CHAPTER 21
Cougar Bluffs was the most likely spot for an attack by river pirates, but just because the Sentinel was past that point, Preacher knew there was no guarantee they wouldn’t be ambushed again. He didn’t expect the same bunch to make another try so soon after losing so many men, but anything was possible. There might be other gangs of cutthroats lurking ahead of them, too.
Preacher suggested to Captain Warner that he double the guards at night, and the captain was quick to agree.
When trouble cropped up again a few nights later, though, it didn’t come from the shore.
The boat was tied up along a nice stretch of river with a number of good places along the bank for Preacher to spread his bedroll, so he was enjoying spending an evening under the stars again. Dog lay beside him. The horses had been led off the barge and were picketed nearby, taking advantage of the opportunity to graze. If any Indians slipped up and tried to steal the animals, they would get a surprise. Dog and Horse both would raise a ruckus if that happened.
Preacher dozed but didn’t fall fully asleep as the boat grew dark and quiet. He hadn’t forgotten about what he had seen that night a week or so earlier, when one of the Allingham women had slipped into the count’s cabin, but since the incident hadn’t been repeated he had let it drift to the back of his mind.
A hint of movement dimly glimpsed on the passenger deck brought it back into the forefront of his thoughts. Silently, he sat up and watched an indistinct figure glide along behind the railing. It was almost like a ghost, Preacher thought.
The shape disappeared, and he knew it had vanished into one of the cabins. Preacher didn’t have to think very hard to know which one. He would have bet a hat that the phantom figure had gone into Count Stahlmaske’s cabin.
Somebody needed to have a good long talk with the count and tell him that it wasn’t very smart to be carrying on with another man’s wife or daughter. Maybe Stahlmaske’s uncle should be the one to do that. Preacher knew good and well the count would never take any advice from him.
He lay back down and resolved to speak to Gerhard the next day, as soon as he got a chance to talk to the older man in private. Preacher didn’t know if it would do any good or not, but at least he would make the attempt.
A couple of minutes later something crashed on board the Sentinel, and a woman screamed.
So much for good intentions.
Preacher bolted up, grabbed his pistols from the ground beside his bedroll, and dashed to the boat with Dog following close behind him. Both of them leaped easily to the cargo deck. From the pilot house, one of the crewmen on guard duty shouted, “Hey, what’s going on down there?”
Another scream from the woman was the only answer. Preacher could tell that the shrill sound came from the passenger deck. He went up the narrow staircase in four bounds.
As he ran along the deck he heard men grunting, accompanied by the thud of fists against flesh and another crash as something was knocked over. The first crash, he reckoned, had been somebody kicking a cabin door open.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out which cabin. He headed for the one belonging to Count Stahlmaske.
He got there just in time to hear the solid smack of another punch landing cleanly. A figure rocketed at him, and Preacher barely had time to set his feet and catch the man who collided with him. He still held the pistols, so he thrust his arms under the other man’s arms and held him up.
The man had come through the open door backward, knocked through it by a powerful blow. The man who had thrown that punch charged out of the cabin, saw Preacher standing there with the first man, and roared, “Hang on to him, Preacher. I’m going to teach that bastard a lesson he’ll never forget!”
Just as the mountain man had thought, the battle was between Stahlmaske and Senator Josiah Allingham, and since the count was the one leaning against Preacher, half senseless and shaking his head groggily, it was clear that the politician was winning.
And possibly losing his career at the same time, Preacher thought, once word of this incident got back to Washington.
The only real question was which woman was going to emerge from Stahlmaske’s cabin.
Preacher got the answer a second later when Margaret Allingham appeared and clutched frantically at her husband’s arm.
“Josiah, stop!” she cried. “Please don’t do this!”
Allingham wore a nightshirt. His wife was clad in some sort of flimsy wrapper. The count still had on his boots and trousers but was bare from the waist up. The sordid conclusions Preacher had reached were true. That was obvious now.
Allingham shook off his wife’s hands and stepped toward Preacher and the count. His fists were up, ready to strike again.
Preacher swung Stahlmaske to the side and said, “Damn it, hold on there, Senator. You don’t want to do this.”
“You’re wrong, Preacher. I want to do this more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything. I need to do this.” Allingham pointed a trembling finger at the count. “Do you know what he was . . . what he and my wife were . . . My God, I would have rather been struck blind than to ever see such a thing!”
“If you didn’t want to see it, why did you kick the door open?” Margaret screeched at him. “Why couldn’t you have just left well enough alone, Josiah?”
“Well enough alone?” Allingham repeated in a shocked tone. “You think allowing my wife to commit adultery is leaving well enough alone?”
“As long as it doesn’t interfere with your career in Washington, why not?” Margaret asked coldly. “Good Lord, if you’d stayed out of this it might have even helped your career.”
His wife’s callous words rocked Allingham more than any physical blow could have. Preacher could tell that by the way the senator gasped and took a step back.
“Let . . . let me go,” Stahlmaske muttered thickly.
Preacher did. The count leaned against the railing and breathed heavily. He reached up with one hand and took hold of his chin to work his jaw back and forth, evidently trying to see if it was broken.
The commotion had attracted attention from other quarters. Several people approached along the deck in various forms of nightclothes. Preacher recognized Simon Russell, Roderick, Gerhard, and Heinrich and Hobart.
There was no sign of Gretchen, or of Sarah Allingham, for that matter.
“Albert, are you all right?” Roderick asked anxiously. “What happened here? What are you . . .”
The young man’s voice trailed off as he looked around. There was enough moonlight for him to see the way Allingham stood between Margaret and Stahlmaske. Something about that arrangement must have struck Roderick as familiar.
“Again, Albert?” he said.
Stahlmaske shook off the effects of Allingham’s punches and stood straighter.
“How dare you judge me?” he snapped at his brother. “It’s not your right to do so.”
“I’m sorry,” Roderick said instantly.
“Don’t be,” Allingham told him. “He deserves all the scorn you can give him. The only kind of nobleman your brother deserves to be called is a royal bastard!”
Stahlmaske took a step toward the senator. Preacher and Russell both got between them.
“When we get back to Washington and I speak to your President Jackson, you are finished!” Stahlmaske said. “I will personally see to it that your political career is over!”
“You think I care?” Allingham said. “After this, do you think it really matters?”
“When you calm down it will,” the count said with a sneer. “But then it will be too late. You should have learned to accept such things. They mean nothing, after all.”
“Nothing?” Margaret asked with a slight tremble in her voice. “What we had between us meant nothing, Albert?”
Stahlmaske blew out an exasperated breath and shrugged.
“A few moments of physical pleasure, that’s all,” he said. “Did you believe it to be something more than that?”
For a second Preacher thought Margaret was going to launch herself at Stahlmaske and try to claw his eyes out, but she controlled the furious impulse. With tears running down her cheeks, she turned and went hurriedly toward the cabin she had shared with her husband.
Preacher had a hunch that Allingham wouldn’t be going back there tonight. Maybe not for the rest of the journey to the Yellowstone and back.
“Everybody needs to just settle down,” Russell said, making patting motions in the air with his hands. “This is all over. Just go back to your cabins and cool off.”
“You do not give me orders, Herr Russell,” Stahlmaske said. His customary arrogance had returned in full force.
“I’m just saying that’s the best thing to do right now. Any more arguing or fighting is just going to make things worse.”
“You’re wrong about that, Simon,” Allingham said. “Beating that worthless scoundrel within an inch of his life is the best thing I can do right now.”
“You think so, Senator? How’s that going to change a damned thing, really?”
Allingham didn’t have an answer for that question. He stood there with his hands hanging at his sides, no longer clenched into fists, and glared at Stahlmaske.
The count returned the glare for a second, then strode toward his cabin, obviously unapologetic. Roderick looked like he wanted to say something to the senator, maybe offer an apology on behalf of his brother, but then he changed his mind. Allingham wouldn’t have believed it or accepted it anyway, thought Preacher.
The group on deck broke up, the men drifting away until Preacher and Russell were left standing there by themselves. Russell sighed and said, “I’m wondering if it’s too late to just say the hell with this job and head back to the mountains with you, Preacher.”
“Sounds like a mighty fine idea,” Preacher said, “except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Without us around to take care of ’em, you really think this bunch can make it to the Yellowstone and back alive?”
Russell’s gloomy silence was all the answer either of them needed.