“Anyway, I’d tell the chiefs that the white folks are comin’. Then I’d show them pictures of the eastern cities and how many people there are back there. You’d have to do that slow; ’cause an Injun really don’t grasp a whole lot of numbers. But it could be done with patience. And that’s the trick, folks. Patience. And I ain’t puttin’ down the Injun when I say that. They’re just different from us, that’s all.
“Then I’d tell the chiefs that the white people who are comin’ through don’t want no trouble. They’re just gonna be travelin’ a few of the trails on their way west and doin’ some huntin’ for food along the way. Some of them are gonna be stayin’. But they ain’t gonna bother no one. And if they do, the government soldiers will come and punish them, just like the government soldiers will punish the Injuns if they bother the white settlers.
“Then I’d seal the borders from Canada down to the Gulf of Mexico. Nobody would move west across the Red River or the Missouri or the Mississippi without permission of the government. Now this wouldn’t be no sudden thing, folks. This would take years. Years of educatin’ the Injuns to the white man’s ways and of linin’ out boundaries as to who belongs to what. This is their land, people. There ain’t no markers or signposts or the like, but it’s theirs! And we ain’t got the right to come in here like lords and kings and push them off of it or get mad when they fight to keep what they consider to be theirs.
“Any promises made have to be kept. You can’t tell the Injuns one thing and then turn around and do the other. People, the plains Injuns’ life depends on the buffalo. Their whole bein’ revolves around the buffalo. Most of ’em are hunters, not farmers. The buffalo herds is their life and they’ve got to be kept strictly for them.”
Preacher paused and shook his head. “Ahh,” he said disgustedly. “Why am I flappin’ my mouth anyways? It ain’t gonna happen that way nohow. The white man is too impatient to give the red man time to get ready for the flood. They’re just gonna come bustin’ through here tearin’ up ever’thing and killin’ off the buffalo and callin’ ever’thing they do progress. And the Injuns will fight. What else can they do? I seen what our diseases have done to whole tribes already. Damn near wiped them out. I seen that with my own eyes. Pitiful sight.” He leaned up against a wagon wheel, cradling his Hawken.
The women looked at him, rugged and handsome, his face burned dark by the sun and the wind, standing there in his buckskins, a pensive look on his face—although Preacher wouldn’t have known what that word meant.
“Why don’t you go to Washington and make that speech to a joint gathering of the House and Senate?” Faith asked. “It was very eloquent.”
“’Cause them peckerwoods wouldn’t hear the real meanin’, Faith. They’d hear the words but they wouldn’t know what they meant. Oh, they’d pat their soft powdered hands together in applause, but it would all come to naught. Common man can’t tell a politician nothin’. You say good mornin’ to one and they’ll look out the window to see.”
Preacher walked off to make his rounds, muttering to himself about politicians.
“I am very hesitant to tell him that my father has been very active in politics for years and is thinking about running for governor back home,” Rupert said.
“Keep that knowledge to yourself,” Eudora told him. “Preacher might recall that apples don’t fall far from the tree and shoot you.”
3
Each day became as the day just past as the wagons rolled and rumbled westward. Preacher had left the trail that morning and had found a place that would be perfect for the wagons and the mules. It had plenty of concealment and good water and grazing a-plenty for no longer than he’d be gone. He had to leave the wagons and go on ahead to be sure that Steals Pony, Blackjack, and Snake had made it and were in place for their ambushing and holding up of Bedell and his men.
Their plans had been very loosely laid and discussed, subject to sudden change.
Preacher rode back to the wagons and halted the train. “Cut south here, Eudora. I found y’all a place to hide, rest up, and take baths and all that whilst I’m gone.”
Eudora nodded, lifted the reins, and called out to the leader mule. Preacher rode back to Rupert.
“I got to go, Rupert. Just as soon as I get the ladies settled in. You’re in charge.”
“I won’t fail you, Preacher.”
“I know it.” Preacher grinned at the young officer. “I seen the way Brigitte is a-battin’ them blues at you, boy. You bes’ be careful. She’s liable to snatch you under a wagon some dark night and show you somethin’ that’ll put a curl in your hair and pep in your step.”
Rupert blushed a deep crimson, from his neck to his forehead. Even his ears were red.
Preacher laughed and rode back to the head of the column. Getting to the place he’d found was tricky, for it wound through a short series of ravines and was protected on three sides by high broken bluffs.
“What a marvelous place!” Eudora exclaimed, when the valley suddenly sprang into view.
“And lookie yonder at that crick,” Preacher said, pointing. “Plenty of cover for you gals to bathe and hide from Rupert whilst you’re in the raw.”
“Preacher!” Rupert said, riding up. “I’ll have you know I am a Virginia gentlemen.”
“Men and women still spark back there, don’t they?”
“Well, of course, they do.”
Preacher grinned at him. “’Nuff said.”
He waited until the mules were unhitched and put to pasture and Rupert and the ladies fully understood what they could and could not do—then Preacher pulled out. He rode until just before dark and made a cold camp. He rolled out of his blankets before dawn. The morning was chilly, so Preacher warmed the bit under his jacket before he bridled the horse. He rinsed out his mouth with water and chewed some jerky for his morning’s meal. Then the mountain man checked his guns and rode out before the first rays of sun reached the plains.
That afternoon he topped a rise and grinned when he saw the canvas of Bedell’s wagons stretching out a couple of miles away. They would reach the ambush point just in time to make camp, Preacher guessed. Bedell’s scouts would have already seen the spot and, if they had any sense at all, would see it as a natural campgrounds.
Preacher stayed well back and was both amazed and amused that Bedell did not have men trailing the wagons. Showed how arrogant the man was, he thought.
There was no way Preacher could be sure that his three friends were in place in the rocks. He wouldn’t know that until they opened fire. When Bedell reached the natural campgrounds and halted the wagons, Preacher quickly stripped saddle and bridle from his horse and filled his hat full of water to let him have a long drink before picketing him on good grass. He took both rifles and began working his way toward the camp. The terrain was perfect for concealment and creepin’ up on a body, and Preacher had spent years perfecting that deadly art. He was just getting into position when three rifles barked out death from the rocks just west and slightly above the almost circled wagons and three men on horseback tumbled to the ground. Two of the fallen did not move. The third man crawled a short distance and then collapsed in the dirt, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
Bedell’s men panicked, just like Preacher figured they would do. The rifles in the hands of the mountain men roared again, and three more men went down. Preacher lined up an outlaw and squeezed the trigger. The Hawken thundered and the man went down like a rag doll, the big ball splitting his spine. Preacher snatched up his other rifle and drilled a man clean through the brisket, doubling him over and sending him to the grass. He lay kicking and hollering and squalling for the Lord Jesus to come help him out of his pain.
“You a little late to be askin’ Him for help, you rotten turd,” Preacher grimaced and muttered, quickly reloading both rifles.
Within the span of a minute, Bedell had lost eight men. Three or four more and the backbone of his strength would be broken.
Preacher was only about
a hundred and fifty yards from the wagons; just about the same distance as his friends up in the rocks. He watched as a man with a rifle knelt by the rear of a wagon and took a look all around him, trying to spot the ambushers. Preacher grinned as he saw a woman lean out of the wagon and bash the top of the man’s head flat as the bottom of an iron with a heavy skillet. Then she hopped out and grabbed up the man’s rifle and pistols and jumped back into the wagon. Blood was streaming from the top of the outlaw’s mushed-in head, so if anyone did notice him, they’d think first that he’d been shot.
Bedell and Jack Hayes tried to rally their men, shouting and cussing at them, but with the wagons so wide apart, the oxen fighting their harness, horses rearing and screaming in fright, and unknown attackers dropping men with every volley, chaos reigned among the outlaws. Wounded men were crying out for help, dust was swirling everywhere, and that only added to the confusion. Bedell’s men were shooting wildly, not knowing really where the enemy was or who it might be.
Preacher made up his mind and left his cover and went running to the scattered wagons. He hopped into the back of one wagon and the three women there started crying and hollering when they saw who it was.
“Hush up!” Preacher told them, slashing at their bonds. “This ain’t the time for no waterfalls.”
A wide-eyed and scared man jumped onto the wagon seat and just had the time to stare at Preacher for a heartbeat and grab for a pistol in his belt. Preacher took the front top of his head off with one swing from his heavy-bladed knife. The blade sliced through the man’s skull and it was not a real pretty sight to behold.
“Every man for himself!” Preacher caught the faint shout. He thought it was Bedell’s voice, but couldn’t be sure. “Ride, ride! You know where the rendezvous point is. Abandon the wagons and ride for your lives.”
Preacher jumped out of the wagon and jerked out his awesome pistols. He leveled them at a knot of horsemen and started letting the balls fly. Men were knocked from the saddle, most of them grievously wounded at this close range.
A screaming outlaw charged Preacher, swinging his rifle like a club. Preacher’s pistols were empty, so he ducked the rifle butt and kicked the man in the groin. The outlaw hollered, his dirty face turned white, and he hit the ground. The three women that Preacher had just freed jumped out of the wagon and trussed the man up with the same ropes that had just seconds before bound them. They did not handle the man with gentle hands. He was screaming in pain long before they finished hog-tying him.
“You in big trouble,” Preacher told the moaning outlaw. “If I was you, I’d start prayin’.”
Bedell and his men were gone. Like most basically simple plans, this one had worked. Preacher always knew that the more elaborate a plan, the more likely that it would fail.
“Free the other women,” Preacher told the trio of women, just as Steals Pony, Blackjack, and Snake came strolling into the area, a dozen men and women marching ahead of them, hands in the air, prodded along by rifle barrels. “Move quickly ’fore they regroup and return.”
“By God, she worked, Preacher!” Blackjack roared.
“I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight in all my life,” a lady named Rexana said. Her face was bruised from beatings, but she was smiling.
“I love you all,” Odella McNutt said, smiling through her swollen lips.
“Get armed first,” Preacher told the ladies, as they were freed. “Then in small groups, you can bathe and fix yourselves up. We’ll wait ’til my group joins us, then we’ll try the prisoners.”
“This ain’t no court of law!” a whore called Cindy Lou hollered.
Odella walked over to her and busted her right in the mouth with a balled fist. Cindy Lou hit the ground, blood pouring from her mashed lips. “You twisted bitch!” Odella said. “You sorry white trash. I’ll see you hang and take great satisfaction in watching it.”
“Punish them in the ways of my people,” Steals Pony said. “Lasts much longer than hanging.”
“Truss ’em up tight,” Preacher told the group. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon with the others. See you folks.”
It was a grand reunion between the ladies. Fewer in number now, but ever so much stronger and wiser to the ways of the world, especially of a certain type who inhabited the said planet.
“Lord, Lord,” one rescued lady said, after hugging Eudora. “Heaven could not be any more beautiful than the sight of Preacher and his friends yesterday.”
The women had all bathed, most several times, and fixed themselves up as much as they could. They had spent hours washing shirts and britches and undergarments and seeing to their various injuries.
On the morning of the third day following their rescue, the women’s greatest fears had narrowed down to only one: were any of them with child?
Preacher and the other mountain men, Rupert right along with them, ran off and hid in the rocks when the ladies started talking about that!
“What a disgusting thought,” Rupert said. “To be with a child fathered by one of those swine.”
“What do you reckon they’ll do if they is with child?” Blackjack asked.
“Women are much smarter than men in such matters,” Steals Pony said. “They know what to do. I think we shall see a lot of walking, running, and other vigorous forms of behavior among the ladies.”
“But that can’t be!” Rupert said. “They must rest and…” He stopped and nodded his head. “Oh!” he had got it.
“I got to talk to them men about something,” Preacher said. “I’ll be back.”
He went to the trussed-up prisoners. “Any of you boys diseased? And you all know what kind of diseases I’m talkin’ about.”
“Go to hell!” a man called Vince said.
Preacher laid the muzzle of his Hawken on the man’s forehead. “If you think I won’t kill you, think again. Now answer my question.”
Vince told him to go commit an impossible act upon his person. Bluntly.
Preacher pulled the trigger. Afterward, there was not much left of the upper part of Vince’s head. The whores all started squalling and several of the men peed in their already dirty drawers.
Preacher moved to another man. He stood over him, reloading his rifle. “You get the same question, toadface.”
The women had gathered around, as did the other men. They stood silently, after looking at the mess that was once Vince’s head. There was not one note of pity in anyone’s eye.
“Lord God Jesus and Mary!” the bound man yelled. “I’ll answer it.”
“Then answer it,” Preacher said savagely.
“As far as I know, nobody was havin’ no problems peein’. Do that answer your question?”
“Probably as good as I’ll get. What’s your name?”
“Louis.”
“Name them that killed the women.”
“You son of a bitch! You keep your mouth shut up tight!” one of the men hollered.
Preacher lifted his Hawken and one-handed, shot that man between the eyes.
“He was one of them,” Louis said, his voice breaking with fear. His face was covered with sweat; it dripped off his chin and onto the ground. “Handsome Dan over there was another one.”
Handsome Dan cussed Louis, loud and long.
“Hang him,” Preacher told Blackjack.
“Now see here!” Rupert said.
Preacher only gave him one look and that was enough to make him decide to shut his mouth and to keep it shut for the duration.
Preacher looked up at the sky. The sun was directly overhead. “Let’s get this here trial over with,” he said. “We got more’un a thousand miles to go.”
4
“This ain’t legal, you ugly bastard!” one of the “soiled doves” yelled at Preacher.
“She’s one of them who helped Bedell torture poor Caroline to death,” a lady named Yvonne Knight said from the crowd. “Her name is Frida.”
“How do you women find her?”
“Guilty,” they c
alled out.
“Any nays?”
There were none.
Orabella, Cecilia, Nancy, and Rexana led the women to the hanging tree and did the deed. The Bedell confederate checked out with a curse on her lips. One of the outlaws fell to his knees and started praying.
“That one who is calling on the Lord did unnatural things to the boys,” a woman named Vesta said. “Horrible, filthy things.”
“How do you find him?”
The verdict was unanimous.
The man was still praying when the noose was slipped around his neck. The praying stopped quite abruptly.
Six women and eight men were hanged that sunshiny afternoon along the Platte River. They were buried in a common grave, dug by those few the women decided, for one reason or another, to let live.
Louis, as it turned out, and that was verified by the whores and outlaws, had taken no part in the raping, had not killed anyone back at the ambush, and had been belittled by his older brother into coming along with Bedell. His brother was one of the dead that was killed during the first volley of shots from the mountain men.
He was sixteen years old, but looked some older, as did many people of that era.
“You can come with us, Louis,” Eudora told him. “All you need is some mothering and salvation.” She pursed her lips. “And maybe a lanyard laid across your stern every now and then for good measure.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Louis said meekly. “Whatever you say, ma’am.” He was ever so grateful to be away from Bedell and what remained of his gang.
Absaroka Ambush (first Mt Man)/Courage Of The Mt Man Page 16
