“I’ve been thinking,” Jessie said as they got ready to leave the camp. “What happened to Cleve?”
“My guess is that he heard what happened at your place yesterday and is lyin’ low,” Preacher said. “Beaumont don’t know that Cleve had any part in the plans against him, and as long as Cleve keeps his mouth shut, it can stay that way. Cleve struck me as a pretty smart fella.”
“He is,” Jessie agreed.
“Then he’ll know to keep quiet. He can plunk himself down at a table in Dupree’s and play poker until this whole business is over.”
“I hope you’re right. I’d hate for something to happen to him because he tried to help me.”
A short time later, they were ready to go. Uncle Dan and the women would take the pack horse with them. Preacher planned to travel as light as possible once he started leading Beaumont on a merry chase across the prairie.
Jessie and Casey both hugged him tightly. “When it’s over, you’ll come find us?” Casey asked.
“I sure will,” Preacher promised her.
“And maybe you’ll spend some time with us in town before you go back to the mountains?” Jessie suggested.
That could prove interesting in more ways than one, Preacher thought, but he just nodded and said, “Sure.”
He shook hands with Uncle Dan, who groused, “I still think I oughta be goin’ with you, Preacher.”
“You’ve got a more important job—keepin’ these ladies safe.”
“I know it, I know it. I just hate to see you havin’ all the fun, that’s all.”
“You sure you know how to find that Mandan village?”
“Yep. Don’t worry.”
Preacher embraced the old-timer roughly and slapped him on the back. “So long, Uncle Dan.”
“So long, Preacher.”
He rode with them until they were within sight of the Missouri River. Then he reined Horse to a halt and sat there watching with Dog alongside him as Uncle Dan and the two women in the buggy headed northwest. Any direction that was away from St. Louis represented safety, Preacher thought. He lifted a hand and waved farewell, even though none of them were looking back.
Then he turned Horse and headed toward civilization.
Bloody, damned civilization.
Chapter 29
He had only gone about half a mile when he heard popping sounds in the distance. Preacher’s keen ears instantly recognized the sounds as gunshots.
And they were coming from the direction Uncle Dan and the two women had gone a short time earlier.
Preacher hauled back on the reins and turned around in the saddle to gaze off toward the Missouri River. Beside him, Dog stared in that direction as well, ears pricked forward. A low, throaty growl came from the dog.
Fear made Preacher’s heart slug heavily in his chest. Not fear for himself. The life of peril and adventure he led had long since pushed him past the point that he worried much about his own fate. He knew that in all likelihood, one of these days he would die with a gun or a knife in his hand, battling against some son of a bitch who needed killing—and he could live with that knowledge.
He had never learned how not to worry about the people he cared for, though, and right now, Uncle Dan, Jessie, and Casey were at the top of that list.
The shooting continued for almost a minute, then an ominous silence took its place. Preacher wheeled Horse around and dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks.
“Trail, Horse!” he called. “Come on, Dog!”
Horse leaped ahead into a gallop. Dog bounded along, keeping up as best he could.
Preacher rode hard toward the river, and as he did so, worry gnawed at his guts. He hadn’t expected his friends to run into any trouble. Of course, they were far enough from town that the possibility of encountering a Pawnee or Cheyenne war party existed, and bands of white renegades sometimes roamed through these parts, too.
The threat that loomed the largest, though, was Shad Beaumont. He had more reason to hate Preacher and want to strike at him through his friends than anyone else. Preacher wasn’t sure how Beaumont could have found them, though.
The time it took him to reach the river and then turn northwestward stretched out interminably, although Preacher knew logically it was only a few minutes. He scanned the morning sky, looking for dust that would betray the presence of riders. He had heard quite a few shots, which meant several people had been involved in the battle.
Maybe the shots hadn’t had anything to do with Uncle Dan and the two women, he told himself. He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that, though. The tight, cold ball in his guts wouldn’t let him.
He topped one of the rolling hills and spotted something up ahead. A second later as he galloped toward it, he recognized it as Jessie’s buggy, which now lay overturned on its side. The horse that was hitched to the vehicle was still in its traces, lying on its side, motionless. A saddle horse was a couple of hundred yards away, moving around skittishly. Preacher recognized it as Uncle Dan’s mount.
His heart plummeted as he recognized those things. Now there was no hope that the trouble hadn’t involved his friends. The evidence that it had was right before his eyes.
But he didn’t see Uncle Dan or either of the two women anywhere. It was possible they had been taken prisoner and carried off somewhere. Preacher didn’t slow Horse as he raced toward the wrecked buggy. Wherever the men who had done this had gone, he would track them down. He made that vow to himself.
A rifle suddenly boomed from some brush to the left of the overturned vehicle. Preacher saw the puff of powder smoke from the bushes. The ball didn’t come anywhere near him, though, whining off harmlessly instead. Whoever was holed up in there wasn’t a very good shot. Using his knees to guide the stallion, Preacher veered Horse so that the buggy provided some cover for them. Rifle in hand, he leaped from the saddle while Horse was still moving and landed behind the buggy. He crouched and aimed over the top of the vehicle at the brush.
“Whoever you are, best throw out your guns and come out after ’em with your hands up!” he shouted.
He wasn’t sure what response he was expecting, but the one he got sure wasn’t it. A weak voice called, “Preacher? Is that you?”
“Uncle Dan!” Preacher exclaimed. He straightened and ran out from behind the buggy. A few fast, long-legged strides brought him to the bushes. He parted them, paying no attention to the way the branches clawed at his buckskins, and plunged into the thicket. He spotted Uncle Dan lying on the ground and went to his knees beside the old-timer.
Several dark splotches of blood on Uncle Dan’s buckskins told Preacher that he’d been shot through and through. It was a wonder the old man was still alive. Carefully, Preacher lifted him so that he was sitting up halfway. Uncle Dan’s hat was gone, and his long white hair was tangled around his head. Blood had trickled from his mouth, leaving a crimson trail in the snowy beard.
“Well, I’m . . . shot all to hell, Preacher,” he managed to say.
“It ain’t that bad—” Preacher began.
“The hell . . . it ain’t. I’m a goner, and we . . . both know it.”
Preacher didn’t waste time arguing. He got right to the point of what he needed to know.
“What happened?”
“Some fellas . . . jumped us. They come up . . . behind us. We tried to outrun ’em, but their horses was too fast. Couldn’t . . . get away.” The old man’s weathered face twisted in a grimace. “I’m plumb sorry, Preacher! I put up . . . as good a fight as I could . . . and so’d them gals . . . but they was too many . . .”
“Beaumont,” Preacher grated.
Uncle Dan licked dry lips. “Yeah. He was the boss of ’em. And there was a fella with him . . . Miss Jessie called him . . . Cleve. Said he was . . . a double-crossin’ . . . son of a bitch.”
A fire of hatred and fury sprang up within Preacher. Jessie had been worried about Cleve that very morning, and then the gambler had gone and betrayed her. Cleve knew where their camp was. He must have heard about Jessie’s plot against Beaumont being revealed and had gone straight to Beaumont to sell him that information. That would not only enrich Cleve, it would help keep Beaumont from suspecting his connection with Jessie, too.