CHAPTER 14
By morning, Pidge was muttering in feverish delirium as he lay in the back of the wagon in a space cleared from the supplies. At least he didn’t have to share the wagon bed with a corpse any longer. The man who had been killed in the Sioux ambush had been laid to rest the night before, after Preacher had carried out the crude surgery on Pidge.
Chessie rode in the wagon, too. She had a bucket of water and a cloth that she soaked and used to bathe Pidge’s face in an effort to keep his temperature down. She also used a small tin cup to dribble water past the big man’s lips and down his throat fairly often.
Overall, Preacher still didn’t fully trust the girl because of her connection to Ryker, but as he rode alongside the wagon for a few moments and watched her, he had to admit that she was doing a good job of nursing Pidge back to health.
Preacher and Hawk resumed scouting ahead and to the sides of the expedition. At midday, Preacher told Hawk to drop back and see if anyone was following them. The young warrior nodded curtly and slowed his pony to let the wagons and riders pull ahead of him.
Preacher knew that scouting their back trail like that could be dangerous, but he had full confidence in Hawk’s ability to take care of himself. Even so, as the hours went on with no sign of his son, the mountain man began to worry.
Then Dog barked and Preacher looked back to see a distant figure on horseback coming toward them. The rider was just a dark, moving dot at first, but as Preacher reined Horse to a stop and waited, he began to make out enough details to know that Hawk was catching up to them.
A few minutes later, as Hawk rode up and reined in, Preacher noted that his pony was sweaty and winded. Hawk had been pushing the mount hard. That could mean only one thing.
“Trouble back there?” Preacher asked.
“I saw dust in the distance behind us,” Hawk reported. “I thought at first it might be from a hunting party crossing our route, but it remained directly to the south and came closer. Whoever they are, it is likely they are following us.”
Preacher grunted. “Sioux. Could you tell how big a party?”
“Large,” Hawk said with grim brevity.
“Well, we knew there was a good chance of that. Those wagons can’t turn back without runnin’ right into that bunch, and if they keep goin’ the direction they are now, the Sioux will overtake ’em in a few days. The country to the east is too open. Only chance is to cut west into more rugged terrain and try to give ’em the slip.”
“These are Sioux hunting grounds,” Hawk pointed out. “They know this land better than anyone else. What are the chances of that working?”
Preacher’s smile was cold as he replied, “Not very good. But what else is there to try?”
Hawk didn’t have an answer for that. After a moment, he nodded and nudged his pony up alongside Horse as Preacher rode toward the wagons.
They drew even with the wagon carrying Pidge first. Preacher slowed Horse to a walk and asked Chessie, “How’s he doin’?”
“He’s still running a fever, but I’m not sure it’s as high as it was earlier,” the girl said. “I changed his bandages a little while ago. The wounds don’t look too bad.”
Preacher nodded. “It would’ve been better if we’d had some moss to pack in there, but there ain’t any of the right kind out here. When we get to where there is some, if he’s still havin’ trouble we’ll try it then.”
Pidge’s eyes had been closed when Preacher and Hawk rode up, but now they opened and the big man peered around, his gaze bleary and unfocused. He looked in Preacher’s direction and said, “Ma? Ma, is that you? Don’t you know me? It’s your little pigeon.”
“You just rest, Pidge,” Preacher told him. “You’ll be better after a while.”
“You sure sound funny, Ma. I never knew your voice was so gravelly.” Pidge sighed. “But I reckon if you want me to rest, I will.”
He closed his eyes and settled back against the sack of flour that was propped behind his head and shoulders.
“Do you need help with him?” Hawk asked Chessie, his voice quiet so as not to disturb Pidge again.
She smiled and said, “No, I’m fine. He’s really not much trouble, as long as he doesn’t go out of his head from the fever or anything.”
“If you need me, I will be happy to give you a hand.”
“Thank you, Hawk.” Her smile was dazzling, and Preacher could tell that it affected Hawk. The young man practically had to tear himself away to follow Preacher toward the lead wagon.
“You did not say anything to her about how the Sioux are pursuing us,” Hawk said quietly. “She should know that soon we may be running for our lives.”
“What good would it do to tell her?” Preacher said. “The Sioux will either catch us or they won’t, and if they do, we’ll fight. It’s pretty simple. Anyway, if we change direction, she’ll probably figure out what’s goin’ on.”
Hoyt Ryker rode beside the lead wagon at the moment. Oliver Merton was at the reins with his father on the seat beside him. All of them turned to look at Preacher and Hawk as they rode up.
Oliver was observant enough to notice their expressions. “Trouble?” he asked.
“Looks like an even bigger bunch of Sioux is comin’ up behind us,” Preacher said. “I knew there was a chance those varmints might go and fetch their friends.”
“How do you know for sure they’re back there?” Ryker asked. “Did either of you see them?”
“I saw their dust,” Hawk said.
Ryker snorted disdainfully. “You saw dust,” he said. “That could have come from anything. A herd of buffalo, maybe, or some other Indians on their way somewhere else.”
Hawk shook his head and said, “The dust I saw stayed directly behind us and moved quickly in this direction. They are pursuing us. No other answer is possible.”
“What do you think we should do, Mr. Ryker?” Merton asked.
“We routed those red devils once,” Ryker blustered. “We can damn sure do it again.”
“You defeated a small force,” Hawk said. “There could be a hundred men in the war party coming after us now. Perhaps even more.”
“Our guns make us more than a match for any bunch of savages,” Ryker insisted.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Preacher said. “Anyway, just because that first batch didn’t have any rifles don’t mean this war party won’t. There could be plenty of them with guns. We just don’t know.”
“We don’t know anything. This is all just pure supposition.” Ryker turned toward the wagon and went on, “I think we should continue the way we’re going, Mr. Merton—”
“You do that and they’ll overtake us and wipe us out,” Preacher broke in. “What we need is a place to fort up, and the closest one is several miles west of here.”
“I hate to deviate from our course,” Merton said with a frown.
“Anyway,” Ryker went on, “even if there are Sioux chasing us, they’re a long way back. There’s a good chance they’ll give up and turn around before they ever spot us. You know how shiftless those heathens are, Mr. Merton—”
Again, Preacher interrupted him. “If they’ve gone to the trouble of comin’ after us, they ain’t gonna give up. They’ll stay on our trail until they catch us. The only thing that’ll make them change their minds is to spill enough of their blood to make ’em believe it ain’t worthwhile to keep fightin’.”
“Can we do that?” Edgar Merton asked with obvious doubt.
“Maybe. If we’ve got some high ground to hold.”
“Where are we going to find high ground?” Ryker wanted to know. “Except for those little hills back there, this country is flat as a table!”
“Not to the west. There are some badlands over in that direction. We get amongst ’em, we can put the wagons in a little canyon where the Sioux can’t get to us except one way. We can put riflemen up high, too, to pick some of ’em off.”
Oliver spoke up, saying, “If there’s only one way in to the canyon you’re talking about, that means there’s only one way out, too. We’d be trapped in there as long as they wanted to keep us bottled up.”
Preacher nodded. “That’s why we’ll have to kill enough of ’em to make ’em decide to go back where they came from.” He shrugged. “It’s a gamble, ain’t no two ways about it. But goin’ on the way we’re headed and tryin’ to outrun ’em . . . that’s certain death.”
A moment of silence followed that grim declaration. Finally, Edgar Merton said, “Well . . . if you’re sure . . .”
“I am,” Preacher said flatly.
“Then I suppose we should head west, as you suggest.” Merton raised a hand to silence Ryker when the man opened his mouth to protest. “Do we need to hide our trail, so there’ll be a chance they won’t find us?”
“We can try,” Preacher said. “It probably won’t do any good, but as long as it don’t slow us down, it won’t hurt anything, either.”
“Turn west, Oliver,” Merton ordered his son. “Follow Preacher. Mr. Ryker, pass along the change in plan to the other drivers and the rest of your men.”
“Sure, boss,” Ryker said, even though his jaw was clenched tightly in anger. He jerked his horse’s head around and rode back to the other wagons. As he did, he waved an arm to call in all the outriders.
Oliver Merton hauled on the reins and swung the team of mules around until they were plodding westward. Preacher caught Hawk’s eye and leaned his head toward the other wagons. He wanted Hawk to fall back again and keep an eye out behind them. Hawk nodded to show that he understood and turned his pony.
“You believe an attack to be inevitable, Preacher?” Edgar Merton asked.
“I do,” the mountain man replied.
“Realistically speaking . . . what are our chances of surviving?”
“Well, it ain’t like tryin’ to figure the odds in a poker game. Unless somebody’s cheatin’, there’s only fifty-two cards in a deck. We’re talkin’ about a hundred or more Injuns, plus the fellas in our bunch. That’s a lot to predict.”
Merton smiled faintly. “Is that your way of saying that we don’t stand much of a chance of making it out alive?”
“Nope. Just sayin’ we’ll get ready to fight, and then we’ll see what happens.”
Oliver kept slapping the reins against the backs of the mules, urging them on to greater speed. Trying to, anyway. The stubborn brutes didn’t want to cooperate. With a note of frustration in his voice, Oliver said, “Since it’s starting to look like we may never reach our destination, Father, don’t you think it’s time you tell me just where we were headed and what you intended to do there?”
Preacher cocked an eyebrow when he heard that. So Oliver didn’t know what they were after, either. That was interesting.
“That’s enough, Oliver,” Merton snapped. “You know your grandfather swore me to secrecy and said that I shouldn’t tell anyone until it was absolutely necessary.”
“It’s not necessary, now that we’re facing a great likelihood of death?”
“It won’t change anything for you to know,” Merton said stubbornly. “If it would, I would tell you.” He looked at Preacher. “I trust I can count on your discretion, sir?”
“The only thing on my mind right now is findin’ a good place to kill us some Sioux,” Preacher replied honestly.
* * *
Within an hour’s time, Preacher was able to make out the rising column of dust behind them. He had never doubted Hawk’s word, not for a second, but now he had visual confirmation of the pursuit.
But he could also see a low, lumpy dark line along the western horizon and knew that was the badlands, a mostly arid region of rocky draws and canyons, razor-sharp ridges, and an occasional sandstone spire towering over all of it. In many places, the ground and the rocks had red casts to them, so that when the sun washed over them at certain angles, it looked like some giant butcher had splashed buckets of blood over everything.
By tomorrow morning, it might look like that for real, Preacher mused.
The bleak assessment didn’t show on his face as he pointed out where they were going to Edgar and Oliver Merton.
“Been a good while since I spent much time in that region,” Preacher said, “but I’m pretty sure we won’t have to go too deep into it before we find one o’ those canyons like I was talkin’ about. I hope that’s true, because it’s hard to get wagons in and out o’ there. It’ll be slow goin’.”
“We have to find a good place,” Oliver said. “I . . . I don’t think I could stand it if something were to happen to Chessie . . . I mean, Miss Dayton.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” his father responded sharply. “Honestly, Oliver, she’s just a common tavern wench. There are hundreds like her in any city. We shouldn’t have brought her along in the first place. You and Ryker are both too smitten with her.”
Oliver showed his irritation with Merton by slapping the reins harder against the mules’ backs. “Common?” he repeated. “Have you not taken a good look at her, Father? Chessie is far from common.”
Merton waved a hand. “She’s attractive, I’ll grant you that. But again, there are a multitude of attractive women in the world. You should know that. You’ve dallied with enough of them who were only interested in your money . . . just like your Miss Dayton.”
Oliver’s face flushed a dark red. He looked like he wanted to turn on the seat and punch his father. Instead he controlled his anger with a visible effort and said to Preacher, “Those tall rocks are very striking. Is that where you plan to put men to fire on the savages?”
“Yep,” Preacher said. “They’ll have to carry food and water up with them, along with powder and shot, because it’s liable to be a while before they’re able to climb down again. Best part about a perch like that is that it’s hard to fire an arrow that high.”
“I don’t think I’d care for being posted there. If that’s all right with you.”
“My son is scared of heights,” Merton said.
“It’s not that . . . I’d rather stay closer to Miss Dayton, so I can be sure she’s protected.” Oliver sneered at his father. “Surely you can understand that . . . or have all the shreds of chivalry inside you dried up?”
“Chivalry never paid a bill,” Merton muttered.
Preacher found their wrangling tiresome. He said, “You know where you’re goin’, Oliver. Just keep headin’ in that direction.” He pointed. “See them two spires settin’ sort of close together? Aim for them, and don’t slow down for nothin’.”
“I can do that, Preacher. What are you going to do?”
“Might be a good idea to scout around a little.” The mountain man turned in the saddle, caught Hawk’s eye, and waved him forward. “Hawk and I will be back when we’ve found a good place to fort up. Don’t worry, we’ll be here before you get to the badlands.”
Hawk loped up on his pony. He had a frown on his face, probably because he didn’t want to leave Chessie. That gal bewitched young men like some sort of . . . witch . . . Preacher thought.
“We’re gonna take a look around up yonder,” Preacher told his son, then nudged Horse into a run. Hawk galloped after him toward the badlands.