At least Roland had the good sense not to press the issue and ask her about what she had done in the city. Instead, he said, “I grew up in Philadelphia, so I always had a city around. I have to say, I like it out here on the frontier. It’s not nearly as crowded, and the air smells better.”
“You’re sure right about that,” Lorenzo put in. “I didn’t know it was possible for the air not to stink until Preacher and Casey and me rode out of St. Louis.”
“It’s even better up in the mountains, isn’t it, Preacher?” Casey asked. “That’s what I’ve heard.”
He nodded. “It’s mighty nice country up there. Leastways, it seems like that to me. Some folks can’t handle the loneliness, though.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve never minded bein’ alone,” he said. Maybe that would give her a hint that he didn’t intend to travel with her from now on.
“I’m not sure I could stand being completely by myself like that,” she mused. “I’m used to having people around—”
Casey might have said more, but at that moment, Dog lifted his shaggy head from the ground and growled. The sound was a low rumble, deep in his throat. His ears pricked up as he stared into the darkness to the north of the camp.
Preacher knew those signals very well. Dog had smelled something, or maybe heard it, and the big cur regarded whatever it was as a potential threat. Preacher reached over and rested a hand on the thick fur on the back of the dog’s neck.
“What is it?” Lorenzo asked.
“Don’t know.” Preacher looked toward the area where the saddle horses were picketed, and he saw the way the rangy gray stallion’s head lifted. Horse sensed whatever it was, too. He wasn’t the only one. The other horses stirred nervously.
“Is something wrong?” Roland asked as Preacher reached for the rifle he had placed on the ground beside him.
“The critters think there is, and I trust ’em more’n I trust my own self,” Preacher said. He got to his feet. “I’m gonna have a look around.”
“Want me to come with you?” Lorenzo asked.
“No, you stay here. Stay alert.”
Roland scrambled to his feet. “I’ll tell my father. Maybe those Indians have come back.”
Preacher made a curt slashing motion with his hand and said, “No, just take it easy for now. Ain’t no point in throwin’ the whole camp into an uproar if it’s nothin’. Might just be a wolf or somethin’ like that lopin’ by a mile away. Dog and the horses could’ve caught its scent. I’ll go scout around a mite.”
“Be careful, Preacher,” Casey urged. “I don’t know what any of us would do if anything happened to you.”
That comment put a brief frown on Roland’s face, but he was too worried they might be in danger again to dwell on being jealous. The youngster clutched his rifle tightly.
Preacher hoped Roland wouldn’t get too trigger-happy. Sometimes inexperience made a man’s own allies the biggest danger to him. He pulled Lorenzo aside. “Keep an eye on that kid,” he told the old-timer. “Don’t let him start blazin’ away at nothin’. I might be in the way of one of those balls.”
Lorenzo nodded, understanding etched on his wizened face.
In an easy lope, Preacher moved away from the camp to the north. Nobody but Casey, Lorenzo, and Roland saw him leave, and within moments he had vanished into the shadows.
Dog trotted alongside Preacher. The mountain man’s every sense was alert, but he relied on the big cur’s senses even more. Wherever and whatever the danger might be, Dog would lead him to it.
As they put more distance between themselves and the camp, Dog began to hang back a little. Instead of growls, a little whine came from his throat every now and then. Preacher came to a halt, and Dog stopped as well. The powerful, thick-furred body pressed against Preacher’s leg.
Preacher dropped to a knee and looped an arm around Dog’s neck. “What is it?” he asked in a whisper. “It must be something mighty bad if it’s got you spooked, you old varmint.”
He felt a slight tremble in Dog’s muscles. Preacher knew the reaction wasn’t from fear. Dog was anxious to get out there and tangle with whatever it was. At the same time, something more than Preacher’s grip held him back. Dog was wary, torn between the desire to attack whatever it was he had sensed and the urge to get the hell away from it as fast as he could.
Dog wouldn’t react that way to Indians. The big cur knew their scent quite well and had never been afraid of them. A wolf wouldn’t spook him that bad, either. It had to be something else.
Preacher got to his feet and moved forward again, as silent as the night breeze. He didn’t have to tell Dog to come with him. Dog wouldn’t willingly leave Preacher’s side in the face of danger, no matter how scared he was.
A glance over his shoulder told Preacher he was about half a mile north of the camp. He could see the fire, a bright orange dot in the darkness.
Dog stopped short and began to growl. The thing was close. Preacher stopped and waited, reaching out into the darkness with his senses. He didn’t hear anything, but he caught a faint whiff of a rank odor, then it was gone as quickly as it had come. Dog stopped growling, and when Preacher reached down to rub him, he found that the fur on the back of the big cur’s neck had settled down. Dog was no longer upset.
Whatever had been out there in the shadows was gone. Dog relaxed and let his tongue loll out of his mouth.
Preacher stood and waited several minutes to make sure the thing didn’t come back. When he was sure the danger was over, he grunted and said to Dog, “Well, if that don’t beat all. I’d sure like to know what it was that got you so spooked.”
Dog couldn’t tell him, though. The bond between man and animal was almost supernatural, but it still had its limits.
Preacher turned and walked back toward the camp. The sentries were already at their posts for the first shift, and one of them demanded to know who Preacher was.
“Just me, friend,” Preacher told the man.
“Something wrong, Preacher?” the bullwhacker asked.
“Nope, just takin’ a look around.” It didn’t make any sense to panic Bartlett’s men by telling the truth, especially when Preacher didn’t know the whole story yet.
When he rejoined Casey, Lorenzo, and Roland, they all looked at him with wordless curiosity. “I didn’t find anything,” he told them. “Somethin’ was out there, no doubt about that, but whatever it was, left.”
“What could it have been?” Roland asked. “Should I tell my father about it?”
Preacher shook his head. “No, we don’t know anything. We’ll keep quiet about it for now and just keep our eyes open. I’ll do some more scoutin’ tomorrow and see if I can find any tracks. That might tell us what we’re dealin’ with.”
“I hope we don’t have to deal with it,” Casey said with a little shiver. “Maybe whatever it was will go on and leave us alone.”
“That’d be good,” Preacher said. But he wasn’t convinced that was the way it would turn out. His instincts told him a different story.
For a moment there, out on the prairie, he had been convinced that he and Dog were the ones being stalked.
And it wasn’t a good feeling.
CHAPTER 6
The next two days were uneventful. No Indians, no mysterious creatures lurking in the night . . . in fact, Preacher and the other members of the freight caravan didn’t see another creature except a few prairie dogs. The unvarying landscape was mind-numbing, but the wagons made good time.
Then it began to rain.
Preacher rode a few miles ahead of the caravan. He’d noticed the bank of blue-gray clouds building to the southwest early on the morning of the fifth day out from Independence. He pointed it out to Lorenzo, who was riding beside him.