“Oh, I don’t mind learnin’,” Jake said. “It was sittin’ in a schoolroom on a pretty day that I didn’t like.”
“Well, there are no schoolrooms where we’ll be going, I expect, or at least there won’t be any time soon. Perhaps once the trading post is established, I might think about starting a school, too. Some of the Indian children might like to be educated.”
Again, Preacher had to hide a grimace. Jerome Hart would get his hair lifted if he started trying to mess too much with the Indians and their ways. Most of them just wanted to be left alone to live the way they had always lived. Trying to change them had probably caused more trouble between the white men and the red men than anything else.
“Well, how about it?” Preacher asked. “Think you might be willin’ to take the boy along? He’d earn his keep.”
“Before I agree to anything, I need to know a few more things,” Jerome said. “What relation is Jake to you?”
“No relation. We’re just friends.”
“Does he have any family here? How do they feel about sending him west with our wagon train?”
Preacher hesitated. He hadn’t said anything about the problem with Jonathan Brant, and he had warned Jake not to mention it either. The Harts wouldn’t want to take Jake along with them if they thought they might get in trouble with the law for doing so. Once the wagon train reached the mountains, though, Preacher figured it wouldn’t really matter that much. There would be nothing Jake’s pa could do about it anymore.
Before Preacher could reply, Jake spoke up. “I ain’t got no family,” he said. “I’m a orphan.”
Jerome gave him a stern look. “You don’t have any family. You are an orphan.”
Jake sighed and shook his head. “You sure do like repeatin’ everything folks say to you, Mr. Hart.”
Jerome’s mouth tightened and he said, “We’ll discuss that later. For now, I’m tempted to say that yes, we’ll take the lad along with us. But there are two conditions.”
“What might those be?” Preacher asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“One is that my cousin agrees. Corliss and I are equal partners and we each have a say in every decision, even the small ones.”
“And what’s the other one?”
Jerome said exactly the thing that Preacher didn’t want to hear.
“That you accept the job as our guide and come with us, too, Preacher.”
Eight
Jake turned to look up eagerly at him. “Yeah, Preacher,” he said. “You can come, too!”
“No, I can’t. I got business here in St. Louis—” Preacher began.
“We’re not leaving for a couple of days,” Jerome pointed out, echoing what Corliss had told Preacher that afternoon at the cemetery. “Perhaps you could conclude your business by then.”
Preacher scratched at his bearded jaw. “Well, maybe,” he allowed. “But I can’t be sure about that.”
“Let me ask you this . . . were you going to be returning to the mountains anyway?”
“Sure. The fall trappin’ season will be comin’ up, and I plan to get another load o’ pelts.”
“Then doesn’t it make sense to travel with a large party like ours? I’m sure it much safer for you that way than being by yourself.”
Preacher wasn’t at all sure of that. He’d always figured that he could take care of himself just fine, and it would be easier if he didn’t have a bunch of pilgrims to look after. But of course a city-bred fella like Jerome would think it was safer to have a bunch of folks traveling together. In most cases he’d even be right.
Still, if it wasn’t for wanting to find the two men who’d killed Abby and tried to kill him, Preacher would have accepted the offer without hesitation. The Harts and the men who worked for them would have a better chance of survival with Preacher going along to guide them and keep them out of trouble. And now there was the matter of Jake’s future to consider, too. It was a damned dilemma, all right, and Preacher was on the horns of it.
“Where’s that cousin of yours?” he asked Jerome, stalling for time. “You said he’d have to go along with the plan.”
“Corliss is staying at the Excelsior Hotel, along with his fiancée.”
“Oh, yeah, I recollect him sayin’ something about that. I thought it was you and him stayin’ there, though. He didn’t mention any fiancée when he was talkin’ to me.” Preacher frowned. “The gal ain’t goin’ along with the wagon train, is she?”
Jerome’s mouth tightened. “Not that it’s really any business of yours, but no, Miss Morrigan won’t be accompanying us. She’ll be waiting for Corliss here in St. Louis. When the trading post is well established, he intends to return here, and they’ll be wed. Corliss will then run this end of our business enterprise.”
“Makes sense. There’re damn few white females out there where you’re talkin’ about goin’, and there’s a good reason for that. The frontier can be a mighty dangerous place.”
“And yet you’d send a young lad there,” Jerome said with a gesture toward Jake.
“That’s different,” the boy said before Preacher could reply. “I can take care o’ myself.”
“We shall see.” Jerome turned his attention back to Preacher. “What do you say to my proposal? Will you come along with us?”
“Can’t tell you one way or the other right now,” Preacher replied. “Give me a day or two to see what I can work out. In the meantime, you reckon Jake can stay here with you folks?”
Jerome nodded. “I think that would be all right. There are chores to do around the camp while we’re getting ready to depart. He can help with them, in exchange for his food and shelter.”
“I’m obliged to you.” Preacher stuck out his hand.
Jerome took it rather gingerly, as if he were afraid that Preacher would try to crush his fingers with his grip, but Preacher didn’t do any such thing. A strong man didn’t need to go around proving it.
Preacher patted Jake on the back and said, “Be seein’ you, son.” He turned and started to walk away, but he had gone only a few yards when Jake ran after him, calling his name. Preacher stopped and turned back, dropping to one knee because he could tell by the look on Jake’s face that the youngster was upset about something.
Keeping his voice pitched low enough so that only the two of them could hear, Jake said, “Preacher, I ... I got to thinkin’ about my pa. I know I said I hate him, but he’s liable to worry about me when I don’t never come back. He might think somethin’ bad happened to me. I don’t know that I’d want him thinkin’ that, or never knowin’ what become of me.”
Preacher thought it over and nodded. “I reckon I can understand that. Bad as he is, he’s your pa. Tell you what . . . if I don’t go with the wagon train, then after you’re gone, after enough time’s gone by so that he can’t do anything about it, I’ll go see your pa and tell him where you went. I’ll tell him that you’re all right and there ain’t no need for him to worry about you. How’d that be?”
“I reckon it’d be all right,” Jake said. “But he’s liable to be awful mad at you for helpin’ me get away.”
Preacher smiled. “I ain’t worried overmuch about whether or not your pa gets mad.”
“Yeah, you already whipped him once. I reckon you can do it again if you need to.” Jake thought some more. “But what about if you come with us? I’m hopin’ you do.”
“Then before I go I’ll write a letter for your pa, explainin’ everything. I’ll give it to Mr. Larson to give to him later, after we’re good an’ gone. How’s that?”
Jake grinned and bobbed his head. “Yeah, that’ll work. Thanks, Preacher.”
“Sure thing.” Preacher stood up and ruffled the boy’s hair. “You run on back to Mr. Hart now, and do what he says, hear?”
“Yeah.” Jake sighed and added, “He’s gonna try to learn me a bunch o’ stuff, ain’t he?”
“More’n likely. You’re just gonna have to put up with it, though. Gettin’ educated’s ju
st part o’ the price of bein’ free.”
“Free,” Jake repeated. “I like the sound of that.”
So did Preacher. Always had, and always would.
* * *
The dull, faint headache that plagued him all day because of the pistol ball that grazed his head was gone by the next morning. Preacher was fast to recover from most injuries, and this one was no different.
He spent the day combing the town for anybody who knew or had seen the two men he was looking for. Without names or more detailed descriptions, though, it was difficult. St. Louis had grown by leaps and bounds in the decades since it was founded, and now more than six thousand citizens lived there. It wasn’t difficult for two men to lose themselves in that many people, if they didn’t want to be found.
Preacher made no secret of the fact that he was looking for them. He spread the word far and wide, all up and down the riverfront and in other areas of the settlement, in hopes that if the killers heard that he was on their trail, they might come to him, instead of the other way around, and try to kill him again. Preacher was more than willing to take that chance in return for another shot at them.
But nothing came of those efforts either, and as another evening settled down, Preacher had to admit that he didn’t seem to be any closer to the men he sought than he had been when he started. He headed for the wagon camp on the outskirts of town, figuring at least he could find out how Jake was getting along with Jerome Hart and the other members of the party.
When Preacher got there, Jake was carrying a couple buckets of water to fill a trough for the oxen in the center of the circle. The boy spotted him, grinned, and called, “Hey, Preacher!” He started to set the buckets down, obviously intending to run over to the visitor.
Preacher motioned for him to stop. “Finish what you’re doin’,” he said. “A fella don’t get very far in the world by neglectin’ the chores he’s been given.”
Jake grimaced, but went on with his work. Preacher walked into the circle of wagons. More people were moving around the vehicles than he had seen there the night before. Preacher spotted Jerome Hart talking to a couple of brawny, roughly dressed men. Preacher pegged them as drivers that the Hart cousins had hired to handle the wagon teams. He didn’t know if Jerome and Corliss planned to drive any of the wagons themselves, or if they had hired help for all of them.
Jerome saw Preacher and lifted a hand in greeting. He finished his conversation with the two men and then came over to greet the mountain man.
“It’s good to see you again, Preacher,” Jerome said. “I hope this means you’ve decided to accept the offer to come with us.”
“Just came to check on the boy,” Preacher replied with a nod toward Jake, who was emptying the buckets into the water trough. “My business is still hangin’ fire.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. We’re going to be pulling out day after tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Perhaps your business will be concluded by then.”
Preacher just grunted. He didn’t know what was going to happen. He’d never been much of a hand at predicting the future.
Jake had finished with his chore. Carrying the empty buckets, he hurried over to Preacher and Jerome. Preacher grinned at him and asked, “How’re you likin’ it here?”
“I like it just fine,” Jake said. “Mr. Hart’s been nice to me so far. He gives me chores to do, but he don’t beat me and yell at me and call me a sinner if I don’t do ’em exactly right the first time.”
Jerome frowned. “Beat you and call you a sinner? Who in the world would treat a boy like that?”
Preacher could tell by Jake’s sudden expression of alarm that the youngster realized he might have said too much. But Jake recovered quickly, replying in an offhand manner, “Oh, just a fella who looked after me for a while.”
“Well, that’s no way to be,” Jerome said with a sniff of disapproval. “You did well to get away from that individual, I’d say.”
“Yeah, I’d say so, too,” Preacher agreed.
Face flushed with excitement, Jake told Preacher, “Mr. Hart says I can have a rifle o’ my own to use durin’ the trip, if I can show him that I know how to use one. Ain’t that great?”
“Isn’t that great,” Jerome corrected.
“Yeah.” Jake nodded. “I meant, isn’t that great.” From the sound of it, he was beginning to understand that he was going to have to put up with Jerome correcting his language and grammar if he wanted to go west with the wagon train.
Preacher felt a twinge of worry. The cousins’ party might well run into trouble out there on the plains or in the mountains. Was he taking too great a chance with Jake’s life by sending the boy along?
On the other hand, Jake seemed to be convinced that his life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel if he stayed here in St. Louis with his pa. Preacher figured Jake would know more about the truth of that situation than he ever could.
Anyway, all of life was a risk, no matter where you went or what you did. Misfortune could strike without warning at any time, often with tragic results. But if a man dwelled too much on that, he’d drive himself plumb loco. You had to just hope that everything would be all right and forge on ahead.
It never hurt to try to stack the odds in your favor, though.
Jerome looked past Preacher and Jake and said, “Here comes my cousin now.”
Preacher turned and saw Corliss Hart coming toward the wagons. A woman was with him. Preacher supposed she was Corliss’s fiancée. She wasn’t stunningly beautiful, but she was very pretty, with a sweet, heart-shaped face and thick dark hair bound at the back of her neck.
Another man trailed behind Corliss and the woman. He was tall and heavy-shouldered, his muscles stretching the buckskin shirt he wore. His broad-brimmed felt hat was thumbed back on a thatch of red hair, and he had a spiky beard of the same color. A long-barreled flintlock rifle was tucked under his arm, and a pistol and a knife had been stuck behind his belt. He looked vaguely familiar to Preacher, but the mountain man couldn’t place him.
“Hello, Preacher,” Corliss said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Preacher inclined his head toward Jake. “Came to check on the boy.”
“Yes, of course, the boy.” Neither Corliss’s expression nor his voice were very friendly this evening. “We’re not good enough for you to accept our job offer, but you don’t hesitate to stick us with the job of caring for a brat.”
“Corliss!” Jerome said. “Jake is not a brat. He’s been very helpful and cooperative.”
Jake didn’t seem offended by Corliss’s words. In fact, he said, “That’s all right, Mr. Hart. I been called a whole heap worse in my time.”
“Still, there’s no need to be rude,” Jerome insisted.
“I quite agree,” the woman said with a stern frown at Corliss. “I know you can be a perfect gentleman when you want to be.”
“Sure, sure,” Corliss grumbled. “Sorry, I guess.”
The woman prodded him with an elbow as she smiled at Preacher. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Still grudgingly, Corliss said, “This is my fiancée, Miss Deborah Morrigan. Miss Morrigan, this is the man known as Preacher. I’m afraid I don’t know his real name.”
It was Arthur, but Preacher never used it anymore. He took off his hat, nodded politely to the woman, and said, “Preacher’ll do fine. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
“And I’m pleased to know you, Mr. Preacher. Or do you prefer not to be addressed as Mister?”
“That’d be best,” Preacher said, glad that for once he didn’t have to explain how there was no need to call him Mister.
Jerome gestured toward the red-bearded man who accompanied Corliss and Deborah and asked, “Who’s this?” The question surprised Preacher a mite, because he had figured that the man was another of the wagon drivers. Evidently, though, he was a stranger to Jerome.
“Oh,” Corliss said, turning toward the big man, “this is Merrick Fost
er. I’ve hired him to be our guide.”
Jerome’s eyes widened with surprise. “I thought we agreed that we wanted to hire Preacher.”
“Preacher had his chance to take the job,” Corliss snapped. “We can’t wait any longer for him to make up his mind.”
“But we’re not leaving until the day after tomorrow.”
“Yes, and if we wait until then and Preacher still doesn’t want to go, we’ll be faced with either starting west without a guide—which would be an incredibly foolish thing to do, I think—or accepting another delay while we try to find someone then. Time is money, Jerome.”
A smirk appeared on Merrick Foster’s rugged face as he looked at Preacher. He looked like he thought he had just come out on top in some sort of competition, but a race took two people, not just one, and Preacher hadn’t been competing for anything.
Jerome frowned as he mulled over what his cousin had said. After a moment, he looked at the mountain man and asked, “What do you think, Preacher?”
“I reckon your cousin’s got a point,” Preacher answered without hesitation. “It’d be a mighty foolish thing for you folks to start off without a guide.” He had recalled now where he knew Foster from, so he went on. “But there’re other things you could do that’d be just as foolish, maybe even more.”
“Oh?” Corliss challenged. “Like what?”
Preacher nodded toward Foster. “Like hirin’ this fella here. I wouldn’t trust the varmint as far as I could throw him.”
Foster’s smirk disappeared as his face darkened with fury. “You got no call to talk about me like that!” he said as he took a step toward Preacher. His free hand balled into a fist, and the other one tightened on the rifle he carried.
“No?” Preacher said, his voice cool with disdain. “What happened to your partners the last time you went trappin’, up in the Tetons? Seems to me like they got ambushed on the Snake River and wiped out by Sioux because you went and messed around with one o’ those Indian gals when she didn’t want no part of you. How is it you were the only one who survived, Foster? You figure out what was gonna happen and slip away first, leavin’ your partners there to distract the war party?”
Preacher's Showdown Page 7
