5
“He ain't comin' back, Bum,” Slug told the outlaw leader. “And them Injuns is gettin' jumpy. They ain't likin' movin' so far out of their territory.”
Bum nodded his head. He was rapidly getting a gut full of the mountain man called Preacher. But the thought of calling off the chase never entered his mind. He could not, however, afford to lose the support of Red Hand. Without Red Hand's braves, they would have no chance against the wagon train.
Bum knew Slug was right: Rod was not coming back. But that didn't necessarily mean he was dead. He might have developed a yellow streak and went the other way, rather than face Preacher alone. But Bum didn't think that was what happened. Rod just got careless and Preacher finished him.
Bum went to see Red Hand. He had been working out a plan in his mind and now was the time to see if it would work.
“I wouldn't blame you if you took your people and run back to the Portneufs,” Bum told the renegade. “That's a mighty mean man we're chasin'. Lots of folks is scared of Preacher. So you take your boys and run away, if you're a mind to.”
Red hand drew himself up tall and glowered at the outlaw. “Red Hand does not
run away
from an enemy.” The Blackfoot spoke the words contemptuously. “Why would you think I would even consider such a cowardly act?”
“Well, I don't know. Just come to me, that's all. You gettin' so far away from home country, I reckon. And we ain't been doin' so good agin Preacher.”
“You worry about the cowards among your own group,” Red Hand told him. “And do not ever again question my courage or the bravery of my people.”
“Fine,” Bum said, ducking his head to hide his smile. “That suits me, Red Hand.”
The Blackfoot stalked away, his back stiff from the insult against him. Bum went back to his own group. He squatted down by the fire and poured coffee.
“How'd it go?” Beckman asked.
“Red Hand wouldn't quit now no matter what happens or how far we have to travel. He's in it all the way.”
“When do we hit the train?”
“Between the Blues and the Wallowa. Right along the Powder, I'll toss it to Red Hand and before it's over, he'll be thinkin' he suggested it.”
“Why don't we hit them on the Columbia?” Moses suggested. “You know they got to take the river.”
“Maybe not. Preacher ain't never done nothin' the easy way; so I been told. I got it in my mind that he's gonna try to take them acrost the Cascades.”
“That'd be plumb stupid!” Bull said. “Ain't nobody ever took no damn wagon acrost them mountains. Ain't nobody ever goin' to, neither.”
“I don't know of no one who ever tried it,” Bum said. “But if anyone can do it, it'll be Preacher.”
“So when do we ride for the Blues?”
“I'll give Red Hand an hour or so to get over his mad, then talk to him. I 'magine we'll pull out in the mornin'. We'll get there in plenty of time to lay out an ambush site and get all rested up.”
“I liked Rod,” Keyes said. “He was a good man.”
“Obviously not good enough,” Seedy said.
* * *
The traveling got rougher for those in the wagon train. The terrain was terrible and the mosquitoes worse. Great thick hordes of them fell on the wagon train and soon everybody was slapping and cussing and scratching from the bites. The weather was just as miserable as the terrain. One day it was ninety degrees, the next day it was cloudy and cold.
Bands of Digger Indians would line up on either side of the trail, to stand in silence and watch the wagon train. Many of them begged for food.
“Don't give 'em nothin',” Preacher warned the movers. “If you do, they'll wart you forever. Them's the sorriest tribe anywheres. They'll take crickets and roaches and make a stew of it. They eat rats and the like. Most disgustin' bunch of people I ever met in all my days.”
“But they're
hungry!”
Penelope said.
“They won't do for themselves,” Beartooth said. “They beg and steal. They'd rather starve than work. Ignore 'em, missy. They just ain't worth your pity.”
The wagon train rolled on, following the Snake over rough and rocky ground. The wagon train stopped early that day, due to several broken wheels. The ground was so rough one woman fell off the seat and busted her head wide open. The wound was not serious, but like all head wounds, it bled freely for several minutes, giving the pilgrims a good scare.
“Everybody off them wagons and walk!” Preacher passed the word up and down the line.
“My wife is with child, sir!” a mover yelled in defiance.
“Shoulda thought of that 'fore you started, fool!” Preacher muttered in disgust.
They crossed Goose Creek the next day, straight up and straight down. Most movers lost articles out of their wagons. The ground was the worst they had experienced thus far.
That night, Preacher told Swift and a few of the others, “We can expect trouble up ahead. Place called Rocky Creek. It's about twenty miles from where we're camped. Since the first big band of movers come through last year, trouble-huntin' Injuns have been hangin' around there, and they're a mean bunch. Pass the word that nobody wanders off once we're there.”
When Swift was gone to pass the word, Preacher said to his friends, “We're gonna push it tomorrow. We're gonna put fifteen miles behind us. That way we'll make Rocky Crick by mid-mornin' of the next day and put it behind us.”
“You figurin' we'll have trouble there?” Trapper Jim asked.
“Yeah. Somethin's got these Injuns all stirred up. I don't wanna camp nowheres near the crick.”
“What kind of Injuns will these be?” Richard asked.
“Northern Paiute, probably. Maybe some Bannock. Ain't no tellin' really. A lot of them renegades and just plain trouble-hunters. Renegades will put aside centuries-old tribal hatred and band together for protection.” Preacher refilled his cup and sat back down. It was a nice evening, for a change. They were camped near a creek and everybody had bathed and washed clothes and were lounging about simply relaxing after a grueling day on the trail. Kids were playing within the relatively safe confines of the circled wagons. Mothers kept a good eye on them nonetheless.
The mountain men smiled and winked at one another. They alone knew that what they were doing had never been done before. A few wagon trains had punched through to the Columbia, for sure, but no oneâ
no one
âhad ever taken a wagon train over the Cascades.
These mountain men would be the first to do so, something that mountain men enjoyed. Being the first.
* * *
“This is an excellent stretch of trail through here, Preacher.” Swift remarked about noon of the next day. “I feel we could make better time.”
“We could.”
“Then why aren't we?”
“I don't want us to have to camp on Rocky Crick, that's why. We'll do about fifteen miles and then shut it down. That way we'll hit the crick and be long past it come time to circle for the night tomorrow.”
“I hardly think these savages would attack a train of this size,” Swift persisted.
“I've had my say,” Preacher told him, then lifted the reins and rode ahead. “Damn igits!” Preacher muttered. “Can't see no further than the end of their noses.”
He whoaed Hammer up short. Not a hundred yards ahead, sitting smack in the middle of the trail, was a mother grizzly and two cubs. She had not yet caught his scent and Preacher backed Hammer up and beat it to the train.
“Hold it up,” he told Swift. “And don't be tootin' on that damn bugle, neither.”
“What's the matter?”
“I said, hold up the goddamn train!”
Clearly miffed, Swift rode back and stopped the long wagon train. Beartooth rode up. “What's the matter?”
“Mama griz and two cubs sittin' in the middle of the trail. She'll weigh a good eight, nine hundred pounds. We'll let them alone and they'll move directly.”
Young Avery rode up on one of his father's horses. “I'll go up and shoot her,” he said.
“You'll do no such of a thing,” Preacher told the hulking teenager. “Who'd care for them young of hern?”
The man-child shrugged his shoulders. “Who gives a hoot?”
“We do,” Beartooth said. “Larn this now, boy: you don't kill something for the sake of killin'. You kill for survival or for food. You eat what you kill. You don't kill something just 'cause youâ”
Avery sneered at the man and spurred his horse, heading at a gallop up the trail.
“Smart-mouthed little son of a bitch!” Beartooth cussed the young man.
Preacher touched his moccasins to Hammer and the big horse leaped forward, easily overtaking Avery. Preacher reached out and slapped the young man clean out of the saddle. Avery hit the ground and bounced on his butt a time or two.
“Pa!”
he squalled.
“Get your butt in the saddle and get back to the train,” Preacher told him.
“My pa'll whup you!” Avery said, climbing back into the saddle.
“Doubtful,” Preacher told him. “Move.”
“I'm fixin'to kill me a bear!” Avery said. “Anding you can go to hell.”
Preacher jumped his horse forward and knocked Avery out of the saddle with a hard right fist to the smart-aleck's mouth. the blow was a brutal one and it smashed lips and brought blood leaking down onto the young man's shirt. Beartooth galloped up at that point and settled a loop around Avery's shoulders just as he was getting to his feet. Beartooth jerked on the rope and Avery went down again.
“Larn you some manners, squirt!” the burly mountain man said. He turned his horse and began dragging the youth back down the trail, to the train.
Preacher grabbed the horse's reins and led him along.
Avery was cussing just like a full growed manâwhich he very nearly wasâand struggling to get to his feet. Everytime he did, Beartooth would jerk on the rope and down he would go again.
“By the Lord, you'll pay dearly for this!” Avery's pa, a man called Wade, yelled furiously upon witnessing his pride and joy being dragged down the trail at the end of a rope.
“Shut your trap or I'll dab a loop around your shoulders,” Preacher told him.
“You step down from that horse and I'll give you a thrashing you're not likely to forget for the remainder of your days,” the man said.
“Wagh!” Nighthawk shouted.
“There's to be a tussle!” someone in the train yelled.
“You a damn fool!” Dupre told the man. “Preacher'll clean your plow 'fore you can blink, pilgrim.”
“I fought Cornish all my days,” the mover told him, as Preacher slowly dismounted. “I'm not worried.”
“Back away, mover,” Preacher cautioned the man. “Your boy got what he deserved, and no more. It's nothin' to be fightin' about”
“You and that snot son of yours have been nothing but trouble since Missouri,” a woman yelled from the train. “We should have voted to abandon you before reaching the Rockies.”
A great majority of those gathered around loudly agreed with her statement.
Avery's father was rolling up his shirt sleeves and flexing his muscles. He did a little footwork in the trail to limber up.
Preacher was paying no attention to him. He had walked over to Swift to report what had taken place between Avery and the mountain men.
“Preacher,” the wagonmaster said, “you'd best be wary of the man. He's a rough fellow. He ran taverns back East.”
“Is that right? What do you 'spect I best do: run off somewheres and hide?”
The wagonmaster smiled. “Look at him carefully, Preacher. The man's a brute.”
“He's big'un all right. I bet he'll make the ground tremble when he hits it ... on his butt.”
“My boy's been cut and bruised!” Wade hollered. “And he says you struck him in the mouth and face, Preacher. By the Lord, you'll pay for this. Turn and face me, Preacher. Receive your trashing like a man.”
“Hee, hee, hee!” Beartooth giggled. “Pilgrim says he's a-gonna thrash you, Preacher. His one or two friends on the train say he's a mighty tough man. I'm afeared for your safety, Preacher.”
“I just can't watch it,” Dupre said. “The sight of blood makes me dizzy-headed.”
“Hell, that's your natural condition,” Preacher told the Frenchman.
Wade was drawing a line in the trail with the toe of his boot. Preacher watched the man, amusement in his eyes.
Nighthawk was watching Wade, puzzlement in his dark eyes. White people sure did some odd things.
“Be you warned that to step across this line means you are ready for the fight,” Wade said.
“Is that what it means?” Preacher said with a laugh, as he took his pistols from the sash and handed them to Swift. “Now I 'spect you gonna tell me they's rules to this here fight?”
“That is correct, sir,” Wade said. “Mister Swift will keep the rules and shout out when to break.”
“When to do what?” Beartooth asked.
“To give a man time to recover from a knock-down,” Wade told him. “Each man will retire away from his opponent once the other man is down. The fight will continue until one man yields or is knocked unconscious.”
“Is that the way they do it back East now?” Preacher asked.
“That is correct. Now toe this line,” Wade said.
“Yeah, Preacher,” Dupre said. “Step up here and receive your thrashin'.”