Preacher's Fortune Read online

  Chambers nodded. “Yes, yes, no doubt. And Mr. Larson and the other men are close by in case you needed any assistance. But what about Preacher and Señor Alvarez? They might hear the shots and come rushing back.”

  “We’d have the girl to use as a hostage,” Worthy said stubbornly. “They couldn’t do a thing, as long as they wanted to keep her alive.”

  “Didn’t we have a long talk about this? The only real threat facing us is Preacher. We don’t want him wandering around loose, knowing what we’re really after. Right now he believes the lies he’s been told. We need to keep him from becoming suspicious of us, and that way we can bide our time and strike at the proper moment, so that we wipe out all of our opposition at once.”

  “Waitin’s all well and good, but sometimes you got to strike while the iron’s hot.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that old saying. It’s not always applicable.”

  Worthy looked confused.

  “Sometimes it’s better to wait,” Chambers went on, clarifying his position. “Trust me, George. Before we’re through, the lost treasure of Mission Santo Domingo will be ours, and all of our enemies will be dead.”

  “Includin’ Preacher?”

  “Especially including Preacher,” Chambers said.

  THIRTEEN

  Preacher and Esteban went up and down several canyons that morning without finding what they were looking for. None of the canyons led to the top of a plateau, and Preacher didn’t see anything that looked like it would inspire the name “wolves of God.” When they stopped to make a cold lunch on jerky and tortillas, Esteban was discouraged.

  Preacher tried to cheer him up by saying, “You didn’t really figure you’d find the treasure the very first mornin’ you went to look for it, did you?”

  “We could have,” Esteban said.

  Preacher nodded. “Yeah, I reckon we could have. Stranger things have happened, as folks sometimes say. But I ain’t disappointed. We’ll just keep lookin’.”

  “Do you really believe we will find the place?”

  “Sure I do. Things change in a hundred and fifty years, but the big things are still the same. We’ll find the right canyon and it’ll lead us to that plateau, and when we get there we’ll find the cave.”

  “I hope so,” Esteban said. “I would feel like my life would be justified if I could do this thing.”

  “I reckon I never felt like I had to justify my life,” Preacher said. “I just live it.”

  They moved on, checking canyons on both sides of the river. Some, they were able to eliminate fairly quickly; other, deeper canyons required them to spend more time riding to the end and back once it became obvious none of these were the one they were looking for.

  “Does that manuscript say how long it took Don Francisco and his men to cache that loot and get back to the mission?” Preacher asked.

  Esteban shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. Don Francisco speaks of the need for haste, but he does not say whether he means by that a matter of hours or days. He could have been gone from the mission for several days and still considered that acting quickly.”

  “Could be,” Preacher agreed, looking around at the mountains that surrounded them. “Seems to me he would have been in more of a hurry than that.”

  “Then the canyon should be close,” Esteban argued.

  “You’d think so. We just don’t know.”

  By late afternoon, it became obvious they weren’t going to find what they were looking for on this day. Preacher said that they ought to head back to the camp at the old mission.

  “Perhaps we should go a little farther,” Esteban urged. “We have time to check one more canyon, surely. And it might be the one we seek.”

  Preacher thought it over and nodded. “All right. One more.”

  They rode along until they came to another opening leading away from the river. The canyon was narrow, and sure enough, it took a sharp bend to the right about fifty yards in. After another short distance, it bent back to the left. Preacher frowned, wondering what would cause a zigzag formation like this. In the straighter canyons, it was relatively easy to see that they had been worn out by the action of water flowing through them over the centuries and by the upheaval of the earth’s crust in earthquakes and volcanic eruptions and suchlike. He supposed water had carved out the twists and turns of this canyon, too, but he had seldom seen one that twisted around quite this much. Esteban was getting excited, and Preacher’s spirits started to lift, as well. Now he was glad they had decided to press on and check one more canyon before turning back.

  “We are climbing, are we not?” Esteban asked. “It seems so.”

  “I reckon we are,” Preacher agreed. “If we could look behind us, we could probably tell how far we’ve climbed. Way this canyon snakes around, though, you can’t see very far in any direction.”

  He reined in suddenly as a sound came to his ears. He held up a hand and said to Esteban, “Listen.”

  “What is it?” the young man asked eagerly.

  “Just listen,” Preacher said again.

  After a moment, Esteban’s eyes widened as he realized what he was hearing. “Wolves!” he exclaimed. “It is the howling of many wolves!”

  “The wolves of God,” Preacher said softly.

  “It must be! But—” Esteban’s face fell. “How can it be, Preacher? That sounds like a whole pack of wolves. Even if my ancestor saw them where he concealed the treasure, how could they still be there, over a hundred and fifty years later.”

  Preacher shook his head. “That ain’t real wolves you’re hearin’, even though it sure sounds like it. Somewhere up yonder above us on the mountain, the wind is blowin’ through some sort of rock formation that’s causin’ those howls. I’ve heard such things before, though I don’t reckon I’ve ever run across anything that sounds quite so much like real wolves as that does.”

  “We must go on!” Esteban started to urge his horse forward.

  Preacher reached over to lay a hand on his arm and stop him. “Hold on a minute. Look up at the sky. We’re losin’ the light, amigo. Even if we turn around now and head straight back to camp, it’ll be dark before we get there.”

  “What is wrong with that? Can you not find your way back to the mission after dark?”

  “I reckon I can, sure enough. This canyon will take us right back to the river, and all we have to do is follow it to the mission.”

  “Then we should go on!”

  “It may take an hour or more to get to the head of this canyon,” Preacher said. “Once we get there, we won’t have time to search for the treasure before nightfall. It makes a lot more sense to head back to camp and come here again first thing in the mornin’. We’ll have good light and most of the day, and I reckon there’s a real good chance we’ll find ol’ Don Francisco’s hidin’ place.”

  “But . . . but . . . to be this close and turn back!” Anguish was easy to hear in Esteban’s voice. “I do not know if I can stand it, Preacher.”

  “It’s still possible this ain’t the right canyon. That sound could be carryin’ for a long way.”

  “But everything fits with the description in the manuscript!”

  “Yeah, it does, and I think there’s a real good chance this is the one we been lookin’ for. It’d still be better to wait until tomorrow to find out for sure.” Preacher glanced at the sky again. “We’re burnin’ daylight just talkin’ about it.”

  “All right,” Esteban said, but he didn’t sound happy about it. “I cannot believe I am saying this, but we will go back. Tomorrow, though, we will return here as soon as possible.”

  “Dang right we will,” Preacher agreed.

  They turned their horses and started back down the canyon, as somewhere above them, the wolves of God continued to howl.

  Juanita didn’t care very much for the way she caught Professor Chambers watching her a couple of times during the day. She knew what it was like to have men look at her with lust in their eyes. She had been familiar
with that feeling for quite a few years, ever since she had begun to turn from a girl into a woman. She wasn’t particularly worried about Chambers, though. He seemed rather mild-mannered, not dangerous at all.

  The men called Powers and Worthy, though, they were different. They were frontiersmen, rough and accustomed to taking whatever they wanted. They looked at her with avid gazes, too, and it was because of them that Juanita made a point of staying near Father Hortensio and the Yaqui servants. They would protect her if the gringos tried anything, she thought.

  Oddly enough, the most dangerous gringo she had ever encountered, the man known as Preacher, did not frighten her at all. She knew he was aware of her beauty, but she never felt that she might be in any danger from him. Despite his rough exterior, he was a true gentleman, every bit as noble in his soul as any of the grandees she had met in Mexico City. More so, in fact.

  So she was glad that evening when Preacher and Esteban returned to the camp near the old mission. When it had grown dark, around an hour earlier, Juanita had begun to worry that something had happened to her brother and Preacher. It seemed unlikely that the mountain man would be caught unawares by anything—he was perhaps the most alert man Juanita had ever seen—but an accident of some sort could not be ruled out. However, it was only because of their search that they were late getting back.

  Juanita knew as soon as she saw the excitement on Esteban’s face that they might have found what they were looking for. Esteban dismounted quickly, came over to her, and took her hands in his.

  “We have found it!” he said.

  Juanita’s eyes widened in joy. “The treasure of Mission Santo Domingo? You have it with you?”

  “No, not yet, but tomorrow—”

  “We found a likely place to look,” Preacher put in as he strolled over, much more deliberate in his movements than Esteban was. He could move very swiftly when he needed to, of course, but the sort of high-strung nervous energy that Esteban was exhibiting at the moment seemed alien to Preacher’s very nature. He went on. “We won’t know for sure until we’ve had a closer look.”

  “But I am sure it is the right place,” Esteban insisted. “My heart tells me it is so.”

  Juanita cast a glance toward the other campfire. “We should be careful how we talk of these things. Professor Chambers and the others do not know why we are really here.”

  “And that is the way it shall remain,” Esteban declared. “This is our business, and none of theirs.”

  “Tell me about it,” Juanita urged. “Sit down and tell me what you found.”

  They sat on the log, still holding hands, and Esteban explained about their day-long search for the right canyon. While he was doing that, Preacher tended to the horses.

  “We were about to give up for the day because it was getting late,” Esteban said, “when I asked Preacher if we could check one more canyon. That proved to be the one we were looking for. It matched the description in Don Francisco’s manuscript perfectly! We even discovered what the wolves of God are.”

  “Not real wolves, surely,” she said.

  He shook his head and explained about the rock formations that caused the howling sounds when the wind blew through them.

  “You saw them for yourselves?” Juanita asked.

  “No, but Preacher knew what caused the sounds. He said that he has heard such things before.”

  “I am surprised you turned back and did not continue the search until you found the treasure.”

  “It was too late,” Esteban said, but he sounded disappointed. “Preacher said it would be better if we returned in the morning, when there will be plenty of time and light.” He shrugged. “I suppose it makes sense. But I wanted so much to keep going until we found the treasure.”

  “That settles it,” Juanita said. “Tomorrow I go with you.”

  Preacher came up in time to hear that statement. “I ain’t sure that’s such a good idea,” he said.

  “Why not?” she asked as she looked up at him.

  “For one thing, those wagons won’t be able to make it up that canyon. It’s too narrow.”

  “Could they reach the mouth of the canyon, by the river?”

  “Well . . .” Preacher hesitated. “I reckon they might.”

  “Then we can take the wagons that far, and then I will join you and Esteban on horseback for the final part of the search.”

  “And I as well,” Father Hortensio put in. Juanita hadn’t heard him come up, but obviously he had overheard enough of the conversation to know what was going on. As he stepped into the firelight, his normally solemn visage was more animated than Juanita had ever seen it.

  Preacher frowned. “I don’t know that we need a crowd up there. If you folks stayed down at the mouth of the canyon with the wagons, Esteban and I could bring the loot down a little at a time, and the rest of you could stand guard over it.”

  “You would deny me the right to be there when those holy relics are uncovered for the first time in over a century? A prayer should be said over them immediately, to bless their rediscovery and to wipe out the stain of the violence that led to their being hidden.”

  “Well, I don’t reckon it’d hurt anything if you went along to the mouth of the canyon,” Preacher grudgingly agreed. “After that, we’ll see.”

  Juanita squeezed Esteban’s hands. “I can hardly believe that we are so close to our goal at last.”

  “Believe it,” he said. “I do.”

  She might have asked him for more details, but at that moment Professor Chambers sang out from somewhere nearby, “Hello, the camp!”

  “Say nothing more about the treasure,” Esteban warned in a low voice.

  Juanita nodded. She decided that she wouldn’t say anything to Esteban about her uneasiness over Chambers and the two guides. He had enough on his mind already.

  Besides, soon they would have the treasure, and they would be on their way back to Mexico City with it. Their quest was almost over.

  FOURTEEN

  Preacher had heard Chambers approaching before the professor called to them, and so had Dog, growling as he gazed off into the darkness. Preacher had been about to shush the two youngsters when they had quieted down about the treasure on their own. No point in tempting a couple of rough hombres like Powers and Worthy with talk about hidden gold and such.

  Chambers came up and said, “Good evening, everyone. I hope you had a productive day. I know I did. I even enjoyed my discussions with the good padre here, spirited though they might have been.”

  Father Hortensio just sniffed. Evidently it was a toss-up who he liked the least, Preacher or the professor from back East.

  Esteban was gracious. “Please join us, Professor. We were about to eat supper.”

  “I’ve already eaten, thank you. I certainly wouldn’t mind sharing a cup of coffee with you, though, and the camaraderie that comes with it.”

  “You are welcome,” Esteban said.

  Chambers didn’t seem to notice that his presence had put a damper on the conversation. He sat down on the log between Esteban and Father Hortensio and filled a cup from the coffeepot that sat at the edge of the fire. Preacher was a little worried about that fire. He hadn’t forgotten the ambush and the fact that somebody didn’t wish the Alvarez party well. But there was a fire over at the professor’s camp, too, so it wouldn’t really serve any purpose to extinguish this one. Might as well let folks enjoy it, he decided.

  He got a plate of tortillas and beans and sat off by himself while Chambers regaled Esteban and Juanita with stories about life back in Boston and asked them questions about Mexico City.

  “Since my area of expertise is the Spanish conquest of the New World, I find everything about your country fascinating,” he told them.

  “Have you ever visited Mexico?” Esteban asked.

  “No, I haven’t had that good fortune as of yet, but I hope to someday.”

  Father Hortensio asked, “How can you claim to know anything about a land where you have ne
ver been?”

  “Well, there are a great many books about the conquest—”

  “Bah! The only book from which one can truly learn is the Holy Word of God.”

  “Perhaps you’re correct as far as spiritual matters go, but when it comes to history, one has to rely on other books.”

  Preacher couldn’t resist putting in a comment of his own. “There ain’t been a history book yet that wasn’t written by a fella who wanted you to believe his version of the way things were.”

  “History is written by the victors, is what you’re saying,” Chambers responded.

  “Yep. Except when other folks come along years later and try to twist things around so that the way they tell the stories ain’t exactly the way they really happened. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if someday you professors tried to say that these days was completely different than the way they really are.”

  “Oh, surely not. Scholars are supposed to be devoted to the truth, not to some distorted version of the facts concocted simply to support some dogma of their own.”

  Preacher shrugged. “Wait and see, that’s all I can say. It could happen . . . and it’ll be a mighty sorry day for this country when it does.”

  He went back to eating, having put in his thoughts. When he was done, he got up and strolled around the camp, rifle tucked under his arm. Dog went along with him, sniffing the night air. If there were any predators out there, four-legged or otherwise, Dog would smell them out.

  The night seemed quiet, though, and when Preacher went back to the camp, he saw that Chambers was gone. The professor had said his good nights and returned to his own camp. Esteban and Juanita sat with their heads close together, talking quietly but excitedly, and Preacher knew they were talking about the treasure again.

  He hoped for their sake that he and Esteban had found the right place and the lost loot would soon be recovered. Then he could see them on their way safely and get back to his own business. He was starting to long for more northern climes. If he didn’t know better, he would say that he was starting to get homesick for his old stomping grounds. It would be good to get back and start running his trap lines again, maybe see some old friends, or even some old enemies.