Preacher's Fire

by William W. Johnstone

  “You done a good job, son,” the proprietor told him. “O’ course, that’s what I’d expect from a feller right off the farm. You’re bound to be good at shovelin’ dung.”

  Preacher nodded his thanks. He had the liveryman fooled, along with everyone else he had encountered in St. Louis. They all took him for some sort of bumpkin, just as he intended.

  “You’re welcome to have supper with me,” the liveryman went on.

  “I’m much obliged,” Preacher said, “but that was thirsty work. I thought I’d go have a drink somewhere.”

  The liveryman sighed. “Young folks . . . Well, don’t get drunk and forget where you left your horse.”

  “Not likely,” Preacher said, and meant it.

  He used the water trough to clean up a little, then headed for Dupree’s. Beaumont’s carriage wasn’t parked out front. Preacher stood in the mouth of an alley across the street and watched, hoping that Beaumont would show up later.

  An hour passed as night settled down over St. Louis, and Preacher began to think that the plan might have to be postponed until the next night or possibly even moved to Jessie’s Place. But then Shad Beaumont’s carriage came rolling along the street. Preacher stepped out from the alley and began walking toward the entrance to Dupree’s.

  The driver brought the carriage to a halt in the same place where he’d stopped it the night before. With the same alacrity, he hopped down from the seat and opened the door. Beaumont climbed out of the vehicle, and this time he didn’t turn back to help a companion disembark. Evidently he was alone tonight. That was good, Preacher thought. It made things easier that way.

  Beaumont stepped up onto the boardwalk as the driver closed the carriage door behind him. At the same time, Preacher circled in front of the team and came up onto the boardwalk, too, about twenty feet to Beaumont’s left. Beaumont didn’t even glance in his direction. The man sauntered toward the doors of Dupree’s, his beaver hat cocked at a rakish angle on his head, his long, elegant cape swirling around his knees.

  Suddenly, Preacher lunged at him, shouting, “Look out!” He covered the distance between them in a heartbeat, and as he slammed into Beaumont and knocked him off his feet, a gun boomed somewhere nearby, the muzzle flash lighting up the night.

  Chapter 13

  The collision sent Beaumont crashing to the boardwalk with Preacher sprawled on top of him. The rifle ball chewed into one of the posts holding up the awning over the walk and sprayed splinters down on the two men. Preacher shoved himself up on one knee, yanked a pistol from behind his belt, and fired into the shadows farther up the boardwalk, at the corner of the building.

  Then he looked down at the clearly stunned Beaumont and asked, “You hit, mister?”

  Beaumont swallowed. “No, I . . . I’m all right—”

  “Stay here, then,” Preacher told him. “I’ll go after that son of a bitch who tried to bushwhack you!”

  He leaped to his feet and dashed down the boardwalk toward the mouth of an alley. As Beaumont called,

  “Wait!” behind him, Preacher rounded the corner of the building and ducked into the alley. Another shot roared, the muzzle flash lighting up the night for a second. In that flicker of light, Preacher saw the big grin on Uncle Dan’s face as the old-timer fired into the air.

  Then the two of them ran along the alley, ducking in and out of the shadows as they entered a rat’s warren of darkened side streets and lanes.

  They didn’t stop until they were several blocks away from Dupree’s. Uncle Dan was breathing a little hard, but that didn’t stop him from chuckling.

  “Hope I didn’t come too close with that first shot,” he said.

  “It was just right,” Preacher told him. “You had to come close, otherwise Beaumont wouldn’t believe it.”

  “He’d better believe it. I damn near parted your hair with that ball. That would’ve played hob with the whole plan, wouldn’t it?”

  Preacher grinned in the darkness. “Yeah, if you’d blown a hole in my head, you’d have had to finish the job by yourself.”

  “Not hardly,” Uncle Dan said with a shake of his head. “I ain’t that crazy. I’d’ve just bushwhacked the son of a bitch for real.”

  “Let’s hope it don’t come to that,” Preacher said. “Reckon I’d better get back now. Beaumont’s probably wonderin’ what happened to me. You headin’ back to the camp west of town?”

  “Yeah, I suppose it’s as good a place as any to wait. You’ll get word to me if you need me?”

  Preacher nodded. “Yep. I’ll try to get out there in a few days to let you know what’s goin’ on.”

  Uncle Dan extended his hand. “Good luck to you, son,” he said as he and Preacher shook. “I reckon you’re the one who ought to be named Daniel, since you’re about to waltz right into the lion’s den.”

  Preacher thought about that as he made his way back toward Dupree’s. He was taking a big chance, all right, no doubt about that. But he had to run the risk if he wanted to give Beaumont a taste of his own medicine and bring the man’s empire crashing down around him.

  When Preacher emerged from the alley next to the fancy saloon and started along the boardwalk toward the entrance, he saw Beaumont standing there talking to a man with a badge pinned to his coat. That would be the local constable, Preacher thought, who’d likely been summoned because of the shooting. St. Louis was still enough of a frontier town that the law wouldn’t come a-runnin’ every time some shots broke out, but it was different when the intended victim was a man as rich and important as Shad Beaumont.

  Beaumont caught sight of Preacher approaching and exclaimed, “There’s the man now!”

  The constable turned toward Preacher and reached for the pistol at his waist, causing Beaumont to continue hurriedly, “No, not the one who shot at me. The one who saved my life.” He came along the boardwalk to meet Preacher. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m just sorry I couldn’t catch up to that varmint,” Preacher said. “How about you, mister? That damn bushwhacker missed you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, thanks to you.” Beaumont put out a hand and smiled. “And I mean that. Thank you.”

  Up close, the man was big, handsome, and charming. Preacher began to understand how Beaumont got folks to do what he wanted. Couple that persuasive charm with greed and a complete lack of scruples, and what you got was a man who was as dangerous as a diamondback rattlesnake.

  Preacher clasped Beaumont’s hand anyway and didn’t allow the revulsion he felt to show on his face. This was all part of the plan.

  “How did you know someone was about to take a shot at me?” Beaumont went on.

  Preacher shrugged. “I was just walkin’ along and saw a rifle barrel poke around the corner at you. Figured nobody does somethin’ like that unless they intend to shoot.”

  “So you risked your own life to push me out of the line of fire.”

  “Don’t make me out to be some sort o’ hero,” Preacher said with a frown. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t really think all that much about what I was doin’. I just saw the gun and jumped.”

  “And I’m glad you did. But then you gave chase to the man. Why did you do that?”

  “I don’t like a damn bushwhacker. Back where I come from, folks get into feuds now and then. I’ve had kin shot down from ambush. Can’t stomach it. I say, if you’ve got somethin’ against a fella, it’s better to come at him head on.”

  The irony of his words wasn’t lost on him. Truthfully, he would have been more comfortable walking up to Beaumont, telling the man who he was, and shooting it out right then and there. But as he’d told Uncle Dan, that just didn’t seem like a fitting punishment for all the misery Beaumont had inflicted on people from here to the Rocky Mountains.

  “What happened when you ran into the alley?” Beaumont went on. “I heard another shot.”

  “Yeah, I reckon he’d had time to reload. He took a shot at me but rushed it. When he missed, he lit a shuck. He was so nimble, I ne
ver even got a good look at him.” Preacher narrowed his eyes. “You got any idea who’d want to bushwhack you like that, mister?”

  The question drew a laugh from Beaumont. “I’m a successful man, and no man becomes successful without making enemies along the way. I’ve made my share. Maybe more than my share. But there aren’t many who’d have the guts to come after me like that. Most of them know better.”

  “Sounds to me like you need somebody watchin’ your back trail.”

  “That might not be a bad idea. I’m Shad Beaumont, by the way.”

  “Jim Donnelly,” Preacher said.

  He thought he saw a flicker of vague recognition in Beaumont’s eyes, as if the man knew he’d heard the name before but couldn’t place it. Beaumont said, “Under the circumstances, I’m very pleased to meet you, Jim. Come inside and have a drink with me.”

  Preacher cast a dubious glance toward the saloon entrance. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I went in there last night and had a beer, and the bartender told me it ain’t really my sort of place.”

  “That was before you were my friend.” Beaumont clapped a hand on Preacher’s shoulder and went on heartily, “Come on. I’ll see to it that you’re treated right.”

  “Well, in that case . . .” Preacher grinned. “I’m much obliged.”

  “Not as much as I am,” Beaumont said as he ushered Preacher through the doors into Dupree’s.

  The same baldheaded bartender was behind the bar tonight. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw Preacher come in with Beaumont. The dark-suited man stood at the end of the bar. He hurried forward with an eager-to-please smile on his face.

  “I heard that there was some trouble outside, Mr. Beaumont,” he began. “You have my most sincere apologies—”

  “It was nothing to do with you, Wallace,” Beaumont cut in. “Send a bottle of brandy back to my usual table.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Beaumont looked over at Preacher. “Or if brandy isn’t to your taste, my friend, you can have anything you like.”

  “Well, I don’t really know,” Preacher drawled. “Don’t reckon I’ve ever had any brandy. Just beer and corn squeezin’s.”

  Beaumont laughed. “Then you’re in for a treat. Come along.”

  He led Preacher to the big table in the back of the saloon, where they could see the whole room before them. Beaumont put his beaver hat on the table and draped his cape over one of the empty chairs.

  One of the women who worked there came over to the table from the bar, carrying a tray with a bottle and two wide glasses on it. She was a tall, lanky blonde wearing a gray dress cut low enough to reveal a generous portion of her high, full breasts. She leaned over as she placed the tray on the table, and that made the creamy swells of female flesh even more prominent.

  “Will there be anything else, Mr. Beaumont?” she asked as she straightened.

  “That depends on my new friend here,” Beaumont smirked. “What do you say, Jim? Do you see . . . anything . . . that you’d like?”

  “Maybe,” Preacher said. “I’ll think on it.”

  “A man who prefers to keep his options open! I like that.”

  Beaumont motioned the blonde away. She was pretty, Preacher thought, and likely the man he was pretending to be would have taken Beaumont up on the thinly veiled offer. Hell, Jim Donnelly probably would have jumped at the chance to have a little slap-and-tickle with the blonde.

  For some reason, though, Preacher still had an image of Jessie’s face in his mind that made him hesitate. He wasn’t sure why that was true, but he wanted a chance to figure it out.

  Beaumont poured the brandy and handed one of the snifters to Preacher. “Once again, thank you for saving my life,” he said as he lifted his own glass.

  Preacher clinked his glass against Beaumont’s and nodded. “Glad I was able to lend a hand,” he said.

  He took a healthy swallow of the brandy. It went down smooth but kindled quite a fire in his belly when it landed. Preacher’s breath hissed between his teeth.

  “Try sipping it next time,” Beaumont advised with a smile. “I imagine it’s a bit more potent than what you’re accustomed to.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve had some corn whiskey that’d peel paint right off a wall.” Preacher took another drink, sipping this time as Beaumont had suggested. “This is mighty fine stuff, though.”

  “Only the finest for me in all things. That’s how I live my life.” Beaumont leaned back in his chair. “You know, Jim, your name is familiar to me for some reason. How long have you been in St. Louis? We haven’t met before, have we?”

  “I just got into town yesterday. And like I said, I was in here last night. If you were here, maybe you saw me.”

  “I was here, all right, but that wouldn’t explain why I’ve heard your name. And I’m sure I have. I—” Beaumont stopped and snapped his fingers. “I have it now. You got into some trouble yesterday afternoon at a house on the north side of town, didn’t you?”

  Preacher tried to look embarrassed and uncomfortable. “How the hell did you hear about that?”

  Beaumont made a sweeping gesture and said, “I hear about everything important that goes on in St. Louis. I have friends and business associates all over town.”

  “What is your business, if I ain’t pokin’ my nose in where it ain’t wanted?”

  “Whatever makes me a profit,” Beaumont replied. “And nearly every enterprise I undertake does make a profit, if I do say so myself.”

  Preacher nodded. “You must be a mighty smart man, then.”

  “I like to think so. What were you doing at Jessie’s Place?”

  “I heard tell it was the best whorehouse in town,” Preacher said with a shrug. “It’s been a long, lonely trip from Pennsylvania.”

  “That’s where you’re from?”

  “My family’s had a farm there for a long time. I ain’t cut out for farmin’, though.” Preacher took another sip of the brandy. “So I left and come west. Figured I’d make my fortune out here.”

  “How are you doing on that?”

  Preacher let a little bitterness creep into the laugh he gave. “Not too good so far. I spent the day shovelin’ shit out of livery stable stalls in return for somethin’ to eat and a place to sleep.”

  “Well, your luck has changed this evening.” Beaumont reached inside his coat.

  Preacher said quickly, “If you’re about to give me a reward or somethin’ like that, then no offense, Mr. Beaumont, but you can keep it. I was raised not to ever take charity, and even if I don’t pay much attention to what my folks taught me, that’s one thing I still abide by.”

  “A reward isn’t charity, Jim. It’s something you’ve earned.”

  Beaumont brought out a purse and took a five-dollar gold piece from it. Preacher let his eyes widen at the sight of the coin, as if he couldn’t help it. Beaumont put the coin on the table but didn’t take his finger off of it.

  “Tell me about what happened at Jessie’s,” he said.

  Preacher shrugged. “I reckon that was just one more case of me pushin’ in where my kind ain’t wanted. The big darky who come to the door took me for some sort of delivery fella and tried to run me off. We got in a little squabble.”

  “The way I heard it, you knocked Brutus senseless.”

  “You know him?”

  “Like I told you, I know people all over town . . . and they know me.”

  “Then that Miss Jessie’s a friend of yours?”

  “She is.”

  Preacher took a deep breath. “I sure was sorry for the trouble I caused her. She struck me as a mighty fine lady.”

  “She is,” Beaumont said again.

  “But I wasn’t gonna let that fella Brutus push me around, neither,” Preacher went on, his voice hardening. “When the Good Lord made me, he didn’t put much backup in me. That’s just the way it is.”

  “I understand,” Beaumont said, nodding. “I’m the same way myself. And it’s quite impres
sive that you were able to handle Brutus like that. He’s practically broken men in half on a number of occasions, whenever there was trouble at the house.”

  “Well . . . I didn’t exactly fight fair. After I’d walloped him in the belly and the jaw and he didn’t even blink, I figured I’d best kick him in the balls as fast as I could.”

  Beaumont laughed loudly and reached for the bottle of brandy. “By God, Jim, I like the way you think.” He used his other hand to push the coin across the table to Preacher. “Here.”

  Preacher frowned. “I told you—”

  “It’s not a reward,” Beaumont said as he poured more brandy in their glasses. “It’s an advance on your wages.”

  “Wages?”

  “That’s right. You said I needed a man to keep an eye on my back trail, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I have a feeling you’re the man for the job.” Beaumont raised his glass again. “Unless, of course, you’d rather go back to mucking out that stable.”

  Preacher hesitated, but only for a second. Then he grinned, reached for his glass, and said, “I reckon you’ve just hired yourself a new hand, boss.”

  Chapter 14

  They polished off the bottle of brandy before they left Dupree’s. Preacher was a little drunker than he’d intended to be, but he was still thinking clearly enough. The plan had worked perfectly. He had established himself as a tough man who needed a job, and then he’d provided an excuse for Beaumont to give him one.

  He was on the inside now, in a position where he could do the most damage.

  Beaumont led Preacher outside, with all the employees and many of the customers smiling and bidding them good night as they left. Preacher had known that Beaumont wielded a lot of power in this town, but even he was a little surprised at the apparent extent of it. Nobody wanted to get on Shad Beaumont’s bad side. Everyone wanted to stay in his good graces.

  As they emerged onto the boardwalk, Beaumont said, “Since you decided not to take me up on my offer to have Margaret spend some time with you, Jim, why don’t we go to Jessie’s? I’m sure you can find something to your liking there.”