Absaroka Ambush Read online

  “I ain’t got no idee,” Preacher said innocently.

  “Say!” Blackjack said. “How about ’ol Snake?”

  “I thought he was dead!” Preacher blurted.

  “Naw. He just looks dead. He’s ’bout as old as dirt.”

  “You know where he is?”

  “Shore. He’s got him a cabin ’bout two days south of here.”

  “What’s Preacher up to, Charlie.”

  “You boys try to figure it out,” Charlie told the pair. “While we ride.”

  The old mountain man known as Snake was ancient. He could have been anywhere between seventy and ninety. Not even he knew. But what Snake did know was every trail between the Missouri River and the Pacific Ocean, and for his age, he was almighty spry and as tough as a boot. He still had enough of his teeth to gnaw with, and was no man to try to push around. Snake would either cut you or shoot you faster than a striking rattler. Hence, his name.

  “I ain’t never in my life been around a hundred and fifty females,” Snake said. “And I ain’t right sure I wanna be now. But you boys is friends, and a friend is a valuable thing. So count me in.”

  They were gone within the hour, heading east toward what would someday be called Kansas. Days later, they rode into a sea of waving grass and rolling hills and hostile Indians. And the men knew they were very likely to run into any number of tribes: Kiowa, Comanche, Pawnee, Osage, Shawnee, Arapaho, Wichita, and Kansa. None of whom would be terribly thrilled to see a hundred wagons come lumbering across their land. But a war party would be delighted to spot five men alone with no place to run.

  “Been years since I been this far east,” Charlie said, waiting for the coffee to boil over a hat-sized fire. “Ten years, at least.”

  “Longer than that for me,” Snake said, gnawing on a piece of jerky. “I had me a runnin’ battle with a war party of young bucks not too far from right where we’s sittin’. That must have been, oh, 1820 or so. I think they was a raidin’ party from down south that had just got whupped and they decided to take it out on me. They fought me pretty good and I still got a piece of arrowhead in my back from that skirmish. They chased me for miles, but my good horse carried me safe. I finally lost ’em up past the Little Beaver.”

  “What tribe?” Preacher asked.

  “I never knowed. I gleamed right off that they didn’t appear to be in no mood for genteel conversation. As a matter of fact, they was right unfriendly.”

  Blackjack said, “Preacher, there ain’t no way the five of us is gonna be near enough. Have you give that any thought?”

  “Practically ever hour on the hour,” Preacher replied, dumping cold water into the coffeepot to settle the grounds. “I’m hopin’ they’ll be some ol’ boys we know around the stagin’ area that’ll be willin’ to throw in with us.”

  “And if they ain’t?” Ned asked.

  “We hire some pilgrims, I reckon.”

  Snake shook his head. “We’re gonna need at least twelve to fifteen more men to see to the needs of all these heifers. And that ain’t takin’ into consideration them that might feel the need for some servicin’.” He lifted wise old eyes to Preacher. “And that’s gonna create problems, Preacher.”

  “I been givin’ that some thought, too. I’m just gonna have to lay the law down to the men and the ladies. I can’t keep men and women from doin’ what comes natural, but I can damn sure warn them that something like that could tear this wagon train apart. Well, we got about three hundred miles to go ’fore we have to do much worryin’. I think it’s the first week in March. We’re’pposed to be there in three weeks. Give or take a day or two. I figure a week or ten days to sort things out and hire men. Then, boys, our troubles really begin.” His eyes cut around as Hammer’s ears pricked up. “Look sharp. We got company.”

  The men had picked up rifles and taken up positions before Preacher’s words had stopped echoing in the cool air.

  “Relax,” Charlie said, standing up. “It’s Ring and Steals Pony.”

  No one knew if Ring was the man’s first or last name, and he never volunteered any explanation. Ring had come west about the same time as Preacher and was a man with no backup in him. Steals Pony was a Delaware Indian who had been taken in as a child by a white family and educated back east until he was about thirteen. He’d then said to hell with it and took off for the far western mountains. He had never been back. He was the finest horse thief Preacher had ever seen and he had a wicked sense of humor.

  “What the hell are you two doin’ comin’ in from the north?” Charlie asked, as the men rode in and dismounted.

  “Runnin’ from the goddamn Pawnee,” Steals Pony said, walking to the coffeepot.

  “I think we lost ’em,” Ring added.

  “You think?” Preacher said.

  “They might show up,” Steals Pony replied, pouring a cup of the hot, black brew. “I told Ring not to mess around with that girl. She was a chief’s favorite daughter.”

  Ring grinned. “I can’t help it if I’m so handsome women just naturally throw themselves at me.”

  “The girl’s name was Stands Like Dog,” Steals Pony told them. “That ought to tell you something about how attractive she was.”

  “How many Pawnee is there?” Snake asked.

  “Oh, ’bout fifty or so,” Ring said casually.

  “Fifty!”

  “How far behind you and how long have they been chasin’ you?” Ned asked.

  “They’ve been chasin’ us for a week,” Steals Pony said. “And I think they’re about two hours behind us.”

  Ten minutes later, the mountain men had packed up and were moving east. Rapidly.

  The days passed as the men left the rolling sea of grass, the endlessly blowing wind, and entered the flint hills section of what would someday be called Kansas; that gave way to the rolling hills and forested eastern one-third of the region. A half a day’s ride from the Missouri border, the men stopped at a clear-running little creek and took turns bathing while the others watched for trouble. They then shook out their best duds—mostly buckskins—and let them air some.

  “This town we’re’pposed to meet the wagons at,” Snake said. “How big you reckon it is?”

  “I was told about five hundred or so people live there,” Preacher replied.

  “Why?” Charlie asked.

  Preacher shook his head. “I sure can’t give you no answer to that, Snake. Takes all kinds to make up this old world, I reckon.”

  “Fools,” Steals Pony said. “I lived like that for years in my youth. All jammed up like pickles in a barrel. No good way to live.”

  The same man who had approached Preacher with the envelope from President Van Buren last fall was waiting for them on the trail, accompanied by a half dozen other men, who, while dressed in civilian clothing, all bore the stamp of cavalrymen. Those men stared openmouthed at the seven mountain men.

  Even though they had bathed and either shaved clean or trimmed their beards and moustaches, they were still a wild-looking bunch. Faces burned dark by years of sun and wind, hats that had lost their shape months back. All carried at least two pistols at their waists and four or five more hung on their saddles in addition to at least one rifle, which they carried across the saddle horn, and another rifle in a boot. Each man carried at least one war-axe and a long-bladed knife, either in a sheath or jammed behind a waist sash. They all had bows and quivers of arrows on their pack animals.

  “Howdy, Mister Government Man,” Preacher said, swinging down from the saddle. “I’m here like I said I’d be. Where’s all the females?”

  “Ah ... in Missouri. Just a few miles away. I take it these are to be your assistants?” He waved at the others.

  “No, they ain’t my assistants,” Preacher told him. “I brung ’em along ’cause they’s first class fightin’ men, hunters, scouts, trailblazers, liars, drunkards, card-cheats, and for the moment, clean. Although I can’t guarantee they’ll stay that way for very long. I also trust ’em with my l
ife, and a man can’t say that about very many other folks. I told ’em what this here job would pay, and they agreed to that. If you don’t, we all just get back in the saddle and head west and you can push this gaggle of hens to the coast yourself.”

  “Oh, I’m sure the sum is agreeable, Preacher. As I told you last fall, I would leave that entirely up to you. I have taken the liberty of hiring on a dozen or so other men—subject to your approval, of course.”

  “Let’s go look this mess over,” Preacher said, and turned toward his horse.

  A hand fell on his shoulder and spun him around. Preacher faced a young man who carried himself like some army officers Preacher had known over the years. Very arrogant ones.

  “Git your goddamn hand off me, pup,” Preacher told the young man.

  “I take exception to your surly attitude and your very cavalier approach to this important historical undertaking, sir,” the stuffed shirt said.

  Preacher smiled while his friends rolled their eyes and elbowed one another, all knowing that Preacher was about two heartbeats away from knocking the young man on his butt.

  “I’ll tell you one more time, sonny-boy,” Preacher said. “Git your goddamn hand off me.”

  The young man’s hand tightened on Preacher’s shoulder. “I am Lieutenant Rupert Worthington, sir. United States Army. I will be in command of the small detachment of troops accompanying this train. All in civilian clothing, for obvious reasons. At least to those of us with some formal education. I might have to explain that to you and your . . . assistants. But one thing we shall straighten out right now is this: You will take orders from me.”

  Preacher hit him with a left that crossed the lieutenant’s eyes and set him down on the ground, on his U.S. Army butt.

  Then Preacher turned and stepped into the saddle, the other mountain men following suit. The president’s man’s eyes were amused. Preacher looked down at the young officer, being helped to his feet by two of his men.

  “I figure, boy, that you just got out of some sort of highfalutin’ military school and you’re still pretty wet behind the ears. I also figure you ain’t never heard a shot fired in anger. I figure, too, that you got all sorts of ideas about fair play and rules of war and that sort of crap. Leave them here. They don’t work in the wilderness. And don’t you ever speak down to me again, young feller. Not to me, not to none of us. Mayhaps we don’t have no fancy de-gree from some university. But what we do have is about three hundred years of experience in stayin’ alive in hostile country. When one of us tells you the trail is wrong, you leave it. When we say don’t drink the water, don’t drink it. And when one of us tells you to get ready for an Injun attack, you damn well better get ready. And then you might stay alive out here.”

  Preacher and the others swung their horses and rode off at a trot.

  “Savage!” Rupert said, holding a dampened handkerchief, handed to him by one of his men, to his swollen jaw.

  “Son,” the president’s man said. “Preacher might be wild and woolly and uncurried, but he and those men with him opened up this country. Neither you, nor I, can even come close to understanding the hardships and mind-numbing deprivations they have stoically endured over the years. There is no law past this point, Lieutenant. None except what powder and shot the individual carries with him. There are no courts of law. Past this point, it is a hard and violent land, where life is cheap and death can be either quick or terribly long and painful. You don’t know the breed of men called mountain man. And I scarcely know much about them. But I do know this: crowd them and they’ll hurt you. The best advice I can give you all is to keep your mouths shut and your ears wide open.”

  The president’s man swung into the saddle and rode after Preacher and the others.

  “It’s going to be a very interesting journey,” a young soldier said.

  “Sergeant Scott,” Lieutenant Worthington said, after withering the young man silent with a hard look, “mount the men.”

  Three

  Preacher and his friends sat their horses in a line on a ridge and stared openmouthed at the scene before them. None of them had ever seen anything like it, and had nothing with which to compare it. Before them there were more women than any of the men had ever seen gathered in one place. And when the mountain men came into view, all the women fell silent and heads turned to look at the mountain men on the rise above them.

  “I think,” Steals Pony broke the silence, his voice mirroring his inner shock at the sight of so many women, “that I should prefer to be elsewhere.”

  “Well, you ain’t,” Preacher told him. “But I do know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “There must be a thousand females down yonder,” Snake said.

  “One hundred and thirty-five,” the president’s man said, riding up behind the mountain men. “With fifteen more due in sometime today or tomorrow.”

  “How many wagons?” Charlie Burke asked.

  “Sixty-five.”

  “God have mercy on us all,” Blackjack muttered.

  “There is a female journalist among the ladies, coming along to chronicle the event.”

  “A journal-whichilist to do what?” Ned asked.

  “A writer to keep a diary.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “It will be printed in newspapers back east.” He smiled. “You gentlemen are about to be famous.”

  Preacher grunted. “Stay here,” he told his friends. He flipped the lead rope to his packhorse to Snake. “Hold onto that for me, Snake.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Snake asked.

  “I’m gonna go down there.”

  “You be careful, Preacher,” Charlie told him. “Them females look man-hungry to me. They grab you, you’ll disappear amongst all them petticoats and paint and powder and they’ll wear you down to a shadder. There won’t be enough of you left to bury.”

  “You want me to tie you into the saddle?” Steals Pony asked.

  “Now, gentlemen,” the president’s man said with a smile. “Those are ladies down there. They were all carefully chosen from hundreds of applicants. Many of those ladies come from fine old respectable families.”

  “And some of ’em are bound to have come from whorehouses,” Preacher added. “But that don’t make no difference to me. I got to eyeball ’em all up close.”

  “I’ll pray for you,” Blackjack said.

  Snake looked at the huge mountain man. “You—pray?”

  “I prayed a-plenty when them goddamn Utes had me back in ’31. You can bet on that.”

  Lieutenant Worthington and his detachment had ridden up. “You probably antagonized them,” Rupert said. “I was taught that the Utes were very friendly toward the white man.”

  “You shore have a lot to learn, sonny-boy,” Snake told him. “Utes is like any other Injun tribe. They’re all notional. Some good, some bad. But an Injun don’t think like so-called civilized white folks do.” Snake looked at the young officer. “You been around many Injuns, sonny?”

  “I have studied them extensively,” Rupert said stiffly.

  “Uh-huh,” was Snake’s reply.

  Preacher rode down the ridge and walked Hammer up to a group of women. The women stared at him, none of them ever having seen anything quite like Preacher.

  “He’s a savage,” one whispered.

  “I think he’s cute,” another said.

  Soon there were women of all descriptions, sizes, and shapes surrounding Preacher. Even Hammer got a little nervous. Some of the ladies were beautiful, others were so ugly that they could stop a rampaging herd of buffalo with one look. There were ladies who were slim and trim and others of more than considerable heft. But Preacher was looking for the boss lady, and he knew there had to be one. Or two.

  “You there!” a woman’s voice bellered out from the crowd. “Up there on that wild-eyed looking horse.”

  Preacher cut his eyes to a tall and full-figured female all decked out in a black dress. She was comin’ stridin’ through the crow
d of women and they was partin’ the way like Moses done the Red Sea. The woman wasn’t no real looker—to Preacher’s eye—but she had her a commanding manner that he liked, and he knew he’d found one of the ramrods of the petticoat train.

  Hammer turned his head to stare at the woman and Preacher tightened up on the reins. If Hammer didn’t like somebody, he didn’t draw any distinctions about gender. He’d just as soon bite or kick a woman as he would a man.

  “Are you the famous mountain man everybody’s been bragging about?” the woman demanded, staring up at him, hands on her hips. “The one who is going to lead us across the wilderness?”

  “I don’t know about famous, lady,” Preacher matched her stare. “But I’ll get most of you acrost to the blue waters.”

  “My name is Eudora Hempstead. And what do you mean by ’most of us?’”

  “I mean that not all of you ladies is gonna make it. And the whole kit and caboodle of you damn well better understand that now. Now gather around and hear what I got to say. But stay out of bitin’ and kickin’ distance from Hammer here. He’s like me; he ain’t the most cordial thing in the world. Now listen up: some of you will quit and try to find your way back. But you won’t make it back; Injuns will grab you and tote you back to their camp. That is, if you don’t give them too much trouble. You aggravate ’em and they’ll just rape you, kill you, and scalp you where you happen to be. If they make slaves of you, well, that ain’t such a terrible life. They’ll work you hard and only beat you occasional. Some of you are gonna die out yonder on the trail from stupid fool accidents, Injun attacks, snakebite, hydrophoby skunks, drownin’. One or two will go crazy in the head and wander off and get et up by a bear. And don’t think I’m funnin’ you, ’cause I ain’t. I’m just tellin’ you like it is.”

  A group of men had gathered around at the edge of the crowd of women. Preacher figured they were the ones the president’s man had hired. Preacher picked out two that he was going to unhire right off. One he knew slightly and the other had a shifty look to him. He pointed at the one he knew.