Preacher's Slaughter

by William W. Johnstone

  Wedge said, “What happened today was that Preacher was there.”

  Binnion turned to stare at him and repeated, “Preacher?”

  “He was there, Claude, I swear it. I seen him once in St. Louis. Somebody pointed him out to me that day, and I ain’t never forgot. He was the fella who killed our men on the bluff and then jumped into the river from up there.”

  “Wedge is right, Claude,” Bracknell said. “I saw him, too, and now that Wedge mentioned his name, I know why he looked familiar. That was Preacher, sure enough. He killed more of our men than the rest of that bunch put together.”

  “Well, that just means we’ve got a score to settle with this Preacher fella,” Binnion said with soft menace. “Mark my words, there’ll come a time when we see Preacher again, and it’ll be sooner than he thinks. And this time . . . he’ll be the one who dies.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Cougar Bluffs was the most likely spot for an attack by river pirates, but just because the Sentinel was past that point, Preacher knew there was no guarantee they wouldn’t be ambushed again. He didn’t expect the same bunch to make another try so soon after losing so many men, but anything was possible. There might be other gangs of cutthroats lurking ahead of them, too.

  Preacher suggested to Captain Warner that he double the guards at night, and the captain was quick to agree.

  When trouble cropped up again a few nights later, though, it didn’t come from the shore.

  The boat was tied up along a nice stretch of river with a number of good places along the bank for Preacher to spread his bedroll, so he was enjoying spending an evening under the stars again. Dog lay beside him. The horses had been led off the barge and were picketed nearby, taking advantage of the opportunity to graze. If any Indians slipped up and tried to steal the animals, they would get a surprise. Dog and Horse both would raise a ruckus if that happened.

  Preacher dozed but didn’t fall fully asleep as the boat grew dark and quiet. He hadn’t forgotten about what he had seen that night a week or so earlier, when one of the Allingham women had slipped into the count’s cabin, but since the incident hadn’t been repeated he had let it drift to the back of his mind.

  A hint of movement dimly glimpsed on the passenger deck brought it back into the forefront of his thoughts. Silently, he sat up and watched an indistinct figure glide along behind the railing. It was almost like a ghost, Preacher thought.

  The shape disappeared, and he knew it had vanished into one of the cabins. Preacher didn’t have to think very hard to know which one. He would have bet a hat that the phantom figure had gone into Count Stahlmaske’s cabin.

  Somebody needed to have a good long talk with the count and tell him that it wasn’t very smart to be carrying on with another man’s wife or daughter. Maybe Stahlmaske’s uncle should be the one to do that. Preacher knew good and well the count would never take any advice from him.

  He lay back down and resolved to speak to Gerhard the next day, as soon as he got a chance to talk to the older man in private. Preacher didn’t know if it would do any good or not, but at least he would make the attempt.

  A couple of minutes later something crashed on board the Sentinel, and a woman screamed.

  So much for good intentions.

  Preacher bolted up, grabbed his pistols from the ground beside his bedroll, and dashed to the boat with Dog following close behind him. Both of them leaped easily to the cargo deck. From the pilot house, one of the crewmen on guard duty shouted, “Hey, what’s going on down there?”

  Another scream from the woman was the only answer. Preacher could tell that the shrill sound came from the passenger deck. He went up the narrow staircase in four bounds.

  As he ran along the deck he heard men grunting, accompanied by the thud of fists against flesh and another crash as something was knocked over. The first crash, he reckoned, had been somebody kicking a cabin door open.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out which cabin. He headed for the one belonging to Count Stahlmaske.

  He got there just in time to hear the solid smack of another punch landing cleanly. A figure rocketed at him, and Preacher barely had time to set his feet and catch the man who collided with him. He still held the pistols, so he thrust his arms under the other man’s arms and held him up.

  The man had come through the open door backward, knocked through it by a powerful blow. The man who had thrown that punch charged out of the cabin, saw Preacher standing there with the first man, and roared, “Hang on to him, Preacher. I’m going to teach that bastard a lesson he’ll never forget!”

  Just as the mountain man had thought, the battle was between Stahlmaske and Senator Josiah Allingham, and since the count was the one leaning against Preacher, half senseless and shaking his head groggily, it was clear that the politician was winning.

  And possibly losing his career at the same time, Preacher thought, once word of this incident got back to Washington.

  The only real question was which woman was going to emerge from Stahlmaske’s cabin.

  Preacher got the answer a second later when Margaret Allingham appeared and clutched frantically at her husband’s arm.

  “Josiah, stop!” she cried. “Please don’t do this!”

  Allingham wore a nightshirt. His wife was clad in some sort of flimsy wrapper. The count still had on his boots and trousers but was bare from the waist up. The sordid conclusions Preacher had reached were true. That was obvious now.

  Allingham shook off his wife’s hands and stepped toward Preacher and the count. His fists were up, ready to strike again.

  Preacher swung Stahlmaske to the side and said, “Damn it, hold on there, Senator. You don’t want to do this.”

  “You’re wrong, Preacher. I want to do this more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything. I need to do this.” Allingham pointed a trembling finger at the count. “Do you know what he was . . . what he and my wife were . . . My God, I would have rather been struck blind than to ever see such a thing!”

  “If you didn’t want to see it, why did you kick the door open?” Margaret screeched at him. “Why couldn’t you have just left well enough alone, Josiah?”

  “Well enough alone?” Allingham repeated in a shocked tone. “You think allowing my wife to commit adultery is leaving well enough alone?”

  “As long as it doesn’t interfere with your career in Washington, why not?” Margaret asked coldly. “Good Lord, if you’d stayed out of this it might have even helped your career.”

  His wife’s callous words rocked Allingham more than any physical blow could have. Preacher could tell that by the way the senator gasped and took a step back.

  “Let . . . let me go,” Stahlmaske muttered thickly.

  Preacher did. The count leaned against the railing and breathed heavily. He reached up with one hand and took hold of his chin to work his jaw back and forth, evidently trying to see if it was broken.

  The commotion had attracted attention from other quarters. Several people approached along the deck in various forms of nightclothes. Preacher recognized Simon Russell, Roderick, Gerhard, and Heinrich and Hobart.

  There was no sign of Gretchen, or of Sarah Allingham, for that matter.

  “Albert, are you all right?” Roderick asked anxiously. “What happened here? What are you . . .”

  The young man’s voice trailed off as he looked around. There was enough moonlight for him to see the way Allingham stood between Margaret and Stahlmaske. Something about that arrangement must have struck Roderick as familiar.

  “Again, Albert?” he said.

  Stahlmaske shook off the effects of Allingham’s punches and stood straighter.

  “How dare you judge me?” he snapped at his brother. “It’s not your right to do so.”

  “I’m sorry,” Roderick said instantly.

  “Don’t be,” Allingham told him. “He deserves all the scorn you can give him. The only kind of nobleman your brother deserves to be called is a royal bastard!”

&nbs
p; Stahlmaske took a step toward the senator. Preacher and Russell both got between them.

  “When we get back to Washington and I speak to your President Jackson, you are finished!” Stahlmaske said. “I will personally see to it that your political career is over!”

  “You think I care?” Allingham said. “After this, do you think it really matters?”

  “When you calm down it will,” the count said with a sneer. “But then it will be too late. You should have learned to accept such things. They mean nothing, after all.”

  “Nothing?” Margaret asked with a slight tremble in her voice. “What we had between us meant nothing, Albert?”

  Stahlmaske blew out an exasperated breath and shrugged.

  “A few moments of physical pleasure, that’s all,” he said. “Did you believe it to be something more than that?”

  For a second Preacher thought Margaret was going to launch herself at Stahlmaske and try to claw his eyes out, but she controlled the furious impulse. With tears running down her cheeks, she turned and went hurriedly toward the cabin she had shared with her husband.

  Preacher had a hunch that Allingham wouldn’t be going back there tonight. Maybe not for the rest of the journey to the Yellowstone and back.

  “Everybody needs to just settle down,” Russell said, making patting motions in the air with his hands. “This is all over. Just go back to your cabins and cool off.”

  “You do not give me orders, Herr Russell,” Stahlmaske said. His customary arrogance had returned in full force.

  “I’m just saying that’s the best thing to do right now. Any more arguing or fighting is just going to make things worse.”

  “You’re wrong about that, Simon,” Allingham said. “Beating that worthless scoundrel within an inch of his life is the best thing I can do right now.”

  “You think so, Senator? How’s that going to change a damned thing, really?”

  Allingham didn’t have an answer for that question. He stood there with his hands hanging at his sides, no longer clenched into fists, and glared at Stahlmaske.

  The count returned the glare for a second, then strode toward his cabin, obviously unapologetic. Roderick looked like he wanted to say something to the senator, maybe offer an apology on behalf of his brother, but then he changed his mind. Allingham wouldn’t have believed it or accepted it anyway, thought Preacher.

  The group on deck broke up, the men drifting away until Preacher and Russell were left standing there by themselves. Russell sighed and said, “I’m wondering if it’s too late to just say the hell with this job and head back to the mountains with you, Preacher.”

  “Sounds like a mighty fine idea,” Preacher said, “except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Without us around to take care of ’em, you really think this bunch can make it to the Yellowstone and back alive?”

  Russell’s gloomy silence was all the answer either of them needed.

  CHAPTER 22

  Preacher’s diminutive friend Audie could recite much of Shakespeare’s work, and Preacher had spent many an evening around a campfire listening to the former professor spout lines from the plays written by the man Audie called the Bard of Avon.

  It seemed like all those plays were packed full of treachery and sneaking around and folks carrying on shamelessly with people they weren’t married to, even the ones that were supposed to be comedies.

  The whole situation on the Sentinel was starting to remind Preacher of one of those plays.

  The atmosphere on board the riverboat was tense the next day. Allingham and the count stayed well clear of each other. Any time one of them was in the salon, the other wasn’t.

  Margaret Allingham stayed in her cabin all day, as did Gretchen Ritter. Gretchen must have heard about what had happened and was embarrassed to show her face after it had been revealed to everyone on board that her fiancé was a philanderer. And Margaret, Preacher thought, was just embarrassed, period. One of the female servants took meals to both women.

  Preacher, Russell, and Captain Warner were in the pilot house late that afternoon when they heard someone climbing the stairs. A moment later the door opened and Josiah Allingham lumbered in, a gloomy expression on his face.

  Preacher wasn’t too happy to see the senator. He had come up here to get away from the drama and trouble going on down on the passenger deck.

  “Gentlemen, is it all right if I join you?” Allingham asked.

  The pilot house wasn’t very big, but having four people in it wouldn’t be too crowded. Without that to use as an excuse, Preacher supposed the captain couldn’t deny Allingham entrance.

  “Sure, come on in, Senator,” Warner said gruffly. “You haven’t been up here yet, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Allingham replied as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He looked around through the open windows and went on, “You really have a spectacular view from up here, don’t you?”

  “Best on the river,” Warner agreed. “You take one of those bigger boats, the side-wheelers that go up and down the Mississippi to New Orleans, and they have an extra deck on ’em that puts the pilot house up even higher. You can really see from one of those. But I like this boat, myself.” He chuckled. “She and I seem to understand each other.”

  “Like in a good marriage,” Allingham said, and that cast an immediate pall on the conversation. He hurried on, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  Russell told him, “Don’t worry about it, Senator. I reckon all of us have had our share of personal problems at one time or another.”

  “I just wish mine hadn’t ruined this journey for everyone.”

  “The journey’s not ruined,” Warner said. “We’re still going to the mouth of the Yellowstone, and when we get there we’ll be trading with trappers who come from a hundred miles or more all around. I expect we’ll take on a mighty fine load of pelts, just as planned. No offense, Senator, but that’s all the American Fur Company really cares about.”

  “I don’t suppose, then, that there’s any chance we could turn around and go back now?”

  The other three men in the pilot house stared at the senator. Preacher was as surprised as Russell and Warner, but he didn’t figure this discussion was really any of his business, so he kept his mouth shut.

  Warner finally answered the senator’s question by saying, “I reckon I’d probably lose my job as the captain of this boat if I did that.”

  “And I’d be out of a job, too,” Russell added. “The company’s counting on me to deliver that load of pelts.”

  Allingham sighed and nodded.

  “I shouldn’t have even asked,” he said. “I just thought, if there was some way to put a stop to this misery . . .”

  “We’re all mighty sorry for your troubles, Senator,” Russell told him, “but we have our own responsibilities.”

  “Of course you do. Please, just forget I said anything.” Allingham turned to go, then paused. “If I could just . . . talk to someone about what happened . . .”

  Preacher, Russell, and Warner glanced at each other like they all wished they were somewhere else right now. Just about anywhere else, in fact.

  “You don’t want to do that, Senator,” Russell said after a few seconds. “It’ll just make you feel worse.”

  “You’re probably right. Are you married, Simon?”

  “No, sir. Never have been.”

  “What about you, Captain?”

  “Going on thirty years,” Warner replied. “Six children and nine grandchildren so far.”

  Allingham smiled. “That’s wonderful. I hope to have grandchildren some day.”

  Considering how hot-blooded the senator’s daughter seemed to be, Preacher figured that was pretty well inevitable. He kept that thought to himself.

  “Of course, it’s going to be different now,” Allingham went on. “Everything will be different when we get back to Washington. I’ll probably have to resign my seat in the Senate a
nd move back to Vermont. I suppose I can work in the store again. Margaret will hate that . . . will hate me . . . but given that she already does . . .” He sighed. “I should have just let her continue. Confronting her certainly hasn’t helped matters between us. My suspicions just ate away at me until I had to do something—”

  He grunted and stumbled, bumping into Preacher. The mountain man grabbed Allingham to steady him and saw the arrow protruding from the man’s upper right arm.

  Instinctively, Preacher took note of the markings and fletching on the arrow. It was Pawnee, a tribe that was peaceful for the most part—but their warriors were excellent fighters when they decided to go on the warpath, as they obviously were now.

  “Good Lord!” Russell exclaimed as he realized that Allingham had been shot. “Better pour on the steam, Captain!”

  Warner had already grabbed the speaking tube.

  “Give me all you got!” he shouted into it. “We’ve got Indians up here!”

  The question was how many, Preacher thought as he lowered Allingham to the floor of the pilot house. The senator sat with his back propped against the wall. He had gone pale from the pain radiating from the arrow in his arm.

  Preacher knelt beside him and said, “You’ll be all right, Senator. It probably hurts like blazes, but I can tell it ain’t a bad wound. You just sit right there and we’ll tend to it later.”

  “We’re . . . we’re under attack,” Allingham said unnecessarily. He seemed to be having a hard time believing it.

  “Yep.” Preacher raised himself higher but remained in a crouch as he scanned the landscape on both sides of the Missouri.

  So far no other arrows had struck the pilot house. He hoped the one that had hit Allingham had been fired by a lone brave who happened to be on shore when the riverboat passed by and thought it would be good medicine to shoot an arrow at the smoking, rumbling monster.

  Russell was on the other side of the pilot house, looking out the window warily. “See anything?” he asked Preacher.

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s a Pawnee arrow.”