“Sounds like a pretty bad hombre, all right,” Preacher said. “Just the sort of gent who’d be friends with a lowdown skunk like Garity.”
Pepé’s head bobbed up and down. “Sí, señor. Pablo said he saw a man, an American, at Powell’s with his arm in a, how you say it, a sling, like this young gentleman here wore when he first came to Santa Fe.”
Pepé pointed to Roland, who had discarded his sling the day before as his wounded shoulder continued to heal.
“The arm had splints on it,” Pepé added.
“There can’t be more than one American in Santa Fe with a broken arm right now,” Roland said excitedly.
“You can’t be sure of that,” Preacher pointed out, “but I admit, it ain’t likely. What else did your nephew say, Pepé? Did he notice a blond American girl there?”
Pepé shook his head. “No, señor. But he was not looking for one. He only recalled the man with the sling when I asked him about such an hombre just now. He might not have remembered even then had not Señor Powell gotten angry with the man and told him to stay upstairs.”
Roland looked over at Preacher and asked, “Why would Powell want Garity to stay upstairs?”
“He’s keepin’ him out of sight for some reason,” Preacher guessed. “He don’t want anybody to know that Garity’s there.”
“Why would he care about that?” Juanita asked.
Preacher shrugged. “Maybe Garity told him about the run-ins he had with me, and Powell don’t want me findin’ him there. I hadn’t heard of Powell, but that don’t mean he ain’t heard of me.” The mountain man smiled. “I know that’s a mite immodest, but I got a little reputation in some circles.”
“A reputation as a dangerous man,” Juanita said. “Un hombre muy malo.” She nodded. “Yes, Powell might know of you. Even if Garity told him the bear killed you, Powell would not want to take the chance that you would come looking for him.”
“Which is exactly what I’ve done,” Preacher pointed out.
“I wish Pablo had seen Casey, too,” Roland said with a worried look on his face. “I’d like to know for sure that she’s still alive. What if she’s not there?”
“Then Garity can tell us where she is,” Preacher said. “We’ll make damn sure he don’t die until he does.”
Lorenzo said, “If this fella Powell is as bad as the señora says he is, we can’t just go bustin’ in and expect to kill Garity and take Casey outta there. Powell’s liable to have some men workin’ there that are almost as bad as he is.”
Juanita nodded. “I was just about to say that. There are always three or four men around who are experts with knives and guns, keeping order in the place when Powell isn’t there or is busy with something else.”
“I have eight bullwhackers who will go in there with us if I ask them to,” Roland said. “I think we’ll be more than a match for Powell and his bully boys.”
Preacher shook his head. “Those fellas are tough as hell, but in close quarters like that, they wouldn’t be any match for Powell and his men, not to mention Garity. He may have a busted arm, but I reckon he’s still as dangerous as a rattlesnake. He proved that the way he snatched Casey away.”
“Then what can we do?” Roland asked. “Now that we know where she is—where she probably is—we can’t just do nothing!”
“Somebody needs to go in there and scout around a mite. Make sure Casey’s really there. I can’t do it, because somebody’d be likely to recognize me.”
“And I can’t do it,” Lorenzo said. “I’d draw too much attention, bein’ black and all.”
“Not to mention you’re way too old have any use for a whore,” Preacher said.
“What the hell you talkin’ about?” Lorenzo demanded. “Why, I’ll have you know I can still—”
Preacher held up a hand to stop him and looked at Roland. “Reckon that leaves it up to you. You’ll have to be mighty careful. If Garity sees you, he’ll recognize you, sure as shootin’. You up to the job?”
“Of course I am,” Roland said without hesitation. “If it means getting Casey back, I am. What do I do?”
They all leaned forward as Preacher said, “You’ll go to Powell’s place tonight. I reckon Juanita can get some Mex duds for you.”
She nodded to indicate that she could.
“Keep the brim of your sombrero pulled down,” Preacher went on. “Dressed like that, and with that beard, there’s a chance Garity might not recognize you right off, even if he does see you. When you tell ’em you want a gal, they’ll likely ask if you’ve got anything special in mind. Tell ’em you’re lookin’ for a gal with yeller hair, especially if she’s an American.”
Roland’s features hardened into a grim mask. Preacher knew what he was thinking. In the time that Casey had been at the whorehouse in Santa Fe, there had probably been quite a few men who had asked for her. But if Roland had been willing to accept what he knew about her past in St. Louis, he ought to be willing to accept that, too, Preacher thought. It sure as hell wasn’t Casey’s fault.
“If she’s there, what do I do?” Roland asked.
“Take her upstairs,” Preacher said. “Look for a back way out. I’d like to get Casey clear before we deal with Garity.”
As long as Casey was safe, Preacher didn’t care all that much what happened to him. He had long since accepted the fact that he would never die in bed with a bunch of grandkids and great grandkids around him. Like that grizzly bear, when he reached the end of his trail it would be a violent one, but that was all right. Preacher was just fine with that as long as he got to put a pistol ball or a knife into Garity first, or even choke the life out of the son of a bitch with his own hands. He couldn’t think of a better way to go than while killing a skunk like that.
“We’ll be waitin’ at different spots around the buildin’,” Preacher went on. “Once you and Casey are safe, I’ll go in and deal with Garity.”
“By yourself?” Lorenzo shook his head. “You wouldn’t stand a chance, Preacher. Powell and his men will protect him.”
“Well . . .” Preacher grinned slyly. “We might ought to have a little distraction to keep Powell and his bunch occupied while I’m seein’ to Garity. Like, say, if some of them bullwhackers were to go in there and start a brawl.”
Roland nodded eagerly. “I’m sure they’d be willing to do that.”
“It’s liable to be dangerous,” Preacher warned. “Some of ’em might get hurt, even killed.”
“They’ll know that. They won’t care, if it means settling the score with Garity. I wasn’t the only man who lost someone out there on the trail. They lost some good friends as well.”
“All right, then, it’s settled. Be back here a little after dark, Roland, and bring any of the bullwhackers who want to give us a hand with you.” Preacher looked around at the others. “With any luck, this’ll be over tonight.”
In a felt sombrero with a fancy band, a charro jacket with embroidered decorations on it, a frilly shirt, and tight pants, Roland looked like a well-to-do young Mexican. He wouldn’t pass a close inspection, more than likely, but Preacher thought he ought to be able to keep up the deception long enough in a dim, smoky brothel to get upstairs.
“What if they try to give me some other girl besides Casey?” Roland asked nervously as he and Preacher stood in an alley across the street from the two-story frame building that housed Egan Powell’s place of business. Heavy curtains were drawn across all the windows, and yellow light showed dimly through the narrow cracks around the drapes.
“If they admit they got a girl like that there, chances are it’s her. Tell ’em you’ll wait for her if she’s busy with another customer. Nurse a drink at the bar for a while.”
Roland nodded in the shadows. “All right.”
“Remember, I’ll be right here,” Preacher told him. “If you need me in a hurry, stick your head out a window and holler. I’ll come a-runnin.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Preacher? You went through so muc
h on the way here.”
Preacher grinned. “I bounce back pretty quick-like. Don’t worry about me.”
“Fine. Preacher—”
Preacher had had more than enough of Roland thanking him for everything he’d done. He said, “Lorenzo’s around back of the place, and those bullwhackers are down yonder in the next block waitin’ for my signal. Let us know as soon as you get out of there with Casey.”
“I will.” Roland took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I guess I’m ready.”
“I think so,” Preacher said.
The young man shot him an appreciative glance, then stepped out of the alley. Strolling like he didn’t have a care in the world, he walked across the street and opened the door to go into the whorehouse. For a second he was silhouetted against the light inside, and then he was gone.
Over the years Preacher had learned how to wait patiently. Many times, that ability had saved his life. But just because he could stand or sit motionless for hours at a time didn’t mean he liked doing it. His mind always roamed. The older he got, the more his memories intruded on his thinking. He remembered his family—vaguely—and he remembered the friends he had made during the long, adventurous years since he had left home. For all the vastness of the frontier, in some ways it was a small place. Almost anywhere he went west of the Mississippi, sooner or later he was likely to run into someone who knew him. It was why he had decided against going into Powell’s. Even if Powell didn’t recognize him, somebody else might, and holler out something like, “Why, Preacher, you old son of a bitch, what are you doin’ here?” That would have ruined—
The sudden sound of a shot from across the street made Preacher’s head jerk up in alarm.
CHAPTER 26
Preacher’s first impulse was to yank the pistol from behind his belt, run across the street, and charge into the whorehouse ready to start shooting.
With an effort, he controlled that urge. Trouble broke out in those places all the time, and the gunshot he had heard didn’t necessarily have anything to do with Roland and Casey. Even if it did, if he rushed in it might get them killed.
Still, he couldn’t just wait in the dark, not knowing what was going on over there. He was going to have to risk going in.
He tugged his hat brim down low over his face and stepped out of the alley. As he started across the street, he saw several of the bullwhackers approaching the whorehouse as well. They had heard the shot and gotten worried about Roland. Preacher caught the eye of one of the men and waved him back. The man passed along the order, and they all stopped and began to withdraw with obvious reluctance.
There had only been the single shot, but Preacher didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad one.
Maybe a single shot was all it had taken to kill Roland Bartlett.
He was only about halfway across the street when a man carrying a rifle stepped out the front doorway of the whorehouse. Instinct sent Preacher diving to the side as the rifle barrel came up. Orange flame geysered from the muzzle. Preacher heard the heavy lead ball hum past him as he went to one knee. He had his pistol in his hand, snapped it up, and fired. The rifleman ducked back inside as Preacher’s shot chewed splinters from one of the porch posts.
Preacher ran for a parked wagon nearby. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but it couldn’t be anything good. He took cover behind the wagon and reloaded his pistol.
A man’s deep, gravelly voice boomed out through the open door of the whorehouse. “Preacher! Preacher, can you hear me?”
A frown creased the mountain man’s forehead. He didn’t recognize the voice.
“I hear you!” he called back harshly. There didn’t seem to be any point in denying who he was. “Who are you, mister, and what do you want?”
“It’s more a matter of what you want,” the man replied. “I’ve got Roland Bartlett and the girl called Casey in here!”
Preacher bit back a curse. Obviously, Roland’s disguise hadn’t worked at all. Garity must have known somehow that they were in Santa Fe and had been watching for Roland or Preacher, waiting for them to show up looking for Casey.
Well, that wasn’t a complete surprise, he mused. They hadn’t kept the arrival of the wagons a secret. A man like Egan Powell probably had sources of information all over the settlement. He could have been told the Bartlett wagon train had rolled into Santa Fe several days earlier. If he’d passed that on to Garity, the two of them could have set up a trap, with Casey for the bait—
“Preacher! You’d better listen to me if you ever want to see those two youngsters alive again!”
Preacher had no doubt the gravelly voice belonged to Powell. “I’m listenin’!” Preacher shouted. The pistol was reloaded, and his hand wrapped tensely around the butt.
“A friend of mine’s got a score to settle with you! He’s willing to let Bartlett and Casey go if you’ll turn yourself over to him.”
“We’re talkin’ about Garity?”
“That’s right. How about it, Preacher? Is your life worth the two of theirs?”
Preacher didn’t believe for a second that if he walked into that whorehouse and surrendered, Garity would let Roland and Casey go unharmed. The outlaw was a natural-born double-crosser. He would kill all three of them and be done with it.
Or rather, he would kill Preacher and Roland. Casey would likely continue to suffer whatever degradations she had already been through, and more.
Preacher took a deep breath. “Now, you listen to me!” he shouted. “Here’s how this is gonna work. You and Garity bring Roland and Casey to the west side of the plaza tomorrow mornin’ at dawn. Just the two of you! I see anybody else and the deal’s off. I’ll be on the east side, unarmed. I’ll start across at the same time you start Roland and Casey walkin’ toward me. Once they’re clear, Garity can do whatever the hell he wants to me.”
“Do you really think we’re stupid enough to fall for a trick like that?”
“It’s the only deal you’re gonna get from me!” Preacher said. “I’ve risked life and limb for those two over and over again, and I’m gettin’ sick of it! I swear, Powell, I’ll just ride away, and Garity can have ’em!”
That wasn’t true, of course, but Powell and Garity couldn’t be sure of that. Preacher was convinced that Garity was probably right inside the building, listening to the conversation. He wondered if Powell had cleared all the customers out the back and sent the soiled doves up to their rooms as soon as they grabbed Roland.
The whorehouse remained dark and silent for several moments, no doubt while Powell conferred with Garity. Finally, Powell called, “All right, Preacher, you got a deal! The plaza at dawn! But you’d better not try anything funny, or those two will be a long time dying!”
The front door banged shut.
A sound behind Preacher made the mountain man whirl around and level the pistol at a dark shape his keen eyes picked out of the shadows.
“Don’t shoot!” Lorenzo yelped. “Land’s sake, Preacher, it’s just me!”
Preacher lowered the gun and took a deep breath. “Damn it, Lorenzo, I almost blowed your fool head off.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” the old-timer said, “’cause I come to warn you. They’s some men sneakin’ around the alleys right now tryin’ to get behind you.”
Powell’s hired killers, Preacher thought. He stepped over to Lorenzo, took hold of the old man’s arm, and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
“That’s just what I was thinkin’!”
They ran across the street. Preacher knew the bullwhackers would still be watching from the next block. He waved for them to withdraw. If anything had gone wrong with their plans, they were supposed to rendezvous back at Juanita’s.
Well, things had gone wrong, Preacher thought . . . about as wrong as they possibly could.
But Roland and Casey were still alive. At least he hoped so. He just had to come up with some idea to keep them that way.
Preacher and Lorenzo gave Pow
ell’s men the slip without much difficulty. They were accustomed to handling drunken, lecherous fools in close quarters, not capturing a fella who knew how to move through the shadows like a night wind. If not for what it might mean to Roland and Casey, Preacher would have waited for them and turned the hunters into the hunted. He probably could have killed all of them before he was done.
But if he did that, Garity and Powell might abandon the bargain and kill Roland. Besides, Preacher had Lorenzo with him, and he wanted to keep the old-timer safe, too.
As they walked back to Juanita’s, Preacher said, “I reckon you heard that shot inside the whorehouse.”
“Yeah, and I seen a bunch o’ sheepish-lookin’ fellas come out the back door a minute later,” Lorenzo replied, confirming Preacher’s hunch about what Powell had done with the house’s customers. “Then I heard some more shootin’, and you yellin’ out in front of the place, so I figured the whole plan was blowed to hell.”
“You got that right,” Preacher muttered. “They must’ve spotted Roland as soon as he walked in there. They were probably waitin’ for him.”
“That varmint Garity’s smarter than we done give him credit for.”
“Bein’ a lowdown skunk don’t keep a man from bein’ smart. I should’ve remembered that.”
“Anyway, I knew I’d better find you and see what was goin’ on. That was when I spotted them fellas skulkin’ around like red Injuns.”
Preacher nodded. “You done good, Lorenzo. I’m obliged to you.”
When they reached the cantina, Juanita met them and said in a low voice, “The men who left with you got here a few minutes ago. I put them in the back room. They said things went wrong.”
Preacher nodded. “That they did. Come with us. We got to hash it all out.”
The three of them joined the bullwhackers in the back room. The men were sitting at a table, passing around a jug. The burly Cliff Fawcett, acting as spokesman for the group, stood up and asked, “What the hell happened, Preacher?”
“Garity and Powell grabbed Roland,” Preacher explained. “They plan on tradin’ him and Casey . . . for me.”
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