“Damn right I’m gonna hurt somebody. You, you bastard.” Preacher’s voice shook a little from the depth of the emotions that gripped him. “You killed Mountain Mist. First you raped her, then you beat and kicked her to death.”
“Mountain Mist?” Snell repeated. “Who . . . Preacher, I don’t have any idea what you’re talkin’ about. I been in this tepee all night long. Never came out until just now.”
“You’re a liar,” Preacher said coldly. “You and probably some of those no-account friends of yours are responsible for a good woman bein’ dead.”
“Wait just a minute, Preacher.” The voice belonged to Benjamin Judson, who had come up behind Preacher and spoke carefully, lest the furious mountain man whirl around and open fire on him. “You’ve made a serious accusation against Snell,” Judson went on. “You should let him answer it.”
“Anything he says’ll be a lie,” Preacher growled. The guns in his hands were still rock-steady, and the muzzles were only inches from Snell’s face, which had gone pale from shock and fear under its tan.
“It’s the truth, Judson,” Snell said desperately. “I don’t know what Preacher’s talkin’ about.”
Rip Giddens said, “This is what he’s talkin’ about,” as he stepped forward with Mountain Mist’s body in his arms. He had a better grip on her now.
Snell shook his head vehemently. “I didn’t do that,” he insisted. “I don’t know nothin’ about it. I swear!”
“Swear all you want to,” Preacher said. “Nobody else had any reason to hurt her.”
“What reason did I have? I didn’t even know her!”
“You knew she was with me. You were gettin’ back at me for what happened earlier in the day.”
“For what happened . . . you mean that little run-in over those pilgrims? Hell, Preacher, that didn’t amount to anything. I wouldn’t have hurt nobody over that.”
“I don’t believe you. And I’ve held off on killin’ you long enough—”
Someone else came out of the tepee behind Snell. He heard the entrance flap being pushed out of the way and said, “Wait a minute! Don’t shoot, Preacher! Just ask the squaw. Ask her if I wasn’t with her all night!”
The stocky woman who had emerged from the tepee wore a buckskin dress and had her black hair in two braids that hung over her shoulders. Preacher recognized her as one of the women who had come to the Rendezvous to sell her body to the trappers. A look of fear appeared on her face as she saw Preacher pointing the pair of pistols at Snell.
“Ask her!” Snell said again, his voice rising as an edge of hysteria crept into it.
“Preacher, you really should,” Judson said. “It’s the civilized thing to do.”
Problem was, Preacher wasn’t so sure he wanted to be civilized right now. The way he saw it, the spread of so-called civilization across the frontier wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Civilized men were more likely to lie, cheat, and steal. Civilized men thought they could get away with anything because their society and its laws would protect them. In Preacher’s view, men who were regarded as barbarians by most Easterners were more likely to be honest and polite—because they knew that being dishonest and impolite could get them killed in a hurry.
So Judson’s argument about doing the civilized thing didn’t carry much weight with Preacher. But he had tried to live his life in a fair, honest manner, so he supposed it wouldn’t hurt anything to ask the woman about Snell.
“Was this man with you all night?” Preacher put the question to her in her own tongue.
To his surprise, she nodded. “He paid for me to stay with him all night and did not leave this tepee,” she answered in the same language.
Preacher frowned. “That’s impossible. He must’ve left with some of his friends—”
The squaw stopped him by shaking her head. “He was with me.”
“You see?” Snell said in English. “I told you, Preacher! I done told you I didn’t hurt nobody!”
Preacher’s jaw tightened. He still didn’t believe it. The squaw was lying. Snell had either paid her to back up his story, or she was too afraid of him not to. Snell had to be to blame for what had happened to Mountain Mist.
Judson said, “Preacher, it appears that your accusations were unfounded.” The fur company agent spoke enough of the tribal dialects that he had been able to understand the gist of what the squaw was saying.
“No, it’s a lie,” Preacher insisted. “Snell told her to lie.”
“You just don’t want to admit that you’re wrong about me,” Snell said. “Come on, Preacher, put those guns down. One of ’em’s liable to go off.”
Preacher’s fingers tightened on both triggers as a snarl of hatred contorted his face. But he didn’t fire. He eased off on the pressure as Rip said, “Maybe Judson’s right, Preacher. I hate to say it, but you, uh, don’t have any proof that Snell had anything to do with what happened to this poor gal.”
“Proof! Since when does a man need any more proof than knowin’ in his heart that he’s right?”
Judson said, “That’s not the way things work in a civilized society.”
“Maybe you ain’t noticed, Judson, but we’re a hell of a long way from Saint Looey.”
“I know that. But this is still American territory, and America is a nation founded on laws.”
He wasn’t quite correct about that, Preacher thought. America was a nation founded on doing what was right, and the law be damned. After all, having a revolution had been against British law, hadn’t it?
But as Preacher glanced over his shoulder, he saw the same look on a lot of the faces that were staring at him, waiting to see what he was going to do. They believed Snell, he realized. Even though Snell wasn’t well liked, he had a witness who said that he couldn’t have committed the awful crime that had taken place.
Nobody would try to stop Preacher from pressing the triggers and blowing Snell’s head off as he had threatened. Probably there wouldn’t be any legal repercussions at all, considering that the closest authority was hundreds of miles away.
But if he killed Snell, Preacher knew that some of the trappers would always believe that he had been wrong to do so. Preacher wasn’t the sort of man who lived his life according to what other folks might think of him. A fella could drive himself crazy doing that. He respected most of the other trappers, though, and knew that they respected him. For some of them, that would change if he killed Snell.
He growled a curse and lowered the pistols, looping his thumbs around the hammers so that he could lower them carefully off-cock. “I still think you done it,” he said to Snell.
“I didn’t. You got my word on that, Preacher.”
“Your word don’t mean shit to me,” Preacher said curtly. “Stay outta my way the rest o’ this Rendezvous. If I see you again, I might just go ahead and kill you, just on general principles.”
Snell’s jaw clenched. He was a proud man, and Preacher knew he didn’t take kindly to being threatened. But Snell just said, “We’ll stay out of each other’s way, how about that?”
Preacher didn’t answer. He turned away, stuck the pistols behind his belt again, and went over to Rip Giddens.
“I’ll take her now,” he said as he held out his arms for Mountain Mist’s body. “Thanks, Rip.”
With great care, Rip placed the young woman’s body in Preacher’s arms again. “You want me to come with you up into the hills?” he asked.
Preacher shook his head. “No, this is somethin’ I got to do by myself. You can get Horse saddled for me if you would, though.”
“Sure, Preacher.”
Ten minutes later, Preacher rode out of the encampment, leaving his tent set up and most of his gear behind him. He would be coming back when he finished the grim chore that awaited him. With Mountain Mist wrapped in a blanket and cradled in front of him on Horse’s back, Preacher headed for the hills overlooking the valley.
Behind him, most of the people who had come to the Rendezvous watched him go,
including the four Easterners. “What a tragedy,” Faith Carling murmured. “So typical of this savage wilderness.”
“You don’t know that,” her brother pointed out. “We haven’t been out here long enough to know what’s typical and what isn’t.”
“I fear that we’ll find out, Willard, before we ever see home again,” Faith said with a sigh.
Preacher carried the shrouded figure into the cave and placed it with great care on the bed of pine boughs he had prepared. Then he backed away, removed his hat, and murmured a few words in the Shoshone language, a plea to Mountain Mist’s Creator that He welcome her into the land where the sky was always fair and the breezes always warm.
Then he added gutturally in English, “Lord, have mercy on the soul of this gal. Most folks would’ve considered her a heathen, but You know and I know that ain’t true. I ain’t fool enough to think that all trails lead to the same place when it comes to the hereafter, but I figure since you made these mountains and led her people here, You ain’t gonna turn Your back on her now.” Preacher put his hat on. “Amen.”
He left the cave, which sat on a small bench that shouldered out from the side of a hill, several miles from the valley where the Rendezvous was being held. There were quite a few large rocks nearby. Preacher picked up the ones he could carry, his ropy muscles straining against the weight, and carried them over to the mouth of the cave. He had to use a rope on some of the larger ones and get Horse to drag them into place before he stacked the smaller ones on top of them. As the morning grew warmer, Preacher found himself glad that the opening into the cave wasn’t any larger than it was. He was able to pile up enough rocks to close it off in about an hour’s worth of hard labor.
With that job concluded, there was nothing left here for Preacher to do. He mounted up, nodded toward the cave, and said, “So long, Mountain Mist. You didn’t deserve what you got, and I swear to you, somehow I’ll settle the score for you.”
He nudged Horse into motion and rode back toward the Rendezvous, the need for vengeance still smoldering in his heart.
Around midday, Stump came up to Luther Snell and asked anxiously, “Is Preacher back yet?”
“I ain’t seen him,” Snell replied. “Besides, you don’t have to worry about Preacher.”
“But he was mighty mad when he rode out, mad about what happened to that Injun gal—”
“Shut up!” Snell said, casting his eyes around. He and Stump stood near the big rope corral where some of the trappers had their horses penned. No one was close enough to be within earshot, but that didn’t make Snell any less cautious. “You know we didn’t have nothin’ to do with what happened, and the less said about it, the better.”
Stump took off his hat and ran a hand over his balding head. “I wish I’d never listened to you,” he practically moaned. “I didn’t know you was gonna kill her. I thought we’d just bust Preacher over the head and then have some fun with his squaw. That’s all you said we’d do, Snell.” The little trapper was almost crying.
Snell grabbed Stump’s shoulders and leaned closer to him. “Shut . . . the hell . . . up!” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Nobody except you, me, and the other boys know what we done. They ain’t gonna say anything, and neither are you!”
“But Preacher knows—” Stump blubbered.
“Preacher don’t know shit! He just thinks he does. He can’t prove a damned thing, because my squaw told him I was with her all night, and half the folks here heard her. Preacher can’t touch us.”
“But he knows she was lyin’ . He’s gonna come after us and kill us anyway. He’ll come for us in the night and slit our throats, you just wait an’ see if he don’t—”
Snell hauled off and walloped Stump in the face.
The blow knocked the little trapper back a couple of feet. Stump lost his balance and sat down hard on the ground. Tears sprang into his eyes as he looked up at Snell.
“Aw, hell,” he said. “What’d you go and do that for?”
“To knock some sense into your head,” Snell said. “Listen, Stump, the only thing we have to worry about is you goin’ off and runnin’ that mouth of yours. If you don’t, Preacher can’t touch us.”
“I dunno. . . .”
“I do,” Snell said confidently. “We’re all in this together, so we got to trust each other. If we can’t do that, then we’ll just have to make sure some other way that nobody talks.” He glared ominously at Stump.
With a scared gulp, Stump said quickly, “I won’t say nothin’, Luther. You can count on me. I got a mite spooked there for a minute, but I’m over it now.”
“Good. See that you stay that way.” Snell rubbed his bearded jaw. “I got somethin’ else in mind you might want to be part of, Stump. You’ve seen those folks from back East, haven’t you?”
“That prissy little artist feller and his sister and the rest o’ that bunch? Sure, I seen ’em.”
“The gal’s sort of pretty, and I’ll bet her brother’s got a heap of money,” Snell said speculatively. “He must have, if he was able to mount a big expedition out here and afford that fancy tent. I’ll bet he could raise a heap o’ cash if he had to buy his way outta trouble.”
Stump frowned. “But what sort o’ trouble could he get into all the way out . . . Oh, no, Luther. You ain’t thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’ . Are you?”
A wolfish grin stretched across Snell’s face. “Hide an’ watch, Stump, that’s all I got to say. Just hide an’ watch.”
Chapter Six
Rip Giddens must have been keeping an eye out for Preacher, because he came striding over as soon as Preacher had ridden back into the encampment and dismounted.
“Get it taken care of?” Rip asked.
“Yep,” Preacher replied tersely. “Now I’ve got other things to do.”
“If you’re talkin’ about Luther Snell,” Rip said, “you’re gonna have to leave him alone, Preacher. Everybody’s sorry about what happened to Mountain Mist, but most folks are convinced that Snell didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Preacher snorted. “I don’t care all that much what most folks think.” He had been brooding about Mountain Mist’s death all the way back from the cave where he had laid her to rest. The injustice of it all gnawed at his guts like a beaver at a log.
“I know that, but Judson’s been talkin’.”
Preacher stiffened. “About what?”
“About how if you kill Snell, he’s gonna tell the law about it back in Saint Looey and swear out a warrant for your arrest.”
Preacher gave a humorless laugh and said, “No lawman’s gonna come all the way out here to serve that warrant.”
“No, you’d be safe enough as long as you stayed in the mountains. But if you ever went back to Saint Looey or any other town, you’d have that murder charge hangin’ over your head. Now, I ain’t sayin’ that any jury would ever find you guilty once they heard the whole story, but you can’t never tell about things like that. You might find yourself facin’ a hangin’, Preacher.”
“So, it don’t matter what’s right and wrong anymore, is that it?” Preacher demanded. “The only thing that counts is what some foolish law says?”
“Hell of a note, ain’t it?” Rip asked with a gloomy shake of his head.
Preacher gripped his friend’s arm. “We both know Snell and his pards are guilty as hell. I can’t let ’em get away with it.”
“Then you’ll be an outlaw the rest of your life, Preacher. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”
Preacher let go of Rip’s arm and stepped back, his face bleak.
“Look, remember that job I offered you?” Rip went on. “Come with us, Preacher. Put all this behind you. Mr. Carling plans to spend all summer out here, visiting the Injuns and paintin’. I’m hopin’ everything will go smooth, but if it don’t, I’d sure like to have you along.”
“I don’t think so—” Preacher began.
“At least come and eat dinner with us,” Rip br
oke in. “Don’t make up your mind yet. Get to know those folks better before you decide what to do.”
Getting to know a bunch of greenhorns from back East didn’t exactly sound like something Preacher really wanted to do. He had better ways to spend his time. But Rip was an old friend, and he had to eat anyway, Preacher told himself, so he supposed it wouldn’t hurt anything to accept the invitation.
“All right,” he said. “But that don’t mean I’m comin’ along on this here expedition o’ yours.”
Rip grinned. “Shoot, right now I’ll settle for that.”
As they walked across the encampment toward the big striped tent beside the river, Preacher’s narrowed eyes searched for Luther Snell but didn’t see any sign of him. Nor did he spot any of the half-dozen or so trappers who were Snell’s friends. It didn’t surprise him that they were all lying low. Guilt would make a man hide quicker than anything else.
A table had been set up in front of the tent, and the rotund Indian woman known as Sparrow was dishing out fried elk steaks to the four people sitting at the table. Willard Carling looked up with a smile and said, “Preacher, welcome! I’m glad you decided to join us.”
“Just for dinner,” Preacher said as he and Rip pulled up stools and sat down. “I still ain’t goin’ along on your expedition.”
“That’s a shame. Mr. Giddens tells me that you know more about the flora and fauna of the frontier than anyone else.”
Preacher knew Carling was talking about plants and animals. He said, “I don’t know if that’s true or not. I’ve been out here a while, but not my whole life like the Injuns. I reckon they know more’n I do.”
“Where are you from?” Jasper Hodge asked.
“I was born in Ohio, and grew up there on a farm.”
“How did you come to be out here?” Hodge seemed very interested, but Preacher didn’t know if that interest was genuine or if the man just wanted to talk about him in that book he planned to write.
“I had the urge to wander,” Preacher said, “to see what was on the other side of the hill or down the river. So when I got old enough, I left the farm and went to travelin’ around.”
Preacher's Quest Page 4
