The First Mountain Man Read online

  The shield was dropped to the earth and forward movement halted while the two wounded men were stretched out on the earth, to be dragged out into the clearing.

  “I’ll kill you for this, Preacher!” Slug bellered. “I’ll skin you alive, damn your eyes!”

  “I’ll do worser than that, Preacher!” Bobby screamed over the pain in his shattered foot. “You’ll rue the day you shot me, you dirty bastard! You tore offen some toes, damn you. When I git my hands on you, it’ll take you days to die, you sorry son.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Preacher muttered, reloading. “Flap your mouth, boy.” He chuckled. He had put three of them out of action so far. He was cutting down the odds right good, he figured.

  Preacher popped another piece of jerky in his mouth and waited.

  Then the gang got real quiet. He knew they were up to something, and he didn’t think it was going to be pleasant.

  It wasn’t. They started chucking lit torches into the cave. Preacher grinned and began chucking them right back, figuring he might get lucky and set someone on fire.

  He did.

  “Halp!” Keyes yelled. “My britches is on far. Halp me beat it out, boys. Jesus Christ. Oh, Lord, hit’s a-burnin’ my leg. Halp!”

  Preacher chucked several more burning brands behind the shield.

  “Goddammit, Bum!” a man yelled. “This ain’t workin’ out like you said it would.”

  “Well, hell’s fire, Adam. I never said it would be perfect, now, did I? Oowww! Somebody kick some dirt on my britches leg. Jesus, it’s on fire. Hurry up, dammit!”

  “Now you know how I feel!” Keyes hollered.

  Preacher felt it was time to add even more confusion to the yelling knot of thugs. He had prepared a small bag of powder—a bag-bomb as Richard had called it while watching the mountain man make it—and now he took it out of his possibles pouch and lit the fuse. He tossed it over the top of the log shield.

  “Holy Christ!” he heard a man yell. “Run. It’s a damn bomb.”

  The small grenade really didn’t do a lot of damage when it exploded. But in the confined space of the passageway, it sounded a lot more dangerous than it really was. It also peppered the thugs with small rocks and pebbles when it blew, stinging and bloodying the men.

  Preacher leaned back and laughed at the sounds of panic echoing all around him.

  “Damn you, Preacher!” George hollered, then immediately fell into a coughing fit due to all the dust. “Why don’t you fight fair, man?”

  “Idiot,” Preacher muttered. “There ain’t no such of a thing as a fair fight.”

  “Oh, I cain’t walk!” Rod moaned. “The bomb done crippled me. Don’t abandon me, boys.”

  “Fool!” Bum yelled. “That’s Leo sittin’ on our legs. You ain’t hurt.”

  “The whole side of my face is bloody,” Adam squalled. “Look at me. Did it blow my face off, boys?”

  Preacher scooped up a double handful of dirt and wrapped it up in a piece of cloth. He fashioned a fuse and lit it. He yelled, “Here comes another one, boys!” Then he chucked it over the logs.

  Wild panic broke out in the narrow space as the outlaws began screaming and cussing and literally running over each other in their haste to depart the scene. Preacher crawled forward, pushing the burning brands the thugs had tossed into the cave in front of him. He stacked them up all around the front of the lashed-together logs and then hustled back around the bend in the passageway to safety.

  “It was a dud!” Jack shouted.

  “Long-burnin’ fuse!” Preacher yelled.

  “You’re a liar, Preacher,” Bum shouted.

  “Look!” Moses shouted. “The barricade’s on far.”

  “Grab some dirt and put it out, boys!” Bum yelled.

  Preacher decided he’d had enough fun and lit the long fuse leading to the charge behind the rocks above the barricade. He grabbed his gear and headed out the mouth of the cave. He figured he had maybe thirty seconds to vacate the area before all that powder blew.

  He misjudged it slightly. The fuse burned quickly and then touched the powder. The concussion rocked the ground beneath his moccasins when it exploded.

  The huge rock and dozens of smaller ones came tumbling down, completely blocking the passage and sealing that entrance to the little valley.

  Oue rock bounced off Moses’s head and knocked the thug sprawling to the earth, addling him. Jack Harris took a stone right between the eyes and it knocked him cold.

  Bum Kelly assessed the damage and threw his hat to the ground and cursed.

  In the valley, sitting his saddle, Preacher threw back his head and howled like a great gray wolf. Then he laughed and headed for the waterfall.

  * * *

  Preacher led his party through the blow-down and headed westward into the Grand Tetons. He figured he had bought them at least two days and maybe as many as four.

  Behind him, Bum Kelley and his outlaws had staggered out of the passageway to fall exhausted on the ground. All of them were cut, bruised, and bleeding from wounds ranging from minor to serious.

  “Let’s start checkin’ each other out,” Bum finally spoke, heaving himself up off the ground. He swayed slightly on his boots. “Unless you boys want to give up on gettin’ the gold and them women.”

  The outlaws gave him grim looks.

  “Not damn likely,” Bum muttered darkly. “But I want Preacher worser than I want anything else. I want to stick his feet into a far and burn him slow.”

  “Yeah,” Bobby moaned the word. He looked at the bloody bandage that covered where some toes had been. He was alternately working on a piece of deerskin, making a crude moccasin, and moaning through his pain. “I wanna gouge his eyes out.”

  “I’m gonna cut him,” Beckman said. “And that’s just for starters.” He looked at his wounded leg and cussed.

  Slug was splinting his broken ankle over the damage done by the .50 caliber ball. “I’m gonna rape both them women and make Preacher watch. Then I’m gonna skin him. Slow.”

  Bum smiled grimly. He knew there would be no stopping these men now. Now it was a matter of honor with them. Preacher had shamed them all and if need be, they would track him right up to and through the gates of hell for revenge.

  But, Bum thought, to make matters even worser, as soon as Preacher reached some post or settlement, he would tell the story, and really juice it up. Unless he was stopped, Bum and his boys would be the laughing stock of the territories. He knew the others had the same thought.

  They couldn’t none of them allow that to happen. They had to close Preacher’s mouth. Forever.

  * * *

  Preacher would chuckle occasionally as he built a fire to cook their supper.

  “I fail to see what is so amusing about inflicting pain and suffering upon your fellow man,” Edmond said.

  Preacher looked at the missionary. “Do you have any idea what them ol’ boys back yonder will do to you if they catch you?”

  “Rob us.”

  Preacher chucked. “You really are a babe in the woods, ain’t you? Well, let me tell you something. If they catch you people, after they get tired of usin’ the women, then they’ll use you men. You get my drift?”

  “I don’t believe that!” Edmond said. “That would be—well, barbaric!”

  “It sure would. But they’d still do it. Then they’d torture you just to listen to you scream. They’ve done it all before. Ain’t nothin’ new to none of them. They been doin’ it for years and years.”

  “Why don’t the authorities stop them?” Richard asked.

  “Good God, people!” Preacher blurted in exasperation. “Look around you. What authorities? There ain’t no law out here. This is wilderness. Can’t you people understand that?”

  “The Army is the authority in wilderness areas, I believe,” Edmond said. “When we reach this fort you spoke of, we shall certainly report the reprehensible behavior of those ruffians who attacked the cave.”

  “Sure,” Preacher replied. �
��People, this land is in dispute ’tween England and the U-nited States. There might not be soldiers their. ’Sides, ain’t but about five hundred million billion acres out there. Hell, they oughtta be able to search that in no time a-tall.” He shook his head, “Foolish, foolish people.”

  Preacher fell silent as the little something that had been nagging at him all day finally settled down in the light of his mind. He had known about half of the men behind the voices back yonder in the cave. But yet another voice had been awful familiar to him.

  “Jack Harris!” he blurted.

  “What?” Richard said, looking at the mountain man. “What about our guide?”

  “I knowed that voice was familiar. He was one of them back at the cave. I’m sure of it!”

  Melody scooted closer to him. “If that’s correct, Preacher, then that means that ...” Her voice trailed off, her face frozen in shock.

  “Yeah,” Preacher spoke the word softly. “The whole thing wasn’t nothin’ but a set up from the git-go.”

  “Whatever in the world do you mean?” Penelope asked.

  “Them Injuns spoiled Bum and Jack’s plans. They wasn’t figurin’ on them Injuns attackin’. They was gonna ambush the wagon train. That’s why Jack took y’all so far north of the Oregon Trail.”

  Edmond was speechless—which, to Preacher’s ears, was a great relief.

  Penelope sat on the ground, her mouth open.

  “Yes,” Richard finally said. “Yes. It has to be. What a thoroughly untrustworthy, black-hearted, and totally reprehensible individual.”

  “Does that mean he’s a dirty, low-down, sorry skunk?” Preacher asked.

  “Yes. That sums it up quite well.”

  “Thought so. Well, it means something else, too: it means they got to kill us all. You see, no tellin’ how long Jack’s been doin’ this. You say Jack hooked up with y’all in Missouri?”

  “Well ... not exactly,” Richard said. “Ten days out of Missouri, our guide suddenly disappeared. He’d been out scouting. I think. Well, you can imagine our predicament. We were beside ourselves with worry. We were lost. The next morning, Jack Harris rode in. He was so strong-appearing and full of confidence. We practically had to beg him to take on the job of guide.”

  “Where was your wagon master?”

  “Why ... I don’t suppose we had one.”

  “Just how much beggin’ did y’all have to do ’fore Jack agreed to sign on?”

  “Well, actually, not very much.”

  “I thought not. Well, let’s fix some vittles and eat up. We got to push hard come the mornin’. There’s some damn rough country ahead.”

  * * *

  They crossed the Yellowstone and Preacher took them straight west. He took them over the Divide and headed for the Snake. By now, he knew that Bum and his boys would have circled the small range in which the cave was located. They would pick up their trail and be hard on it.

  “By the Lord!” Edmond exclaimed one frosty morning in the high country. “This land is exhilarating!”

  “Does that mean you like it?” Preacher asked.

  “My word, yes!”

  “You ain’t thinkin’ of settlin’ here, is you?”

  “We’ve discussed it,” Melody said sweetly. “After all, savages are savages, whether on the west coast or here. Of course, we shall have to push on to deliver the monies. But we think we shall return to this wonderful and primitive land.”

  “Is that a fact?” Preacher’s words were glumly spoken.

  “Yes!” she said brightly. “Aren’t you excited with the news?”

  “I can tell you truthful I am purt near overcome.”

  “I knew you would be ... darling,” she added softly.

  Preacher felt like he was standing in quicksand, and slowly sinking. Movement caught his eyes. He looked up. First time in his life he was happy to see a band of Indians.

  7

  “Relax,” Preacher said. “They’re Bannocks. I know that brave in the lead. His name is Bad Foot.”

  “Bad Foot?” Edmond said. “Why would anybody name a child that?”

  “Probably ’cause he was borned with a club foot. Sometimes that’s the way Injuns name their young. If I knowed y’all better I’d tell you a story about a brave I knowed once called Two Dogs Humpin’.”

  “Please don’t,” Penelope said quickly.

  “Sounds like a delightfully naughty story,” Melody said, her eyes bright.

  “I’m sorry I brung it up,” Preacher said, getting to his feet and making the sign of ’Brother’ to the Indian on the lead pony.

  Preacher began speaking to the brave in his own tongue, Snake. Bad Foot grinned and nodded his head and began rubbing his belly.

  “They been buffler huntin’,” Preacher explained. “And they gonna give us some steaks. We got some mighty fine eatin’ comin’ up, folks.”

  “Ask him if he’s ever heard of God,” Edmond said, digging in his pack for one of the many small Bibles he’d salvaged from the wagon train ambush.

  “Ask him yourself. He speaks pretty good English. I’s just bein’ polite speakin’ his tongue.”

  Edmond approached the Indian cautiously, holding a Bible in his hands. Bad Foot stood smiling at him. Edmond held out the Bible and Bad Foot took it.

  “Thank you,” the Indian said. “My woman thanks you. She will take it as soon as I return to the lodge. She will use it much more than me.”

  Edmond’s face brightened as he watched Bad Foot finger the pages. “Your, ah, woman is a Christian?”

  The others wondered why Preacher was laughing so hard he had to sit down on the ground, holding his sides.

  “No Christian. I take all Bibles offered me.”

  “She studies them? My word. We’ve got to return and live with this tribe.”

  “Studies? No study. Can’t read. Pages thin. Make good ass wipe.”

  * * *

  They stopped early that afternoon. Preacher wanted to get the buffalo steaks on while they were still fresh. Besides, if he was tired, Lord knows what the others were feeling. They camped on the west side of Pacific Creek. Preacher wasn’t too worried about Bum and his bunch; he figured they were at least three days ahead of them. They’d eat good this afternoon and just lay around and rest. Give the horses a much needed break, too.

  He glanced over at Edmond, who still had his lower lip all poked out over Bad Foot’s refusal to return the Bible. Preacher had been forced to step between the two men before Bad Foot forgot he was a peaceful Bannock and went on the warpath.

  Before leaving, Bad Foot had grinned at Preacher and pointed at Edmond. He extended the index finger of his left hand and held it straight up in the air, cupping it with his right hand, making and up and down motion.

  “What did that savage call me?” Edmond demanded, after the Bannocks had left.

  “An asshole,” Preacher told him. “Among other things.”

  “Well! I never!” Edmond said.

  “I shore hope not,” Preacher replied, hiding his grin, and certainly not telling the man everything the hand signals had implied. “Although Injuns tolerate that type of thing better than whites do.”

  “Whatever in the world are you babbling about?” Edmond asked, irritated.

  Preacher shook his head. “Skip it.” He looked up at the sky. The weather had been perfect ever since leaving the cave and the little valley, but now it was about to turn foul. Preacher figured they’d be in a hard, cold rain long before dusk.

  He set about building the ladies a crude lean-to. If the men wanted one, they could damn well build it themselves. As for himself, he’d just get up under a tree and sleep with his robe wrapped around him, his back to the tree. Richard and Edmond watched him for a few moments, then set about building their own shelter. Preacher eyeballed them for several minutes and concluded their rickety shelter would collapse before the night was over.

  Preacher did build a small shelter over the cook-fire and then set about broiling the thick
buffalo steaks. He got the shelter up just as the rains came.

  The others watched him and marveled at how much a man Preacher’s size could eat. He was gnawing on a half-raw steak while cooking the others.

  “Learn this,” Preacher said. “Eat when you can, drink when you can, and sleep when you can. ’Cause you don’t know when you’re gonna be able to do any of the three again.”

  “We’ve been eating rather well and often on this sojourn,” Richard pointed out.

  “You ain’t never wintered out here,” Preacher told him, not quite sure what sojourn meant, but not wanting to appear plumb ignorant. He kind of figured it had something to do with traveling. “Snows can come a-howlin’ this time of year. Catch you flat-footed. Makes a fat rabbit look as good as airy steak you ever et.”

  “Will you please stop speaking like some ignorant savage?” Edmond yelled at him, startling them all. “You have some education. I know you do. Why do you persist in speaking like some addle-brained buffoon?”

  “Bothers you, do it?” Preacher adjusted the steaks over the flames. “Why is that, Brother Edmond?”

  But Edmond sulled up and sat under his leaky lean-to, refusing to speak.

  “You got something stuck up in your craw, spit it out, Brother,” Preacher told him. “Anger’s a vile thing to keep all bottled up. Might even make a feller sick. You liable to come down with the collie-wobbles or the nobby-noodles or something worser than that.”

  “There you go again,” Edmond broke his silence. “I won’t even ask you what those ridiculous illnesses might be.”

  “They aren’t nothin’, Brother.”

  “And stop calling me Brother. I am not your brother. You don’t even worship God. How could you be my brother?”

  Preacher smiled. “You still got your lips all pooched out ’cause of what Bad Foot done. And who says I don’t worship God? I do in my own way. Who says your way is right and mine is wrong? Why, I’ve even worshipped the Almighty at the Great Medicine Wheel over in the Bighorns. I bet that’s something you never studied in your fancy Eastern colleges.”