Forty Guns West (3 page)

“They're welcome to try,” Preacher replied.

“I wished I didn't hurt so bad, I'd go with you. Sounds like fun to me.”

“I'll try to avoid 'em. I don't want the boy to get hurt.”

“Sounds like you took a shine to this lad.”

“He just needed a chance, and I aim to see that he gets it.”

“You want me to lay up on a ridge and kill them fellers you was talkin' to in the bar?”

Preacher shook his head. “I'm obliged, but no. They didn't look like much to me. When they see how hard the trail is, I'm thinkin' they'll give it up.”

“They might. You take care of yourself, ol' hoss.”

“I'll do it, Pete.”

Back at the shady glen, Preacher said, “We got man-hunters on our trail, boy. We got to shake them if we can. But we got to cross them damn plains 'fore we get to the mountains. Let's ride, son. We got hell nippin' at our heels.”

3

“Were you the first mountain man, Preacher?” Eddie asked.

“Oh, no, boy. There was lots of men in the High Lonesome long 'fore I come along. I got there right in the middle of it all, though. We had some high ol' times, we did.”

Eddie loved to get Preacher going on some of his exploits. The boy wasn't that sure that Preacher was telling him the truth all the time, but the tales were lively and entertaining and they helped pass the hours between supper and bedtime.

Preacher was teaching Eddie the ways of the wilderness as they crossed the Arkansas line and headed into the Territories. “Wild country from here on in, Eddie. And it gets wilder the farther west we go.”

“Will we see heathen Indians, Preacher?”

“I'd just as soon we didn't, but we prob'ly will. I best start your learnin' about Injuns, Eddie.”

“They attack and scalp people,” the boy said.

“Well, some do and some don't. Personally, I don't think Injuns started that scalpin' business. I think they learned that from the white man some years back. Your Sioux and Cree Injuns, to name a few, place a lot of value on scalps, but other tribes place much more value on countin' coup on an enemy or the stealin' of his horse. And Injuns ain't bad folks, Eddie.” He paused. “Well, maybe with the exception of the Pawnee. I ain't never been able to get along with them damn Pawnee. The Injun just ain't like us, that's all. Their values is different. You don't never want to show fear around an Injun. Remember that always. Courage is something an Injun respects more than anything else.”

“Preacher?”

“Yeah, boy.”

“You know there are men following us?”

“Oh, yeah. I been knowing that since yesterday afternoon. I wanted to see when you'd pick up on it. That's the way it is, Eddie. People look at lots of things, but very few actually see anything. I think it's them loud mouths I met back yonder in Little Rock. I don't want to have to hurt none of them, but I'll be damned ifn I'll let them hurt us.”

Preacher had armed the boy and stopping often along the way, had taught him how to shoot both rifle and pistol. Preacher still carried his muskets, but back in Ohio, he'd picked up a couple of 1836 breech loading carbines, and one kiss 1833 Hall North breech loader rifle. The breech loaders gave him a lot more firepower because they took a lot less time to load.

“What are you going to do about those men back there, Preacher?”

“I don't know, boy. Yet. But I got to discourage them and that's a fact.”

“Is there a reward posted for you?”

“Yep. I don't know how much, but I 'spect it's a princely sum for the news of it to have traveled this far.” Preacher pointed to a meandering creek, lined on both sides by cottonwoods. “We'll face them down over yonder.”

Preacher took his time making camp, and making certain that Eddie was safe from any wandering bullets, then squatted down by the tiny fire he'd thrown together and boiled some coffee. He figured the men behind him would show up in about half an hour. He checked his guns and waited.

He didn't miss the time mark by more than a few minutes. Three mounted men reined up when they spotted Preacher, sittin' big as brass by the fire, drinking coffee right out in the open, making no attempt to hide himself.

At that distance, Preacher couldn't be certain, but the men looked like those who'd been braggin' back in Little Rock. They rode toward the camp, muskets at the ready.

“Hallo the camp!” one hollered.

“Come on in,” Preacher returned the shout. “If you're friendly, that is. If you're not, you best make your peace with God, 'cause if you start trouble with me, you'll damn well be planted here.”

The trio hesitated, then rode on. “You!” the man who wanted to shake hands with the devil blurted, as the men reined up close to the camp.

“In the flesh,” Preacher said, standing up, his hands close to the butts of his terrible pistols. “What are you three doin' doggin' my back trail?”

“We're a-lookin' for a wanted desperado called Preacher.”

“You found him, hombre. Now what are you goin' to do about it?”

The men exchanged glances. Preacher had the advantage, and the men, although unskilled in man-hunting, were fully aware of that fact.

The man who held a kinship with the devil cleared his throat and said, “In the name of the law, I command you to surrender.”

Preacher laughed at him. “The Injuns call me Ghost Walker, White Wolf, and Killing Ghost. Now, before you push me to show you why I'm called that, you boys best turn them ponies around and head back to Arkansas.”

“Cain't do that,” the second man said. “We done made our brags back to home that we'uns was gonna bring you in—dead or alive.”

“You boys is makin' a bad mistake,” Preacher warned them. “That shootin' back in O-hi-o was a fair one. I give that Parks feller more'un a fair shake. Now back off and let me be.”

The man who warned to sit down with the devil got his wish. “I can feel that gold in my hands now,” he said. Then jerked up his rifle and leveled it at Preacher.

Preacher snaked the big, heavy four-barreled monster from his leather holster and blew him out of the saddle. The double shot took him in the chest and face, making a mess out of the man's head.

The man's companions fought their spooked horses for a moment. One of them lost his musket in the process. When they got their horses calmed down, they sat staring at Preacher. The mountain man now stood with both hands filled with those terrible-looking pistols.

“You kilt Charlie Barnes!” one man said after finally finding his words.

“Shore looks that way,” Preacher said. “Either that or he's mighty calm.”

“Whut do we do now?” the remaining man asked.

“You boys dismount, careful like, and I'll tell you.”

The two men carefully dismounted and stood before Preacher.

“Lay all your guns on the ground,” Preacher ordered.

Guns on the ground, Preacher said, “Now bury your buddy.”

“We ain't got any shovel!”

“Then use your hands and a stick! Move!”

While the men were struggling to gouge out a hole, Preacher stripped their horses of saddle and bridle. He kept their pack horse and supplies.

Charlie Barnes now planted in the earth, Preacher said, “Now strip down to the buff, boys.”

“Do what?”

“Strip, boy! Are you deef?”

The men took one look at the eight barrels pointing at them and quickly peeled down to bare skin. “This is plumb humiliatin'!” one said.

“Now get on your horses and ride,” Preacher ordered.

“Bareback? Like this?” the other one shrieked.

“Like that. Or I'll shoot you both and leave you for the buzzards. What's it gonna be?”

“But they's highwaymen back yonder. We ain't got no means of protectin' ourselves.”

“One look at you two, nekked as a jaybird, and any outlaws will laugh themselves silly at the sight. You got ten seconds to get clear 'fore I start shootin'. If I ever see either of you followin' me again, I'll lay up and ambush you. And that's a promise.”

Ten seconds later, the two would-be man-hunters were gone, moaning and complaining about their discomfort.

Preacher chuckled and stoked up the fire. “Come on out, Eddie. Let's fix us something to eat and see what we got new in supplies.”

“Those men are gonna sure be rubbed raw and sore time they get back to town,” the boy said.

“I 'spect so. Break out the fryin' pan, boy. I'm hungry.”

While Eddie cut slices of bacon, Preacher inspected the newly acquired supplies. The men had provisioned well. The added supplies would take Preacher and the kid a long ways. Preacher stripped the saddle and bridle from the dead man's horse. It was a fine animal; too fine to be turned loose. Preacher could trade the horse for something later on up the trail. The men had brought along enough powder and shot to stand off an army. One had brought along a fowling piece, a fine double barreled shotgun that just might come in handy along the way. There was nothing like a shotgun all loaded up with nuts and bolts and the like to take all the fight out of a trouble-maker. Preacher had seen men cut literally in two with a shotgun.

“Those men might try to come back,” Eddie said, laying strips of bacon in the pan.

“Yep. I 'spect they will, boy. Tonight I 'spect Charlie Barnes will have company come the dawnin'.”

“We could move on.”

“We could. But we ain't. Learn this, boy: You start takin' water from one man, pretty soon you gonna take it from another. Then runnin' away becomes a habit. Eddie, out here, a man's word is his bond and a man's character, or lack of it, stays with him forever. I tried to warn them three back in town. They didn't pay no heed to my words. Barnes paid the price. Them others will too, I reckon. We'll see.”

The boy smiled shyly. “If I was set loose in the wilderness bare-butt nekked, I figure I'd try to get my clothes back too. Wouldn't you?”

Preacher returned the smile. “I 'spect.”

* * *

Preacher lay in his blankets and listened to the two Arkansas men as they made their return to the camp by the creek. He had to suppress a chuckle as the barefoot men stepped on rocks and thorns and oohhed and ouched and groaned along, trying their best to be quiet, but losing the game something awful. He figured it was right around midnight.

Preacher slipped from his blankets and picked up the club he'd chosen hours before. He really did not want to kill these two, just discourage them mightily. He glanced over at Eddie. The boy was sleeping soundly, a habit that he would soon break if he wanted to survive out here.

Preacher slipped like a ghost out of camp and away from the dying eye of the fire. By now he had the men spotted. It wasn't all that hard to do. Their lily white skin was shinin' in the faint light like a turd on top of a white-icin' birthday cake. Preacher slipped around and camped up behind them, his moccasins making no sound as he moved from tree to tree. Preacher had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing at the sight. The men had wrapped some sort of leafy vine around their waists. Looked to Preacher like it was poison ivy. The men must have tore the stuff down in the dark, not realizing what they were wrapping around their privates and over their buttocks.

They'd damn sure know come tomorrow, what with all the itchin' and scratchin' they'd be doin'.

Preacher whacked the one in the rear on the back of his noggin, and when the man in front turned around, Preacher laid the shillelagh across his forehead. Both men dropped like rocks.

Being careful to avoid the poison leaves, and it was poison ivy, Preacher tied them up, back to back, ankle and wrists, and left them on the ground. He returned to his blankets and went to sleep, a smile on his face.

The men probably realized it would only lead to more knots on their heads if they hollered during the night, so they remained silent until Preacher was up just before first light, coaxing some coals to fire and making coffee.

“Mister Preacher?” one called. “We is in some awful discomfort over here.”

“I don't doubt it,” Preacher called, setting the coffee pot on the rocks. “You got poison ivy wrapped all around you.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Well, hell, Jonas!” the second man said. “No wonder I been itchin' all night.”

“Mister Preacher?” Jonas called.

“What is it?”

“Ifn you'd give us back our clothes and saddles, we'd git so far gone from here by noon we wouldn't even be a memory in your mind.”

“You ain't gettin' your supplies back.”

“You can have 'em, Mister Preacher. With our blessin's.”

Preacher had already piled their clothes up and had them ready. He cut the men loose. “You boys head on down to the crick and pat mud all around your privates. It'll help take the itch out of that poison ivy.”

“I know better than to wrap myself in poison ivy,” Eddie said contemptuously, watching the men gingerly make their way to the creek. He looked at Preacher. “You could have killed them.”

“Yeah. I could have. But they're followers, not leaders. That Charlie Barnes, he talked them into this. There's a time to kill and a time to talk, boy. I think it says something like that in the Good Book. I need to get me a Bible. It's right comfortin' to read them words. Had me a Bible. Lost it last year. I think I left it with Hammer.”

“Hammer?”

“My old horse. Some scum kilt him. I tracked them and kilt them. Hammer was a good horse. I miss him. We rode a lot of trails together.”

Jonas looked at his companion, both of them sitting in the creek, letting the water momentarily ease the itching and burning. He whispered, “That mountain man tracked down a bunch of men who kilt his horse and kilt them.”

“I heard. I knowed we was makin' a mistake when we let that Charlie Barnes talk us into this. Jonas, you ain't never gonna say nothin' about this, is you?”

“No, not a word.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Let's spit on it.”

The men spat and their secret was sealed.

Both Eddie and Preacher noticed the men were a mighty sorry lookin' pair as they climbed up the creek bank and joined them around the fire. They walked funny, too.

Preacher had cooked bacon and pan bread and he told the pair to sit and eat.