Jamie turned to Clementine and nodded politely. “Ma’am. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you, Mister . . . MacCallister, was it?”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“Wait a minute,” Fletch said. “Preacher told us about you and your wife just last night, and this morning you turn up in Santa Fe?”
“That’s the workin’s of fate for you,” the mountain man said. “This ain’t the first time I’ve knowed somethin’ to happen that’d make a man’s eyebrows go to climbin’ his forehead.”
“Maybe Preacher sensed somehow that I’ve been looking for him,” Jamie said, “and that’s what brought me to his mind last night.”
Preacher glanced at his old friend. “How’d you track me down, anyway? You ain’t explained that yet.”
Jamie grinned. “Started riding and asking questions every time I came to a place where there were some old mountain men. Didn’t take long before I ran into somebody who said they’d heard you were planning to drift down toward Santa Fe. You know how the frontier is, Preacher—for all its vastness, it can be a pretty small place.”
“Folks are just plumb nosy and like to meddle in other folks’ business, is what you mean. But I’m glad you found me, Jamie, even if it does put me in sort of a pree-dicament.”
“What do you mean?” Fletch asked.
Jamie waved a hand at the table. “Why don’t you two sit down and join us for breakfast? I’m buying.”
“You don’t have to do that—” Fletch began.
“I’m happy to. Consider it a very belated wedding present for the both of you.”
Clementine said, “But you don’t even know us. Why would you give us a wedding present?”
“Any friends of Preacher’s are friends of mine, too. Now, let’s sit down.”
They did so, with Fletch holding Clementine’s chair. The waitress brought over coffee right away for the two young people and hurried to the kitchen to fetch food for them.
While they were waiting, Fletch said, “You mentioned you’ve been looking for Preacher, Mr. MacCallister. Is it all right if I ask why?”
“Actually, the answer has something to do with you fine folks. I asked him to give me a hand with a little chore, but he explained to me that he’s already promised to help you get to California.”
Fletch looked quickly at Preacher. “If there’s something else you need to do, we won’t hold you to the arrangement you made with us.”
Clementine added, “It wasn’t a business deal or anything like that. You agreed to come along just out of the goodness of your heart.” She smiled. “And it’s a very good heart, I’m thinking.”
“What sort of chore is it you were talking about, Mr. MacCallister?” Fletch asked.
Jamie and Preacher glanced at each other. The assignment Jamie had accepted from General Owen Charlton was government business, after all, and not something to be discussed with just anybody.
But Preacher shrugged and said, “I reckon they’re trustworthy. That’s what my gut tells me, anyway.”
“All right. You folks have probably heard about how someday, there’s going to be a transcontinental railroad . . .”
For the next few minutes, Jamie explained the task he’d been asked to do, pausing when the waitress arrived with plates of food for Fletch and Clementine. By the time he was finished, Fletch was nodding.
“I’ve heard my father talking about this,” he said. “As the owner of a store, he knows how important the transportation of goods is to business. He believes the railroads are going to have to be expanded a great deal if the country is ever going to prosper as it should.”
“That’s what all the politicians in Washington seem to think, too,” Jamie said. “The wrangling comes in on the question of how they’re going to do it.”
“Then what they’ve asked you to do is vital,” Fletch said solemnly. He turned to Preacher. “And you could help Mr. MacCallister a great deal.”
Preacher shrugged. “More than likely, but I already gave you my word—”
“I have an idea,” Clementine said. “Why don’t you help Mr. MacCallister, and Fletch and I will come along, too?”
The three men at the table just stared at her, unable to find the words to respond to her suggestion. Finally, as she started to look annoyed at their reaction, she said, “Well? What’s wrong with that idea?”
“Derned near everything,” Preacher said.
“I don’t reckon you know exactly what you’re suggesting, ma’am,” Jamie said.
“It sounds really dangerous,” Fletch said.
Clementine chose to respond to her husband’s comment. “We’ve been living in terrible danger ever since we left Tennessee, Fletcher. Do you really think these Apaches that Preacher and Mr. MacCallister are talking about are worse than my brothers?”
Jamie answered that question. “No offense intended, Mrs. Wylie, but I’m afraid they are. A lot worse.”
“And there are a lot more of ’em,” Preacher added. “Back east where you come from, all the Indian troubles have been mostly over for a long time. There are hundreds of Apaches down there in the area we’ve been talkin’ about, and just about every single one of ’em hates white folks and would like nothin’ better than to kill all of us.”
“My brothers want to kill Fletcher,” she said stubbornly. “And when they do, they’ll drag me back to Tennessee and make my life pure misery.” She shook her head, making the thick waves of blond hair swing back and forth around her face. “I’m sorry. I’d rather take my chances with the Apaches.”
“You say that now,” Preacher told her, “but you don’t know what it’s really like out there. It ain’t just the Apaches you got to worry about down yonder. It’s so hot and dry, you’d think you wandered into the Devil’s parlor, and there’s a rattlesnake or a scorpion under every rock. Get too close to the cactus that grows there, and you’ll wind up with what feels like a hundred little knives stickin’ in you. It hardly ever rains, but when it does, there’s liable to be a flash flood comes along that’ll wash you away. Or else a dust storm that’ll dump a whole bucket full o’ dirt down your throat. I’ve heard it said there’s a million ways to die in the West, and you’ll find most of ’em down there along what’s now the border betwixt us and Mexico.”
Preacher’s recitation of the perils that would be waiting for them if they came along left Clementine looking a little abashed, but determination still shone in her eyes. “If Fletch and I stay here in Santa Fe, we’re doomed. If we try to go on by ourselves, we’re doomed. Isn’t it fair to say that?”
Preacher didn’t answer, but his grim expression made it clear that he agreed with her.
“But if you help Mr. MacCallister, and we come along with you, we’ll at least have a chance to make it to California safely, won’t we?” she pressed.
“A mighty slim one,” Preacher said.
Fletch swallowed hard, clearly made nervous by what Clementine was suggesting, but he said, “Slim chances are better than none. The only other option is for you to refuse to help Mr. MacCallister, and I don’t want to be responsible for something bad happening that could affect the entire nation.”
“Neither do I,” Clementine said quickly.
“Besides,” Fletch mused, “didn’t you say you were going to assemble a larger group, Mr. MacCallister? So we wouldn’t be traveling with just you and Preacher.”
Jamie nodded and admitted, “That’s true. I figure there’ll be at least a dozen of us, maybe more.” His voice took on a harsher note. “But we’ll be going down there to fight Indians, not to nursemaid a couple of pilgrims. Sorry to be so plainspoken about it, but that’s the truth.”
“Well . . . maybe we could help you fight the Indians,” Clementine said. As Preacher and Jamie started to look skeptical, she hurried on, “Fletcher is a good shot. He really is.”
Fletch shrugged in vague agreement.
“And I’m even better,” Clementine
continued.
“A better shot than Fletch?” Preacher asked.
Clementine’s chin lifted defiantly. “And why shouldn’t I be? Fletch grew up in town. I was raised on a farm, but we hunted for a lot of our food, too. I could knock a squirrel out of a tree at fifty yards by the time I was ten years old.” She looked back and forth between Preacher and Jamie. “You don’t believe me?”
“We didn’t say that—” Jamie began.
“Both of you own rifles, don’t you?”
“Sure we do.” Preacher said.
Clementine scraped her chair back, the bit of breakfast still remaining on her plate forgotten. “Come on. I’ll just show you!”
CHAPTER 10
The three men stared in silence at Clementine.
After a long moment, she said, “Are you afraid to take me up on it?”
Fletch said, “I, ah, didn’t know you could shoot . . .”
“Well, you never asked me about it, did you?” She turned back to Preacher and Jamie. “I don’t mind demonstrating how I can shoot, if one of you gentlemen will let me borrow a rifle.”
“We each carry a Sharps,” Preacher said. “That’s a mighty heavy weapon for—”
“For a girl to handle?” Clementine finished for him. “I’ll admit, I’ve never used one before, but I’d certainly like to try.”
Preacher looked at her for a moment, then said, “Dadgummit, you’ve gone and got me curious.”
“Me, too,” Jamie admitted. “I worry that you’d break a shoulder if you tried to shoot one of those Sharps, though.”
“Not if you tell me how to do it,” Clementine said. “I’d really like to see how I can do.”
Fletch started to shake his head. “I don’t think this is a good—” He fell abruptly silent when Clementine glared at him.
“We’d need to find a good place somewhere out of town for you to shoot,” Preacher mused. “But I reckon you could hitch up your wagon and follow me and Jamie.”
“Or rent some saddle mounts from that liveryman,” Clementine suggested. “I can ride, too, you know. I was riding almost before I could walk.”
“Somehow that don’t surprise me.” Preacher looked at Jamie and shrugged. “I’m game if you are.”
“Let’s see if the little lady can back up her brags,” Jamie said.
Clementine crossed her arms over her chest and looked confident, but Preacher thought he saw a hint of uncertainty lurking in her eyes, which now, in daylight, he saw were a rich, dark brown, just as he’d thought they might be.
Jamie paid for the meals, and the four of them left the hotel and walked toward the livery stable. The sun was well up and the streets, narrow and crooked though they might be, were full of people, horses, wagons, and buggies. Preacher kept a sharp eye out for any of the Mahoney brothers. Even though he had seen them only by feeble torchlight the night before—and one of them in predawn shadows this morning—he thought he would recognize any of the varmints if he laid eyes on them.
He was confident that the brother he and Jamie had had the run-in with that morning had already told the rest of the clan that Preacher was staying at the livery stable. They were probably keeping an eye on the place, hoping he would show up again and lead them to Fletch and Clementine. In that case, Preacher was putting the young couple right back in the sights of Clementine’s vengeful brothers—but at the same time, the Mahoneys would see that their quarry had not one but two brawny frontiersmen as allies.
Under normal circumstances, that ought to have been enough to persuade them to give up their pursuit. As obsessed and ruthless as Clete and the others seemed to be, Preacher didn’t hold out much hope of that happening.
When they reached the livery stable, Fletch and Clementine once again warily eyed Dog, who ignored them for the most part. Preacher asked the hostler to saddle a couple of mounts for the two young people, while he slapped his own hull on Horse, the rangy gray stallion who, like Dog, was the latest in a long line of Preacher’s trail partners sporting the same name as his predecessors. Jamie’s big bay was still saddled from earlier.
With a frown, the hostler looked at Clementine and said, “Uh, I don’t have a sidesaddle for the lady.”
“That’s all right,” she said without hesitation. “I can ride astride. Just let me fix this . . .” She pulled up the long skirt she wore and tied it so that it functioned roughly the same as a pair of trousers. That left her legs bare up to a scandalous height, which caused Fletch to turn a bright red but didn’t seem to bother her much.
When the hostler had her horse ready, she took the reins from him, gave him a sweet smile, and said, “Much obliged, sir.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Uh, yes’m. You’re welcome.”
Clementine put her left foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. “Let’s go,” she told the men.
Jamie and Preacher were trying not to grin as they mounted up.
“Get a move on, son,” Preacher said to Fletch.
They rode into the nearby foothills of the mountains surrounding Santa Fe, and once again Preacher watched to make sure they weren’t followed. He noticed that Jamie was doing the same thing.
They stopped in a fairly flat meadow with a cluster of pine trees on the far side, maybe fifty yards away. Preacher reined in first, and the others followed suit.
The mountain man pointed across the open space and said, “See that tree where the first big branch forks and one side of it hangs down a mite? There’s a good-sized clump of cones on it. You reckon you could hit that, Miss Clementine?”
“With my old squirrel rifle, I could,” she said. “No doubt about it.”
“A Sharps is a good bit different from a squirrel rifle. You can bring down a buffalo or a grizzle’ bear with one of ’em if you hit it right. Want to give it a try?”
“I sure do.”
Preacher pulled the heavy rifle from its saddle sheath. “Best get down from the horse first.”
When Clementine had dismounted, Preacher handed her the Sharps. She took hold of it with both hands and her arms sagged under the weight.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Fletch asked her.
“I’m certain. I just have to get used to how heavy it is, that’s all.” She hefted the Sharps. “See? I can manage it.”
She might think so, but Preacher could tell by the way her muscles stood out how much of a strain it was. He swung down from Horse and pointed to a nearby sapling. “Rest the barrel in the crook of that tree,” he suggested. “Nothin’ wrong with usin’ a rest to steady a gun before you fire, if you need to. You can find a rock for that or sometimes put the barrel over the saddle of a standin’ horse.” He squinted at Clementine. “You ain’t tall enough for that, though.”
She stepped over to the sapling and lifted the Sharps so that the barrel was sitting in the crook Preacher had pointed out. Then she looked over her shoulder and said, “I should have asked you earlier. Is it loaded?”
He nodded solemnly. “All you got to do is cock it, draw your bead, and squeeze the trigger. Plant your feet and brace yourself good before you do, though.”
Clementine had to use both thumbs to pull back the hammer. While she was doing that, Jamie and Fletch dismounted.
Fletch went over to her and said, “You really don’t have to do this.”
“I think I do,” she replied without looking at him. She nestled her cheek against the smooth wood of the rifle’s stock. She kept her right hand clasped around the stock while she reached forward with her left and raised the sights. Then she took hold of the rifle with both hands again as she began aiming at the clump of pine cones across the pasture.
Preacher crooked a finger at Fletch, and when the young man came over to him, he said, “Leave her be, boy. She needs to concentrate on what she’s doin’. Her bein’ able to shoot could come in mighty handy for the two of you.”
“What about me?” Fletch asked with a slight note of resentment in his voice. “Isn’t it
important that I can shoot, too?”
“Maybe we’ll see how well you can do, here in a spell. Ladies first, though.”
They stood and watched while Clementine lined up her shot. At one point, as the moments crawled by, Fletch opened his mouth to say something, but Preacher silenced him with a lifted hand.
Finally, Clementine drew in a deep breath and held it, and Preacher knew from that action that she did indeed have some experience at shooting. A second later, the gun’s boom rolled over the foothills like a peal of thunder.
Almost lost in the sound was a squeal of dismay as Clementine flew backward and the Sharps fell to the ground in front of her. She sat down hard, luckily not on any cactus. Fletch might not have minded picking needles out of her if that had happened, but it wouldn’t have been an enjoyable experience for Clementine.
Fletch rushed over to her, calling her name.
As he bent down to help her up, she said irritably, “I’m all right, I’m all right. I just wasn’t ready for how hard it was going to kick.” She glared at Preacher. “You should have warned me more about that.”
The mountain man shrugged. “You know it’s a heavy-caliber weapon. Figured you’d know it has a pretty hard kick.”
“I hit the pine cones, though, didn’t I?”
“See for yourself.” Preacher pointed across the meadow to the tree where the cluster of pine cones still hung from the low branch. “I was watchin’ ’em. They never budged.”
Jamie added, “Looked like your shot went well high.”
Clementine dusted off her bottom. “I want to try again.”
“Sure.” Preacher withdrew one of the long cartridges from his pocket. “You load it this time.”
“Are you going to tell me how, or do I have to figure it out for myself?”
“Give it a try,” he suggested. “We’ll see how well you do.”
She snorted and took the cartridge from him, then went over to the rifle. Fletch hurried to pick it up for her. She looked like she was going to scold him for doing that, but instead she took it from him and studied it for a few moments before levering the trigger guard down, which opened the breech where the cartridge went and ejected the empty brass.
They Came to Kill Page 6