.
“Toss my rifle to me once I’m down there,” he told Lorenzo. He led Horse away from the edge until he judged the stallion was far enough away to keep the rope taut. Then he backed to the edge. The rope stretched out tight between him and Horse.
“All right, old fella,” Preacher called to the stallion. “Come toward me, nice and slow.”
Horse started walking forward. As he did, Preacher leaned back against the rope and reached over the edge with a booted foot. He found a good place to brace it and then stepped back with the other foot. As Horse came toward him, Preacher was able to walk backward down the sheer wall of the arroyo. The sandstone face was rough enough to provide several good footholds along the way.
It didn’t take long at all for Preacher to descend into the wash. “Keep comin’, Horse,” he called up to the stallion so he would have plenty of slack in the rope as he approached the cave. Now that he was closer, he could see that the bear’s tracks definitely led into the dark opening.
Lorenzo threw the rifle down to Preacher. The mountain man held the weapon ready for instant use as he started toward the cave mouth. The opening was about five feet tall and four feet wide. Preacher crouched to look into it.
The bear exploded out of the cave with a swiftness and ferocity that surprised even Preacher. He pulled the rifle’s trigger, making flame and smoke spew from the muzzle, but didn’t know if he hit the grizzly or not. He had to move so fast to avoid the lethal swipe of a huge paw that he lost his footing and sprawled backward on the ground.
“Back, Horse, back!” he yelled. Instantly, the rope around him went taut.
As he slid backward over the dusty floor of the wash, being dragged by Horse, Preacher scrambled to get his feet under him. The bear charged after him. Preacher thrust the rifle out to block another blow from one of those paws. The impact knocked the weapon out of his hands and sent it spinning away, but at least it kept the claws from raking across his face.
Preacher tried to get turned around so he could walk back up the wall, but he didn’t make it in time. His shoulder rammed against the sandstone so hard the impact took his breath away and stunned him. He felt his feet come off the ground, as the rope around his torso began to lift him.
The bear came at him again, reaching for him. Preacher had the presence of mind to draw his legs up and then lash out with them, kicking the bear in the chest. He wasn’t strong enough to knock down such a behemoth, but the grizzly was staggered for a second. It threw back its head and let out an angry, frustrated roar.
It lunged forward again, enveloping Preacher in its powerful arms. As the creature pulled him against it, he reached for his pistols, hoping to blast both double-shotted loads into the bear’s face at close range. As the bear’s grip tightened Preacher’s arms were pinned against his sides. Even though his hands were wrapped around the butts of the pistols, he couldn’t pull them from behind his belt.
He jerked his head aside as the bear bit at him. The animal’s hot breath washed across his face and was so foul it made him gag. Something was wrong with the bear, Preacher thought. Its insides were festering.
Knowing that wasn’t going to do him any good. The grizzly was about to crush the life out of him.
Dog leaped from the bank and landed on top of the bear’s head, snarling and snapping. The big cur hadn’t been able to stand at the edge of the wash and watch his old friend battling for his life without jumping right into the middle of the fracas. Dog’s sharp teeth tore into one of the bear’s ears and started ripping at it. The bear roared in pain and let go of Preacher to reach up and remove the annoyance from the back of its neck.
With a pained yelp, Dog went flying away. The grizzly wheeled around and went after him.
Preacher started rising again as Horse lifted him. His wits returned to him, and he yelled, “No, Horse! Down!”
“Preacher, what the hell you doin’?” Lorenzo shouted in alarm. “Get outta there!”
“I ain’t leavin’ Dog down here!”
Preacher’s feet hit the ground again. He grabbed the rope, pulled it loose, threw it off.
Without the rope, he was free to charge after the bear. As he looked past the varmint’s considerable bulk, he saw Dog lying on the ground, apparently stunned if not worse. As he ran, Preacher pulled the guns from behind his belt and cocked them.
“Damn you, bear!” he bellowed. “I’m gettin’ tired of fightin’ you!”
The bear swung around again, distracted by the shout as Preacher had hoped. Dog was safe for the moment.
But only for the moment. If the bear killed Preacher, the big cur would be next.
Lorenzo’s rifle boomed from the top of the bank. The bear stumbled a little as the ball smashed into its chest. “Die, you son of a bitch!” Lorenzo yelled. “Why won’t you die?”
Preacher dodged aside as the grizzly swiped at him with both paws. He avoided the first blow, but the second one clipped him on the left shoulder and sent him rolling again. Fiery pain rippled down Preacher’s arm from the gashes torn by the creature’s claws.
Summoning up all the strength he could, Preacher surged back to his feet. He wouldn’t have time to reload once he pulled the triggers. He had to save his shots until he was sure they would do the most good.
The bear charged him. Preacher spun away from the attack. As the bear lumbered past him, Preacher took a chance.
He jumped on the bear’s back.
He looped his left arm around the bear’s neck and tried to get his legs around the creature’s thick body. As he burrowed against the thick, rank-smelling fur, he struggled to get the barrel of the pistol in his right hand against the creature’s ear—another way to its crazed brain. The bear flailed around so much the gun muzzle kept slipping away from where Preacher wanted it before the mountain man could pull the trigger.
A claw hooked in his buckskin shirt without puncturing his flesh, but it was enough of a grip for the bear to tear him loose and fling him away. Preacher went rolling helter-skelter across the ground just as Dog had a few moments earlier. When he came to a stop, he tried to force his muscles to work, but his brain was too st
unned. He rose slightly but slipped down again.
The bear lumbered toward him like a furry avalanche, it’s angry roar reminding Preacher of the rumble of an avalanche.
A shaggy gray shape darted between Preacher and the grizzly. Dog was back on his paws, and he planted himself firmly in the bear’s path, snarling and growling his defiance as he got ready to protect his friend to his last breath and last drop of blood.
The bear stopped a few feet away and roared again. Preacher saw shadows moving and looked up to see Lorenzo standing at the edge of the wash, lining up a shot with his rifle.
“Don’t!” Preacher croaked. “Hold your fire, Lorenzo!”
The old-timer didn’t lower his rifle, but he didn’t press the trigger, either. He looked at Preacher and said, “What do you mean, don’t shoot?”
“You ain’t gonna kill him. You’re just gonna make him mad.”
“Looks to me like he’s already mad.”
As if to prove it, the bear bellowed again.
Breathing hard, Preacher said, “Look at him. He’s tired and hurt bad. He don’t want this fight any more than we do.”
It was true. The bear was swaying more than normal when standing on its hind legs. The beady little eyes were dim with pain and confusion. Since it hadn’t attacked again, Preacher wondered if he could wait it out. Maybe the bear was finally about to collapse and die.
Instead, the great beast abruptly wheeled around and started to move away. It dropped to all fours and picked up speed as it swung along the bottom of the arroyo.
“Preacher?” Lorenzo shouted. “What do I do now?”
“Let him go,” Preacher muttered. “Just let him go.” To the big cur, who was straining to bound after the grizzly, he added, “Dog, stay.”
As Preacher pushed himself into a sitting position, the bear disappeared around a bend in the wash. Preacher struggled to his feet, retrieved his rifle, and managed to get hold of the rope, which still dangled into the wash from Horse’s saddle.
“I’m gonna tie this around Dog,” he said. “Horse can lift him outta this hole and then pull me out the same way.”
Preacher's Assault Page 14