Preacher's Assault Read online

  He pulled one of the pistols from behind his belt and handed it to her. “Here, you hang on to that,” he said. “Just in case we run into any trouble. I’ll carry my rifle.”

  “Fine. You know I can handle a gun.”

  “Wouldn’t have given you one if I didn’t.”

  They left the campfire and the wagons, walking out about fifty yards, then turning to stroll around the circle. Preacher held his long legs to a gait that Casey could match.

  He waited for Casey to start since she was the one who had asked for the conversation. The silence between them drew out until it started to get awkward.

  Finally she said, “I’m sorry about what happened back up the trail. That business with Roland, I mean.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Preacher told her. “It wasn’t your fault, and anyway, no harm was done.”

  “It was my fault,” she said. “I got angry and frustrated with you, and I turned to him for comfort. He took that to mean . . . more than it did.”

  Preacher frowned. “Roland’s not a bad sort, for a greenhorn.”

  “I know that. But he can’t compare to you, Preacher.” She held up a hand to stop him when he started to speak. “Oh, I know it was never going to last between us. We were never going to get married and settle down and raise a passel of kids. In fact, I’m not even sure if I can have children. I had some problems a few years ago . . .”

  “You don’t need to talk about that,” Preacher said gruffly.

  Casey took a deep breath. “Anyway, I knew not to expect too much from you.” He could hear the smile in her voice as she added, “You’re already married to the wilderness.”

  “You’ll find you a nice young fella one of these days. Maybe Roland, maybe somebody else, but I’m sure it’ll be all right.”

  “I’m not,” she said. “How could I ever marry a . . . a respectable man, after all the things I’ve done? It wouldn’t be fair to him. I’d have to lie to him, because if I told him the truth, no decent man would ever want me.”

  “You might be wrong about that,” Preacher said. “If a fella really loves you, he ain’t gonna care all that much about what happened before. All that’s really gonna matter to him is the here and now.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?”

  “I do.”

  She slipped her arm through his. “I hope you’re right, Preacher. I really do.”

  “So what are you gonna do about Roland?”

  “I don’t know. Wait until we get to Santa Fe and see what happens then, I suppose.” She laughed. “He’s madly in love with me.”

  “Well, of course he is. I reckon most of them bullwhackers are, too.”

  “No, they just want me to crawl into their bedrolls with them. Roland has all sorts of romantic notions, though.”

  “With a name like that, I reckon he’d have to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Friend of mine from the mountains up north named Audie, he’s a real educated fella and knows all sorts of things. I recollect listenin’ to him recite this poem once about a French knight named Roland, and ever’body knows them French fellas are romantic.”

  “What happened to the Roland in the poem?”

  Preacher didn’t want to tell her that the knight wound up getting killed in battle. He scratched his beard and grinned. “Well, I don’t rightly remember the end of the poem. You see, the rest of the fellas was passin’ around a jug while Audie was recitin’ . . .”

  Casey laughed. “You don’t have to explain. I understand.”

  They had walked a complete circuit of the camp while they were talking. Preacher glanced toward the wagons and said, “I expect we better get back ’fore folks start to worry about us.”

  “You mean Roland?”

  “Well, if anybody tells him they saw the two of us goin’ for a walk together, he’s liable to get upset again.”

  “I appreciate you not hurting him before.”

  “Like I said, he ain’t a bad sort, just young and inexperienced. He’ll learn, if he lives long enough.”

  Casey stopped and turned so she was facing him. “I want a good-bye kiss,” she said firmly.

  “We ain’t sayin’ good-bye,” Preacher objected. “It’ll be another week or more before we make it to Santa Fe, and it ain’t like you’ll never see me again once we get there.”

  “Yes, but we’re saying good-bye to what might have been between us. From here on out, we’ll just be friends.”

  “Can you live with that?”

  “I’ll have to.” She smiled up at him, close enough that he felt the warmth of her breath on his face. “But I want that kiss first.”

  “Well, hell,” Preacher said. “I can do that.”

  He thumbed his hat back, slipped one arm around her, and bent his head to bring his mouth to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. He responded to the heat of her firm body and the sweet urgency of her lips and told himself he might kick himself in the future for practically pushing her into Roland Bartlett’s arms. But some things were meant to be, and some weren’t.

  The kiss lasted for a long moment. Then he pulled back, smiled down at her, and said, “All right, we best get back now.”

  “Preacher . . .”

  “Don’t argue with me, now,” he said.

  “Preacher!”

  The moon and stars were bright enough for him to see the shocked expression that suddenly appeared on her face. At the same time, he caught a whiff of a rank, musty odor. His blood turned cold in his veins.

  “That damn bear’s right behind me, ain’t it?” he said.

  CHAPTER 12

  Casey nodded as she continued staring in horror over Preacher’s shoulder. For a split-second, the mountain man felt like a damned fool. He had told everybody else to stay close to camp and always be in a group, and yet here he had wandered off. Even worse, he’d brought Casey with him.

  He shoved those thoughts out of his head. He didn’t have time for them.

  Instead he said, “Gimme that pistol I gave you.”

  She swallowed hard, but she pressed the weapon into his hand. “Preacher, what are we going to do? You said you couldn’t kill that creature with pistols.”

  “What’s he doin’?”

  “Just . . . just standing there. My God, he’s huge!”

  “Bears don’t see too good,” Preacher said. “They rely on their hearin’ and their sense of smell. He knows we’re here, and he’s just tryin’ to make up his mind what to do about us. How far away is he?”

  “About . . . twenty feet, I guess.”

  A big grizzly could cover that distance in the space of a heartbeat.

  “Start backin’ away from me, slow and easy,” Preacher said. “Be as quiet about it as you can. Since I’m in between you and him, he may not be able to tell you’re movin’ away from him.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m gonna stay right here and keep him occupied, if he gets feisty before you get back to the wagons.”

  “But he’ll kill you,” Casey whispered.

  “Not without a fight,” Preacher said. “When you get to the wagons, tell everybody what’s goin’ on. With one rifle, it takes a mighty lucky shot to put down a monster like this. But if twenty men are pourin’ lead into him at the same time, even a big ol’ griz can’t stand up to that.”

  “Preacher . . .”

  “Go,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do it, Casey. Back away slow.”

  With a stricken expression on her face, she began to do as he told her. She took several shaky steps backward. When she was about ten feet away, Preacher said, “All right, turn around and walk toward the wagons. Don’t run. That’ll just draw the bear’s attention. Move, Casey.”

  Again, she followed his orders. But as she walked, she kept glancing back over her shoulder at him.

  Preacher wanted to look at the bear, but he continued to stand rock-still. After a moment, with his body conce
aling the movement, he lowered his rifle to the ground and slid his other pistol from behind his belt. He looped his thumbs over the hammers. Casey was only about ten yards from the wagons when Preacher eased back both hammers, with a metallic click.

  He heard a sudden chuffing noise and recognized it as the sound a bear makes when it breaks into a charge toward an enemy. He twisted around and threw himself to the side as he brought the pistols up.

  The bear was practically on top of him, moving with blinding speed. The pistols in Preacher’s hands roared and spouted fire as he dived out of the way of the attack.

  All four lead balls from the double-shotted pistols struck the bear, most likely failing to penetrate the thick layers of fat and muscle that coated the animal’s enormous body and reach a vital organ. Chances were the wounds would sting like hell and irritate the varmint even more, but Preacher had to make the effort.

  The bear let out an angry bellow as it swiped a huge paw studded with razor sharp claws at the mountain man. The bear was fast, but so was Preacher. His dive took him out of reach and the bear missed.

  Preacher hit the ground on his shoulder and rolled over. He couldn’t reach his rifle. The bear was between him and it. With the pistols empty, that left his knife as his only weapon. When he was younger he had fought a grizzly with a knife and killed it. That battle had left him severely injured. He was facing a much bigger bear than that one had been. It topped seven feet easily.

  Preacher scrambled to his feet and darted to the side. The bear lunged after him. There was nowhere to get away from it, no tree to climb, and on open ground the bear could outrun him. Still, he could make the thing chase him and lead it away from the wagons.

  “Come on, you hairy son of a bitch!” he yelled. “Come and get me!”

  He whirled and sprinted away. Roaring, the bear lumbered after him. The creature didn’t seem to be moving that fast, but it covered the ground and closed the gap in a matter of seconds.

  Preacher was vaguely aware that Casey had started yelling and screaming for help as she reached the wagons. He expected the men to start shooting at the bear, even though he was sort of in the line of fire. He was surprised, when he heard hoofbeats pounding nearby.

  “Preacher!” That was Lorenzo’s voice. “Preacher, over here!”

  Preacher jerked his head in the direction of the shout and saw the old-timer galloping toward him. Man and horse were silhouetted against the light from the campfire. A couple other riders followed closely behind Lorenzo.

  Preacher darted toward them. Hope leaped in his chest. If he could avoid the bear’s claws long enough to get on one of those horses, they could race back to the wagons before the massive creature could stop them.

  The bear was fast, but its great weight gave it so much momentum it couldn’t stop or turn quickly. Preacher zigzagged across the prairie, relying on his instincts to tell him when to change direction. The riders closed in on him. Lorenzo slowed his mount and extended an arm. Preacher reached up and grabbed it.

  Lorenzo might be old, but his wiry body had a lot of strength in it. With the horse still moving, he hauled Preacher up and swung him onto the animal’s back behind the saddle. Preacher grabbed hold with his legs and put an arm around Lorenzo’s middle.

  “Let’s get the hell outta here!”

  Lorenzo sent the horse running toward the wagons while the two men with him fired their rifles at the bear to distract it. Preacher recognized them as Leeman and Roland Bartlett. Their bravery and quick thinking in making the rescue attempt impressed him.

  The bear bellowed as the shots struck it, but the wounds didn’t slow it down. It swatted at the riders, and one of its paws clipped a horse’s rump, making the horse scream in pain as the claws ripped gashes in its hide. The horse leaped high in the air, almost unseating its rider, Roland Bartlett. He had to hang on for dear life as the horse hit the ground again and dashed toward the wagons.

  Preacher glanced over his shoulder. If Roland had fallen, it would have been all over for him.

  The horse carrying Preacher and Lorenzo reached the circle of wagons and leaped over a wagon tongue. Bartlett and Roland followed closely. The bullwhackers who had crowded up behind the wagons with their rifles opened fire on the bear. Preacher slid down from the horse and ran back over to one of the gaps between wagons to watch the assault.

  He had no way of knowing how many times the bear was hit. All he could tell for sure was that the bear swung around, bellowing in pain and rage, and disappeared into the night like a big, hairy, moving mountain. The shots trailed off. There was nothing left to shoot at.

  Casey came running up to Preacher and threw her arms around him. “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

  “Don’t worry, he didn’t lay a claw on me,” Preacher told her. “I ain’t quite sure how I managed to stay out of his reach, but I did.”

  “Thank God,” she murmured as she hugged him and pressed her face against his chest.

  “Whose idea was it to bring the horses out there and fetch me?” he asked.

  She looked up at him. “That was Roland’s idea.”

  Preacher saw that the young man had dismounted, along with his father. Roland held the horses, his expression stony, as his father went over to join Preacher and Casey.

  “Good Lord, what a narrow escape!” Bartlett said. “Are you injured, Preacher?”

  The mountain man shook his head. “Nope. Thanks to you and Roland and Lorenzo.”

  “That beast is a behemoth. Surely it must be the largest bear there ever was.”

  “I reckon there’s probably been bigger. But it’s plenty big enough, that’s for sure.”

  “At least it shouldn’t bother us anymore.”

  Preacher frowned and asked, “What makes you say that?”

  Bartlett returned the frown. “Well, you shot it at close range with those pistols, and I’m certain my men hit it numerous times with their rifles. Surely after this encounter the beast will slink off somewhere and die of its wounds.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Preacher said. “Bears are mighty tough critters, and like I told you before, they’re hard to kill.” He shrugged. “But maybe you’re right. I’ll do some scoutin’ when it gets light, see if I can find the body.”

  The camp was settling down now that the danger was over, at least for the time being. Preacher went over to Roland Bartlett, who had started unsaddling his horse.

  “I’m obliged to you,” Preacher said as he held out his hand. “Casey told me it was your idea to ride out there and get me.”

  Roland hesitated. He had seen Casey hugging him, Preacher knew, and was still jealous. He didn’t know that the relationship between the two of them was definitely over, and Casey’s hug had been because she was relieved Preacher was still alive.

  After a moment, Roland shook hands with him. He didn’t appear too friendly about it, but he gripped Preacher’s hand firmly enough.

  “It seemed to be the only way to save your life,” he said. “I’m glad we were able to get to you in time. My father is counting on you to help us get to Santa Fe safely.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Preacher promised.

  “I suppose Casey owes her life to you yet again,” Roland went on. “If you had panicked when that bear showed up, it probably would have killed both of you.”

  “More’n likely,” Preacher agreed. “Casey and I are square. She’s helped me out plenty of times. That’s what friends do for each other.”

  “Friends, eh?” Roland sounded like he didn’t believe that.

  Preacher nodded. “Yep. Ask her yourself.”

  “No offense, but what I ask Casey or don’t ask her is none of your business, Preacher.”

  “That’s exactly right,” Preacher responded, hoping that Roland would understand what he was getting at. But if he didn’t, it was the youngster’s own fault for being so dense.

  Everybody was on edge because of the bear, so it was no trouble getting extra volunteers
to stand guard that night. The creature didn’t make a return appearance, and no other problems cropped up.

  Preacher saddled Horse the next morning after breakfast. Lorenzo came up to him and asked, “You goin’ lookin’ for that bear?”

  “Thought I would. If it’s dead, then these folks can relax. About that, anyway,” Preacher added. “There are still plenty of other things out here that can kill ’em.”

  “That’s the truth. You want me to come with you?”

  Preacher shook his head. “No, you stay with the wagons. I won’t be gone long.”

  Before he left, he found Leeman Bartlett and told the man, “You’ll be seein’ the Arkansas River off to your left today. The trail’s gonna run beside it for a ways. I don’t reckon you’ll get that far before I get back, but just in case I get held up somehow, be on the lookout for a creek that’ll run into the river from the north. That’ll be Mullberry Creek. Right there’s where you want to ford the Arkansas and angle off southwest. You’ll be able to see the wagon tracks on the other side of the river.”

  “You mean that’s the beginning of the Cimarron Cutoff?” Bartlett said. “I have a map that I’ve studied quite a bit.”

  Preacher nodded. “That’s it. When you get there, you’ll be just past halfway from Independence to Santa Fe.”

  “Halfway?” Bartlett’s eyes widened. “It seems like we’ve already been traveling forever.”

  “That’s because all this country out here looks so much alike. It’ll change some once you’re on the Cutoff.” Preacher chuckled. “Won’t get any better, though. Just flatter and drier and hotter. And emptier.”

  “That seems hard to believe.”

  “You’ll see it for yourself soon enough. When you do ford the Arkansas, whether it’s today or tomorrow, be sure to stop and fill all the water barrels. You need to be careful with the water once you start across the desert. It’ll take several days, maybe close to a week, to get to Cimarron Springs. That’s the first dependable water you’ll find.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Bartlett asked. “You’ll be with us, won’t you?”

  “That’s the plan,” Preacher said with a note of grimness in his voice. “But anything can happen out here, like you saw last night with that blasted bear. It came damn close to rippin’ me open with those claws. If anything happens to me, you need to know where you’re goin’ and how you’re gonna get there. Listen to the men with you who have made the trip before. They’ll know what they’re talkin’ about. You can count on Lorenzo to help out all he can, but he ain’t never been this far west until now.”