“He’s not full-blood Comanche,” Jamie interrupted. “His ma was white.”
The man’s lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl as he leaned over Ramirez. “But I still live to kill, as you said,” he told the Mexican gunman in English. “Especially puffed-up little popinjays like you.”
“Take it easy, Dog Brother,” Jamie said. “If I let go of your wrist, you promise not to plant that bowie in Ramirez?”
Preacher said, “You know this hombre, Jamie?”
“We’ve crossed trails a few times,” Jamie said. “How about it, Dog Brother?”
“I will not kill the Mejicano,” Dog Brother said with surly reluctance. “Unless he tries to kill me. Then I will show him no mercy.”
“Fair enough,” Preacher said. “I’m gonna move my foot. You pouch that iron, you hear me, Ramirez?”
After a few seconds, Ramirez nodded with the same reluctance Dog Brother had displayed in agreeing to call a halt to the fight.
Jamie and Preacher stepped back. The two battlers watched each other with extreme wariness as they got to their feet and put away their weapons. Dog Brother picked up his beaver hat, which had gone flying off when he dived from his horse, knocked the dust from it, and settled it on his head without ever taking his eyes off Ramirez.
“A filthy half-breed is no more worthy of trust than a full-blooded cur of a Comanche,” Ramirez said.
“A Mexican is a fine one to speak of trust,” Dog Brother returned. “They are all sneaking thieves.”
“Both of you settle down and shut your mouths,” Jamie told them harshly. “Neither of you is important enough that we won’t boot you out of this bunch right here and now. We can’t have any fighting amongst ourselves.”
“That’s right,” Preacher added. “We’ll have plenty of fightin’ with other folks where we’re goin’.”
Dog Brother turned his head to look at Jamie. “Your letter said there would be fighting, but not with who.” He cast a sneering glance in Ramirez’s direction. “Mexicans?”
“Apaches.”
Dog Brother thought about that for a second, then nodded. “They are ancient enemies of my father’s people. I hate my father and all the Comanche . . . but I would not mind killing some Apaches.”
“You hate the Comanch’?” Preacher asked in surprise.
Dog Brother gave him a haughty look but didn’t bother answering otherwise. Instead he looked around at the crowd of men who had gathered and said, “All these men are going to fight the Apaches?”
“That’s right,” Jamie said.
Dog Brother jerked his square chin in a nod and thrust out his hand to Jamie. “I will go, too, if you are their leader, MacCallister.”
“I am,” Jamie said as he shook hands, “and I’m glad to have you along.”
Ramirez didn’t look at all happy about that, but he picked up his sombrero and walked away as he slapped the hat against his thigh.
Some of the other men started to move closer, as if they were going to introduce themselves to Dog Brother, but the half-breed turned his back on them, went to his horse—a big gray, not an Indian pony—and grasped the reins to lead it away.
“Well, he ain’t friendly a-tall,” Tennysee drawled.
“He said he hates the Comanch’,” Powder Pete added, “and he sounded like he don’t cotton to the Apaches, neither. Does he just hate all Injuns?”
“Nope,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “Dog Brother hates everybody.”
* * *
A couple of days passed, and it began to look as if everyone who was going to show up in response to the summons already had. That bothered Preacher, because there were two more men he’d been hoping to see and he would feel a lot better about venturing down into Apache country if they were along.
Then he spotted two riders approaching the camp from the direction of Santa Fe, moving along at a deliberate pace. One of the riders was big, that was apparent even at a distance, but his companion appeared to be a child perched on a small, spotted pony. A big grin stretched across Preacher’s face as he recognized them.
“These are the fellas I told you about,” he said to Jamie. “And I’m mighty glad to see ’em. These ol’ boys have been to Hades and back with me more times than I can count.”
Everyone gathered to greet the newcomers, even Ramirez and Dog Brother—although the Mexican and the half-breed stood apart from the others and from each other, one on either side of the main group. As the riders came closer, it became obvious that the larger of the pair was an Indian. His lined, weathered face appeared ancient at first glance, but it was difficult to determine an Indian’s age. Even Preacher, who had known this man for decades, wasn’t sure how old he was.
The second man was white, as old as Preacher or perhaps even older, but he had a sprightly air about him that made him seem younger. His eyes sparkled with a keen intellect. When he stood up, he was three and a half feet tall, and his broad shoulders and sturdy body made him seem almost that wide. Preacher had heard him described as a large amount of trouble in a very compact package, and truer words were never spoken.
The big Indian was a Crow warrior named Nighthawk. His diminutive constant companion was called Audie. He had a full, distinguished name that he had gone by, back in the days when he was a college professor, but since he had left that life behind him to head west and become a fur trapper and adventurer, he had never used it again. The two of them were just Audie and Nighthawk, the best friends Preacher had ever had.
After they had reined in, Nighthawk dismounted first and then lifted Audie from the pony’s back to set him on the ground. Preacher hurried forward, pumped Nighthawk’s hand, and then went down on one knee to pound Audie on the back and shake hands with him, too.
“You two are a sight for sore eyes, and I ain’t jokin’,” Preacher declared. “I was about to give up on you.”
“As if we’d ever pass up the opportunity to partake of an adventure with you, Preacher,” Audie said.
“You’d probably like to know what you’re gettin’ into—”
“No need for that. The only knowledge required is that you’re involved, and when that’s the case, it’s a veritable certainty that excitement will abound!” Audie looked around at the men who had gathered and went on. “Now, other than the ones with whom Nighthawk and I are already acquainted, who are all the members of this ladies’ sewing circle you’ve assembled?”
Some of the men started to bristle at that, but Preacher quickly put them at ease by introducing Audie and Nighthawk.
Jamie shook hands with both of them and said, “I’ve heard a heap about you fellas. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“The feeling is certainly mutual,” Audie said. “The name Jamie Ian MacCallister is renowned from one end of the frontier to the other.”
“Umm,” Nighthawk said. The big Crow warrior hardly ever said anything else.
Audie continued to Jamie. “You’ve probably known Preacher longer than anyone here except Dupre.”
“Yeah, I was just a youngster the first time we ran into each other. And we’ve been crossing trails ever since.”
“Usually when all hell’s about to break loose,” Preacher said dryly. “Let me introduce you to the other fellas.”
That went well except for Ramirez and Dog Brother, both of whom walked off before any introductions could be made.
“Don’t mind them,” Preacher told the newcomers. “They’re surly as old ’possums, but as long as they do their jobs, I reckon that’s all that matters.”
“Indeed,” Audie agreed. He smiled. “It appears that Nighthawk has already made some new friends.”
Nighthawk stood with his arms crossed, solemnly regarding Lars and Bengt Molmberg, who stood a few feet away looking equally somber. After a long moment of silence, Nighthawk said, “Ummm.” The Swedish brothers returned grave nods.
“Aw, shoot!” Tennysee exclaimed. “Now we’re never gonna get any peace and quiet around here with them thre
e jabberin’ away like that!”
CHAPTER 15
Now that Audie and Nighthawk had arrived to join the group, Preacher was ready to get the expedition started, but he supposed it was a good idea to wait a few more days, just to make sure no one else showed up. Jamie agreed. Also, they could use that time to finish buying supplies for the journey.
Preacher and Jamie were at one of the stores fronting on Santa Fe’s main plaza, along with Fletch and Clementine, who had brought their wagon from the livery stable so it could be loaded. The young people were still inside the store as Clementine picked out a few last-minute things she wanted to take along for their new home in California.
Jamie and Preacher stood out on the high porch and loading dock as clerks carried crates and bags out of the store and placed them in the back of the wagon.
Jamie frowned and commented, “I’m not sure we can get everything we need in there. We’ve got fifteen mouths to feed—seventeen if you count Fletch and Clementine—and that many folks go through a lot of food.”
“I figured we’d do some huntin’ for fresh meat while we’re down there,” Preacher said.
“Hunt what? Rattlesnakes? Lizards? Might be a few scrawny javelinas roaming around, or some bighorn sheep in the little mountain ranges that pop up here and there. It’s not a country rich in game animals.”
“We can get some pack mules,” Preacher suggested. “You can carry a lot of supplies on a mule.”
Jamie rubbed his chin in thought and nodded. “That’s a possibility—”
“Mr. MacCallister?” a man’s voice interrupted him.
Jamie and Preacher turned to see two men standing there. They wore town suits and hats and looked out of place in a rough-and-ready frontier settlement like Santa Fe. Their pale, unlined faces testified that they hadn’t spent a lot of time out in the sun, either.
The man who had spoken went on. “My name is Noah Stuart.” He was the younger and larger of the pair, probably in his late twenties, with dark hair and a friendly, handsome face. A pair of spectacles perched on his nose.
“Son, you say that name like you expect it to mean something to me,” Jamie responded. “No offense, but we haven’t met, and I don’t reckon I’ve ever heard of you.”
“You didn’t get Mr. Charlton’s letter?” Noah Stuart asked as he cocked his head slightly to the side in apparent surprise.
Jamie shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything from Owen in weeks.”
The second stranger, small, in his mid-thirties, with a squinty look about him, plucked at Stuart’s sleeve and said, “Perhaps we should try to contact Mr. Charlton ourselves and find out if there are any later orders for us.”
“If Mr. Charlton wanted us to know anything, I’m sure he would have gotten in touch with us, Chester,” Stuart replied.
“But he may have tried, and his message simply hasn’t reached us yet. We should go to the territorial governor’s office and make sure. He did say that he would contact us through the governor’s office, didn’t he?”
“That’s true,” Stuart admitted. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt—”
“Hold on a minute,” Jamie said. “Before the two of you go gallivanting off, how about explaining why you were looking for me in the first place?”
“Oh. Of course.” Stuart nodded. “Chester and I—this is my assistant, Chester Merrick—we’ve been sent to join your expedition.”
Jamie and Preacher looked at each other, then back at the two men.
Jamie said, “You do know why we’re heading down into the border country, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Stuart answered without hesitation. “You’re being sent to establish peaceful relations with the primitives who live in the area.”
“Welllll . . .” Preacher said, “I reckon that’s one way of puttin’ it.”
“We’re going to kill Apaches and run out the ones we don’t kill,” Jamie said, not softening his tone or the words he spoke.
“And you boys just don’t look like Injun fighters,” Preacher added.
Stuart said, “We were made aware that there might be some, uh, some resistance from the natives but that they would come around once the facts of the situation were explained in the proper manner—”
“The only explanations Apaches listen to come in calibers,” Preacher said.
Chester Merrick swallowed hard and said, “That sounds very dangerous.”
“Surely it won’t be that bad,” Noah Stuart said with a slight frown.
Jamie said, “Preacher’s right. There’s going to be a lot of fighting, and I can’t figure out why Owen Charlton thought you two gentlemen ought to come along.”
“Not to fight,” Stuart said firmly. “I’m a surveyor and cartographer, and as I told you, Chester is my assistant. Neither of us are . . . mercenaries.”
“You’re not in the army, either, I’d wager.”
“Certainly not, although we do work for the United States government, specifically the Office of the Interior and Secretary Thomas Ewing.”
Jamie nodded. “But at least I understand now why Owen gave you this job. You’re supposed to make a survey for a possible railroad route through the southern part of the territory, aren’t you?”
“Precisely,” Stuart replied. “Before further discussions can proceed in Washington, it has to be determined whether it’s even feasible for a railroad to be built through the region. Not only that, but there’s also the question of whether following the best route will require acquiring more land from Mexico, or whether the territory already ceded by the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo will be sufficient.” Stuart’s voice was firmer and more confident now that he was talking about something within his area of expertise. “You understand, it may be years before any actual work begins on the railroad, but all these preliminary investigations must be done first.”
“Something’s got to start the ball,” Preacher muttered.
“What? Oh, yes.” Stuart shrugged. “I suppose one could phrase it that way.”
“I understand what you’re telling us, Mr. Stuart,” Jamie said, “but I’m not sure you understand just what you’re getting into. There’s a mighty good chance some of us won’t be coming back from down there.”
Merrick said, “You mean we may be killed?”
“That’s what Apaches do,” Preacher said. “Killin’ white folks is one of their favorite things.”
Jamie knew Preacher was overstating things a bit just to make sure the very real dangers of the situation soaked in for Stuart and Merrick. The pallor on the faces of the two men had deepened during the conversation.
Stuart summoned up a look of determination as he said, “Nevertheless, this is the assignment we’ve been given, and we intend to carry it out. Isn’t that right, Chester?”
Merrick didn’t answer for a long moment, and when he did, it was with obvious reluctance. “Yes, I . . . I suppose so.”
Preacher asked, “How’d you boys get here?”
Stuart turned and pointed to a large, sturdy-looking covered wagon parked up the street in front of the hotel. A team of six mules was attached to it.
“That’s our wagon.”
Preacher rubbed his grizzled chin and wanted to know, “How much room you got in it?”
Stuart looked surprised by the question. “Well . . . some, I suppose. Of course we have all our surveying equipment, along with some supplies and personal belongings, but all that doesn’t fill up the wagon.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jamie said to Preacher.
The mountain man shrugged. “We’re gonna be usin’ Fletch and Clementine’s wagon for our camp anyway. That other one ought to give us enough room for supplies for everybody.”
“Wait a minute,” Stuart said. “Our wagon belongs to the United States government—”
“And we’re going to be on government business,” Jamie told him. “Here’s another thing you need to consider if you want to come along with us, mister. Preacher and I are in c
harge of this bunch. We’ll be giving the orders, and you’ll be following them. How does that sit with you?”
“You’ll allow me to conduct the surveying and mapping activities I’ve been assigned?”
“If at all possible,” Jamie said. “But there may be times when I tell you to sit tight, and you’ll need to sit tight. You’ll be expected to help out around camp, too.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Stuart said. “What do you think, Chester?”
“I suppose,” Merrick replied, but again he sounded definitely less than enthusiastic about the whole affair.
Jamie nodded and said, “All right. I reckon you can come along if you’re bound and determined to do it, as long as you know what you’re getting into. Go get your wagon and bring it over here so we can load some of our supplies in it.”
Stuart turned to Merrick. “You can do that, please, Chester.”
Muttering to himself, Merrick walked away, heading toward the wagon parked at the hotel.
“Something else I just thought of,” Jamie said. “I know you’re not fighters, but did you fellas bring any guns with you anyway?”
“As a matter of fact, we did. It was thought we might need weapons for self-defense, or in case we decided to do some hunting. We have a pistol—it looks rather like the one you’re carrying, Mr. MacCallister, so it may be the same type—along with a rifle and a shotgun.”
“Ever actually used any of them guns?” Preacher asked.
“We’ve done a bit of target practice along the way.” A note of pride entered Stuart’s voice as he added, “And now and then I shot a few rabbits that we roasted over a campfire. So you see, we’re not complete novices when it comes to surviving in the great outdoors.”
Jamie and Preacher managed not to laugh at that. While they were trying not to grin, Fletch and Clementine emerged from the store. Fletch was carrying several paper-wrapped bundles of whatever Clementine had picked out to buy. They both stopped short when they saw Jamie and Preacher standing there talking to a stranger.
Jamie beckoned them over and said, “Fletch, Clementine, this is Mr. Noah Stuart. He’s a government surveyor and mapmaker. He and a friend of his are going to be coming along with us. Stuart, this is Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher Wylie.”
They Came to Kill Page 9
