Preacher's Slaughter Read online

  “I don’t believe that. There’ll always be a mountain man or two around, as long as there are mountains.”

  Preacher drained the last of the beer in his mug and wiped the back of his hand across his lips to get rid of the drops that clung to his drooping mustache.

  “I hope you’re right,” he said.

  “What about the job?” Russell prodded. “Will you take it?”

  “I was plannin’ to reoutfit and head back to the mountains for another round of trappin’ before winter sets in.”

  “The Sentinel can get you there faster.”

  “That’s the boat?” Preacher asked.

  “Yep. Finest vessel on the Missouri River.” Russell laughed. “Of course, the company only has three or four of them, so that doesn’t necessarily mean a whole lot. But I’d rather be traveling on the best boat than the worst one.”

  Preacher couldn’t argue with that logic. He said, “What about Horse?”

  “That big ugly stallion of yours? Bring him along. There’ll be room for him on the boat.” Russell frowned and went on, “Wait a minute. Is that the same mount you had when I met you ten years ago, or a different one?”

  “Does it matter?” Preacher said.

  “No, I suppose not. I assume Dog’s still with you, too.”

  Preacher just shrugged.

  “You can bring Horse, Dog, and as many supplies as you want. The company will pay for them and provide cargo space on the boat for them. In addition we’ll pay a fee for your help and a bonus if the boat makes it to the mouth of the Yellowstone without any trouble. Plus I can promise you top dollar for your pelts next time you sell a load of them.”

  “You said some of the boats had been attacked on their way back downriver,” Preacher reminded his old friend. “Even if you talk me into ridin’ upriver with you, I ain’t sure there’s enough money in the world to pay me to turn right around and come back here to this hellhole.”

  “Hey, St. Louis isn’t that bad,” Russell protested. “I’ve kind of gotten used to it here. But while I’d certainly like for you to make the round trip with us, I’ll take what I can get. Chances are that if we have trouble, it’ll be on the first half of the trip.”

  Preacher was torn. He liked Simon Russell, and the man had pitched in to help him during that fight at Red Mike’s.

  That wasn’t the first time the two of them had fought side by side against a common enemy, either. They had been in more than one battle together against the Indians, out there on the frontier.

  It was true as well that traveling as far as the mouth of the Yellowstone on the riverboat would get him back to the mountains considerably quicker than if he loaded a couple of pack animals and started out there on horseback.

  On the other hand, he wasn’t in any big hurry to get anywhere. That was one of the good things about being a trapper and working for himself. He didn’t have to worry about sticking to somebody else’s schedule.

  And the thought of spending several weeks smelling the smoke spewing from the boat’s stacks and listening to the roar of its engine and the clatter of its paddle wheel didn’t appeal to him, either.

  “Preacher?” Russell said.

  “I’m thinkin’, I’m thinkin’.”

  “Normally I wouldn’t press you for an answer, but the Sentinel is leaving tomorrow morning. I didn’t even hear you were in St. Louis until late this afternoon. So time is short. Honestly, I won’t hold it against you if you say no. I understand you’re not that fond of riverboats, and Lord knows you’ve saved my hide more times over the years than I’ve saved yours. We’re more than square when it comes to that.”

  Russell really seemed to mean that, Preacher thought. It wasn’t just a subtle ploy.

  When Preacher still didn’t say anything, Russell added, “If it’s a matter of more money—”

  Preacher held up a hand to stop him.

  “I might haggle with you over the price of a load of pelts,” the mountain man said, “but not about somethin’ like this. I’ll just say yea or nay.” He drew in a breath. “And I’ll say yea. I’ll go up the river with you on that damned rattletrap steamboat.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Once Preacher made up his mind about something, he didn’t waste time brooding over whether or not he’d made the right decision.

  Since Simon Russell had said that the American Fur Company would furnish Preacher’s supplies for his trip to the mountains, he took the man at his word and gave Russell a list of what he wanted to take with him.

  Russell wrote down the list and said, “I’ll have all of it loaded on board first thing in the morning.”

  “Horse and Dog are at the livery stable. I’ll bring them. I’ve got a pack horse, too, for when I leave the boat.”

  Russell nodded.

  “That’s fine. There should be room for two more horses.”

  Preacher wondered what he meant by two more horses. How many mounts did one of these fur company boats normally take along? A few, he supposed, so that fellas could leave the river and go hunting for fresh meat along the way.

  With those arrangements out of the way, the two men shook on the deal. Preacher headed back to the livery stable where he’d left his two four-legged trail partners. He’d paid the liveryman a little extra to let him sleep up in the hayloft.

  He could have afforded a hotel room with the money he had from selling his last load of furs, but sometimes the idea of beds and sheets and walls crowding in around him was a little too much. If he couldn’t sleep under the stars like a man was supposed to, curling up in a pile of hay was the next best thing.

  Preacher slept well. He always did.

  The sign of a man with an untroubled heart and mind.

  He was up early, settled his bill with the liveryman, and headed for the docks, leading the rangy gray stallion called Horse as well as a solidly built pack animal. The big wolflike cur known only as Dog padded along beside them, drawing nervous glances from passersby who were out early this morning.

  Those glances were warranted. Dog looked like a wild animal, fully capable of ripping out someone’s throat without any warning. He wasn’t dangerous to anyone except Preacher’s enemies—many of whom had found out what a valuable ally the mountain man had in the big cur.

  Simon Russell had told Preacher the night before where he would find the Sentinel moored. As he approached the docks, Preacher saw smoke rising from the riverboat’s twin stacks. The crewmen who worked in the engine room would be stoking the boilers, getting steam up for the boat’s departure.

  Russell had said that the Sentinel was fairly new. Its brass trim and fittings gleamed in the early morning light. The whitewash on the walls of its cabins shone brightly. The deck planks were polished. It was a sternwheeler with a draft of only a few feet that would allow it to skim over many of the obstacles it might encounter in the river. The pilot would still have to be on the lookout for snags and sandbars, though, and avoid them if possible.

  Preacher was surprised to see that a flat-bottomed barge—really just a glorified raft—was attached to the back of the riverboat with heavy ropes. Rails had been erected around the sides of it so that it could serve as a floating corral. A dozen horses were already on board.

  That sight made Preacher frown. He knew from talking to Russell that they were taking along a few horses on this journey, but this was more than what Preacher had expected.

  For the first time, a little tingle along his nerves warned him that there was more to this trip up the Missouri than Simon Russell had told him.

  Well, there was the man who could give him some answers, Preacher thought as he spotted Russell on the dock next to the thick planks leading onto the barge. Russell saw him coming, too, and lifted a hand in greeting.

  Russell wasn’t wearing a suit this morning. He had on high-topped boots, whipcord trousers, a buckskin jacket over a linsey-woolsey shirt, and a broad-brimmed brown hat.

  “Good morning, Preacher,” he said to the mountain man.
“Ready to go? You can put Horse and the pack animal here with the other mounts. Dog can ride on the Sentinel, of course.”

  “Hold on a minute, Simon,” Preacher said. “What’s goin’ on here? How come you’re takin’ all these horses on a river trip?”

  “We’ll need to do some hunting along the way for fresh meat—”

  That was the same thought that had occurred to Preacher, but it wasn’t a good enough explanation. He shook his head and said, “You don’t need this many for that.”

  “That’s true. The others are for the use of our, ah, other passengers.”

  Preacher gave Russell a hard stare and said, “You didn’t say nothin’ about any other passengers.”

  “I didn’t mention them? I thought I did.”

  Anger welled up inside Preacher. He snapped, “Don’t lie to me, damn it. We been friends too long for that, Simon. You either play it straight with me, or the deal’s off.”

  Russell sighed and slowly nodded.

  “You’re right. I should have told you the whole story right from the start. It’s just that I know how you feel about certain things—”

  “Keepin’ ’em from me ain’t gonna make me feel any different about ’em.”

  “No, that’s true,” Russell admitted. “I’d tell you all about it, but it might be easier just to show you.” He lifted a hand and pointed. “Here they come now.”

  Preacher turned and looked where his old friend was pointing. He saw several carriages coming along the street toward the docks. They were fine, fancy vehicles pulled by teams of magnificent horses. Everything about them screamed one fact.

  The people riding inside them were rich and powerful.

  “Aw, hell, no,” Preacher said in a tone of utter disgust.

  “Don’t jump the gun, Preacher,” Russell said. “These are good folks—”

  The mountain man glared at him and said, “They’re from back East, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. Really east, some of them. Prussia, in fact.”

  “They’re foreigners?”

  “Some of them. Nobility. And they’ve, ah, got a senator traveling with them, showing them the frontier.”

  “A damn politician?” Preacher asked coldly. That was just as bad as a bunch of foreigners, as far as he was concerned. Maybe even worse.

  “Now you understand why I didn’t want to tell you,” Russell said. He sounded a little exasperated now. “You’ve got all these ideas in your head.”

  “Ideas that are right. How many times have Easterners and foreigners gone out to the mountains and caused nothin’ but trouble? We’ve both seen it happen more’n once.”

  “Yeah, but the company’s made a deal with the government to carry these folks along on one of our riverboats, and the job’s fallen to me. I don’t have any choice in the matter.”

  Preacher said darkly, “When the damn politicians start makin’ deals with the folks who run the businesses, that’s the ruination of this country. Next thing you know, those blowhards in Washington City will be tellin’ everybody what they can and can’t do without havin’ the foggiest damn notion of what actually works. I’m glad I spend most of my time so far up in the mountains that what the politicians say don’t mean a damn thing to me.”

  “Look, I agree with you, but that doesn’t help me right now. I’m still saddled with this chore. Now, I agree that I wasn’t completely honest with you, and if you want to forget about our deal, I understand. But I’m hoping you’ll see your way clear to giving me a hand with this, Preacher.”

  The mountain man was still angry, but he was curious, too. The carriages had come to a stop. He turned to watch and see who climbed out of them.

  The driver of the first carriage vaulted down off the high seat and opened the door for the passengers. The man who stepped out was tall and broad-shouldered, as if he might have been a powerful gent at one time, but he was thick through the waist, too, clearly softened by easy living. His face had once been rugged as well, Preacher guessed, but lines of dissolution had appeared on it. He wore an expensive suit, and a fine beaver hat perched on a thatch of graying dark hair.

  The man turned to help a woman from the carriage. She was dressed in finery to match that of the man’s outfit, including a feathered hat on an upswept mass of blond curls. She was no longer young, but she was still rather attractive. Given her age, Preacher pegged her as the man’s wife.

  The woman who stepped out of the carriage next was equally blond but much younger, no more than twenty if that old. She was undeniably fresh and lovely. The couple’s daughter, Preacher decided. The distinct resemblance between her and the older woman testified to that.

  The first man out of the next carriage was whip-thin and moved with a brusque manner bordering on impatience and arrogance. He was followed by a shorter, rounder fellow with thinning fair hair that was revealed when he took off his hat to mop sweat from his forehead with a fancy handkerchief. It wasn’t hot at all this morning, which told Preacher that the heavyset gent probably didn’t really want to be here.

  The third man who climbed out of that carriage was older, a weedy sort with a bushy brown mustache on his upper lip and a pair of spectacles tied to a string sitting precariously on his beak-like nose.

  That left the third carriage. A young man with red hair and prominent ears climbed out, then climbed out again. Preacher blinked, taken aback for a second by what he had seen before he realized the two young men were twins. Two peas in a pod, in fact, as the old saying went. They were both excited and enthusiastic, too, chattering to each other in a language Preacher didn’t understand but recognized as German. These weren’t the first Prussians he had encountered.

  That left one final passenger in the last carriage. The redheaded twins turned to help her, each taking an arm as she stepped down to the cobblestone street. She had red hair, too, but it was a rich auburn rather than the carrot tops of the twins. She lacked their pleasant, freckle-faced, jug-eared ugliness, too.

  Instead she was lovely. Damned lovely, Preacher thought.

  And on the frontier, a woman who looked like that was nearly always trouble.

  CHAPTER 4

  Simon Russell must have seen where Preacher was looking, because he said under his breath, “Yeah, she’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”

  “Who is she?”

  “Her name’s Gretchen Ritter. The two young fellas with her are her brothers Heinrich and Hobart. She’s engaged to Count Stahlmaske.”

  Preacher studied the others for a second and then said, “Let me guess. That’d be the skinny fella from the second carriage.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Because he looks like he’s used to givin’ orders—and havin’ ’em obeyed,” Preacher said.

  “Well, you’re right about that. He’s in charge of this bunch. Count Albert Stahlmaske. The young man with him is his brother Roderick, and the older gent is their uncle Gerhard.”

  “You don’t expect me to remember all these names, do you?” Preacher asked.

  “Oh, you’ll get to know all of them. If you make the trip with us, that is.”

  Preacher still hadn’t made up his mind about that. He nodded toward the man who had gotten out of the first carriage and said, “That leaves that fella to be the politician.”

  “Senator Josiah Allingham of Vermont. Looks like the sort who’d get up and make a speech, doesn’t he?”

  Preacher just grunted. He was inclined to dislike all these people, but he supposed that wasn’t fair. Some of them might turn out to be all right . . . although he thought the odds of that being true were pretty slim.

  “That’s the senator’s wife and daughter with him,” Russell went on.

  “Let me ask you something, Simon.”

  “Sure,” Russell said, although he sounded like he thought the question might be one that he didn’t really want to hear.

  “Are those women goin’ along on this trip upriver?”

  Russell looked distinctly uncomforta
ble, but he said, “Well . . . yeah, they are.”

  “Then you’ve lost your mind,” Preacher said bluntly. “It’s bad enough takin’ along a bunch of pilgrims, but when some of ’em are women . . .” The mountain man shook his head. “You’ll be lucky if any of you get back alive.”

  “I told you, it’s not up to me. The company says take ’em, I don’t have any choice but take ’em.”

  That right there was one good reason not to work for wages, thought Preacher.

  A wagon full of trunks and carpetbags and crates had pulled up behind the carriages. Count Stahlmaske stalked back to it and snapped orders at the burly driver and the other two men riding on the wagon. They got down quickly and started unloading the vehicle.

  “I reckon that’s all the things they’re takin’ with ’em on the trip,” Preacher said.

  With a look of weary resignation on his face, Russell nodded.

  “Yeah. Nobility doesn’t travel light. Not like when you and me could spend six months in the mountains with nothing more than what we could carry on one pack horse.”

  Russell’s demeanor changed then as the senator came toward him. He straightened and looked attentive.

  “Good morning, Senator,” he said. “It’s turning out to be a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “It is indeed,” Allingham said. “I take it everything is on schedule for our departure?”

  “Yes, sir. As soon as we get all your gear loaded, we’ll be ready to leave.”

  Allingham glanced curiously at Preacher. Russell must have noticed that, because he went on, “This is an old friend of mine, Senator. They call him Preacher.”

  The politician frowned slightly and said, “Preacher, eh? I suppose you have an actual name, sir.”

  Of course he had an actual name, Preacher thought disgustedly. He just hadn’t used it in a long time. He said, “Preacher’s good enough.”

  The frown disappeared from Allingham’s face and a grin replaced it. He stuck out a hand and said, “Well, if Preacher’s good enough for you, it’s plenty good for me. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”