The three mountain men rode up to the mixed band of Indians. Preacher lifted one hand, palm out, to a man who wore the headdress of a chief. The chief hesitated, then returned the gesture of friendship, peace, and welcome.
“We apologize if we have interrrupted your hunt,” Preacher said. “We are only passing through. We will be gone in the morning.”
“That is good,” the chief replied. “Would that be so with all white men?”
“All white men are not the same,” Preacher said. “Like all Indians are not the same. There are good and bad among us all.”
“You speak the truth. It is good to hear it from the lips of a white man. It is a rare thing. You will not be bothered by us. Come and go in peace.” He turned his horse and rode away, the large band of Sauk and Fox following.
“There are a few mean-eyed young bucks among that band,” Steals Pony said. “I think we’d best double the guard tonight.”
“I think you’re right,” Snake said. “Do you know what that was you was talkin’ to, Preach?”
“No.”
“That was Chief Chekuskuk. The head honcho of the Fox.”
“And one of those young braves was Wind Runner,” Steals Pony added very, very dryly. “With fresh scalps on his horse’s mane.”
“Keep the young’uns in the center of the circle,” Preacher instructed the women with kids. “They’ll be a few Sauk or Fox trying to slip inside tonight to take scalps. By now they’ve broke away from the main band and are circlin’ the train. But they’re miles out.”
“But you said the chief promised us safe passage,” a woman named Claire Goodfellow said.
“The chief don’t always speak for everybody,” Preacher told the women. “What color you are don’t make no difference. Young people is the same everywhere. Some of them have respect for their elders, some don’t. They’ll be a dozen or so paying us a visit tonight.”
Eudora had done a bang-up job of circling the wagons. She had pulled them in tight, angling them close with tongues pointed inward so the mules and oxen could be unhitched inside the protective circle. The tall, handsome woman was definitely an asset and Preacher vowed to stay on her good side. She had never said why she was going west, and Preacher would never ask. He’d heard rumors that Eudora had been jilted by a beau back east and was heartbroken. But he didn’t believe that rumor. The one he believed was the one that she’d caught her intended with another woman and had jerked out a pepperbox and drilled him through the brisket. Her father, a fairly wealthy shipowner, had gotten her out of Boston a half a step ahead of the law, who had a noose ready for her shapely neck.
And Eudora Hempstead was not her real name. But it would be from now on.
Steals Pony, the Delaware, slipped back into the camp like a ghost and almost caused one of the drivers to soil his underwear when he tapped him on the shoulder. “You will die unless you open your ears to the night,” he told the Missouri man. “You stand and shuffle around instead of squatting and being silent. You also smell bad.” He walked on, chuckling softly.
He found Preacher. “They come.”
“How many?”
“Ten. Maybe twelve.”
Lieutenant Worthington walked up. “What do you want me to do, Preacher?” he asked nervously.
“Get back to your post and stay there,” Preacher told him shortly. “And don’t be firin’ at shadders. You’ll have the whole damn camp shootin’ at the wind.”
Rupert walked off, muttering to himself.
The first young buck made the fatal mistake of going after Eudora Hempstead. He thought the tall “man” would prove to be a formidable foe and that once he had “his” scalp, he would show it proudly and songs would be sung about his bravery.
The only song that would be sung about that young Fox would be the death song, sung by his relatives.
Eudora uttered a very unfemininelike oath and flipped him off her back and smashed the butt of her rifle into his face, then ruined his throat with another savage butt-smash. She was a very strong woman. The brave died horribly, thrashing about on the ground.
“You want his scalp?” Snake called out.
“Heavens, no!” Eudora said.
Faith turned green.
“Then I’ll jerk it off,” Snake said, kneeling down with a knife in his hand.
Faith belched, as ladylike as possible.
Snake whacked off the hair and hung it on his belt. Then he and Steals Pony tossed the carcass outside the circle of wagons.
Faith turned her head and lost her supper, as did several other women standing close by.
“Must have been something they et that didn’t agree with ’em,” Snake said.
“Of course,” the Delaware agreed, his eyes twinkling. “Probably the venison.”
“I’m shore that’s it.”
“Wipe your mouth,” Eudora told Faith, as she removed the blood from her rifle by rubbing the butt-plate on the ground.
Faith wiped her mouth with a dainty little hanky and gave the tall woman a very dirty look. The look bounced off Eudora with a laugh. Eudora cradled her rifle and turned her attention to the blackness outside of the circle.
Preacher’s eyes picked up a flitting shadow and he cocked his Hawken.
There was no moon; the skies were overcast and the air heavy with moisture. They’d have rain in a few hours.
The shadow flitted again and Preacher lifted his rifle. If the Indian held to his course, he was heading for a tangle of old brush, about fifty yards from the train.
The brave jumped and Preacher fired, the ball taking him in the side and blowing out the other side. The buck screamed once and fell to the ground. He lay still.
“Good shooting, Captain,” Eudora said. Then she lifted her rifle and blasted into the night. A brave let out a mighty yowl of pain and the sound of running feet was heard—feet running away.
“Where the hell did you shoot that buck, Eudora?” Preacher called.
“In the sternum,” she replied. “Dead center.”
Across the way, old Snake chuckled. “He’ll not be sittin’ on no horse for some time to come. She’s firin’ a Whitney military .69 rifle. Their new model. It’s a dandy, too. That buck probably ain’t got but one back cheek left. If you ladies will pardon my unseemly talk.”
In the distance, faint sounds of squalling from the buck who’d been shot could still be heard.
Preacher grimaced in the night. There was no doubt in his mind that Eudora’s shot was deliberately placed. He wondered where she had plugged that feller back in Boston? He thought he could guess. Probably shot it off. Preacher shuddered.
Preacher and the others waited for a long and silent ten minutes.
“They go,” the Delaware called, lying on his belly with his ear to the ground. “They will not return.”
“Their medicine turned sour on them,” Charlie Burke said, walking up. “That shootin’ by Miss Eudora done it. You’ll do, lady,” the old mountain man said. “You’ll do just fine.”
“Don’t bother cranin’ your necks to see the bodies,” Preacher told a few of the ladies the next morning just before the wagon train’s dawn pullout. “They’re long gone. Injuns tote their dead off. Y’all done just fine last night. That was just to get you ready for when a real war party comes at us. And they will.”
“Worse than last night?” Faith asked. “How could that possibly be?”
Preacher just looked at her, disgust in his eyes.
“Oh, you’re just trying to frighten us.” Faith dismissed his remark with a toss of her strawberry curls.
After a couple of weeks out, Faith had been horrified to discover that there really was no road, just a trail, of sorts but the Eastern socialite and sometime writer had toughened up, despite herself. Her face and forearms had turned red from the sun, blistered, and then begun the tanning process. Her muscles, which had ached fiercely the first week, had grown stronger from the pushing, shoving, hauling, and hours at the reins handling the big mules. Of course Faith still complained all the time, but now no one paid any attention to it.