That was the way it had always been, the way it would always be. As the years passed, there would be hundreds, if not thousands, of forgotten graves on these westward trails, Preacher reflected. Few of those who came after would know or care about the people who had died carrying civilization across the prairie.
But the country would be changed forevermore, anyway. For good or bad . . . ?
Well, Preacher didn’t know about that part of it.
Chapter 9
More convinced than ever of the need to remain vigilant at all times, Donnelly doubled the usual number of guards for the rest of the night, but the hours passed peacefully and the sun rose the next morning without any more trouble having broken out.
Preacher and Uncle Dan were up more than an hour before sunrise, as usual, getting ready to ride as soon as it was light enough.
As they were having breakfast at the Donnelly wagon, Ned Donnelly asked them, “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could talk you men into coming to Oregon with us?”
Preacher shook his head. “I reckon not. We got business elsewhere.”
“It’s mighty temptin’, though,” Uncle Dan added. “That wife o’ yours is one hell of a cook, Ned.”
Donnelly laughed. “I know. She’s brave and beautiful, too. I’m a lucky man, gentlemen, and don’t think for a second that I don’t know it!”
Preacher rubbed his bearded jaw and frowned in thought. “You’re gonna need a wagon master and chief guide to replace Buckhalter. Let’s go talk to Stallworth. He strikes me as a good man.”
Preacher let Donnelly do the talking. Pete Stallworth listened for a few minutes, then said, “I’m flattered, Ned, but I’ve never been all the way to Oregon.”
“Buckhalter probably hadn’t been there, either,” Donnelly pointed out. “You can do a better job than he would have, Pete.”
“Yeah, but he never intended to take the wagons all the way across the Rockies.”
MacKenzie stood nearby. He spoke up, saying, “I’ve been through South Pass and on to the coast several times, Donnelly. I know the way . . . but I don’t want the job of wagon master.” The Scotsman gestured toward Stallworth. “Give that part of it to Pete, and I’ll be your chief guide. Sound fair enough to you?”
Donnelly turned back to Stallworth. “What do you say, Pete?”
Stallworth shrugged, but then his friendly grin broke out over his face. “I say it sounds like a good deal to me. We’ll need a few volunteers from the men with the train to serve as scouts and outriders, though. Three of us aren’t enough.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Donnelly agreed with a nod. He stuck out a hand. “It’s a deal, then?”
“Between us, we’ll get you folks to Oregon,” Stallworth replied as he gripped Donnelly’s hand.
Under the circumstances, Preacher thought that was the best arrangement the immigrants could have. He said as much to Donnelly a few minutes later as he and Uncle Dan were about to mount up.
“With a little luck along the way, you’ll make it just fine,” he said. “Keep your eyes open, listen to Stallworth and MacKenzie, and don’t forget why you’re doin’ this in the first place.”
Preacher nodded toward Lorraine Donnelly and the two little boys, who were packing some of the family’s gear in the wagon nearby.
“I know,” Donnelly said. “Thank you for everything, Preacher. If not for you and Uncle Dan, those robbers would have taken us completely by surprise. They probably would have wiped us out.”
Preacher nodded. “More’n likely.”
“We’ll have the wagons rolling as soon as we’ve taken care of the burying,” Donnelly went on. “I don’t know what to do about those other men who were killed. The robbers and the Indians, I mean. I suppose we could dig a mass grave . . .”
“Leave ’em where they fell, and I reckon the scavengers will take care of that problem for you.”
Donnelly shook his head. “It doesn’t seem right to just leave them.”
“They wouldn’t have wasted any sympathy on you folks. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about the Pawnee dead. The ones who lived took all the bodies with them. I can tell you that without even lookin’. They’ll be laid to rest the Pawnee way, the way they would have wanted.”
“Well, that’s good, I suppose. It still bothers me about those others, though.”
“It’s a harsh land,” Preacher said bluntly. “Men die, and the ones who live move on. That’s the way of it, and nothin’ you can do will change that.”
“I suppose you’re right. I can’t help but think about what those men would have done to my wife and children . . .” Donnelly took a deep breath. “But I’m not going to think about that. I’m going to think about the new life that’s waiting for us in Oregon instead.” He held out his hand. “Good-bye, Preacher. And good luck on whatever mission it is the two of you are on.”
“Much obliged,” Preacher said as he shook hands with Donnelly. He thought about the odds facing him and Uncle Dan in St. Louis, where they would try to destroy a beast of prey in his own lair. “Chances are, we’re gonna need all the luck we can get.”
For the next few days as they traveled eastward, Preacher kept an eye out for Buckhalter or any of the other members of the gang that had attacked the wagon train. As far as he knew, Buckhalter was on foot, and Preacher halfway expected to come across the renegade’s scalped and mutilated body. He and Uncle Dan didn’t see any sign of the man though.
As they drew closer to St. Louis, Preacher did a lot of thinking, and he let Uncle Dan in on some of it.
“If Beaumont’s put a bounty on my head, he’s got to be a mite worried about me comin’ after him,” Preacher mused as they rode along.
Uncle Dan grunted. “More’n a mite, I’d say. He’s got to be scared plumb half to death. He knows you ain’t a good fella to have for an enemy, son.”
“As many pies as he has his fingers in, I reckon he’s got folks scattered all over St. Louis who work for him,” Preacher went on, thinking out loud. “That means if I just ride into town right out in the open, somebody’s gonna see me and go runnin’ to Beaumont to tell him I’m there. It won’t be an hour before all the crooked varmints in St. Louis are tryin’ to draw a bead on my back.”
Uncle Dan scratched at his beard and frowned. “Yeah, that’s a problem, all right. You got any ideas how to get around it?”
“Maybe,” Preacher mused. He scratched his own beard. “I been thinkin’ maybe it’s time I got rid o’ these whiskers.”
“You mean to shave?” Uncle Dan sounded horrified. “Preacher, you’ve had a beard ever since I’ve knowed you.”
“Which, as you pointed out your own self a few days ago, ain’t been all that long. Listen, Uncle Dan . . . when folks think of Preacher, they think of a rangy fella in buckskins, with a beard and sort of long hair and a big ol’ wolflike dog followin’ along with him. If I shaved my beard off and cut my hair and dressed some other way, they wouldn’t be near as quick to spot me.”
The old-timer thought it over and began to nod slowly. “You’re right. You could leave Dog with me, too, if’n he’d go along with that.”
“He’ll do what I tell him. Most of the time, anyway. And he knows you by now, which’ll help.”
“So you’re gonna pretend to be somebody else when we get to Sant Looey?”
“I have to start pretendin’ before we get there,” Preacher said. “I’m gonna come at the settlement from a different direction, too. There’s a ferry about fifty miles down the Mississippi. I’m gonna cross the river there, ride north, and then take one of the ferries at St. Louis like I just got to that part of the country from back east somewhere.”