CHAPTER 14
Later that day as the Sentinel steamed upriver, Simon Russell approached Preacher while the mountain man stood at the bow on the passenger deck with Dog.
“Have you recovered from that fracas this morning?” Russell asked.
“That so-called duel?” Preacher snorted. “I ain’t sure that little dustup was serious enough to call it a fracas.”
“I don’t know,” Russell said as he leaned on the railing beside Preacher and looked out at the wide, muddy, slow-moving river in front of them. “It looked to me like the count came pretty damned close to sticking that saber in you a few times.”
“If I worried about every time I’ve come close to dyin’, I wouldn’t have time to do anything else. And I figure I’ll get in plenty more scrapes before my time’s up.”
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.” Russell paused for a moment, then went on, “You know, we still didn’t figure out who took that shot at you last night.”
“I been ponderin’ on it,” Preacher said as his eyes narrowed in thought.
“Do you believe the count when he says he didn’t do it?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I don’t like him, but I got a hunch he ain’t a liar. As for ol’ Gunther, what Stahlmaske says about him is probably right, too. He’s the sort who’d rather rely on his fists than on a gun.”
“So where does that leave you? Who else on this riverboat has any reason to be carrying a grudge against you?”
“That’s a mighty good question,” Preacher said. “I can’t think of a soul. Hell, most of these folks, I barely know ’em.”
That was true. Sarah Allingham might be a little angry with him for chasing her back to the boat the night before instead of succumbing to her feminine wiles, but that had happened after the shooting.
Anyway, Sarah didn’t seem the type to resort to gunplay, either. Not as long as she thought she could get her way by pouting and being seductive.
“You have a reputation as being a bad man to cross,” Russell mused. “Maybe if somebody was planning to cause trouble somewhere along the way, they might want to get rid of you before the time came.”
“Like if somebody on board was workin’ with a bunch of those river pirates who’ve hit these boats before?”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Russell said.
“Mine, too,” Preacher admitted. “Right now that seems like the most likely explanation. Might be somethin’ goin’ on that we don’t know anything about, though. Seems like we may have to just wait until whoever it was tries again.”
“Paint a big target on your back and wait for somebody to shoot at it, in other words.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Preacher drawled.
“I’ll keep my eyes open and see if I spot anybody acting suspicious.”
Preacher nodded and said, “I’ll do the same.” He nodded toward the terrain on both sides of the river. “And I’ll be watchin’ out yonder, too, in case any trouble comes at us from that direction.”
Later, after Russell had gone back into the salon, Preacher heard footsteps behind him again and looked over his shoulder to see Gretchen Ritter approaching him. That was a surprise. He didn’t think the redhead had said more than a dozen words to him so far on this journey.
She wore her dark green traveling outfit, but her head was bare. Her thick auburn hair was even more beautiful with the sun shining on it. Now that Preacher got a closer look at her, he saw that her eyes were green, a shade lighter than her dress.
He nodded politely to her and said, “Good afternoon, Fraulein Ritter.”
She cocked her head a little to the side.
“You speak German, Herr Preacher?”
“Not much,” Preacher said with a smile. “I’ve known some German trappers and traders over the years. That’s how I was able to pick up a few words. But you’ll be better off stickin’ to English, if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course. I made sure that I was reasonably fluent in your language before I ever came to this country.”
He couldn’t figure out what she wanted with him, so he asked, “How’s the count doin’?”
“Albert is fine. One of the maids cleaned and dressed his wound. He insists that in a few days it will be completely healed.” She smiled. “Albert does not like being less than perfect. He is very stubborn about such things.”
“I got that feelin’,” Preacher said dryly. He had a hunch Count Stahlmaske was very stubborn about everything.
“At any rate, I saw you standing out here and knew that I should speak to you.”
“What about?” Preacher asked.
“I want to thank you.”
He frowned.
“For what?”
“For not killing the man I am engaged to wed.”
Not The man I’m in love with or The man I’m going to marry, Preacher thought. Gretchen made it sound more like a business arrangement, and he wondered if that was the case. Those nobles over in Europe were all the time marrying each other for financial or political reasons. Sometimes the easiest way to avoid going to war was to marry off some royal daughter to some other inbred, crown-wearing galoot.
“I never wanted to kill the count,” he said. “Shoot, I never even wanted to fight that duel in the first place.”
“Yet you struck Albert and provoked him.”
“Only after he slapped me.”
“Albert isn’t accustomed to anyone defying his will.”
“And I ain’t used to folks slappin’ me,” Preacher said. “I don’t care for it.”
To his surprise, Gretchen laughed quietly.
“You two are like unstoppable forces of nature, bound on opposite paths,” she said. “It was inevitable that you would clash, since the two of you are so much alike.”
Preacher stiffened and said, “Now hold on there.” He didn’t cotton to anybody saying he was like an arrogant, stiff-necked Prussian nobleman. The way he saw it, he and Albert Stahlmaske were about as unlike as any two fellows could get.
“It’s true,” Gretchen insisted. “Both of you have a strict code of honor, and you’ll allow no one to besmirch it. You stride through the world like giants, better than any of those around you.”
“I never said that,” Preacher insisted. “I’ve never tried to be high an’ mighty in my life.”
“That’s just it.” She smiled at him. “You don’t have to try. You just are. So danke, Herr Preacher. Thank you for the life of my betrothed.”
“Yes’m,” Preacher replied. “You’re welcome, I reckon.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“If you will excuse me . . .”
“Sure.” Preacher nodded and tugged on his hat brim. Gretchen turned away and went back to her cabin.
That was mighty strange, Preacher thought. He felt an instinctive liking for Gretchen Ritter. She seemed a little more down to earth than the rest of her party.
He sensed that something wasn’t right between her and the count, though, and he hoped whatever it was wouldn’t lead to even more trouble before this ill-fated journey was over.
The count wasn’t exactly friendly toward Preacher at dinner that evening, but he was civil enough. The two of them would never be friends, Preacher knew, but if they could make it to the mouth of the Yellowstone without trying to kill each other again, he’d consider that a successful trip.
There were no trees along the stretch of river where the Sentinel had tied up tonight, so Preacher decided to stay on board. He spread his bedroll among the crates of supplies on the cargo deck and turned in, with Dog and his weapons beside him as usual.
By staying on the boat, Preacher thought he might be making it easier for whoever had tried to kill him. The sooner he drew the varmint out of hiding, the better. He even stayed awake for a while after the riverboat had gotten dark and quiet, just in case anybody tried to sneak up on him, but no one came near him on the deck.
One of the crew always stood watch in the pilot house during the night to raise the alarm if Indians or river pirates attacked. Preacher thought that was a good idea, but he suspected the sentries sometimes dozed off at their post. Standing watch was boring, especially out here in the middle of nowhere.
Luckily, Dog was a light sleeper and had the keenest senses Preacher had ever encountered, so the big cur was like a second and even more effective guard.
All Dog had to do was lift his head from his paws where it had been resting, and Preacher was awake. He hoped like blazes that Sarah Allingham wasn’t skulking around again, hoping to convince him to take a tumble with her. That wasn’t going to happen, no matter how tempting she thought she was.
And to tell the truth, she was pretty damned tempting, Preacher thought as he pushed himself up on an elbow to take a look around the cargo deck.
He didn’t see anyone moving, but a soft sound made him look up toward the passenger deck. Someone who seemed to be wearing slippers cat-footed along up there, sneaking along the line of cabin doors. Preacher spotted the skulker, but the shadows were too thick for him to identify him or her.
He lifted one of his pistols and pointed it toward the stealthy figure. He was in fairly deep shadow himself and didn’t know if the lurker was aware of his presence. His muscles were tense as he waited for the explosion of a shot.
Instead, he heard a faint knock. Whoever was skulking around up there had stopped at one of the cabins and knocked on the door.
The door opened, allowing a faint glow to spill out. The way the light flickered, Preacher knew it came from a candle. A stray beam touched something bright and shiny as the mysterious figure entered the cabin.
That was blond hair that had flashed for a split-second in the light, Preacher realized. Only two people on the Sentinel had hair that fair: Sarah Allingham and her mother.
He could see well enough to count the cabin doors. As he did, he recalled which of the passengers went with that particular cabin.
Count Albert Stahlmaske.
“Oh, Lord,” Preacher said. One of the senator’s ladies had just slipped into the count’s cabin in the middle of the night, and there wasn’t much doubt about the reason for this nocturnal visit. There was some scandalous behavior going on, and that could only increase the chances of all hell breaking loose before the riverboat reached its destination.
But Preacher was damned if he was going to go up there and pound on the count’s door like some outraged father or cuckolded husband. As long as the people involved didn’t try to kill each other, their private goings-on weren’t any of his business.
He had promised his old friend he would do his best to help get the passengers where they were going safely. He hadn’t said anything about making sure they behaved themselves.
With a disgusted grunt, Preacher set his pistol down, rolled onto his side, and went back to sleep.