Preacher's Pursuit (The First Mountain Man) Read online

  His sleep wasn’t very restful, but even so, he felt much better once the sun was up the next morning. He had set off toward the trading post again. In the light of day, he was able to think about his plan, rather than the nameless horrors that lurked in the night.

  He had reached the vicinity of the settlement around midday and positioned himself atop a small, wooded knoll where he could keep an eye on the place. He had a spyglass in his pack, but used it sparingly because he didn’t want anyone to notice the sun reflecting off the lens.

  Even without it, he could see that the wagons that had been at the trading post a couple of days earlier were gone now. He hadn’t seen the wagons himself, but some of his scouts had reported that they were there.

  Fairfax was glad the wagon train had departed. He didn’t need any extra people around the trading post when he kidnapped Deborah Hart.

  He could see through the open gates from where he was, and he spotted Deborah a couple of times during the afternoon. Training the spyglass on her momentarily, he saw that she was as lovely as ever.

  Her stomach was definitely rounded, though. Fairfax frowned as he thought about that. If Deborah was with child, that might complicate things.

  On the other hand, her condition might mean that Preacher would be that much more desperate to rescue her. Maybe that urgency would make the mountain man reckless.

  As the sun lowered toward the mountains, Fairfax made up his mind. He would go to the trading post this evening. He could ride in through the gates at dusk, just before the guards closed them.

  Chances are, no one there would recognize him except the Harts and Deborah. He was dressed like a fur trapper now, in buckskins and a coonskin cap he had gotten from Campbell when he gave the man his beaver hat to wear on the way out of the valley. No one would pay much attention to him.

  Once inside, he would avoid the trading post itself until he’d had a chance to scout out the situation. Once it was good and dark, he would get into the building somehow and kill Corliss and Jerome Hart. Getting his revenge on the cousins would be quite satisfying. Then he would take Deborah and vanish into the night.

  He wasn’t worried about Preacher being able to follow him. The mountain man had demonstrated an uncanny ability to follow a trail.

  This time, however, the trail would lead Preacher to his death, Fairfax thought with a smile of anticipation.

  Finally, the sun slipped below the mountains to the west. Though the sky remained rosy, shadows began to gather quickly in the valley.

  It was time, Fairfax told himself. He mounted up and rode toward the settlement, confident that before this night was over he would be well on his way to accomplishing his goal.

  Chapter 16

  “This is as far as I go,” Ezra Flagg said as he reined in. “The settlement’s not more’n a quarter of a mile from here.”

  Clyde Mallory brought his mount to a halt as well, as did Walks Like a Bear and the other members of the Blackfoot war party. Mallory said, “You’re not going to take part in the attack?”

  The renegade white man shook his head. “There’s only so much I’ll do for money, mister. Slaughterin’ women and kids ain’t part of it.”

  Mallory felt a twinge of misgiving, but forced it far back into his mind. He wasn’t going to think too much about what was going to happen tonight. Instead, he would concentrate on everything that England would gain in the long run.

  But there was one pressing concern that had to be dealt with.

  “I’m sorry, but you have to accompany me,” he said to Flagg. “I don’t speak the chief’s tongue, and I may need to communicate with him. If you don’t choose to take part in the actual attack, that’s your business, but I still have need of you.”

  Flagg stiffened in the saddle. “I ain’t used to bein’ talked to like that,” he spat out. “We had a deal, but it didn’t include you givin’ me orders!”

  Mallory saw that he had made a mistake. Perhaps a more reasonable approach would be more effective.

  “It’s just that I have to reach my sister and make sure that she’s safe,” he said. “I’m afraid that in their, ah, bloodlust, the savages may harm her.”

  Flagg sounded a little mollified as he said, “I can explain all that to the chief.”

  “But he won’t be right there beside every one of his men during the entire battle,” Mallory pointed out. “I need someone who can make himself understood to go with me while I find Laura and make sure she’s safe. Surely you can see that.”

  Flagg sat there for a long moment, frowning in the light from the millions of stars that floated in the dark night sky overhead. He scratched his bearded jaw, grimaced, and finally said, “All right, damn it. I’ll come with you. But I’m stayin’ out of the fight if I can.”

  “Fair enough,” Mallory agreed. “Is the chief ready?”

  Flagg turned to Walks Like a Bear and spoke briefly in the Blackfoot tongue. The chief grunted something in response, clenched his right hand into a fist, and thumped it hard against his chest.

  Mallory took that to mean that Walks Like a Bear was indeed ready to attack the settlement.

  He turned his head to look at the Indians bunched behind them. He wasn’t sure how many of them there were, but at least sixty warriors had ridden out of the trees at the rendezvous point.

  They had looked at the departing wagons with savage expressions on their faces, and Mallory knew they wanted to attack the vehicles that represented the white man’s inexorable advance into territory that had always belonged to them. Walks Like a Bear had spoken sharply, though, and instead of going after the wagons, his men had dismounted and begun taking the rifles from the now-open crates.

  After that, it was simply a matter of turning over the flints to them and waiting while the weapons were armed. Mallory knew he was taking a chance. They might decide to go ahead and kill him.

  Flagg had spoken at length to the chief, though, and Mallory suspected he knew what the turncoat was saying. If they spared Mallory’s life, he might help them again in the future in their war against the white men. He could prove to be more valuable alive than dead.

  Whatever Flagg had said, it worked, and now Mallory, Flagg, Walks Like a Bear, and the rest of the war party sat on their horses in the thick shadows of the trees along a ridge overlooking the settlement. Flagg had called a halt there to announce his intention of leaving the group. Now that Mallory had persuaded him otherwise, there was no need for any further delay.

  “Well, then, gentlemen,” Mallory said, “shall we go?”

  Laura looked out the door of her cabin at the lights in the trading post and wished for a moment that she could go over there. The cabin was as nicely furnished as it could be in this wilderness, but it was still a squalid hovel compared to the house in London where she had lived as a child.

  That was before the death of her parents, of course. After their mother passed away, she and Clyde had been shuffled about between various relatives, and often they had been treated more like servants than members of the family.

  The resentment Laura had felt at that treatment had festered within her, growing into the hatred she directed at the Americans for taking her father away from her and starting the chain of events that had ruined her life.

  As bad as things had been back then, she’d still always had people around her. She hadn’t experienced the sort of isolation she felt here. Of course there were people here, too, but not the sort whose presence gave Laura any comfort. They were oafish American louts, and she despised them all.

  So even though she longed for lights and sounds and human company, she closed the cabin door and stayed where she was. Anyway, she told herself, if she went over to the trading post, she would have to put up with the lecherous stare of Corliss Hart, the annoying nervous mannerisms of his cousin Jerome, the simpering sweetness of Deborah Hart, and even the stupidity of that boy Jake, who was usually with them. Better to just stay here.

  And of course, by morning they wou
ld all be dead, she added mentally. At least, they would be if the attack took place tonight as she and Clyde had planned.

  Something might happen to delay it, she thought. In which case, the next night would be the fatal one, or the night after that. Laura was prepared to wait for however long it took.

  And this would be only the first step in a long campaign of revenge…

  She walked over to the table and picked up one of the pistols that lay there. They were loaded and primed but not cocked.

  Clyde had assured her that he would keep the savages away from her cabin, but sometimes things happened that were beyond anyone’s control. If she had to, if any of the Indians burst in here intent on harming her, she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot them…or anyone else who threatened her.

  She thought about Preacher then. She was glad he had left the settlement in time to avoid the attack. Although he wasn’t handsome, at least not in the way to which she was accustomed, he had a certain rough charm about him. He had been as quick to defend her honor as any British gentleman would have been.

  And he was much more dangerous than any British gentleman she had ever encountered. It was a good thing he was gone. Even though she doubted that his presence could make any difference in the outcome of the battle, that was a chance better not taken.

  She stiffened as the sudden drumming of hoofbeats came in through the windows from somewhere in the night. With a gasp, Laura swung around, still clutching the pistol in her hand.

  Was the attack starting? She rushed to the door and flung it open to peer out into the darkness. Her heart pounded in her chest. Vengeance was at hand!

  But something was wrong, she realized a moment later. Instead of dozens of horses rushing toward the settlement, she heard only one.

  One man, riding hell-bent through the night…Even though she had no idea how it was possible, a single thought burned its way through Laura Mallory’s brain at that moment.

  Preacher!

  A short time earlier, as dusk was settling in, Colin Fairfax had ridden in through the gates in the sturdy stockade fence around the trading post. The coonskin cap was pulled down tightly on his head, concealing the fact that he was mostly bald.

  Anyway, he told himself, plenty of men were bald. It wasn’t a sign of guilt. As long as he avoided the Harts, no one would suspect that he was up to no good.

  “Howdy, mister,” one of the guards at the gates greeted him. “New hereabouts, ain’t you?”

  “That’s right,” Fairfax replied with a nod. “Just got here.”

  “Well, welcome to…” The man’s voice trailed off, and he looked over at the other guard. “We gotta give this place a name.”

  “That ought to be up to Corliss and Jerome,” the other man said. “Wouldn’t even be no settlement here if it wasn’t for their tradin’ post.”

  “Yeah, I reckon. Anyway, welcome, mister. If you’re lookin’ for a drink, the Harts got the best whiskey in these parts.”

  Fairfax nodded again and said, “Much obliged.” He had no intention of going to the trading post for a drink, but he rode in that direction anyway, so the guards wouldn’t be suspicious of him.

  He tied his horse at the very end of the hitch rack, as far away from the trading post door as he could. Then he stepped up into the shadows at the end of the porch and pressed his back against the rough log wall of the building.

  The trading post had no windows, but there were chinks between the logs and rifle ports as well. Fairfax found a tiny opening and pressed an eye to it.

  From this angle he couldn’t see much, only some shelves where pelts that the Harts had taken in on trade were stacked. Fairfax grimaced and stole along the wall, looking for another chink. He hoped no one saw him lurking around like this.

  The second opening he found afforded him a better view, even though it was a narrow one. He could see all the way to the rear of the trading post where Corliss and Jerome Hart moved around behind a counter. They came in and out of Fairfax’s sight several times as he watched. He didn’t see Deborah, but surely she was in there, he thought.

  Approaching footsteps and men’s voices made him straighten hurriedly from his crouch. He sat down on the porch with his back against the wall and drew his knees up in front of him. He leaned his head forward and rested it and his arms on his knees as if he were either drunk or sleeping or both. The men walked past, paying no attention to him.

  Fairfax looked up as he heard a scraping noise. Several men were closing the gates for the night. Once they’d been swung shut, thick beams were lowered onto hooks to bar them. Fairfax wouldn’t be getting out again that way, at least not easily. He would have to find some other way out with Deborah Hart.

  Which meant she would have to be unconscious when he left with her; otherwise, she was bound to raise an alarm. He planned to kill Corliss and Jerome before he left if he could, but Deborah was more of a problem. He wanted her alive.

  Live bait always worked best.

  He would figure it out as he went along, Fairfax told himself. He had always been good at improvising, at seizing whatever opportunities fate presented to him. If he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have lived as long as he had.

  He sat there in the shadows, thinking, as the darkness deepened. People were still moving around the trading post, but not many now. Fairfax stood up, thinking that the time had come to try to get in there somehow and find Deborah…

  That was when he heard the swift rataplan of pounding hoofbeats somewhere outside the stockade, racing closer with each passing second. Anyone riding that fast in the night usually carried trouble with him, and Fairfax caught his breath as a horrible thought occurred to him. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know how…

  But he was convinced that was Preacher thundering through the night toward him.

  Preacher had made many a fast ride in his life, but few had been faster or more urgent than the one he made this night. He was reminded of stories his mother had told him about Paul Revere, back in the days before he had left the family farm to find adventure in the West.

  That Revere fella had ridden to warn the patriots around Boston that the British army was coming. The fate of nations had depended on him. Nothing so earth-shaking depended on Preacher tonight…

  Only the lives of his friends.

  For Preacher, that was more than enough.

  So he sent Horse lunging ahead, riding over hills, through valleys, across streams. Thickets of brush and brambles sometimes clawed and tore at them, but Preacher lowered his head and forged on, ignoring the painful scratches. The big stallion was just as determined, and slowed down only when he had to in order to keep his footing.

  Dog ran after them, falling behind but stubbornly staying on their trail. If nothing happened to slow them down, Preacher and Horse would reach the settlement before the big cur did, but Dog wouldn’t be very far behind them.

  As darkness fell, Preacher hauled back on Horse’s reins. He couldn’t afford to have the stallion fall and break a leg. Afoot, he would never reach the settlement in time to warn everyone about the Blackfoot war party. So they eased back to a pace that was still fast, but not as breakneck as before.

  Every minute that passed gnawed at Preacher’s vitals. He thought about Deborah Hart and the new life growing within her; about Corliss and Jerome, who, for all their bickering and annoying habits, were good men at heart; about Jake, who might grow into a fine man someday if given the chance; and about all the other settlers and trappers who were at the trading post. If the Indians took them by surprise, they might all be wiped out.

  Finally, he entered the valley that led to the trading post. Snowcapped mountains loomed on his right, starlight glittering on the snow that stayed there all year round.

  The Blackfoot war party had to be ahead of him somewhere, between him and the settlement. He veered as close to the foothills as he could in hopes that he could get past them before they knew he was anywhere around.

  It was inevitable that they would
hear the rolling thunder of Horse’s hoofbeats, though, so Preacher wasn’t surprised a few minute later when several riders galloped out of the darkness toward him. The Blackfoot war chief had sent a few of his warriors to see who was riding so desperately through the night, but he hadn’t split his main force by much.

  Preacher leaned forward over Horse’s neck and patted the stallion’s shoulder. “Give it all you got, big fella,” he urged.

  The Indians whooped in excitement. They couldn’t resist the thrill of the chase. Angling sharply across the valley floor, they moved to intercept Preacher.

  They underestimated Horse’s speed, though, even after the hard run the stallion had already made. Reaching down deep inside, Horse found the strength to surge ahead and sweep past the Blackfeet. Angry yells came from them as they whirled their ponies to take up the chase.

  But before they could even get started on the pursuit, a large, thickly furred shape came flying out of the darkness and slammed into one of the Indians, knocking him off his mount. The warrior landed on the ground with stunning force, and before he could move, Dog’s sharp teeth had torn his throat out. Blood spurted high in the air.

  Dog whirled away from the man he had just mauled. One of the Blackfeet tried to skewer him with a lance, but the big cur twisted out of danger. Just like the wolves he so strongly resembled, he darted in and hamstrung one of the ponies. It went down with a shrill scream, throwing its rider. Dog was on him in a flash. His jaws locked around the Indian’s arm and clamped down, breaking bones with a crunching sound.

  Up ahead, Preacher heard the screams and the angry shouts and figured that Dog had made his presence known. The cur was buying time for him…buying time for everyone at the settlement, in fact…and Preacher hoped that his old friend got away from the Blackfeet safely.

  But if he didn’t, it would be a proud death, fighting his enemies until the last breath.

  Preacher and Horse raced on, the stallion giving everything he had. Preacher worried that he was riding Horse to death, but he couldn’t afford to slow down. He was confident that he was ahead of the war party now, and the trading post was only a couple of miles away. The settlers wouldn’t have much warning, but maybe it would be enough.