The First Mountain Man (5 page)

An inference that none of the missionaries missed.

Preacher took one of the deer steaks out of the pan and fell to eating. With his knife and fingers. Around a mouthful of meat, Preacher said, “The tipi belongs to the Injun women of the plains, and don't ever let nobody tell you no different. The women make 'em, they put 'em up, they take 'em down, they haul 'em around. A man lives there only if the woman wants him to. She can chuck his possessions outside and the marriage is over. And he damn well better scat.”

“How many hides does it take to make a tipi?” Melody asked.

“Anywhere from seven to thirty. Depends on the size of the lodge. It's a social thing for the women. Kind of like a barn raisin' to you folks. Say a Cheyenne needs a new lodge, the word goes out and the women gather, among them, one woman who is the official lodge-maker. After the woman who's needin' a new lodge feeds them all good, they start sewin' the skins together, usually startin' early in the mornin'. They they'll eat again, and it's back to sewin' and gossipin' and gigglin' and singin' and carryin' on. Takes a day and a new lodge is up.”

“Then they have order in their societies?” Edmond asked.

“In a way. The Plains Injuns don't much cotton to someone tellin' 'em what to do.” Preacher stuffed the last of his meat into his mouth, chewed for a moment, swallowed, then belched loudly. “You got to belch after a meal. Means the grub was good. If you don't belch, your host might be offended 'cause he'll think you didn't like his woman's cookin'. Always belch after a meal with the Injuns. 'Least the ones I been around.

“Injuns is pretty much free to come and go as they please in the tribe. Contrary to what you probably been taught, the Plains Injuns ain't got no elected nor passed-down leadership. Even a chief ain't got the power to punish nobody. To get to be a chief means that the rest of the tribe respects that man's wisdom, his courage, or even how well he can talk. Every male is a member of the council, and every man has the right to state his opinions. And they all do. It can go on for days!

“I reckon tradition might be the glue that keeps tribes together. I don't know what else could do it. All the tribes is different, but yet they're strangely alike in a lot of ways. When the white man finally gets up a head of steam and starts comin' thisaway, and they will, they's gonna be a lot of blood spilt. On both sides. At first it's gonna be mostly white people who die. But that won't last long. From what I've been able to pick up durin' the past few years, east of the Big Muddy is fairly overflowin' with people. They got to come west. The Injuns ain't gonna adopt the white ways, and the whites ain't gonna adopt the Injun ways. So what we're gonna have—to my way of thinkin'—is a great big bloody mess that's gonna go on for years.”

“Then the savages have to be convinced that they cannot stand in the way of progress,” Edmond said. “That's where people like us can help.”

Preacher looked at him in the dancing light of the fire. He smiled rather sadly. “White man's way is the only way, huh?” He shook his head and poured a cup of coffee. “We shore take a lot upon ourselves, don't we?”

“Civilization and progress must continue if we, as a nation, are to survive,” Richard said. “That's the way it's always been, and must continue to be.”

“Says who?” Preacher challenged.

“This discussion is silly” Edmond said. “You obviously are not prepared to meet the challenge of a changing world. You miss the point of it all.”

“Oh, I get the point,” the mountain man said. “And lots of other folks will, too. The point of an arrow.”

5

Preacher spent the next morning backtracking the way they entered the cave, carefully erasing all signs of anyone ever having come that way. He spent a couple of hours inspecting the sides of the narrow passageway, picking off hair the horses left as they rubbed the sides here and there. When he was satisfied he could do no more to insure their safety, Preacher rejoined the group in the cave.

“Any sign of them?” Edmond inquired, lifting his eyes from the bible he'd been reading.

“No. But they'll be along. White women's too grand a prize for them to give up on. And they probably figure you're carryin' gold.”

“That's ridiculous!” Richard said.

“Really? Them money belts y'all totin' don't fit too well. They pooch out from time to time.”

Richard and Edmond automatically put hands to their bellies.

“Yep,” Preacher said, pouring coffee. “Gold and women. Many a man has died for that combination. How much you boys carryin?'”

“That is none of your affair,” Edmond bluntly stated.

“You're right,” Preacher replied easily. “It ain't. But if I'm to put my life on the line for you folks, I figure I at least ought to know what I'm dyin' for.”

“This money,” Richard said, patting his belly, “must get to our new mission in Oregon. It isn't ours. This is money raised by our organization back East. Contributors' money. This is money that will be used to further God's work.

“You ain't got no poor folks back in Philadelphia could use a helpin' hand? Must be quite a prosperous place,” Preacher said sarcastically. “Rich folks aboundin' ever'where. I shore wouldn't fit in.”

Richard sighed heavily and Melody laughed at the expression on her friend's face.

“And didn't nobody ever tell y'all that it ain't fittin' for unmarried young men and women to go traispin' off unchaperoned? What does you girls' mommas and daddies think about this trip?”

“We left with their blessings,” Penelope said. “They know that we are both very trustworthy and level-headed women.” She looked at Melody. “One of us is, anyway.”

Melody reached over and patted the young woman on the leg. “Don't worry, dear. I'll look after you. I did promise your mother.”

* * *

Bum Kelley and his boys patiently searched and, as Preacher had predicted, found the trail after Preacher had left the rocks of the creek.

“He's headin' into the wilderness,” Beckman said, just a touch of awe in his voice. “You know that country, Bum?”

Bum shook his head. “Can't say as I do. I've skirted it a time or two taking the south route. But that damn Preacher seems to know every rock between the borders and between the Big Muddy and the ocean. And he turned north, right into the Tetons. Damn his eyes.”

The outlaws stood on the fringe of the mountain range and gazed at the towering peaks that stood silently before them.

“How old a man is this feller, anyways?” a man called Keyes asked.

“Thirty-five or so, I reckon. He came out here, so the stories go, back when he was about twelve or thirteen years old, and he ain't never stopped explorin'. So he's got twenty or so years of experience behind his belt. And he's as tricky as they come.”

“He know you, Bum?” Bobby asked.

“He knows me. And he don't like me.”

“Hey!” Slug shouted. “Here comes Jack Harris. I knowed he'd catch up with us.”

Jack swung down from the saddle wearily. His clothing was in rags and he looked gaunt. “Put some grub on, boys,” Jack said. “I ain't et in days.”

A fire was hurriedly built and a thick deer steak jammed on a pointed stick. A blackened coffee pot filled with creek water was soon boiling and the coffee dumped in.

Jack was so worn out he could hardly keep his eyes open. A cup of thick strong coffee perked him up enough to talk, while the cooking steak caused drool to appear on the man's lips.

“What happened back yonder at the wagon train, Jack?” Bum asked.

“Them Injuns came out of nowhere, I tell you. I didn't have a clue they was there. I jumped off the flat and hit the timber at the first yell 'cause I could see we didn't have a chance. The outriders went down first. I don't know what happened after that. I was too busy floggin' my good horse gettin' away from there. I waited two days, I think it was, and went back lookin' for food. But I couldn't find nothin' 'ceptin' some bloody bandages and shod tracks headin' west. You boys' and somebody else's. I just started followin' along.”

“Preacher,” Bum said. “I recognized that big gray of his through my spy glass. He's got them gospel shouters and the women with him. He knows we're on his trail and he's wary.”

Jack was instantly alert.
“Preacher!
What the hell's he doin' up here? He's supposed to be down on the Popo Agie at the rendezvous.”

“Well, he ain't. And he's tooken them folks into the wilderness.” He pointed. “Yonder.”

“In
there?
” Jack said with horror in his voice. “Northwest to the talkin' smoke?”

“I don't think so. I think he's got him a hidey hole in the lonesome yonder and he's all tucked away, thinkin' he's safe.”

“He's pretty damn safe in there, Bum. I don't know that country. Hell, don't
nobody
really know that country. Well, a few does. And Preacher's one of them.”

Bum looked hard at the man. “You want to give up?”

Jack jerked the half-raw steak from the stick and went to gnawing. He finally shook his head and wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. Them two men was carryin' heavy with gold.” He belched and farted and tore off another hunk of bloody meat. “And them women, boys, I swear I ain't never seen nothin' so fine in all my days.”

“How fine?” a thug named Leo asked, leaning closer to Jack, his thick lips slick with spittle.

“Fine enough to fight a grizzly for.”

“Bet they smell good, too,” Bull said. “I just cain't hardly wait!”

* * *

The ladies had gone down to the waterfall to bathe and wash clothes, using soap they had salvaged from the ruins of the wagon train. Preacher sat on the outside of the cave exit, overlooking the valley. He had carefully cleaned his weapons and placed them at the ready. He knew it was only a matter of time before they would be found. No one is good enough to obliterate all signs of their passing, not if there is a good tracker behind them. And while Bum's people were no-goods, they had survived in the mountains for years, so that made them professional in anybody's book.

Preacher doubted that Bum's boys would have the patience to explore the blow-down, so the rear entrance was reasonably secure. But one or two of them would be brave enough or curious enough to follow the twisting passageway once it was located—and it would be located, he felt sure of that. So let them come on. They would die in that twisting maze and the silent rock walls would be their coffins.

Preacher had spent that morning rigging dead-falls and other traps in the darkness of the twisting entranceway. He had warned the others not to enter there. To make his point, he had showed them on of his traps, and how lethal it was.

“Hideous,” Edmond had said.

“Awful,” Penelope whispered.

“Such a terrible thing to do to a person,” Richard said.

“I just hope it works,” Melody said.

It'll work,
Preacher thought, as he honed his already sharp knife to a razor's edge. The first one to hit the traps will make the others awful cautious. But they'll press on. The second trap will stop them cold; maybe for a day.
By that time, we'll be far away and pushing hard.

“You didn't just stop here for safety's sake, did you, Preacher?” Richard asked, breaking into the mountain man's thoughts.

“What else you think I had on my mind?” Preacher looked at him.

“You knew we needed several days of rest,” the missionary said, and pegged it right. “My wound needed to heal and we all needed to lay about and eat and regain strength. But you, alone, would have been a hundred miles away by now. You're risking your life for people you hardly know. You're a very brave and complex man, Mister ... what is your Christian name?”

“Preacher'll do. Yeah, they's some truth in me wantin' to get you folks rested some. When we leave here, we're gonna be pushin' hard, with not much time to rest. They's a small fort down near Massacre Rocks on the Snake. Fort Hall, I believe it's called. Few soldier boys down yonder. But it's gonna be hell gettin' there. If I can get y' all to the fort, that'll put you back on the Oregon Trail and it bein' springtime and all, chances are good a wagon train is there or one will be along shortly.”

“And you'll leave us there?” Edmond asked.

“Why should I stay any longer?”

“Melody, if I may speak frankly,” Edmond said.

“Fine-lookin' woman. Good woman, too, I believe. Got stayin' power to her. I like her. I'll say that in front of God and ever'body. And it's both an uncomfortable and yet nice feelin'. Been a long time since I experienced anything like it. But our worlds is different. Too far apart. I don't fit in hers and she shore as hell don't fit into mine. So relax, pilgrim. You won't see me again. This is my word, the mountains, the wilderness, the open sky. I plan on dyin' out here. My good horse will stumble, or an Injun's arrow or war axe will find me. I might get concerned by a bear, and we'll have us a high ol' time, a-roarin' and a-yellin' and a-clawed and a-bitin' and a-stobbin' 'til one of us is down.” He smiled, showing amazingly good teeth and softened his facial features. “She don't fit in them plans.”

Richard smiled. “I believe she might have something to say about that.”

“She might think she do. But she don't. Oh, I know the signs, all right. I can see 'em on her face and in her eyes. But once I leave the lot of you at Fort Hall, I'm gone like the wind. I got mountains to climb and rivers to ford. I got valleys to cross where the grass is so lush and high it brushes the belly of my horse. I got to see country I ain't never seen before. I can't do that with no woman taggin' along. Not unless it's a squaw who's used to the hard ways of the trail.” Preacher stood up. “You boys stay put. And when the women gets back, y'all start gettin' your possiblies together. I'm fixin' to move some things close to that blow-down hole.”

“You think those hooligans are close?” Edmond asked.

“I think they're right outside.”

Preacher scrambled up the sloping sides of the valley and stepped into a maze of virgin brush and timber. The bench that encircled the little valley was about three hundred yards deep. He made his way carefully to the outer edge and was not surprised to see Bum and several of his gang moving slowly toward the rock face, a tracker on foot, carefully studying the ground. Preacher backed off and silently made his way back to the cave.

“No talkin',” he whispered. “They're outside now. Get your gear together and get gone to the waterfall. You'll see a natural lean-to on the north side of the falls. It's big enough for all of you and the horses. Take my packhorse with you. There's my gear. No fires. Get gone. Like right now.”

The men were gone in ten minutes, gathering up their gear and heading out toward the horses. Preacher quickly packed up what he would carry out and set the pack by the mouth of the cave. Then he drank what coffee was left in the pot, packed the pot away, and carefully put out the fire. He went outside and saddled his horse, then sat back and waited, his. 54 caliber Hawken at the ready.

He knew it was only a matter of time now, and probably not that much time. He had lied to the others about how safe they would be in the cave in order to give them some comfort and let them relax. It had worked and all of them, even Richard, were back up to snuff and ready for the trail.

Preacher knew that a good tracker would find the cave opening. Whether or not they would search the entire twisting, turning passageway was up for grabs. Preacher had, years back, but he'd also been wary of running into a bear or a mountain lion. He hoped the men out there now would be twice as wary as he was, but they had women and gold on their minds.

He heard a very faint scraping sound and slowly rose, moving silently toward the entrance to the passageway. They had found the opening.

He had rigged the first dead-fall in such a manner that as dark as it was in that narrow passage, they would probably think it was just an accident.

The second trap would be a hell of a lot more obvious to anyone that it was man-made.

“Dark in there,” Bull said, his words not reaching Preacher, who was crouched near the opening, waiting.

“What the hell did you think it would be?” Beckman asked. “A lamp-lit roadhouse? Can you see anything at all?”

“Nothing. Narrow trail, is all. Don't look wide enough for no horse to get through.”

Jack Harris shouldered his way into the passage. “It's wide enough. Dirt's too smooth for my likin'. It looks like it's been smoothed out by a branch to me.”

“Maybe,” Bull said. “There damn sure ain't no puma or bear tracks in the dirt.”

“There ain't nothin' on that dirt. See that openin' high up?” He pointed upward to the tiny crack. “It's rained lately here. Drops would have cut the groove in the dirt. He had to hide his tracks, but Preacher was hopin' we wouldn't notice that. I noticed. They's in yonder somewheres, boys.”