Preacher's Fire

by William W. Johnstone

  Both of them went down, but Preacher twisted as he fell and managed to land on top. He hammered a fist at the spot where he thought the sentry’s head would be and connected solidly. The man went limp as the blow stunned him. Preacher hit him again, just for good measure.

  Then Preacher was back on his feet again. The ruckus hadn’t made much noise, and all three of the guards inside the stable were out of action for the moment. Preacher hurried into Horse’s stall and slapped blanket and saddle on the stallion with swift, efficient movements, even in the darkness.

  He led Horse out of the stall and dropped the reins, knowing the animal would stand there patiently. Then Preacher felt around until he found the rifles the guards had dropped. He wouldn’t need to get into the servant’s quarters after all. He took their pistols, too, shoving the weapons behind his belt. He was armed for bear now.

  Or for a war.

  Preacher went to the double doors at the front of the stable and lifted the bar that held them closed. Then he swung up into the saddle and drew two of the four pistols. Guiding Horse with his knees, he urged the stallion forward. Horse hit the doors and knocked them open, bursting out into the open area between the stable and the back of Beaumont’s house.

  Throwing his head back as he rode, Preacher let out the wild howl of a wolf. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a man running toward him. Flame spurted from a rifle muzzle. The ball hummed past Preacher’s head as he wheeled Horse around. He fired a pistol at the guard, the shot knocking the man over backward as it slammed into him.

  “Beaumont!” Preacher yelled toward the house. “I’m comin’ for you, Beaumont, you damned coward! I’ll skin you alive!”

  Another rifle boomed. Preacher saw the flash and returned the fire, but he didn’t know if he hit the rifleman or not. He jammed the empty pistols behind his belt, grabbed the reins, and whirled Horse away from the house. The stallion leaped into a gallop as Preacher dug in his heels.

  More shots rang out, but none of them came close to Preacher. Horse never broke stride as he raced away into the night. Preacher turned his head and let loose with one final crazy howl over his shoulder, then leaned forward in the saddle and let Horse run.

  If that didn’t get Beaumont to come after him, he thought, then nothing would.

  Chapter 28

  Preacher headed south again, then circled wide to the west before heading for Uncle Dan’s camp. He didn’t think Beaumont would have been able to mount a pursuit quickly enough to come after him tonight, but he wanted to be sure he didn’t lead any pursuit back to the place where he had left Jessie and Casey. Once they were safely well away from St. Louis, then everything would be different. Then he would want Beaumont on his trail until he was ready to make his final move.

  It was long after midnight by the time Preacher approached the grove of trees. He reined in and called softly, “Hello, the camp!”

  Not surprisingly, Uncle Dan was awake and alert despite the hour. The old-timer responded from the thick shadows, “Come ahead, Preacher.”

  Just before Preacher heeled Horse into motion again, he heard a quiet clicking noise that he recognized as Uncle Dan lowering the hammer on his old flintlock rifle. If he had been anybody else, Preacher knew that Uncle Dan probably would have blasted him right out of the saddle.

  When Preacher reached the camp deep in the trees and swung down from Horse’s back, Jessie and Casey practically swarmed him.

  “Are you all right?” Jessie asked.

  “You’re not hurt?” Casey said.

  “No, I’m fine,” Preacher told them. “And I got this stallion of mine back, too.”

  Uncle Dan grunted. “But not the pack horse you rode into town, I see.”

  “I didn’t really want to take the time to go back where I left him,” Preacher explained. “He’ll be fine. I made sure he could get loose. Somebody will find him and get a good horse out of the deal.”

  “Yeah, I expect you’re right.”

  “Any trouble out here?”

  “Nary a bit,” Uncle Dan said. “It’s been mighty quiet ever since you left . . . ’cept for these here ladies frettin’ their pretty heads off over you and wonderin’ when you was gonna get back.”

  “We weren’t worried,” Jessie said, although the sound of her voice didn’t convince Preacher of that claim.

  “That’s right,” Casey added. “We know you can take care of yourself, Preacher.”

  “And the rest of us, too,” Jessie said.

  As Preacher unsaddled Horse, Uncle Dan asked, “What’s the plan now?”

  “I figure that first thing in the mornin’, you and the gals will head on up the Missouri. There’s a Mandan village about fifty miles upstream.”

  “I know the place,” Uncle Dan said, and from the sound of his voice, Preacher knew the old-timer was nodding. “Chief name of Otter’s Tail, or somethin’ like that, is the boss of the village.”

  “Otter’s Tail is right,” Preacher said. “Him and me are old amigos. I don’t reckon Beaumont would ever think to look for you there, and even if he did, he’d have a hard time gettin’ you away from that bunch. The Mandan are plumb peaceful, but that’s because they choose to be. I wouldn’t want to tangle with ’em.”

  “Me, neither,” Uncle Dan agreed. “Sounds like a good plan . . . ’cept for the fact that it means you’ll be takin’ on Beaumont all by your lonesome.”

  “That’s the way I want it. I can go after him better if I’m not havin’ to worry about the three of you.”

  “What about us worrying about you?” Jessie asked.

  “No need for you to do that. I’ll be fine. I don’t plan on takin’ any foolish chances. I’m gonna lead Beaumont out west where the odds will all be on my side.”

  “If he cooperates and chases you his own self,” Uncle Dan said.

  Preacher chuckled. “After the salt I rubbed in his wounds tonight, I got a hunch that’s exactly what he’ll do.”

  He told them about his raid at Beaumont’s estate to reclaim Horse, then went on, “If that don’t do the trick, I’ll gig him again.”

  “You mean you’ll go back to St. Louis?” Jessie asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “You’ll be taking a terrible chance every time you do,” Casey pointed out.

  “That’s a risk I’m willin’ to take.” Preacher had finished tending to Horse, so he continued, “You ladies better turn in and get some shut-eye. It ain’t but a few hours until dawn. You need to be on the trail by the time the sun comes up, so you can get a good start.”

  “What about you?” Jessie said. “You need some sleep, too, don’t you?”

  “I figured I’d stand guard while Uncle Dan caught a few winks.”

  “Forget it, boy,” the old-timer said. “The more decrepit I get, the less sleep it seems like I need. You get the shut-eye, Preacher, while I stand guard.”

  It was true that Preacher was mighty weary. The day had been a long, violent one. He thought about arguing with Uncle Dan but then shrugged and said, “All right. I reckon it wouldn’t hurt for me to get a couple hours of sleep. But then you need to wake me up, so you can rest awhile, too. You’ll be on the trail for a long time tomorrow, and you don’t need to be tryin’ that without any sleep at all.”

  Uncle Dan grunted. “Deal.”

  Preacher had left his bedroll here at the camp along with his buckskins. He crawled into his blankets now, fully expecting to fall asleep instantly as soon as he stretched out and closed his eyes, which was a knack that most mountain men had picked up.

  He didn’t doze off right away, though, because he realized that Jessie was spreading a blanket she had gotten from their supplies on the ground next to him. Not only that, but as Casey brought over another blanket, it appeared that she intended to bed down on his other side. The idea of having a beautiful woman lying within a foot or two of him on either side had a definite effect on Preacher. He was as human as the next fella, and Jessie and Casey were both mighty pr
etty.

  Usually, though, when two gals set their cap for the same man, it was a recipe for trouble. Preacher couldn’t help but wonder if sparks were going to fly before he got the two of them packed off safely to that Mandan village.

  But for tonight, at least, there didn’t seem to be any signs of rivalry between them. Casey said, “Good night, Preacher,” and then Jessie added, “Good night,” and damned if both of them didn’t reach over and pat him on the shoulder in a friendly manner.

  After all that, it was no wonder that Preacher didn’t doze off right away.

  Despite the lack of sleep, when Uncle Dan whispered his name a couple of hours later, Preacher woke instantly and was fully alert. On the frontier, being able to wake up like that was sometimes the difference between life and death. He sat up and looked around the camp. A little silvery starlight penetrated the grove of trees, enough to show him the sleeping shapes of Jessie and Casey next to him. He had halfway expected to wake up with both of those gals cuddled against him. That would have been a pleasant—if somewhat nerve wracking—way to wake up.

  Preacher got to his feet quietly and moved several yards away with Uncle Dan so the two of them could talk without disturbing the women.

  “Anything been happenin’ since I turned in?” Preacher asked.

  “Nope. Ever’thing’s mighty quiet. I reckon when you rode away from St. Looey last night, you give Beaumont the slip. You’ll have to find some way to get him on your trail again if’n you want to lure him away from civilization.”

  “I can find a way to do that,” Preacher said. He picked up one of the rifles he had brought with him from Beaumont’s place. Earlier, before turning in, he had made sure they were all loaded, and he had reloaded the pistols he had fired as he burst out of the stable behind Beaumont’s house. Now, as he tucked the rifle under his arm, he went on, “You go get some sleep, Uncle Dan. I’ll wake all three of you in a couple of hours, and you and the gals can get ready to hit the trail.”

  “All right,” the old-timer said, “but I don’t know how well I’m gonna sleep without a couple o’ nubile young women to keep me nice an’ warm like somebody else around here.”

  Preacher just chuckled.

  Uncle Dan rolled up in his blankets, and soon he was snoring loudly. The log-sawing didn’t seem to bother Jessie and Casey. Preacher supposed they were so exhausted they could sleep through the last trump.

  After a while, though, Casey stirred. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, then climbed slowly to her feet with the blanket still wrapped around her. She stumbled over to the log where Preacher was sitting and sank down beside him. The sky above the trees had begun to take on a tinge of gray because dawn was approaching, and that provided enough light for Casey to see her way around the camp, Preacher supposed.

  “You’re supposed to still be sleepin’,” he told her.

  “I know. And Lord knows, I’m still tired enough to sleep. But we’re going our separate ways in the morning, and I wanted to talk to you, Preacher.”

  “What about?” he asked warily. In his experience, any time a gal wanted to talk about something, there was a significant chance it wasn’t going to be anything good.

  “I just wanted to say thank you.”

  Preacher frowned in surprise. “For what? Goin’ after Beaumont?”

  “Well, that, too. Whatever you do to him, he’s got it coming . . . in spades.” She paused. “I really wanted to thank you, though, for treating me the way you have.”

  Preacher still didn’t understand. “I don’t reckon I’ve done anything all that special.”

  “Yes, you did. When we were together . . . not once did you act like I was a . . . a whore. You just treated me like a woman you . . . liked.”

  “Well, hell, I do like you,” he burst out. “I think you’re a mighty fine gal.”

  “You’re the first man who’s treated me like that in a long time, though. Most of them . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “You don’t want to know how most of them treat me.”

  Gruffly, he said, “You’re right about that.”

  She put a hand up, rested it on his beard-stubbled cheek. “Do you know why I asked you to call me Casey, when no one else in St. Louis does?”

  “Nope. I know Jessie’s mighty curious about that, too. I think maybe it hurt her feelin’s a mite that she didn’t know nothin’ about it.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Casey said. “Jessie’s been good to me, as much as she could under the circumstances, anyway. But you’re different, Preacher. You reminded me of . . . a boy back home. A boy who used to . . . call me Casey. The only one who ever did.”

  “You were in love with him?” Preacher said softly.

  She nodded without saying anything.

  “And somethin’ happened to him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “He went off to fight in that stupid Black Hawk War a few years ago,” Casey said with a note of bitterness in her voice. “He never came back.”

  “Got killed in the fightin’?”

  “No. He took sick with the grippe and died. But if he had been home, it wouldn’t have happened. I never told anybody what he called me when we were . . . together. And I never felt the same, until I met you.”

  Preacher wasn’t sure what to say. He sat there in silence for a few moments, then finally said, “I’m mighty flattered I made you feel good, Casey, if that’s what I did.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not planning to marry you or anything. Although that might not be so bad. But I’m afraid things have gone beyond that by now. Too far beyond.”

  Preacher might have argued with her, but he wasn’t looking to get married, either. He was too fiddle-footed for that, nowhere near ready to settle down. And he wouldn’t try to drag a wife around in the sort of nomadic existence he led. That wouldn’t be fair to any woman.

  “I wouldn’t mind sitting here with you for a little while, though, if that would be all right,” Casey went on.

  “That’d be just fine,” Preacher said, and a smile touched his lips as Casey leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

  By the time Preacher roused Jessie and Uncle Dan from their slumber, Casey had built up the fire and gotten the coffee on to boil. Jessie looked at her in surprise and said, “I didn’t know you were so . . . domestic.”

  “Just a farm girl at heart, remember?” Casey said lightly.

  They had breakfast and then packed up all their gear. Preacher went into the bushes, peeled out of the town clothes, and put on his buckskins. He felt almost like himself for the first time in weeks as he emerged from the brush and settled his hat with its wide, floppy brim on his head. If his beard was longer, everything would be back to normal again.

  Or as normal as it could be . . . while Shad Beaumont was still alive.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Jessie said as they got ready to leave the camp. “What happened to Cleve?”

  “My guess is that he heard what happened at your place yesterday and is lyin’ low,” Preacher said. “Beaumont don’t know that Cleve had any part in the plans against him, and as long as Cleve keeps his mouth shut, it can stay that way. Cleve struck me as a pretty smart fella.”

  “He is,” Jessie agreed.

  “Then he’ll know to keep quiet. He can plunk himself down at a table in Dupree’s and play poker until this whole business is over.”

  “I hope you’re right. I’d hate for something to happen to him because he tried to help me.”

  A short time later, they were ready to go. Uncle Dan and the women would take the pack horse with them. Preacher planned to travel as light as possible once he started leading Beaumont on a merry chase across the prairie.

  Jessie and Casey both hugged him tightly. “When it’s over, you’ll come find us?” Casey asked.

  “I sure will,” Preacher promised her.

  “And maybe you’ll spend some time with us in town before you go back to the mountains?” Jessie suggeste
d.

  That could prove interesting in more ways than one, Preacher thought, but he just nodded and said, “Sure.”

  He shook hands with Uncle Dan, who groused, “I still think I oughta be goin’ with you, Preacher.”

  “You’ve got a more important job—keepin’ these ladies safe.”

  “I know it, I know it. I just hate to see you havin’ all the fun, that’s all.”

  “You sure you know how to find that Mandan village?”

  “Yep. Don’t worry.”

  Preacher embraced the old-timer roughly and slapped him on the back. “So long, Uncle Dan.”

  “So long, Preacher.”

  He rode with them until they were within sight of the Missouri River. Then he reined Horse to a halt and sat there watching with Dog alongside him as Uncle Dan and the two women in the buggy headed northwest. Any direction that was away from St. Louis represented safety, Preacher thought. He lifted a hand and waved farewell, even though none of them were looking back.

  Then he turned Horse and headed toward civilization.

  Bloody, damned civilization.

  Chapter 29

  He had only gone about half a mile when he heard popping sounds in the distance. Preacher’s keen ears instantly recognized the sounds as gunshots.

  And they were coming from the direction Uncle Dan and the two women had gone a short time earlier.

  Preacher hauled back on the reins and turned around in the saddle to gaze off toward the Missouri River. Beside him, Dog stared in that direction as well, ears pricked forward. A low, throaty growl came from the dog.

  Fear made Preacher’s heart slug heavily in his chest. Not fear for himself. The life of peril and adventure he led had long since pushed him past the point that he worried much about his own fate. He knew that in all likelihood, one of these days he would die with a gun or a knife in his hand, battling against some son of a bitch who needed killing—and he could live with that knowledge.