“I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” he told her. He took the knife from her hand.
Sherwood stepped up beside Fairfax and asked, “Are you gonna go ahead and shoot Preacher?”
Fairfax knew that he should press the rifle’s trigger and end Preacher’s annoying existence at last. Every minute the mountain man remained alive was another minute that Preacher might somehow, miraculously, turn things to his advantage.
But for the life of him, Fairfax didn’t see any way Preacher could get out of this predicament. For God’s sake, the man was so battered and exhausted he could barely stand! Fairfax could tell just by looking at him that Preacher was on the verge of collapse.
“Not yet,” he said. “Take them all prisoner. Tie them up.”
Sherwood hesitated. “Are you sure, Boss? I really think you ought to go ahead and shoot him.”
“Blast it, I gave you an order!” Fairfax said. “Now carry it out!”
With obvious reluctance, Sherwood nodded. “All right, boys, you heard the man. Let’s take ’em.”
The men from the settlement clearly wanted to fight back, but menaced by a dozen guns as they were, they would have been throwing away their lives. Fairfax’s men moved in and lashed their hands behind their backs with rawhide thongs.
They left Preacher for last. Following Fairfax’s instructions, three men in addition to himself kept their rifles trained on the mountain man. Then three more men moved in with a rope.
Since Preacher’s broken left arm was already lashed to his side, Fairfax’s men wrapped the rope around his torso and bound his right arm to his side as well. That was the easiest way to make sure he couldn’t fight back. They took several turns with the rope and then tied it tightly.
Then and only then did Fairfax lower his rifle and signal to his men to do likewise.
“At last,” he said as he came down the slope toward Preacher. “You’ll never ruin my plans again, you bastard.”
“Won’t need to,” Preacher drawled with maddening coolness. “I reckon you’ll find a way to do that yourself, Fairfax.”
Fairfax felt his face turn hot as angry blood flooded into it. Without thinking about what he was doing, he gave in to the impulse that seized him and rammed the muzzle of his rifle into Preacher’s belly as hard as he could.
That brought a startled cry from the blonde. She put her hand to her mouth as if in horror as Preacher turned gray and doubled over from the blow.
Fairfax grinned as he said to the woman, “You were ready to cut his throat, but you don’t like it when somebody else hurts him?”
He saw cold dislike in her eyes as she said, “I was trying to save our lives. You’re just being vicious.”
“Believe me, he’s got it coming,” and with that Fairfax smashed his rifle’s stock across Preacher’s face and drove the mountain man to the ground. Angry growls came from some of the men who had been part of the rescue party along with Preacher, but there was nothing they could do.
Blood dripped from Preacher’s mouth as he looked up at Fairfax and somehow managed to grin.
“You got the upper hand right now, mister,” he said, “but it may not always be that way.”
“Your threats don’t worry me. Not anymore.” Fairfax gestured to his men. “Put him with the others.”
A couple of the men grabbed Preacher’s arms and hauled him to his feet. The rough handling of his broken limb made him curse under his breath, but that was the only sign he exhibited of how much it must hurt to be manhandled like that.
Fairfax turned to the woman and the other two men. “Now,” he said, “what are we going to do with you?”
He paid no attention to the squaw, figuring that she belonged to one of the men and was inconsequential.
“I can make it worth your while to escort us farther east and help us find a wagon train on its way back to St. Louis,” the Englishman said.
“You can, can you?”
“That’s right. My name is Clyde Mallory.” He nodded toward the blonde. “My sister and I are agents of the British government.”
“You’re spies?” Fairfax couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice and off his face.
“Nothing quite so crass. We represent the interests of the British Empire.”
Fairfax shook his head. “I don’t give a damn about politics or empires. I just came out here to see to it that Preacher dies.”
“And you can accomplish that goal whenever it suits your fancy. He and his friends are completely in your power. Once you’ve disposed of them, there’ll be nothing stopping you from accepting my proposition.”
What Mallory was saying made sense, Fairfax realized…except for the fact that by going along with the Englishman, he’d be helping enemies of the United States.
On the other hand, what did he owe the United States anyway? The country had never fed him when he was hungry or put a roof over his head when he was cold and wet and shivering. It didn’t care when Schuyler died, and it sure hadn’t given a damn when Fairfax was trudging back to civilization, half starved and in constant terror that wild animals or Indians would kill him.
“You know what, mister?” he said as he came to a decision. “I think we can come to an arrangement. But we can’t settle anything until Preacher’s dead.”
Clyde Mallory nodded. “Indeed. And the sooner the better.”
Fairfax shook his head and said, “No, not quite. What I’ve got in mind is going to take some time, but we have plenty of it.” He looked at the mountain man and smiled. “Yes, we have plenty of time for Preacher to die.”
Chapter 29
Being trussed up like a pig ready to be taken to market had grated on Preacher’s nerves and put a bitter taste in his mouth. As the rope around his body was drawn tight, it had sent fresh throbs of pain through his injured arm. He fought off the dizziness that went with it.
Then Fairfax had punched him in the belly with that rifle barrel and knocked him to the ground, only to stand over him gloating.
The fella was toting up a nice big score to settle, Preacher thought as he lay there. He didn’t pay any attention to Fairfax’s blustering threats. The man could threaten all he wanted to as far as Preacher was concerned.
Because that meant Preacher was still alive, and as long as he was drawing breath, he wasn’t going to give up.
He knew good and well that Fairfax intended to torture him before killing him. That suspicion was confirmed as the afternoon wore on and evening approached. Fairfax had declared that they would camp for the night on the eastern side of the notch, at the base of the trail leading down to the prairie, and he ordered that a fire be built there.
“A good, hot fire,” he said with a vicious grin on his face.
The son of a bitch was going to burn him at the stake, Preacher thought.
That brought back a passel of memories, and not good ones either. Several years earlier, a band of Blackfeet had captured him and planned to burn him to death, thinking that was a suitable vengeance because he had killed several of their warriors.
However, an idea had occurred to Preacher—who was still known at that time as Art—and he had begun to spout Scripture just like a wild-eyed preacher he had seen once on the street back in St. Louis.
It was common knowledge that not even the most bloodthirsty Indians would harm a man they considered crazy, because they figured crazy men were protected by spirits and nobody wanted to get on the wrong side of any vengeful spirits.
Preacher had seen right away that the ploy had a chance of working. The Blackfeet had stared at him in amazement as the words continued to pour out of his mouth.
They were still staring more than twelve hours later. Preacher’s voice was raspy as an old rusty file by then, but he didn’t care. He would keep forcing the words out until the Blackfeet decided he was a lunatic and let him go.
Which, of course, they eventually did, and as a result the rest of the mountain men had taken to calling him Preacher as soon
as the story got around at the next Rendezvous. The handle had stuck for years now, and Preacher figured it was permanent.
As permanent as anything could be, that is, now that he once again faced a fiery death at the stake.
The light of day began to fade from the sky as Fairfax’s men brought firewood down from the hills and heaped it next to the ring of stones that had been arranged according to the bald man’s order.
Preacher sat cross-legged on the ground with the other prisoners, and watched bands of purple and gold and orange and blue make their way across the sky. It was a beautiful sight, as most sunsets were out here on the frontier.
If this was the last sunset he ever saw, then so be it. He was going to appreciate it, whether he lived to see the sun come up the next morning or not.
Laura, her brother, and Flagg were sitting together on the other side of the camp, talking quietly. Several times, Preacher had seen Laura stealing furtive glances at him. Even though she had been prepared to kill him herself if she had to, he could tell that she wasn’t happy about the way things had turned out since Fairfax’s arrival.
As Fairfax’s men heaped wood on the fire and the flames began to leap ever higher and brighter, Fairfax came across the camp to stand in front of Preacher with an ugly grin on his face.
“You’re blockin’ the view,” Preacher said. “I was lookin’ at the sunset.”
“It’s the last one you’ll ever see,” Fairfax said, unwittingly echoing the possibility Preacher had been thinking about just a moment earlier. “Do you know what’s going to happen to you?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t much give a damn,” Preacher lied. He wasn’t going to give Fairfax the satisfaction of seeing that he was worried.
“What do you give a damn about?”
“Well…I’m a mite curious.”
Fairfax looked like that surprised him. “Curious?” he repeated. “About what?”
“For a while there, folks kept tryin’ to kill me. Two men bushwhacked me whilst I was workin’ my trap lines, and a couple o’ days later three more varmints tried to crush me in a rock slide they started. Were those fellas workin’ for you?”
For a moment, Preacher thought Fairfax wasn’t going to answer, but then the man shrugged and said, “I don’t see what harm it could do to tell you. Yes, they worked for me. For what it’s worth, though, they weren’t supposed to kill you. They were scouts. They were just supposed to locate you and then send word back to me and the rest of the men.”
“Reckon they must’ve got carried away. Maybe they figured they’d earn a bonus if they killed me for you.”
The heavy-jawed man who seemed to be Fairfax’s second in command had walked up in time to hear Preacher’s speculation. He said, “There’s a bonus, all right. Five hundred dollars for the man who kills you, accordin’ to our boss back in St. Louis.”
Fairfax looked annoyed at that. Preacher found it interesting. He grinned at Fairfax and said, “I thought you was the boss. Reckon I was wrong.”
“I’m in charge of this group,” Fairfax snapped. “What I say goes.” He looked challengingly at the other man, whose name was Sherwood.
“Well, sure,” Sherwood said. “I didn’t mean anything else.”
Preacher wasn’t so sure, though. He sensed a certain tension between the two men. Maybe he could exploit that and take advantage of it…if he could manage to live long enough.
He was mighty curious, too, about that boss back in St. Louis Sherwood had mentioned. Was there more to all this than Preacher knew about?
Again, maybe he could find out if he survived what Fairfax had planned for him.
If not…well, then, it wouldn’t matter a whole hell of a lot, would it?
Fairfax glared at him and asked, “Have I indulged your curiosity enough?”
“Not quite,” Preacher said. “You were tryin’ to trick me when you and the rest of your bunch left the valley where the settlement’s located, weren’t you? You doubled back after a couple o’ days, after you made me think you were gone.”
Fairfax sneered. “I didn’t just try to trick you, Preacher. I did trick you. I never left the valley.”
“Then the fella I saw in the beaver hat…?”
“Wasn’t me. I traded hats with one of my men. They lured you away, and I went to the settlement.”
Preacher frowned. “Didn’t Corliss or Jerome recognize you from that dustup last year?”
“I was careful not to let either of them see me,” Fairfax explained. “I planned to kidnap Deborah Hart and use her as bait to lure you into a trap.”
Preacher felt a surge of hot rage inside him. “You’d do that?”
“Of course I would, if it helped me get what I want.”
“You’re lower’n a snake’s belly, Fairfax.”
The man laughed. “Your insults mean nothing to me.” He went on. “My plan would have worked, too, if not for that Indian attack. That almost ruined everything.”
“You didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“Of course not.” Fairfax waved a hand toward the trio huddled on the other side of the fire. “That was their doing, those two British spies and their henchman. All I wanted to do was kill you, not destroy the trading post and the settlement.” He stroked his chin. “Although now that I’ve thought about it, that’s not a bad idea. A certain someone in St. Louis would be quite happy to see the Harts put out of business.”
There it was again, a mention of some mysterious person in St. Louis who seemed to be pulling the strings on Fairfax’s vengeance quest. Preacher wondered if the same fella had been responsible for Fairfax and his partner trying to stop Corliss and Jerome from ever establishing the trading post in the first place.
It sure seemed possible, Preacher decided. Fairfax was a vicious little worm, but he didn’t strike Preacher as any sort of mastermind.
“You attack that settlement, you’ll be sorry,” Preacher said. “Those folks there are plenty tough. They’ve proved it more’n once.”
“Yes, but they won’t be expecting trouble. Sherwood’s been there, too. In fact, the Harts are expecting him to return with a large group of trappers.” Fairfax laughed. “As long as I’m not with them, my men will be welcomed with open arms. And then, once they’re inside, they’ll strike and take the stockade. They’ll control the food, and they’ll be able to starve out any of the settlers who are too stubborn to leave. Once they’re finally all gone, we’ll burn the trading post to the ground, and everything else in the settlement, too!”
Clyde Mallory had been watching Fairfax intently from the other side of the fire. Now he stood up, circled the blaze, and came toward him.
“Do you mean that about destroying the settlement, Mr. Fairfax?” the Englishman asked.
“You’re damned right I do,” Fairfax snapped. “I’ve got a score to settle with Corliss and Jerome Hart, too. Maybe not as big as the one I have against Preacher, but I want those bastards to pay for the part they played in killing my friend Schuyler and ruining all our plans.”
“Very well then,” Mallory said crisply. “You can forget about taking us to the wagon train. We’ll return to the settlement with you. Its destruction was our goal all along.”
“Will that king of yours be willing to pay for that, too?”
“I’ll see to it that you’re properly compensated,” Mallory promised.
Fairfax nodded. “We’ve got a deal then.” He jerked a thumb at Preacher. “But he dies first.”
“Of course.”
Fairfax leered at Preacher again. “All this talk got me distracted. I came over here to ask you if you know what’s going to happen to you, mountain man.”
“I got a pretty good idea what you think you’re gonna do,” Preacher said. “You plan on burnin’ me at the stake.”
“Not exactly, although it’s true that I want to hear you beg for your life as your skin blackens and cracks and curls away from your body. I want to hear you scream as the flesh melts r
ight off your bones.”
“Don’t hold your breath waitin’. That ain’t gonna happen.”
“Don’t be so sure. They say that fire does terrible things to a man.”
Preacher just looked up at him stonily. He wasn’t going to give Fairfax the satisfaction of showing any reaction, now or later, no matter what happened.
Fairfax turned away and ordered, “More wood on the fire! Build it up!” He looked over his shoulder at Preacher. “I’m not going to burn you at the stake. When that fire’s big enough I’m going to have my men throw you in it like a piece of garbage!”
Fairfax stalked away. Uncle Dan, tied hand and foot like the others, was sitting fairly close to Preacher. He leaned closer still and said, “That fella’s plumb loco.”
“Yeah,” Preacher agreed. “Hate’ll do that to a man.”
Fairfax was so consumed with the hatred he felt for Preacher that he couldn’t think about anything else. Wiping out the settlement was just one more element to his revenge. He never would have thought of it if he hadn’t set out to hurt Preacher.
Full night had fallen by now. Utter darkness surrounded the area lit up by the fire. If not for the blaze, Preacher knew he would have been able to see millions of stars floating in the prairie sky.
Laura Mallory stood up. As she started around the fire, her brother caught hold of her wrist and asked, “Where are you going?”
“I want to talk to Preacher.”
Mallory frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Really, Clyde, what can he do? He’s tied up, he’s badly hurt, it’s probably all he can manage to stay conscious. I really don’t think he’s much of a threat anymore.”
Mallory thought it over for a second, and then shrugged as he let go of his sister’s wrist. “All right. Just be careful. Hurt or not, I still don’t trust him.”
Laura came over and knelt in front of Preacher. She gave Uncle Dan a meaningful look, and the old-timer began to scoot away, giving the two of them a little privacy. Of course, he couldn’t go very far, but Preacher supposed it was the thought that counted.
“I’m sorry things have turned out this way,” Laura began.
Preacher's Pursuit (The First Mountain Man) Page 22
