“You’re sure it was smoke?” Bedell asked, his spirits lifting.
“Positive. Them savages must have hit them after we run ’em off. Preacher and them women is buzzard bait now.”
Bedell smiled. “Excellent. Very good, boys.” Bedell happily put Preacher out of his thoughts. He gathered the prisoners and told them what his scouts had found. “So there is no point in trying to escape,” he warned them. “You’d be committing suicide. So my advice to you all is just settle down and accept your fate. You cannot change it.”
The shoulders of the women sagged in defeat. That evening, Bedell selected a very young and very pretty woman to satisfy his perverse desires. Her screaming shattered the night for hours.
BOOK TWO
One man with courage makes a majority.
Popular saying.
One
Lt. Rupert Worthington lost his breakfast, and only Eudora Hempstead and Faith Crump had the iron in them to stand with Preacher and look upon the body of the young woman. The other ladies fled the scene and returned to the wagons.
“Bedell’s work,” Preacher said, covering the battered body with a blanket. “Doin’ things like this pleases him. He’s a twisted man. There was all kinds of talk around St. Louie about him. Somebody get a shovel.”
Eudora’s face was pale and her eyes were furious. “It would take a madman to do something this hideous,” she said.
“No,” Preacher disagreed. “Just a man who won’t control himself. Any man that can function, speak proper, dress themselves, work, and step out of the way of carriages, and so forth, ain’t crazy. And I don’t give a damn what these so-called smart people say. Men like Bedell, and anyone who rides with him and stands by and watches while something like what was done to this poor child and don’t do nothin’ about it deserve a bullet or a rope. They sure as hell don’t deserve no sympathy.”
“This journey has changed me considerably,” Faith said. “I shall never be the same. I used to deplore the conditions of prisons and jails and the treatment of criminals. I will never again editorialize on that subject.”
“Then you’d be wrong,” Preacher surprised her. “They’s innocent men in prison, Missy. They’d be men behind bars who couldn’t pay their debts because of one good reason or another. Just because a man falls on hard times don’t mean that man should be locked up like a murderer or horse thief or the like. They’s men in prison for defendin’ hearth and home, and that’s wrong. Man has a right to protect kith and kin. I’ll go to my grave believin’ that.”
“I certainly agree with you, Preacher,” Rupert said. “I wouldn’t have a few weeks ago, but I damn sure do now. Like Miss Crump, this journey has changed me immeasurably. I will never be the same.”
“None of us will,” Claire said, walking up. “None of us.”
You can count me in there, too, I reckon, Preacher thought. But I’m afraid ain’t none of you seen nothin’ yet. “Let’s get this child buried, people.”
By the time they finished burying the young girl, and Eudora once more reading words from the Bible and then the ladies singing some sweet church songs, they could only make a few more miles before it was time to prepare for the night’s camp. But Bedell was using every moment of daylight to push on westward. What Bedell didn’t know was that three tough, very angry, and determined mountain men were paralleling him on the north side of the Platte.
Snake, Steals Pony, and Blackjack.
The three had not been back to the site of the attack and they all presumed Preacher had been killed along with Ring, Charlie, and Ned, for they had all seen the others take a lot of lead. The trio of mountain men would have their revenge against Bedell and all those with him. But they would wait until the wagons hit the mountains.
“I’m gonna miss Preacher,” Blackjack said. “As I know you’ll miss Ring, Steals Pony.”
“I will have my revenge,” the Delaware said.
All three men had been wounded, but none seriously. By the time they had found each other, the fight was over and there was nothing they could do except save themselves and see to their wounds.
“I’m glad we’re goin’ back to the high country,” Snake said. “I got me a feelin’ this is gonna be my last ride.”
Steals Pony glanced at him. The Delaware did not make light of such predictions. He had seen too many of his own kind predict nearly to the minute when they were going to leave this world to walk over to The Other Side.
Blackjack said nothing about it. The mountain man had lived with Indians and knew when it was a man’s time to go, a lot of men could predict it . . . or will it to happen, he silently added. But ol’ Snake had lived a good long life. A hell of a lot longer than most.
Snake told them the agreement he’d had with Preacher, and both Steals Pony and Blackjack agreed that they’d bury him high up.
“We got company,” Snake said. “Ponca. They’re not lookin’ for trouble; they got their families and belongings with them.”
The three men rode over to the small band of migrating Indians and greeted them as friends. An old man peered closely at Snake. “I know you,” he said. “You shared my tepee many, many winters ago. My wife and family were sick and you hunted meat for us. I have never forgotten you. I have news that might interest you. My old friend Preacher has taken up the blood hunt for those who attacked him. I do not know what happened, but it must have been terrible for Preacher to swear such vengeance.”
“When did you hear this?” Steals Pony asked.
“Two days ago. Preacher is leading a small band of womenless people through to the shining waters across the mountains. I always wanted to see the shining waters,” he added wistfully.
“Did you learn where Preacher is?” Snake asked.
“South of the river,” the Ponca said, pointing in the direction of the Platte. “On the trail. East of a huge line of wagons that are driven by very unfriendly men. Stay away from them.”
After the Ponca had moved on, Blackjack looked at his friends. “Well?”
“Well, what, you lard-butt?” Snake asked, knowing full well what his friend was asking.
Blackjack grinned, not taking umbrage at the friendly insult. “Which direction do we head?”
Steals Pony said nothing. He just turned his horse south and rode off. Blackjack and Snake galloped after him, wide grins on their faces.
“Riders coming,” Rupert called out. “Three men, coming from the north.”
The boy is gettin’ good, Preacher thought. He seen them ’fore I did. Preacher squinted his eyes and immediately grinned. That elephant in the middle couldn’t be nobody ’ceptin’ Blackjack.
“Hell, Preacher!” Blackjack boomed as the trio drew near. “We done sang death songs for you, flung praises to the Lord about you, and made up highlaycious lies to tell about you. Now here you show up alive. Ain’t you got no corn-sideration for your friends a-tall?”
“I purely am sorry you found me alive, Blackjack,” Preacher called. “I do apologize for not dyin’. But on the other hand, I done buried you three in my mind. Now I got to adjust myself to look upon your ugly faces agin. At least you and Steals Pony, that is. Snake’s looked dead for years. It’s gonna be kinda hard to tell when he do pass.”
“If’n I don’t move nor eat for several hours,” Snake said, “you come over and take a long sniff. If’n I’m ripe, then you can plant me, you heathen.”
Steals Pony looked at the old man. “If that is the case, we should have buried you years ago. You haven’t taken a bath in all the time I’ve known you.”
The men dismounted and hugged each other and danced around, whooping, hollering, and filling the air with profane insults. While the mountain men sated their appetites of jubilation, Eudora halted the wagons and started a fire for coffee and food. Preacher told his friends what had transpired.
“That’s about it, I reckon,” Preacher said. “Them no-count trash killed Hammer, and I aim to avenge my good horse.”
The men
nodded solemnly. They knew how deeply a man could feel about the loss of a good horse or dog. Since the domestication of animals, more men have probably been killed over horses and dogs than have been killed over women. Leaving a man alone and without a horse in hostile country was just about the same as signing his death warrant.
The mountain men then sat, drank, and ate and listened to the women tell of what had happened to them . . . and to those they had buried.
“They got to be kilt then,” Snake opined when the women had finished. “It offends me to have to breathe the same air as men who done things like that.”
The women then sat wide-eyed and open-mouthed (Rupert included), and listened to the suggestions the mountain men had as to what should be done to Bedell and his followers. Some of the suggestions were quite inventive. The women were learning quickly that the mountain men, while oftentimes unshaven and shaggy, and certainly hard, crude, and lewd to the eyes and ears of so-called civilized easterners, operated under a strict code of conduct. Step across their invisible line, and one faced death at their hands.
“So they’re linkin’ up with another party of outlaws up the trail, hey, Preacher?” Blackjack asked.
“Yep.”
“How many?” Steals Pony asked.
“I don’t know. Twenty-five or so, I’d guess. And I don’t know whether Bedell’s headin’ for California or the northwest. Mayhaps he had plans to split up. But now . . . I’d take me a guess that he’s gonna stay together and head for the gold he claims he’s found.”
“Then we got to hit them ’fore he links up with them others,” Snake said. “We let him get too strong, and we ain’t gonna be able to do nothin’.”
Preacher nodded his head in agreement. “That’s right. But I don’t see no way of gettin’ ahead of Bedell. We can’t leave the wagons. They’d be looted and burned ’fore we got ten miles.”
“Then he must be slowed down or stopped for a day or so,” Rupert said. “Allowing us time to catch up.”
“Good thought, boy,” Snake said. “You got a plan?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Just below where the rivers split,” Steals Pony said, “there is a place where three men could stall the wagons for as long as need be. You have dozens of weapons here, Preacher. You give us extra rifles and caps, shot and powder, and we’ll ride on ahead and buy you the time to close the gap.”
“Sounds good to me,” Preacher said.
“When do we leave?” Snake asked.
Blackjack stood up. “Right now.”
Bedell sat on the ground drinking a cup of coffee. He still had trouble believing Preacher was really dead. He wanted desperately to believe it . . . but try as he might, something deep within him would not let the doubts fade.
Later on, after he’d had time to think over what his scouts had reported, he’d wanted to scream at them, asking them why they had not worked their way closer to the smoke and made certain that the damn meddling mountain man was dead.
But, it was too late now.
After that one successful attack by the savages, the wagons had encountered no trouble at all. The trip could now be called monotonous. And hot, Bedell thought, looking up at the sun, now just beginning its westward dip. It was time to end the rest and food break and get moving.
Tom Cushing approached him. “The women have requested they be allowed to bathe, sir. And to tell the truth, we all need a good wash and scrub. Ain’t a one of us that ain’t gettin’ right gamey.”
Except me, you oaf! Bedell thought. Well, why not? They certainly weren’t in any imminent danger. “Very well. Post the guards and take your baths.”
Several thousand miles away, in the nation’s capital, the man who had recruited Preacher and seen to the gathering of the women who wanted to move west and start a new life sat in his office and stared out at the rain. He took a sip of coffee and spat it out. The coffee had turned cold.
“Miserable weather,” he muttered. He could never understand why anyone would want to build a city in the middle of a damn swamp. He wished he could have gone along with the wagon train, for he truly loved the western frontier. He’d been along when the Iowa Territory had been formed in ’38 and had traveled with the Army up to the border of Canada. What a grand adventure that had been. But the President would not post him for long outside of Washington. He had asked so many times, and had been turned down an equal number, that it had now become something of a joke.
He stared out at the rain and the ominous storm clouds that were continuing to build over the capital city. He sure wished he was out on the plains with Preacher and those other characters he’d gathered around him. The man from Washington felt he was missing the time of his life.
Yes, he concluded, Preacher and the ladies must be having the adventure of their lives.
He turned back to his paperwork with a sigh.
Preacher rode about a mile from the lead wagon. The Great Plains had opened her vastness to summer and it was hot. The wagons were making good time—better time than Preacher had expected—but they were still many days away from the agreed upon ambush point. Only days if the weather stayed good, a few weeks if it turned sour.
He twisted in the saddle and looked back at the wagons, then slowly scanned the plains that lay all around him. This country could crack a man’s brain-box wide open. He knew. He’d seen it happen. It was just miles and miles of nothing but more miles and miles. Some folks called it the Big Lonesome. When the buffalo started moving, Preacher had felt the ground actually tremble under the impact of thousands of hooves. The herd might be miles away, but a body’s feet could register the deadly awesomeness of a thundering herd of the shaggy beasts. If a man was to get caught afoot with a stampeding herd of buffalo comin’ dead at him . . . well, Preacher had seen that, too. There wasn’t enough left of the man to bury.
The ladies had been unusually quiet for the past couple of days, and Preacher knew the country was getting to them. It was the awful aloneness of it all. The endless rolling plains, the horizon that just never seemed to quit. Even Rupert had stopped his vocal flights of prose in describing the journey. Well, almost stopped.
But Preacher had seen the young man toughen, mentally and physically, almost right before his eyes. And the journey had really just begun, for what lay ahead of them was ten times rougher than what they’d traveled over since leaving the jump-off point back in Missouri. If Rupert stayed in the army, which he’d said he was going to do, he’d be a fine officer. And this trip would be the steel that would reenforce his backbone. He had courage a-plenty, Preacher had seen that. The young man would do to ride the river with. And there wasn’t no finer compliment a mountain man could give than that one.
Preacher dismounted and let the lead wagon catch up with him.
“Trouble, Captain?” Eudora asked, pulling up beside where he stood.
“Naw. Just takin’ a rest. We’re makin’ good time. You handle this long team of mules like you was born to it, Eudora.”
“We understand each other,” the New Englander said with a smile. “I knew to get their attention right off and I did. They know I won’t take any guff from them.”
Preacher swung back into the saddle. He was beginning to feel the hair on the back of his neck bristle. Something was wrong. “Just keep headin’ west, lady.” He rode back to the last wagon, where the sisters, Maude and Agnes, were handling the double-teams. Maude held the reins, Agnes cradled the rifle.
“We’re all right, Preacher,” Agnes assured him. “We’re just fairly aching to get Bedell and his men in rifle-sights.”
“Aching in more ways than one,” Maude added drily.
Preacher smiled at that. Many a prim and proper Eastern lady would have hid her face in shame and disgrace after enduring what these ladies had been through. They’d have been to bed for weeks or months, considered themselves soiled for life, and some might have actually killed themselves. But these women were made of sterner stuff. They’d faced assault, ra
pe, and degradation at the hands of white trash and overcome it. Preacher was just as proud of them as could be. These gals were pioneers, by God, and they’d made a man the right kind of wife. The kind of wife who’d stand by her man, shoulder to shoulder. And God help the husband who tried to demean them or worst yet, slap these women around. That husband just might find himself gelded come the morning. Or stone dead.
Preacher nodded at the sisters just as goosebumps were beginning to rise on his flesh. He rode back to the drag, where Rupert was.
“It’s too quiet, Preacher,” Rupert said. “I may be overreacting, but it’s too quiet to suit me.”
“I know what you mean. You’re learnin’ fast. Yeah. I started feelin’ the same thing ’bout fifteen minutes ago. It’s doubtful the attack will come from the north, but with Injuns you never know. I think they’re up here on a raidin’ party.”
“The Kiowa again?”
“I’d bet on it. But it could be Cheyenne or even Comanch or Dakota. Might even be Pawnee. Doubtful it’ll be Northern Cheyenne. I get on well with them. ’Course that don’t make no difference if it’s a bunch of young bucks lookin’ for hair to impress the gals.” He tensed. “Get ready, boy. It ain’t long in comin’.”
Preacher slowly rode up to the lead wagon, and as he passed each wagon, telling the driver to get ready to circle and telling the other woman on the seat to get in the back and start loading rifles.
When he reached Eudora, he slowed and said, “Get ready to circle at my holler, lady. We are about to be set upon. Cornelia, get in the back and start loadin’ up them spare rifles.”
“Savages, Captain?” Eudora asked, her strong hands filled with reins.
“I ’magine. I ’spect it’s the same bunch that hit Bedell the other night. They was plenty sore about that and it was our bad luck they found our tracks and know we’re a hell of a lot smaller bunch.”
Absaroka Ambush Page 14
