“What if he runs into a grizzly or some other dangerous animal?” Corliss asked.
“Or an Indian?” Jerome put in.
Those were both legitimate worries, Preacher supposed. But he thought if he went after the boy and started calling his name, Jake was liable to run even farther away from the camp to get away from him.
“Give him a minute or two to cool off, and then I’ll go find him.”
The others didn’t look too happy with that suggestion, but they nodded grudgingly. “You’re right about one thing,” Jerome said. “Jake can’t live with you. He needs to stay with me.”
“Or Deborah and me,” Corliss said.
Preacher left them there to waste time and energy on that argument if they wanted to. He picked up his rifle and started toward the edge of camp. Blackie fell in step beside him.
“I’ll go with you,” the one-eyed man offered. “I had me a kid once. I know how they like to hide.”
Preacher nodded. “I’m obliged,” he said. He wondered what had happened to Blackie’s kid. From the tone of the man’s voice, the youngster was dead. Or maybe it was just that Blackie had abandoned the child, along with its mother, to come west. That happened a lot, too.
With the instinctive quiet of natural woodsmen, they moved out of the camp and began searching for Jake.
* * *
Sitting on a log, sobbing almost silently to himself, Jake tried to figure out why Preacher didn’t want him around. He couldn’t understand it. He reckoned he just wasn’t a good enough kid for anybody to want him.
A soft sound behind him made him stop crying for a second and lift his head. Somebody was back there. Maybe Preacher had come to look for him! Maybe Preacher would let him be a mountain man after all!
Jake was starting to get to his feet and turn around when a hard hand clamped like iron over his mouth and jerked him backward.
Twenty-five
The sounds of a scuffle suddenly came from the brush in front of Preacher and Blackie. Knowing that Jake was out there somewhere and that the boy could be in trouble, the two mountain men didn’t hesitate. They broke into a run toward the spot where somebody was rustling around and thrashing through the thick bushes.
Before they could get there, a shape burst out of the brush and rushed toward them. Preacher and Blackie stopped and swung their rifles up, but Preacher snapped, “Hold it!” before either he or Blackie could squeeze the trigger. “That’s Jake!” “
He lowered his gun and stepped forward to catch the boy, who seemed to be charging blindly through the night. Jake let out a “Whoof!” as Preacher grabbed him around the middle with one arm. He started to flail around and yelled, “Lemme go, you damned redskin! Lemme go!”
“Settle down!” Preacher told him. “Jake, it’s me, Preacher! ”
The words must have gotten through to the youngster’s brain, because Jake stopped his terrified struggling and grabbed on to Preacher for dear life.
“Lord!” Jake said. “I thought for sure he was gonna scalp me!”
Blackie still held his rifle ready for instant use. “You say there’s an Injun out here somewheres, younker?” he asked Jake.
“Y-yeah. I was sittin’ on a log over yonder when he grabbed me from behind. I thought he was gonna scalp me!”
Preacher moved Jake behind him, just in case an arrow or a tomahawk came flying out of the darkness. “You’re sure it was an Indian?” he asked.
“Yeah. I twisted around and got a look at him. I couldn’t see him real good ’cause it’s dark, but I saw the feathers in his hair.”
“How’d you get away from him?”
“He had his hand over my mouth, so I bit the hell out of it.”
Preacher couldn’t stop a grim smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth under the drooping mustache. Jake had plenty of fighting spirit, that was for sure.
“What happened then?”
“He let go of me, and I started runnin’ back to camp. I was afraid he’d grab me again, or shoot an arrow at me, so I ran as fast as I could.”
“Made enough racket to be a grizzly bear chargin’ through that brush, too,” Blackie said. “Chances are, if there was really a Injun, he’s long gone by now.”
Sounding offended, Jake said, “Hey! What do you mean, if there was really a Injun? You think I made the whole thing up?”
“No, I reckon you didn’t,” Preacher said. “You’ve never been the sort o’ kid who makes up stories all the time, like some do.”
Blackie said, “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I thought you was lyin’. Was there just one redskin?”
“One was all I heard or saw. But it’s dark. There could have been others.”
Preacher didn’t doubt that. He seemed to feel eyes on him even now, watching him from the darkness.
“All right, let’s get back to camp,” he said. “I reckon the others are probably worried about us.”
Blackie put a hand on Jake’s shoulder and steered him toward the wagons, while Preacher backed away from the spot where Jake had encountered the Indian, holding his rifle ready just in case. No one followed them or took a shot at them, and a few minutes later they were back in camp, where Deborah let out a cry of relief at the sight of Jake and hurried forward to throw her arms around the boy and hug him.
Jake looked uncomfortable. He tolerated the hug for a few moments and then started trying to pry himself loose. Corliss and Jerome were both right there, too, hovering anxiously over him.
“Are you all right, Jake?” Jerome asked. “We heard shouting. Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine,” Jake said, his voice a little muffled because Deborah still had his head pressed to her bosom. “I just got grabbed by a Injun, that’s all.”
“An Indian!” Corliss said.
“But I got away from him,” Jake went on, “and then I ran into Preacher and Blackie and they brought me back here.”
“How did you get away from him?” Jerome wanted to know.
Jake managed to worm his way out of Deborah’s embrace and explained again about biting his captor’s hand. “He just grunted a little, didn’t yell or nothin’. But from the way he turned loose o’ me right quicklike, I’ll bet it hurt him plenty.”
“I’ll bet it did, too,” Preacher said with a chuckle. “Most fellas can’t stand bein’ bit.”
“There was just one Indian?” Corliss asked.
“Just one that I saw,” Jake said. “But there could’ve been a whole war party out there for all I know.” He glanced down at the ground, a sheepish expression on his round face. “I reckon I shouldn’t have gone runnin’ off like that, just ’cause I got mad.”
Deborah said, “You certainly shouldn’t have. You had us all very worried, Jake. Don’t do that again.”
“I won’t,” the boy promised. “But you got to stop fightin’ over me. I don’t know what I’ll do when we get where we’re goin’, but it ought to be my decision, oughtn’t it?”
“You’re too young to make any important decisions, like where you’re going to live,” Jerome said. “We’re just trying to look out for your best interests, Jake.”
“That’s why Deborah and I think you should live with us,” Corliss added.
Jerome began, “That’s not necessarily—” “
Preacher held up a hand to stop him. “There’s been enough squabblin’ tonight,” he said in a tone that would brook no further argument. “You can figure out what Jake’s gonna do later, after we get to South Pass. For now, let’s just worry about gettin’ there with our hair still on our heads and all those trade goods intact.”
Jerome sighed and nodded. “You’re right, Preacher. What do you think that Indian wanted with Jake?”
“They’ll carry off white kids from time to time,” Preacher replied with a shrug. “They take ’em into the tribe and raise ’em up like family. When they’re raidin’, Indians will kill youngsters, but when they grab one like that, they generally don’t mean him any
harm, at least accordin’ to their lights. Chances are that one wouldn’t have hurt Jake.”
“But he would’ve carried me off and tried to make a Injun out of me?” Jake sounded astounded. “That’d be worse’n killin’ me!”
Preacher didn’t agree with that, but he didn’t say anything. Everybody needed to calm down instead of rehashing what had happened. The danger appeared to be over.
For now.
When things had settled down some and most of the members of the group were sitting around the fire again, Preacher went to check on Horse. Blackie followed him and asked in a quiet voice that couldn’t be overheard by the others, “You reckon there was just the one Injun?”
“No tellin’. Could’ve been. Could’ve been a whole war party out there.”
“If that was true, they would’ve gone ahead and jumped us, wouldn’t they?”
“You been to see the elephant, Blackie,” Preacher said. “You know there’s no way of knowin’ what an Indian’s gonna do. What seems right to him might not make a lick o’ sense to you and me.” Preacher scraped a thumbnail along his jaw. “But I got a feelin’ there was just the one warrior. Don’t know why, but that’s what my gut tells me.”
“What’d he want with Jake?”
“Don’t know . . . but if he tries again, maybe we’ll find out.”
* * *
Schuyler didn’t feel all that confident about leading Fairfax and the others back to the canyon in the darkness. But he just had to get them close to it, he realized. The wagons wouldn’t be making their way up that long valley until morning, and it would take them a couple of hours at least, probably longer, to reach the canyon. Plenty of time after sunup for the ambushers to find the place and get into position.
That was what happened. Schuyler was able to get the gang within half a mile of the canyon, and then as the gray light of dawn began to spread, he got his bearings even more and led them the rest of the way, assisted by Loomis and Burns, who had also been there.
As the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon, Colin Fairfax surveyed the scene and nodded in approval. “You were right, Schuyler,” he said. “This is a good place for an ambush. Everyone spread out. I want men on both sides of the canyon. Find good spots with plenty of cover, where you can fire down on those wagons as they come through. But,” he added, “nobody fires until I give the word. Is that understood?”
Nods of agreement came from the men.
As they fanned out over the rocky, wooded slopes that formed the canyon, Schuyler came up to Fairfax and said, “Don’t forget what I told you last night. Preacher’s mine.”
Fairfax grunted. “You’re welcome to him. Just don’t miss this time. The quicker he dies, the better.”
Schuyler nodded, so anxious to settle the score at last that he didn’t even take offense at Fairfax’s reminder of his previous failures. He was in total agreement.
The sooner Preacher died, the better.
* * *
Because of Jake’s encounter with the Indian, everyone was especially watchful the rest of that night, but nothing else happened and the wagon train was ready to move on the next morning with a minimum of fuss.
Before starting out, they refilled the water barrels from the creek. The oxen had enjoyed the water and the thick grass. This was probably the best grazing the animals would have for a while, Preacher thought. There would be enough grass along the way to sustain them, but the pastures between here and South Pass weren’t as lushly carpeted as this valley.
Jake seemed to be none the worse for wear after his experience the night before, and now that he had recovered from his fear and the adults had stopped fighting over who he was going to stay with, he was back to being his usual cheerful, inquisitive self. He was asking Jerome questions about running a trading post as Preacher loped past on Horse, with Dog trotting alongside.
Since the open sweep of the valley made everything in it visible, Preacher rode farther out in front of the wagons than he usually did, letting the stallion stretch his legs for a change. The wagons dropped back a mile behind him, then a mile and a half as Preacher approached the canyon at the far end of the valley.
He hadn’t forgotten about that fleeting impression of movement he had seen in the canyon late in the afternoon of the previous day. After what had happened to Jake, Preacher had to wonder if what he had seen was that Indian lurking around. As he drew closer now to the canyon, his eyes scanned the slopes carefully, searching for any sign of trouble.
And as he searched, he rode closer . . . closer . . .
* * *
“I can hit him!” Schuyler whispered to Fairfax as they crouched behind a pair of boulders, peering through the tiny gap between the rocks. “I know I can!” Schuyler started to lift his rifle.
“Wait, damn it!” Fairfax whispered back as he grabbed the barrel of Schuyler’s rifle and forced it back down. “He’s still too far away! And even if you did hit him, those wagons are still more than a mile back down the canyon. The shot would just warn them, and they’d stop before they’re in the trap where we want them!”
Schuyler grimaced. He hated to admit it, but he knew Fairfax was right. As much as he wanted to blow a hole through Preacher, opening fire now would be a mistake.
“What’s he doin’? How come he ain’t back with the wagons?”
“He’s worried,” Fairfax said. “His instincts tell him this is a good place for an ambush.” He frowned in concern. “I hope everyone has enough sense to stay down and keep hidden, damn it. The last thing we need is for someone to get overeager and give the game away.”
Like he had almost done, Schuyler thought. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves and pushed his desire for Preacher’s death to the back of his mind.
That time would come soon enough, he promised himself. Just a little while longer, and Preacher would be right in his sights.
* * *
Preacher didn’t see anything unusual about the canyon, so after a few minutes he turned and rode back toward the wagons. A continuing feeling of uneasiness rode with him, though.
When he reached the lead wagon, he held up a hand in a signal for Jerome to stop. Jerome hauled back on the reins and brought the lumbering oxen to a halt. “What is it?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
Preacher jerked his head toward the far end of the canyon. “I got a bad feelin’ about that place up yonder. As slow as these wagons are, we’ll be easy targets while we’re goin’ through it, and there are plenty o’ hidin’ places on those slopes where somebody could be waitin’ to ambush us.”
“Indians, you mean?” Jerome asked with a worried frown. Preacher saw that Jake was starting to look a mite concerned, too.
He gave Jerome an honest answer. “I don’t know. Could be Indians or renegade whites or nobody at all. Could be I’m just imaginin’ trouble where it ain’t. But I’ve lived out here too long to just ignore what my gut’s tryin’ to tell me.”
“And I don’t want you to,” Jerome answered without hesitation. “What do you think we should do?”
Preacher thought it over, then said, “Not much we can do except keep goin’. It’d take too long to turn around and go back. Anyway, this route has the best grass and water. But keep your eyes wide open. Be ready for trouble. Jake, first sign of it you see, I want you to hop back there in the wagon bed and get your head down. And stay there until somebody tells you it’s all right.”
“I can fight, Preacher,” the boy said. “It’d be better to give me a rifle and let me be ready to shoot if I need to.”
Preacher mulled that over for a few seconds before shaking his head. “It ain’t that I don’t trust you,” he said. “I do. But you’re a kid, Jake. You don’t need to be fightin’ and maybe killin’.”
“What about you?” Jake insisted. “You fought British soldiers at the Battle o’ New Orleans when you weren’t that much older’n me. I’ll bet you killed some of ’em, too.”
“How’d you know about that?”
“Blackie told me. He said you were a mountain man by the time you were fifteen, and everybody out here knew that.”
“That ol’ boy talks a mite too much once he gets warmed up,” Preacher said. “Do what I told you, Jake.”
“Yeah, sure,” the boy said with a sigh, but Preacher wasn’t convinced he would follow orders.
There was nothing he could do about that except hope, so he moved on down the line of wagons, warning all the other members of the party. He gave Deborah the same orders he had given Jake—in case of trouble, get in the back of the wagon and stay down. Unlike the youngster, she nodded in quick agreement, having already come through one battle unharmed that way.
Then, having done all he could to get ready for the potential danger, Preacher wheeled Horse around and rode toward the far end of the valley once more. Because of the steepness of the high slopes, not much sunlight would penetrate between them until later in the day. The canyon lay dark and gloomy as it waited for Preacher and the wagons that followed him.
* * *
“All right,” Fairfax breathed. “This time you can kill him.”
A cruel grin stretched across Schuyler’s face as he lifted his rifle to his shoulder and nestled his beard-stubbled cheek against the smooth wood of its stock. His thumb hooked over the hammer and pulled it back. He rested the barrel against the side of the boulder to steady it, and drew a bead on the buckskin-clad mountain man leading the wagon train into the canyon.
“Let them get a little farther,” Fairfax whispered. “I’ll tell you when to fire. That will be the signal for everyone else.”
Schuyler heard the pulse pounding in his head. A killing lust coursed through his veins. He settled the rifle’s sights on Preacher’s broad chest. All that was lacking was the slightest pressure on the trigger.
A sound whispered behind them, the soft scuff of leather on rock. Fairfax heard it, and started to turn toward the other boulders clustered behind them on the slope.
* * *
With a shrill scream of anger and his knife upraised in his hand to kill, Antelope Fleet as the Wind launched himself from the top of the rock behind the two white men.
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