CHAPTER 4
Simon Russell must have seen where Preacher was looking, because he said under his breath, “Yeah, she’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”
“Who is she?”
“Her name’s Gretchen Ritter. The two young fellas with her are her brothers Heinrich and Hobart. She’s engaged to Count Stahlmaske.”
Preacher studied the others for a second and then said, “Let me guess. That’d be the skinny fella from the second carriage.”
“How’d you know?”
“Because he looks like he’s used to givin’ orders—and havin’ ’em obeyed,” Preacher said.
“Well, you’re right about that. He’s in charge of this bunch. Count Albert Stahlmaske. The young man with him is his brother Roderick, and the older gent is their uncle Gerhard.”
“You don’t expect me to remember all these names, do you?” Preacher asked.
“Oh, you’ll get to know all of them. If you make the trip with us, that is.”
Preacher still hadn’t made up his mind about that. He nodded toward the man who had gotten out of the first carriage and said, “That leaves that fella to be the politician.”
“Senator Josiah Allingham of Vermont. Looks like the sort who’d get up and make a speech, doesn’t he?”
Preacher just grunted. He was inclined to dislike all these people, but he supposed that wasn’t fair. Some of them might turn out to be all right . . . although he thought the odds of that being true were pretty slim.
“That’s the senator’s wife and daughter with him,” Russell went on.
“Let me ask you something, Simon.”
“Sure,” Russell said, although he sounded like he thought the question might be one that he didn’t really want to hear.
“Are those women goin’ along on this trip upriver?”
Russell looked distinctly uncomfortable, but he said, “Well . . . yeah, they are.”
“Then you’ve lost your mind,” Preacher said bluntly. “It’s bad enough takin’ along a bunch of pilgrims, but when some of ’em are women . . .” The mountain man shook his head. “You’ll be lucky if any of you get back alive.”
“I told you, it’s not up to me. The company says take ’em, I don’t have any choice but take ’em.”
That right there was one good reason not to work for wages, thought Preacher.
A wagon full of trunks and carpetbags and crates had pulled up behind the carriages. Count Stahlmaske stalked back to it and snapped orders at the burly driver and the other two men riding on the wagon. They got down quickly and started unloading the vehicle.
“I reckon that’s all the things they’re takin’ with ’em on the trip,” Preacher said.
With a look of weary resignation on his face, Russell nodded.
“Yeah. Nobility doesn’t travel light. Not like when you and me could spend six months in the mountains with nothing more than what we could carry on one pack horse.”
Russell’s demeanor changed then as the senator came toward him. He straightened and looked attentive.
“Good morning, Senator,” he said. “It’s turning out to be a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed,” Allingham said. “I take it everything is on schedule for our departure?”
“Yes, sir. As soon as we get all your gear loaded, we’ll be ready to leave.”
Allingham glanced curiously at Preacher. Russell must have noticed that, because he went on, “This is an old friend of mine, Senator. They call him Preacher.”
The politician frowned slightly and said, “Preacher, eh? I suppose you have an actual name, sir.”
Of course he had an actual name, Preacher thought disgustedly. He just hadn’t used it in a long time. He said, “Preacher’s good enough.”
The frown disappeared from Allingham’s face and a grin replaced it. He stuck out a hand and said, “Well, if Preacher’s good enough for you, it’s plenty good for me. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The man was a professional glad-hander, Preacher reminded himself. It was his business to make people like him. But when he grinned he seemed a little more human instead of a soulless leech like so many to be found in Washington, so Preacher shook hands with him. Allingham had a good, firm grip, but again, that was part of his job.
“Josiah Allingham,” the politician introduced himself. “Are you a minister?”
Preacher suppressed the urge to spit disgustedly and shook his head.
“Not hardly,” he said. He didn’t offer any explanation of how he had come by his name.
It had been here in St. Louis, many years earlier, where he had seen a man standing in the street bellowing about sinners and God’s wrath. The fella’s passionate spiel never seemed to slow down as the words spewed from his mouth.
Preacher, then known by his given name, Art, had thought of that man when he wound up a prisoner of a vengeful Blackfoot band that planned to burn him at the stake the next morning. He knew how Indians felt about crazy people, and it seemed like nobody was crazier than a fella who’d stand in the street for hours on end, preaching at the top of his lungs.
So Art had given it a try, since he didn’t have anything to lose. He started talking, not really preaching but just saying anything and everything, although he was sure there were some prayers mixed in with the torrent of words.
The next morning he was hoarse and exhausted but still talking, and sure enough, the Blackfeet had decided he wasn’t right in the head. It was bad medicine to kill a man who’d been touched by the spirits, so they let him go.
The story had gotten around, as stories do in the mountains, and somebody had slapped the name Preacher on him. He was still carrying it around, all these years later.
Russell could tell the senator about that if he wanted to. He certainly knew the story. But Preacher would just as soon not waste the time and energy on it.
“Are you making the journey to the Yellowstone with us?” Allingham asked.
Preacher saw the keen interest on Russell’s face as the senator asked that question. He wanted to know the answer, too.
When Preacher didn’t answer right away, Allingham went on, “I hope you do. You look like a very capable frontiersman. Is this your dog?”
The senator reached out toward the big cur. Preacher got ready to tell Dog to behave himself, instead of biting off Allingham’s hand, but for once Dog didn’t growl when a stranger started to touch him. Dog’s muscles were stiff and the hair on the back of his neck stood up a little, but he sat there and let Allingham scratch behind one of his ears for a second.
Preacher never trusted a man who didn’t like dogs. On the other hand, he put a lot of faith in a dog’s opinion of a man, especially this one. If Dog didn’t like somebody, chances were the fella was a sorry son of a bitch. Since Dog seemed to be tolerating Allingham, that was a pretty good sign Preacher should, too.
That was a hell of a thing to base what might be a life and death decision on, but Preacher had always been a man who played his hunches. He said, “Yeah, I reckon I’m comin’ along.”
A look of relief washed over Simon Russell’s face.
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Preacher,” he told the mountain man. “There’s nobody I’d rather have along on this trip.”
Allingham smiled and said, “It sounds as if Mr. Russell has a pretty high opinion of you, Preacher.”
“Yeah,” Preacher said with a faint scowl toward Russell. “Hope I live up to it.”
Before they could say anything else, Count Stahlmaske stalked toward them. Even though his hands were empty at the moment, he looked like a man who ought to be carrying a bullwhip, Preacher thought.
“Our trunks should be loaded on the boat by now, Russell,” the count said. “Instead they sit upon the dock.”
Russell nodded and said, “You’re right, Count. I’ll see to it right away.” He glanced at Preacher. “Can you get your horses loaded all right?”
“Sure,” Preacher said, adding dryly, “I reckon I can handle that, what with me bein’ a famous frontiersman and all.”
Senator Allingham chuckled.
Russell hurried off to supervise the loading of the passengers’ luggage and supplies. Count Stahlmaske remained behind, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Preacher with a cool stare as the mountain man led Horse and the pack animal across the plank walk to the barge. He swung open the gate and took the horses onto the big raft.
This was an interesting way of transporting animals upriver, Preacher thought. Whenever horses traveled on a riverboat, they usually rode on the cargo deck. With this many, though, a barge like this seemed to be the only way of carrying them.
He unsaddled Horse and carried his possibles bag and other gear back onto the dock. The count was still standing there. He asked, “What is your name?”
Senator Allingham took it upon himself to perform the introductions.
“This is Preacher, Count Stahlmaske. Preacher, meet the count.”
Preacher said, “Count,” nodded cordially enough, and stuck out his hand.
Stahlmaske reacted just the way Preacher expected him to. He looked at Preacher’s hand as if it were a slug that had just crawled out from under a rock and made no move to shake. Instead he turned his attention to Allingham.
“I thought that we would have departed by now, Senator.”
“We should be underway soon,” Allingham said.
Stahlmaske gave him a curt nod and swung around to walk back to the rest of his party.
“Don’t mind the count,” Allingham said quietly to Preacher. “That’s just his way. He’s European, you know.”
“Which makes him act like he’s got a tree limb shoved up his rear end,” Preacher said with a nod. “He ain’t the first fella I’ve run into who acts like that.”
“Well, I’m glad you understand. If there was bad blood among the passengers, it might make for a long trip to the mouth of the Yellowstone.”
“Yeah,” Preacher said.
He figured the senator’s comment was an understatement.
Based on what he had seen so far, he figured this trip upriver was going to be both long and unpleasant. He could still get his horses off the barge and tell Simon Russell he had changed his mind, he reminded himself.
But he had told Russell he would come along, and he considered that giving his word. Preacher wasn’t the sort of man who ever went back on his word.
Even when honoring it might get him killed.