“What about your folks?”
“We just have a farm outside of town,” she said with downcast eyes.
“Nothin’ wrong with farmin’,” Preacher told her. “I don’t hardly see how the country could get along without farmers.”
Fletch nodded. “That’s what I’ve tried to get her to understand.”
“Well, there are farmers,” Clementine said, adding with a sigh, “and then there are farmers”—she made a face—“like my brothers. Raising crops has always been too much work for them. They’d rather spend their time drinking in taverns or getting into fights or roaming around the mountains looking for something to shoot. They’re wastrels and layabouts, and they’ve always been a pure vexation to my ma and pa.”
Having met the Mahoney brothers, Preacher could understand that assessment of them.
“They always caused trouble when one of us girls wanted to get married and leave home,” Clementine continued. “I have two older sisters.”
“Clementine’s the youngest in the family,” Fletch put in.
She nodded. “That’s right. So it was only a matter of time until the boys . . . got around to me.”
Preacher narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you gettin’ at what I think you’re gettin’ at, Miss Clementine?”
“If it’s something filthy and disgusting, then yes, unfortunately I am. But I knew, from seeing everything that had happened before, what I needed to do, so I never let any of them corner me anywhere alone, and when they tried to . . .” Her shoulders rose and fell. “I’ve always been a fast runner. Faster than those pig-gutted boys.”
The tone of disgust in her voice had him shaking his head. “I’m startin’ to think maybe I should’ve invested some powder and shot in dealin’ with ’em.”
“No,” Clementine said quickly. “They’re still my brothers. I. . . I wouldn’t have wanted to see them killed. I just want them to leave us alone and let us go on to California.”
“That’s where you’re headed? California?”
“That’s right,” Fletch said. “Far away from Tennessee. . . and the Mahoneys.”
“I never really thought they’d come after us,” Clementine said. “They . . . they threatened Fletch when we announced that we were getting married. They told him to leave me alone and forget about me if he knew what was good for him.”
“I’d never do that,” Fletch declared.
Clementine went on. “They said they would kill him if he defied them. But they didn’t actually do anything because Mr. Wylie—Fletcher’s father—is good friends with the sheriff and the magistrate. Clete and the other boys didn’t dare do anything except threaten and bluster, and that wasn’t enough to stop us.”
She reached over and rested her hand on Fletch’s. He turned his hand so he could grip hers tightly and smile at her as their fingers intertwined.
The two of them really were in love, Preacher thought—although he wondered if some of what Clementine felt came from wanting to get away from her brutish brothers.
“Once we got away from there,” Fletch said, “I suppose they weren’t as afraid of what might happen to them if they came after us. We knew they were dogging our trail . . . we’d caught glimpses of them from time to time . . . so that’s one reason we kept pushing on so hard. But now . . .” He sighed. “Now they’ve caught up to us. I’m not sure what we’re going to do. Try to get ahead of them again somehow and stay ahead of them. We probably shouldn’t have stayed here in Santa Fe tonight, but the mules are just too exhausted to go on.” He squeezed Clementine’s hand again. “And although she probably won’t admit it, I’m sure Clementine is, too.”
“I’ll do whatever I have to,” she said. “You know that, Fletch.”
He nodded, and again they exchanged a heartfelt glance.
Preacher felt a little like he was watching a play performance, and he remembered his highly educated friend Audie speechifying about some old Greek fella who claimed that life imitated art as much as art imitated life. Some of those old Greeks knew what they were talking about, and some of them were full of bullfeathers, Preacher had found.
He shoved aside such philosophizing to take a more practical approach. Leaning forward, he said, “With you two travelin’ in that wagon and Clem’s brothers mounted on what looked like good horses, there ain’t no way in Hades you can get ahead of ’em and stay ahead of ’em.”
Clementine looked a little devastated by that blunt statement. “Then what can we do?” she asked. “I know my brothers. They . . . they really will kill Fletch and drag me back to Tennessee if they believe they can get away with it.”
“There’s only one thing for it,” Preacher said. He looked back and forth between them and gave in to the impulse that had sprung to life in him. “Been a while since I’ve been out yonder to California. I’ll just mosey along with the two of you and see to it that those boys leave you alone.”
CHAPTER 8
Preacher didn’t think the Mahoney brothers would bother Fletch and Clementine while they were staying in a respectable hotel in the middle of Santa Fe, so he left them there and returned to the livery stable where he had made arrangements with the proprietor to spend the night in the hayloft. That meant he still had a roof over his head, but it was nowhere near as fancy as the hotel, so he felt more at home.
The two young people had been hesitant at first about accepting his offer to accompany them to California, but Preacher had a hunch they reacted that way because they felt like they ought to, not because it was what they really wanted. But they had seen how the mountain man handled Clementine’s brothers and had to realize that their chances of reaching their destination safely were better with him along.
On the other hand, they had just met him. How did they know they could trust him?
In the end, they had agreed to his proposal. Under the circumstances, they couldn’t do much of anything else.
Preacher fell into a light, dreamless sleep and woke up refreshed as gray predawn light began to filter through the cracks around the hayloft door high on the rear wall of the building. Preacher heard the hostler moving around down below, busy with early morning chores.
A man’s voice spoke up, the tone harsh and unfriendly. Preacher couldn’t make out the words, but something about them alarmed him. He rolled out of the hay, grabbed one of the Dragoons from the coiled shell belt he had left close at hand, and came up on his feet, wearing only socks and his buckskin trousers. A couple of steps took him to the ladder, and as he reached it, he heard the liveryman exclaim, “Watch out for that dog, mister!”
Only one dog was around here as far as Preacher knew. He heard snarling, a surprised curse, and a gunshot.
Preacher went down the ladder about as fast as a man possibly could. When his feet hit the ground, he whirled toward the entrance and saw that both big doors were open, letting in more of the gray light. Dog stood poised in the entrance, stiff-legged, hackles raised as he growled—but thankfully unharmed as far as Preacher could see.
Just outside the livery barn, an odd-looking figure stood silhouetted in the street. Preacher kept his gun ready as he tried to figure out what it was. The thing was big and bulky and kind of waving around in the dim light.
After a minute or so, Preacher realized he was actually looking at two men. A smaller one in the grip of a much larger one was being held from behind with a brawny arm around the neck so that the captive’s feet were off the ground. The man flailed his arms and legs, but he couldn’t get loose.
“Preacher!” a booming voice said as the mountain man moved forward.
Preacher’s eyes widened in surprise. “Jamie?”
Jamie Ian MacCallister let go of the man he’d choked a considerable distance along the road to death and gave him a shove that sent him sprawling facedown in the dusty street. The man gasped and tried to scramble up, but Jamie planted a heavy, booted foot in the middle of his back and pinned him to the ground. At the same time, he pulled the Walker Colt from its hol
ster on his hip and aimed the revolver at the man’s head as he thumbed back the hammer.
“I caught this fella trying to shoot Dog,” Jamie said. “Want me to go ahead and show him across the divide?”
Preacher grinned. He knew his old friend wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer, but the man squirming under Jamie’s boot wouldn’t be aware of that. As far as he knew, he was about to get a .44 caliber trail blazed through his brainpan.
Preacher recognized the man as one of the Mahoney brothers. Not Clete. Preacher didn’t know which name went with which of the other varmints, but it didn’t matter. Clearly, the brothers hadn’t given up their quest to kill Fletch Wylie and reclaim their sister Clementine, and this fella must have traced Preacher to the livery stable in the hope of picking up their quarry’s trail.
“It’d be a mighty good use of powder and shot if you was to do so,” Preacher said in response to Jamie’s cold-blooded question, “but I reckon you can let him up and boot him on his way. He didn’t hurt Dog, did he?”
The big cur turned and nuzzled Preacher’s free hand. There was more light now, and he couldn’t see any wounds on the animal.
The liveryman spoke up, saying, “No, that shot went wild, thank goodness. I tried to warn him. If that big hombre hadn’t grabbed him when he did, I reckon Dog would’ve ripped his throat out about half a second later.”
“More ’n likely,” Preacher agreed. “Seein’ that Dog’s all right, don’t kill the rapscallion, Jamie.”
Jamie grunted, removed his boot from Mahoney’s back, and stepped to the side. He kept the Colt trained on the man as he said, “I don’t know what your problem is, mister, other than being ugly as sin and addlepated to boot, but you’d better take it somewhere far away and don’t slow down while you’re doing it.”
Mahoney reached for the gun he’d dropped when Jamie grabbed him, but Preacher wagged the Dragoon and said, “You can come by here later and get that hogleg, when we ain’t around. And you’ll be derned polite about it, too, if you know what’s good for you. If you ain’t, I’ll find out about it, and you don’t want that.”
The man rubbed his neck, scowled, and scuttled away like the oversize rat he was. Remembering what Clementine had mentioned the night before about the brothers’ filthy habits, Preacher gave serious consideration to shooting him anyway but finally lowered the Walker when the varmint went out of sight around a corner.
He set the gun on a barrel and went over to throw his arms around Jamie. The two big men hugged and pounded each other on the back. Dog reared up and tried to lick Jamie on the face, but the towering newcomer was just a little too tall for that.
Preacher stepped back and regarded Jamie with a puzzled frown. “I suppose it’s possible, but I’m thinkin’ you didn’t just happen to come strollin’ along this street at exactly the right time to grab that varmint.”
“Well, comes down to it, that part of the affair really was just a coincidence, but you’re right. I didn’t just happen to be here. I was looking for you, Preacher.”
“I thought as much,” Preacher said with a nod.
“I rode into town mighty early this morning and started paying visits to all the places I thought you might stay. Came on a hotel clerk who told me you’d had a room there but had given it up for a young couple. Said he overheard you telling them you’d sleep here at the stable. So I legged it over here and walked up at the right time to take a hand in that little fracas.”
The liveryman spoke up. “You saved that hombre’s life, whether he knows it or not. Like I said, Dog would’ve killed him.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath waitin’ for the varmint to appreciate that little gesture,” Preacher drawled. “He’s a pretty sorry specimen, and so are his brothers.”
“What’s the story on them?” Jamie asked with a frown.
Preacher waved that off. “I’ll tell you later. You’ve said you were huntin’ me. What for?”
Jamie pointed at Preacher’s bare chest and suggested, “Why don’t you get some clothes on, then we’ll get ourselves on the outside of some grub and coffee and I’ll explain the whole thing.” He paused and drew in a breath. “It’s not a pretty tale.”
* * *
They went to the hotel where Jamie had picked up Preacher’s trail. It was busier than it had been the previous evening but not crowded yet. Preacher didn’t see Fletch or Clementine and assumed that they were still asleep. He wasn’t surprised. The two young people had looked purely worn out the last time he’d seen them.
Over coffee, steaks, fried potatoes, eggs, and biscuits, the two frontiersmen traded stories. It didn’t take long for Preacher to fill Jamie in on the problems Fletch and Clementine had been through. It was a fairly simple, if sordid, yarn.
Jamie’s story was more complicated, filled as it was with political intrigue, high finance, family tragedy, and decisions that would almost certainly play a momentous part in the development of the country. Preacher listened with great interest. He had never had much book learning, only a few years before he took off for the tall and uncut, plus what he had picked up from years of on-and-off associating with former college professor Audie. But he had a keen mind and quickly grasped the stakes of all the details Jamie laid out.
“So this General Charlton wants you to go down to the border country and clean out the Apaches.” Preacher sipped his coffee, cocked his head, and gave Jamie a quizzical look over the cup. “Seems like a mighty big job for one man when the whole army ain’t been able to handle it so far.”
“Well . . . I don’t think he figures I’ll handle it by myself. He said I could recruit anybody I wanted to help me out.”
Preacher’s puzzled look deepened into a frown. “Then I got a hunch I know why you came lookin’ for me.”
“You’re the best fighting man on the frontier,” Jamie said.
“Some would say you are.”
Jamie dismissed that with a wave of the hand. “That’s for other folks to argue about, if they’ve got the time for such things. All I know is that I’d feel better going into any fracas with you at my side, Preacher. Not only that, you know plenty of other fellas who are usually itching for trouble, as well.”
A grunt of laughter escaped from Preacher’s lips. “Sure can’t argue with that statement.”
Jamie cradled his coffee cup in big hands and leaned forward a little. “So I thought that if you and I put together a force of a dozen or so men, we could fight the Apaches in their own style. Hit ’em hard and fast when they aren’t expecting it and stay on the move. I reckon if we did that, it wouldn’t take long before they would come looking for us, and all we’d have to do is take care of them as they show up.”
“Yeah,” Preacher said dryly, “all we’d have to do is live through a few hundred ’Paches huntin’ us, wantin’ to peel the hide off us an inch at a time. And find out what happened to Charlton’s son while we’re at it. That’s all.”
Jamie nodded slowly. “It’d be a right stiff challenge, I suppose.”
“And to be honest, it’s one I might not mind acceptin’, except for one thing. I got one of those . . . what you call it? Prior commitments.”
“To those two young folks?” Jamie asked.
Preacher nodded. “I promised I’d see ’em through safely to California. Fletch seems like a nice enough young fella, but he ain’t no match for those no-good brothers of Clementine’s, and he never will be.”
“If that fella I ran into at the livery stable is a good example of them, I’d have to agree they’re no good.”
“The one called Clete, who appears to be the oldest and the boss of the bunch, is even worse, I’d say.” Preacher leaned back in his chair, scraped a thumbnail along his grizzled jawline, and then tugged at his earlobe as he pondered. “On the other hand, if what you’re tellin’ me is right, this whole business of tryin’ to decide where the railroad’s gonna run could turn out to be mighty important for the whole country.”
“It could,” Jamie agree.<
br />
“Does the whole idea of a railroad runnin’ from one end of the country to the other sit as poorly with you as it does with me?” Preacher asked bluntly.
Jamie didn’t answer for a long moment, then said, “From everything I’ve heard and read, we’ll never bring civilization to the frontier without it.”
“I don’t know about you, but it seems to me like civilization ain’t always all it’s cracked up to be.”
Jamie had to laugh at that. “I can’t disagree with you about that, Preacher, but not everybody feels the same way about the frontier that we do. Most folks never saw it the way it used to be, when everything was clean and new. The country needs room to grow. People need room to grow. That’s coming, no matter what old-timers like you and me think about it.” He drank some more of his coffee. “And to be honest, having started a family and a ranch, a little more civilization doesn’t always seem like such a bad idea to me.”
“I can see how a man ’d feel that way, even if I never have. So I’d like to help, Jamie, I really would, but—” Preacher stopped short as he glanced toward the arched entrance into the dining room. “You can take your own measure of Fletch and Clementine. Here they come now.”
CHAPTER 9
Wary looks appeared on the faces of the young couple as they approached the table. Clearly, they were expecting to see Preacher but hadn’t known anyone would be with him. As both men rose out of courtesy to Clementine, the couple’s eyes widened when Jamie’s height became apparent.
“Mornin’,” Preacher greeted them. He gestured toward Jamie. “This big galoot is an old friend of mine. Remember how last night I mentioned Jamie and Kate MacCallister? Well, this is Jamie his ownself, in the considerable flesh.”
Jamie stuck out a big paw and said, “Pleased to meet you, Fletch. Preacher’s been telling me about you and Mrs. Wylie and the problems you’ve been facing.”
Fletch looked a little hesitant about shaking hands with Jamie, but he did. Jamie’s hand practically swallowed up Fletch’s, but Jamie didn’t bear down, just gave the young man his normal firm grip. Even that was enough to make Fletch’s eyes widen more. Preacher could tell he was relieved when Jamie let go.
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