Preacher's Fire

by William W. Johnstone

  That was all he could stand. He had to get down there. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  He left the empty rifle where it was, ran to the front of the building, clambered out onto the awning over the boardwalk, hung from it, and dropped to the street. Some of the citizens of St. Louis who were still out and about at this hour had noticed the flames leaping from the roof of Beaumont’s house, and a number of them ran toward it, shouting questions. Preacher joined them, blending into the crowd. He drew two of the four pistols he carried behind his belt as he hurried along the street.

  When he reached the lawn in front of Beaumont’s house, he looked around to see if Jessie and Casey had been brought outside already. Failing to spot them anywhere, he looked up instead. Smoke billowed from the burning roof and coiled around the house, but it didn’t obscure the window where he had seen the women earlier. He grimaced as he saw that they were still there, tied to the chairs. That meant he had to get inside the house to free them.

  Beaumont had to realize that Preacher was the reason his house was on fire. That meant he would know that Preacher was coming for Jessie and Casey. He would wait in there as long as he could, still hoping to have the final showdown on his terms.

  Preacher was willing to oblige him on that score. The mountain man headed for the front door as people started trying to form a bucket brigade stretching back to the nearest well. They would fail in that effort, Preacher knew. The fire was too well entrenched on the roof. The best the citizens could do was to keep the blaze from spreading. Preacher wished them luck with that, but he couldn’t stop to help them. He bounded toward the porch.

  A knot of Beaumont’s men emerged from the house just as Preacher reached the steps. They had been warned to look out for him and probably had a good description of him, thanks to Cleve. They wouldn’t be looking for a seven-foot-tall giant anymore.

  Sure enough, one of the men recognized him and yelled, “Hey, it’s him! Preacher!”

  They grabbed for their guns, but Preacher’s pistols were already coming up. Smoke and flame geysered from the muzzles of both weapons. At this distance, the double-shotted loads wreaked havoc, blowing holes in three of the men and driving them off their feet. A fourth man fell to his knees and howled from the pain of a shattered elbow.

  That left just two men blocking the door, and Preacher struck before they could bring their guns to bear. He leaped onto the porch and lashed out right and left with the empty pistols. Their barrels thudded against the skulls of the guards. The men dropped.

  Preacher hurtled over them and into the house. He had spent a lot of time here over the past couple of weeks, so he knew where he was going. The curving staircase was right in front of him. He stuck the empty pistols behind his belt and drew the remaining pair as he started up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time.

  Cleve appeared at the top of the stairs, clutching a shotgun. Preacher’s keen reflexes enabled him to fire before the treacherous gambler could pull the scattergun’s triggers. Traveling at an upward angle, one ball ripped into Cleve’s throat and bored on up into his brain, while the other smashed into his chest. He went over backward, his finger contracting involuntarily as he died. Both barrels of the shotgun discharged, blowing a huge hole in the ceiling above the second-floor landing.

  Cleve had paid the ultimate price for his betrayal. Preacher ran past the dead man and headed for the room where Jessie and Casey were being held prisoner. He knew Beaumont would be there, and maybe some of Beaumont’s hired killers. But no matter what the odds, Preacher intended to prevail. It was time for Beaumont to die.

  He heard footsteps thudding behind him and knew that some of Beaumont’s men must have pursued him into the house. Before he could swing around, another figure stepped into the hallway in front of him, blocking his path. This man held a shotgun, too, and Preacher barely had time to recognize him as Lorenzo before the twin barrels were leveled at him.

  “Get down, boy!” Lorenzo shouted.

  Preacher threw himself forward, diving to the floor as Lorenzo triggered both barrels in a deafening roar. At this range, the double load of buckshot hadn’t had a chance to spread much by the time it passed over the sprawled-out mountain man. Preacher looked back over his shoulder and saw that the lead pellets had scythed into the three men who’d been pursuing him, splattering them in a bloody mess all over the second-floor hallway.

  He scrambled to his feet as Lorenzo lowered the smoking scattergun. “You come to rescue them gals?” the old black man asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “And to kill Beaumont?”

  “You’re not gonna try to stop me, are you, Lorenzo?”

  “Stop you?” Lorenzo let out a disgusted snort as he started to reload the shotgun. “Hell, boy, I’m gonna cover your back. Probably nobody ever told you . . .” His voice caught for a second. “But Brutus was my son.”

  That was a shock, all right. “I’m sorry about what happened to him,” Preacher said.

  Lorenzo finished ramming fresh charges down the bores and gave Preacher a curt nod. “You just go finish it with Beaumont. That son of a bitch been lordin’ it over folks for too damn long. I won’t let nobody sneak up behind you.”

  Preacher gave the man’s shoulder a quick squeeze and then started along the hall toward the door of the room in which Jessie and Casey were being held prisoner. He was confident that Shad Beaumont was on the other side of that door, waiting for him.

  To go charging in blindly would be the act of a damned fool. So Preacher came up to the door, lifted his foot, and kicked it open, then spun to the side, away from the opening, as a gun discharged inside the room.

  He didn’t say anything. If he did, Beaumont could aim at the sound of his voice and shoot through the wall. Instead, Preacher stood to the side with the pistol leveled at the door. Coils of smoke curled through the hallway, and he heard the fierce crackling as the fire made its inexorable way through the house.

  “Preacher!”

  The angry shout made a smile tug at Preacher’s mouth. He had figured that Beaumont’s nerves wouldn’t be able to stand the strain of waiting.

  “Preacher, I know you’re out there!”

  Preacher still didn’t say anything.

  “You’d better get in here,” Beaumont warned, “or I’m going to kill one of these sluts!”

  A scream of pain ripped out from the room. Preacher couldn’t tell if it came from Jessie or Casey. The cry trailed away into a sob.

  “I just slashed the blonde’s face,” Beaumont said. “The next one goes right across her throat.”

  Preacher didn’t doubt for a second that Beaumont was crazy and mean enough to kill Casey. He would still have Jessie to use as a hostage.

  “All right, Beaumont,” Preacher called. “I’m comin’ in.”

  “Empty-handed!”

  Preacher lowered the hammer on his pistol and stuck it behind his belt. With his hands open and empty at shoulder level, he stepped into the doorway. As he did, flames began to lick at the ceiling in the corridor.

  Beaumont stood between the chairs where the women were tied. His clothes were disheveled, and his eyes were wide with rage and insane hatred. He didn’t look much like the suave, wealthy, powerful man he had been before Preacher came back to St. Louis.

  Beaumont had a knife in his left hand, a pistol in his right. He grinned at Preacher as he raised the gun.

  “You’re an uneducated fool,” he said. “I’m going to kill you, then kill these two bitches of yours. I may even leave them here to burn to death. Knowing that they’re doomed will pay you back for all the trouble you’ve caused me, Preacher.”

  “You sure you ain’t gonna talk us all to death instead?” Preacher drawled. He glanced at Jessie and Casey. Both women had been beaten, and blood ran from an ugly cut on Casey’s cheek. But Preacher saw anger and defiance and determination still blazing in their eyes, so he wasn’t too surprised by what happened next.

  Both women threw the
mselves at Beaumont, chairs and all.

  They crashed into his thighs and sent him toppling forward just as he pulled the trigger. The shot missed, the ball humming past Preacher’s ear to smack into the wall on the other side of the corridor. Preacher leaped forward and swung his leg, kicking the knife out of Beaumont’s other hand. Then he backed off and drew the pistol that was still loaded.

  “Get up, Beaumont,” he ordered. “Get up and get away from those gals.”

  Beaumont pushed himself onto hands and knees, then climbed to his feet. He backed away from where Jessie and Casey lay on the floor, still tied to the overturned chairs. The smoke in the room was getting thicker now. Lorenzo spoke from the doorway behind Preacher.

  “We’d best be gettin’ outta here, boy. This place is gonna be comin’ down ’fore you know it.”

  Preacher slid his knife from its sheath and handed it back to Lorenzo. “Cut the women loose and see that they get out of the house,” he said. “Just don’t get between me and Beaumont while you’re doin’ it.”

  Lorenzo hurried to do as Preacher said. He cut Jessie’s bonds first, then Casey’s.

  “Why are you helping him, you stupid nigger?” Beaumont demanded. “You work for me!”

  Lorenzo straightened and handed the knife back to Preacher. “So did my son,” he said. “His name was Brutus. You knew that, and you ain’t even said you’re sorry for what happened to him.”

  “Sorry? Why should I be sorry? None of you matter!” Beaumont laughed. “You’re just a bunch of niggers and whores and bumpkins! You’re nothing compared to me, you hear? Nothing!”

  “Well, then, it’s nothin’ that brought you down, boss,” Lorenzo said.

  Preacher sheathed the knife and said, “Get ’em out of here, Lorenzo.”

  Casey caught at his arm. “What about you, Preacher? You have to come, too!”

  “She’s right,” Jessie added. “You have to come with us, Preacher.”

  “I’ll be along directly,” Preacher promised. “As soon as I’m finished here.”

  The women didn’t want to go, but Lorenzo succeeded in hustling them out of the room. The crackling of the flames was loud now, and smoke hung in the air so thickly that Preacher’s eyes and nose and mouth stung.

  A fit of coughing wracked Beaumont, but when he recovered, he laughed. “What are you going to do now?” he asked. “Give me a gun so we can fight a duel? Let me have my knife back so we can settle this with cold steel?”

  Preacher peered over the barrel of his pistol at Beaumont, locking eyes with the man. Thinking of Uncle Dan and Brutus and everyone else who had died, he said, “I’m gonna do what I should have done a couple of weeks ago.”

  Beaumont’s eyes barely had time to widen in shocked realization before Preacher pulled the trigger.

  Preacher left the body where it fell. The burning mansion could serve as a suitable funeral pyre for Shad Beaumont. It was more than the man actually deserved. His corpse should have been tossed into the mud for the pigs, but Preacher was too damned tired to do anything but turn and walk out as the place burned down behind him.

  Casey, Jessie, and Lorenzo were waiting for him outside. The two women ran to him and threw their arms around him. As good as that felt, Preacher knew they couldn’t afford to waste any time.

  “Let’s get out of here while everybody still ain’t quite sure what’s goin’ on,” he said. They slipped away into the shadows, leaving the shouting, agitated citizenry of St. Louis behind them, along with Beaumont’s men who weren’t aware yet that their employer was never coming out of that inferno.

  A couple of blocks away, they found Beaumont’s carriage, with the team hitched to it. Some of Beaumont’s men must have driven it out of the carriage house to save it in case the fire spread that far. Nobody was around at the moment, so Lorenzo opened the door and grinned as he motioned for Preacher, Jessie, and Casey to climb inside.

  “Ladies. Gentleman.”

  “It ain’t fittin’,” Preacher started to protest.

  “It damn sure is!” Lorenzo responded forcefully. “Now get in there, boy, and let’s light a shuck outta here.”

  Preacher chuckled and shook his head, but he didn’t argue anymore. He just climbed into the carriage after Jessie and Casey. Lorenzo closed the door, scrambled up to the driver’s seat, and took up the reins. A moment later, the carriage was rolling away.

  That was how it came to be parked on a hillside several miles north of town the next morning, overlooking the Mississippi River. Preacher had directed Lorenzo to the spot where he had left Horse and Dog when he started downriver on the little raft, so he could pick up his two old trail partners. Then they had found this spot and camped. Jessie was preparing some breakfast from the supplies Preacher had been planning on taking with him as he headed west with Beaumont in pursuit. Things hadn’t worked out that way, of course, but Beaumont was still dead and the two women were safe. Preacher knew he was going to miss Uncle Dan, though, and he was sure Lorenzo would miss Brutus.

  Preacher cleaned the wound on Casey’s cheek as best he could. “That’ll need a sawbones to sew it up, or it’ll leave a scar,” he told her.

  She shook her head. “I’m not going back to St. Louis, and I don’t care if there’s a scar. Do you, Preacher?”

  “Why would it matter to me?” he asked with a frown.

  “Because I’m coming with you.”

  Before Preacher could give her a “hell, no,” Lorenzo spoke up, saying, “I’m comin’, too. I always had me a hankerin’ to see some real mountains.”

  “Now wait just a doggoned minute,” Preacher said. “What makes you think the Rockies are any place for a—”

  “A whore?” Casey challenged him.

  “And a nigger?” Lorenzo added.

  Preacher scrubbed a hand over his face and heaved a weary sigh. “I was gonna say, a gal and a carriage driver. I don’t give a damn about them other things, and you two know it.”

  “Yeah, I reckon,” Lorenzo said gruffly. “But I been around horses all my life. I’ll be all right on the frontier.”

  “And I was raised on a farm, remember?” Casey put in. “I’m used to being outdoors. At least, there was a time I was, and I’d like to experience that again.”

  “Well, if that don’t beat all.” Preacher turned to Jessie. “I suppose you want to come along and see the mountains, too.”

  She smiled up at him from where she was frying some bacon over the fire and said, “Actually, no. It’s been too long since I lived on a farm. I’m afraid I’m a city girl now.”

  Preacher frowned. “You can’t mean to go back to St. Louis. Too many folks there know you were plottin’ against Beaumont. Somebody’s gonna take over where he left off, you know, and whoever it is might consider you a threat.”

  “That’s why I’m going to take one of those horses, ride around St. Louis, and catch a ride on a riverboat somewhere downstream.” Jessie got a gleam in her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to see New Orleans. I think I’ll do just fine there.”

  Preacher couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, I got a hunch you’re right about that.”

  “And that way, Casey and Lorenzo can have two of the other horses, and you can use the fourth one as a pack animal. See how neatly that works out?”

  Casey said, “Yes, but what will we do with the carriage? Just leave it here?”

  Preacher’s eyes narrowed as he studied the slope leading down to the river. It was pretty steep, and the bank dropped off sharply to the water.

  “I got me an idea . . .” he said.

  The others agreed, and after breakfast, they unhitched the four horses that would now carry them their separate ways, Jessie to the south, Preacher, Casey, and Lorenzo to the west. The carriage was empty. Preacher took the brake off and got behind the vehicle. The others joined him.

  “Put your shoulders in it,” he said.

  They pushed, and after a moment the heavy carriage began to move, slowly at first and then faster
as its weight began to work against it. Gravity took over, and the carriage started rolling down the hill. Preacher and his companions trotted after it for a second, keeping it going, then stopped and stepped back to watch as the vehicle’s momentum made it pick up speed as it headed for the river.

  A moment later, the carriage went sailing off the bank to land with a huge splash in the Mississippi. Preacher let out a whoop, and Jessie and Casey clapped their hands. The carriage wound up on its side, floating slowly out of sight around a bend in the river.

  “There goes the last of Shad Beaumont,” Jessie said.

  Preacher grunted. “Good riddance.”

  Casey said, “People in St. Louis are going to be mighty puzzled when they see it floating past, though.”

  “It’ll make a good story,” Lorenzo said. “And folks do like a good story.”

  Turn the page for an exciting preview of the next

  book in the USA Today bestselling new series

  MATT JENSEN, THE LAST MOUNTAIN MAN:

  SNAKE RIVER SLAUGHTER

  by William W. Johnstone

  with J. A. Johnstone

  On sale February 2010

  Wherever Pinnacle books are sold

  Chapter 1

  Sweetwater County, Wyoming

  The Baker brothers, Harry and Arnold, were outside by the barn when they saw Jules Pratt and his wife come out of the house. Scott and Lucy McDonald walked out onto the porch to tell the Pratts good-bye.

  “You have been most generous,” Jules said as he climbed up into the surrey. “Speaking on behalf of the laity of the church, I can tell you that every time we hear the beautiful music of the new organ, we will be thinking of, and thanking you.”

  “It was our pleasure,” Scott said. “The church means a great deal to us, more than we can say. And we are more than happy to do anything we can to help out.”

  “We’ll see you Sunday,” Jules said, slapping the reins against the back of the team.