One of the brothers said nervously, “That shot you fired is liable to bring the authorities, Clete. We better get outta here.”
“Hold on there,” Preacher said. “Maybe you boys ought to be locked up for a spell.” That would keep the Mahoney brothers from following them when the expedition left Santa Fe, and that was a pretty appealing prospect.
Jamie must have been thinking the same thing, because he kept his Colt leveled at them and said, “That sounds like a pretty good idea to me, too.” To Clete, he added, “Get down off that horse, mister, just to keep you from getting any ideas about taking off for the tall and uncut.”
Clete looked like he wanted to argue, but Noah Stuart gestured with the shotgun and Clete climbed down grudgingly from his mount.
“Rattle your hocks over next to your brothers,” Preacher told him.
Clete shuffled over to join the others. The four Mahoney brothers stood there looking at Preacher, Jamie, and Stuart as if staking them out on anthills would be too good for them.
A couple of deputy marshals showed up a few minutes later, checking on the report of a gunshot behind the hotel. Santa Fe was still enough of a frontier settlement, despite having been founded more than two hundred years earlier, that an occasional shot often didn’t draw much attention, especially at night. A gun going off in the middle of town in broad daylight was looked into, though.
Although the Mahoney brothers blustered and yelled about being treated unfairly, Jamie dropped hints about working for the government and being in town on official business. His name and reputation were well known to start with, so to protect themselves from potential trouble as much as anything, the deputies disarmed the Mahoneys and marched them off to jail, still grumbling as they went.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this, Mr. MacCallister,” one of the lawmen hung back and promised. “Will you be around town if the marshal needs to talk to you?”
“Probably not, but I’ll be glad to speak with him when we get back,” Jamie said.
That seemed to satisfy the deputies.
Once they and their prisoners were gone, Preacher turned to Noah Stuart and said, “We’re much obliged to you for givin’ us a hand there, son.”
“Well, you said if there was trouble, Chester and I might have to pitch in and help,” Stuart replied. “The way you and Mr. MacCallister ran off so abruptly, I figured something was wrong and this might be a chance to get started on that. So I grabbed the shotgun out of our wagon and came along the alley to see what was going on back here.”
“You showed up just at the right time,” Jamie told him. “And the way you threw down on Clete Mahoney with that scattergun was mighty impressive.”
“Yes, well, there was one problem with that,” Stuart said with a weak smile. He broke the shotgun open and showed Preacher and Jamie the empty barrels. “I was in such a hurry I forgot to load it. I figured that man didn’t know that, so I let him think I was going to blow him off his horse.”
The two older men just stared at him for a moment, then broke out in laughter. Jamie slapped Stuart on the back and said, “Noah, you just might do to ride the river with, after all!”
CHAPTER 18
Carrying the shotgun tucked under his arm, Noah Stuart went back across the plaza to his wagon while Jamie and Preacher headed into the hotel to check on Fletch and Clementine.
They were sitting on a sofa in the lobby with the solicitous desk clerk hovering around them. Some of the guests had gathered nearby and were looking on curiously. Clementine had a wet cloth and held it against Fletch’s head.
“I’m all right, I tell you,” he said, sounding annoyed. Jamie couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with Clementine or himself.
Clementine took the cloth away from his head. Jamie saw that Fletch had a pretty good lump on his noggin. It had bled some, enough to leave a red stain on the wet cloth, but mostly it just looked like the result of a good walloping.
“I think you need to see a doctor,” Clementine said. “There’s no telling how bad you’re hurt.”
“I’m feeling a lot better now,” Fletch insisted. “I’ve got a headache, that’s all.” He looked up and noticed Jamie and Preacher, then got to his feet in spite of Clementine’s objection. “What happened to Clete and the others?” he asked.
“Some deputies showed up and hauled ’em off to the hoosegow,” Preacher replied. “I figure they’ll be locked up for a while.”
“And that’s a good reason for us to go ahead and get out of Santa Fe as soon as we can,” Jamie added. “I’d like to put some distance behind us while they’re locked up.”
Fletch nodded. The movement of his head made him wince a little, but he said, “That’s a good idea. We’ll be ready to go in just a few minutes.”
Clementine stood up. “I’m not sure you’re in any shape to travel, Fletcher. You could be seriously hurt—”
“I’m fine.” His tone was a little sharper than he intended. As she made a sad little face, he put his hands on her shoulders and went on. “I’m sorry, Clementine. But I really am all right. I can tell. I just want us to be on our way again while your brothers can’t cause any trouble for us.”
“Well . . . I guess I understand that,” she said.
Preacher said, “Hold on a minute. Fletch, look at me. Open your eyes good and wide.”
“Why—”
“Just do it,” Preacher told him.
“All right,” Fletch said. He opened his eyes wide and looked intently at Preacher.
The mountain man studied them with his head cocked a little to the side. After a moment, he nodded in apparent satisfaction.
“Miss Clementine, I believe ol’ Fletch here is fine as frog hair,” Preacher declared. “His eyes look normal as they can be. I’ve seen plenty of fellas who got walloped mighty hard on the ol’ cabeza. The ones who was bad hurt, you could always tell it by how their eyes looked later. I reckon that headache he’s sportin’ is the worst thing that’s gonna happen to him ’cause of this little set-to.”
“Are you sure?” Clementine asked him with a suspicious frown.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Preacher said.
“Well . . . all right, then.” She added to Fletch, “But I’m going to be keeping a close eye on you.”
He summoned up a smile. “I’ve never complained about that, have I? As long as I can keep a close eye on you, too.”
Jamie chuckled. “Save your sweet talk for later, both of you. Grab your possibles. Preacher, you mind waiting here until they’re ready to go and then coming back to the wagons with them?”
“Nope,” the mountain man said. “We shouldn’t have let the two of you go back to the hotel by yourselves a while ago, to start with. Might’ve saved all the trouble and Fletch that clout on the noggin if we’d been a mite more careful.”
Jamie left Preacher and the two young people at the hotel and went back across the plaza to the store where the last of the supplies were being loaded into the surveyors’ wagon.
“Is Mr. Wylie all right?” Noah Stuart asked as Jamie joined them.
“I think so. He’ll be along in a few minutes, and so will Miss Clementine and Preacher. Are you fellas ready to head out to the camp?”
“As ready as we’re going to be, I suppose,” Stuart replied. He had placed the shotgun on the floorboards of the driver’s box at the front of the wagon. As he reached over and patted the weapon’s smooth stock, he added, “I’ve loaded this gun, by the way. If we need it again, I won’t be taken by surprise.”
“What about the pistol and rifle you mentioned?” Jamie asked. “Are they loaded, too?”
“They are.” Stuart smiled slightly. “I don’t think Chester likes that very much.”
“Loaded guns can go off,” Chester Merrick said. “That worries me.”
Jamie told him, “An unloaded gun might as well be a hammer, except you can’t drive a nail as well with it. You’ll get used to how things are out here on the frontier, Mr. Merrick.”
<
br /> “Perhaps,” the man said doubtfully.
To be honest, Jamie kind of doubted it, too.
* * *
Preacher helped Fletch and Clementine with their bags. He didn’t expect any more trouble since the Mahoney brothers had been hauled off to jail, but he remained alert anyway. Problems could always arise from other sources, and it was also possible Clete Mahoney might have argued the authorities around to letting him and his brothers go.
Nothing happened, though, and a short time later they arrived at the wagons, stowed the last of the gear away, and were ready to depart.
Preacher walked over to the stable to get his and Jamie’s horses and rode back with Dog trotting alongside the mounts. Jamie swung up into the saddle and moved into position flanking the Wylie wagon on the right. Preacher was on the left. Stuart and Merrick would bring up the rear in their vehicle.
“Everybody ready to go?” Jamie called.
“We’re ready,” Fletch declared. Preacher could tell the young man was trying to sound firm and determined, but even so, he heard a hint of a quaver in Fletch’s voice. They were setting out on what could prove to be a long, very dangerous journey. Of course, their trip so far hadn’t been all that easy.
“Ready back here,” Noah Stuart said, holding the shotgun across his knees.
Chester Merrick was beside him on the driver’s seat, handling the reins.
“Let’s move out, then.” Jamie didn’t do anything dramatic like wave his arm over his head the way a wagon master would, giving the command to roll the wagons. He just heeled his horse into motion as he spoke.
On the other side of the Wylie wagon, Preacher did likewise.
They headed out of Santa Fe toward the camp in the foothills. Preacher’s head was on a swivel as he searched for any sign of potential trouble. That vigilance would only increase once they got into Apache country. Down there, even a moment’s carelessness could cost a man his life.
Not for the first time, Preacher wondered if they were making a mistake by allowing Fletch and Clementine to come with them. Unfortunately, this was a true “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” situation. When that was the case, all a fella could do was reach a decision and work hard to make the best of it.
* * *
Jamie had warned the other men that they would be breaking camp and setting out on their mission when he, Preacher, and the Wylies returned from Santa Fe, so everyone had their gear packed and ready to go. The addition of Stuart and Merrick to the party came as a surprise. Jamie introduced the surveyors to everyone. The looks of the scruffy old mountain men, the slick Mexican gunfighter, the towering Crow warrior, and the bitter half-breed Comanche seemed to intimidate Chester Merrick and make him even more nervous. Only the gravely silent Swedish brothers didn’t appear to bother him.
Noah Stuart just nodded and said hello to the other members of the group. Preacher could tell that he noticed how heavily armed they all were.
After the introductions, Stuart turned on the wagon seat, reached through the opening in the canvas cover, and rummaged around for a minute or so. When he faced forward again, he had the revolver in his hand. He stuck it behind his belt.
Preacher moved Horse closer to the surveyors’ wagon and commented, “Now you look like you’re armed for bear, too.”
“I just want to be prepared,” Stuart said. “Chester and I intend to carry our weight and do our part on this expedition. If that means fighting Indians, then so be it.”
“You’re liable to get your chance to do that, especially if those ’Paches figure out you’re surveyin’ a possible route for the railroad. They’re smart enough to know that such a thing ’d bring more and more white folks into territory they regard as theirs. That’ll make ’em madder than they are to start with . . . and that’s pretty doggoned mad.”
Chester Merrick said, “Savages can’t be allowed to hold back the advance of civilization. Have you heard of Manifest Destiny, Mr. Preacher?”
“No, mister,” the mountain man said. “And Manifest Destiny is all well and good until you butt heads with somebody who figures his destiny is different from yours but just as important. Most times, there’s only one way to settle that argument.”
Before either of the newcomers could respond to that, Jamie called, “Mount up!” to the rest of the group. He waved to Preacher, who turned Horse and heeled the rangy gray stallion ahead.
The other men formed up around the wagons. Starting out, Audie, Nighthawk, Ramirez, and Dupre flanked to the left. Powder Pete, Tennysee, Deadlead, and Edgerton rode to the right. Pugh, Greybull, Dog Brother, and the Molmberg brothers brought up the rear.
Up at the point, Jamie turned his horse around, sat his saddle as he faced the others, and called, “Everybody ready?”
He got nods and a few affirmative answers. He glanced over at Preacher.
The mountain man said, “Let’s go find some Apaches.”
This time Jamie wasn’t able to resist. He turned his horse, waved his arm over his head, and bellowed, “Move out!”
CHAPTER 19
Jamie’s original plan hadn’t included Fletch and Clementine or the two government surveyors. He had figured that a group of hard-bitten Indian fighters on horseback could move pretty rapidly. A week should have been enough time to cover the distance between Santa Fe and their destination in what were now the far southern sections of New Mexico Territory, along the current border with Mexico.
With two wagons and four people who weren’t accustomed to frontier travel, that plan had to be thrown out the window. The group could only cover about half as much ground each day as Jamie had anticipated. The delay was a mite galling but wouldn’t really make much difference in the long run, Jamie told himself. The Apaches would still be there when he and his companions made it to where they were going.
Shortly after the middle of every afternoon, they began looking for a place with good water and grass where they could make camp that night. For the first few days, finding such a spot wasn’t difficult. But the farther south they went, the more arid the landscape became. Different shades of brown replaced much of the green of vegetation. Whenever they found a good-flowing creek, Jamie had the water barrels filled before the group pulled out the next morning.
“Closer we get to mañana land, the drier it’s gonna be,” Preacher commented one evening as they sat around the campfire where Audie had a pot of stew bubbling.
Clementine had offered to do all the cooking, but Audie wouldn’t hear of that. He’d always been proud of his cuisine, as he put it. Tennysee had asked what sort of critter a kweezine was, and whether it was better boiled or fried.
“Do you skin one of them kweezines or pluck it?” Powder Pete wanted to know.
“I am surrounded by uncouth bumpkins,” Dupre declared. “If we had the necessary ingredients, I would prepare French cuisine for you. Although I’m certain the effort would be wasted on your uneducated palates.”
Greybull rumbled, “Well, whatever it is, we know they got them kweezines in France, too. Dupre just said so.”
“Umm,” Nighthawk said.
The Molmberg brothers nodded in agreement.
After Preacher’s comment about the arid climate, Noah Stuart asked, “Where is this mañana land you speak of, Preacher? I don’t recall ever seeing that name on any of the maps of the region I’ve studied.”
Preacher took a sip of coffee from the tin cup he held and said, “I was talkin’ about Old Mejico. You ask just about any hombre down there when he’s gonna get around to doin’ somethin’, and he’ll tell you, ‘mañana.’ That’s their lingo for tomorrow.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea about those folks, though,” Jamie added. “Most of them are mighty hard workers when they need to be. They just might not want to admit it all the time. But the farmers down where we’re headed . . . peons, they’re called . . . will work from can to can’t to keep their families fed.”
“There are farmers in the area?” Chester Merri
ck said. “Once I heard how bad the Apaches are, I assumed the region was completely uninhabited except for the savages.”
Preacher said, “No matter how sorry the land is or how dangerous the place may be, somewhere you’ll find a fella stubborn enough to poke some seeds in the ground and hope that a crop’ll come up.”
“It’s been that way since the beginning of civilization,” Audie said. “For thousands and thousands of years. I’d go so far as to say there wouldn’t even be any civilization without those stubborn men.”
“And yet the Indians don’t farm,” Noah Stuart said.
“Some do,” Jamie responded. “And I hate to say it, but in the long run, those are the ones who stand the best chance of surviving.”
Clementine asked, “Why do you hate to say it?”
Jamie gazed off into the night, his eyes seeming to see into the far, far distance. “Because the Indians who spend their lives hunting and fishing are the ones most like me. I figure Preacher’s the same way, and so are most of these other men.”
Mutters of agreement came from the mountain men.
“And that means our days are numbered,” Jamie went on. “There’ll come a time, probably in the next fifty years, when there’s no room in the West anymore for the likes of us. The railroads will run everywhere, and the maps that are drawn by men like Noah here will be full of towns and cities. The sort of lives that we’ve lived . . . and those of the Apache . . . and Dog Brother’s people, the Comanche . . . will be nothing but fading shadows then.”
A solemn silence hung over the group around the campfire for a few moments, before Clementine finally said, “That’s sad, Mr. MacCallister. But I’m looking forward to reaching California. It’s civilized, isn’t it?”
“Mostly,” Jamie said with a smile. “Anyway, most womenfolk are going to prefer that. It’s in their nature to want a safe place to bring up their families.”
Preacher said, “If it wasn’t for the gals, us gents ’d never stop slaughterin’ each other till the whole derned bunch was wiped out.”
Audie said, “I sometimes wonder what some of my colleagues back at the university would have thought of you, Preacher.”
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