Absaroka Ambush (15 page)

Preacher dismounted and let the lead wagon catch up with him.

“Trouble, Captain?” Eudora asked, pulling up beside where he stood.

“Naw. Just takin' a rest. We're makin' good time. You handle this long team of mules like you was born to it, Eudora.”

“We understand each other,” the New Englander said with a smile. “I knew to get their attention right off and I did. They know I won't take any guff from them.”

Preacher swung back into the saddle. He was beginning to feel the hair on the back of his neck bristle. Something was wrong. “Just keep headin' west, lady.” He rode back to the last wagon, where the sisters, Maude and Agnes, were handling the double-teams. Maude held the reins, Agnes cradled the rifle.

“We're all right, Preacher,” Agnes assured him. “We're just fairly aching to get Bedell and his men in rifle-sights.”

“Aching in more ways than one,” Maude added drily.

Preacher smiled at that. Many a prim and proper Eastern lady would have hid her face in shame and disgrace after enduring what these ladies had been through. They'd have been to bed for weeks or months, considered themselves soiled for life, and some might have actually killed themselves. But these women were made of sterner stuff. They'd faced assault, rape, and degradation at the hands of white trash and overcome it. Preacher was just as proud of them as could be. These gals were pioneers, by God, and they'd made a man the right kind of wife. The kind of wife who'd stand by her man, shoulder to shoulder. And God help the husband who tried to demean them or worst yet, slap these women around. That husband just might find himself gelded come the morning. Or stone dead.

Preacher nodded at the sisters just as goosebumps were beginning to rise on his flesh. He rode back to the drag, where Rupert was.

“It's too quiet, Preacher,” Rupert said. “I may be overreacting, but it's too quiet to suit me.”

“I know what you mean. You're learnin' fast. Yeah. I started feelin' the same thing 'bout fifteen minutes ago. It's doubtful the attack will come from the north, but with Injuns you never know. I think they're up here on a raidin' party.”

“The Kiowa again?”

“I'd bet on it. But it could be Cheyenne or even Comanch or Dakota. Might even be Pawnee. Doubtful it'll be Northern Cheyenne. I get on well with them. 'Course that don't make no difference if it's a bunch of young bucks lookin' for hair to impress the gals.” He tensed. “Get ready, boy. It ain't long in comin'.”

Preacher slowly rode up to the lead wagon, and as he passed each wagon, telling the driver to get ready to circle and telling the other woman on the seat to get in the back and start loading rifles.

When he reached Eudora, he slowed and said, “Get ready to circle at my holler, lady. We are about to be set upon. Cornelia, get in the back and start loadin' up them spare rifles.”

“Savages, Captain?” Eudora asked, her strong hands filled with reins.

“I 'magine. I 'spect it's the same bunch that hit Bedell the other night. They was plenty sore about that and it was our bad luck they found our tracks and know we're a hell of a lot smaller bunch.”

“I'm ready at your signal, Captain,” Eudora replied calmly.

Preacher spotted just the faintest of movement to his left and shouted out, “Circle!”

The Indians came on foot at first, the second wave on horseback, rising out of the deceptive country.

“Jesus!” Preacher said. A second's look was all it took to tell him they were in big trouble. This was no small war party. This looked to Preacher like the whole goddamn tribe!

A big, screaming brave came straight at Preacher. Preacher stopped him cold by firing his Hawken one-handed into the Kiowa's chest at almost point-blank range. The big ball slammed the Indian backward and into another brave. Both of them hit the ground and Preacher whirled his horse and jumped him into the circle of wagons. He left the saddle and jerked out both pistols, running to the side of Faith and Gayle. Then he began firing his pistols just as fast as he could cock and work the complicated triggers. That first thunderous volley and how quickly the second and third volleys followed must have frightened the Indians, for they broke and ran for cover. Preacher, his pistols empty, grabbed up a rifle and very nearly took the head off of a brave just as he was heading for cover, a good two hundred yards away.

“Good shooting, sir!” Rupert said.

“Not really,” Preacher replied without looking up, as he was quickly reloading. “I was aimin' for the middle of his back, not his head.”

“What tribe, Preacher?” Faith asked, looking at the dead through cool eyes. She had toughened just like the rest of the ladies.

“Kiowa. And they're just a tad off of where they usually hunt and fight. Something's got them stirred up. See that dead brave there. That long thin moustache. I had been told the Kiowa of a long time ago wore face hair like that. So he's probably a chief or sub-chief or some other important man in the tribe. That's good for us ... for a time. Now they got to mourn, dance and sing, and elect a new man to replace him. Well, we're here for a spell, so break out the food and coffee. We might as well be full and comfortable. We're gonna have a wait.”

Preacher took that time to have half the women start unhooking the mules and getting them into the center of the small circle, while the other women stayed on guard. The animals were watered and fed. Preacher made sure that every available rifle and pistol was loaded, and he double-shotted many of the pistols. For he knew that it was a certainty some of the Kiowa would get inside the circle of wagons and by using double-shot he increased the chances of a killing shot.

Preacher also knew that there was no way such a small band could withstand a determined charge by the Indians. They were outnumbered ten or twelve to one and they only had one thing going for them: lots of weapons.

Preacher took a look around him. The circle of wagons was so small in area, the backs of the people were only a few yards from pushing up against the butts of the mules.

“It's bad, isn't it, Captain?” Eudora asked softly.

“I won't kid you, lady,” he replied. “It's real bad. We was damn lucky the first time around. We got ample weapons agin their arrows, and that's about the only good thing about this whole shebang, 'ceptin' our location, which couldn't be much better. At this point on the trail, we're practically sittin' in the river, so they can't come at us from the rear. The country's wide open all around us. Our water barrels is full and there ain't nobody hurt . . . yet,” he added sourly.

“I've heard the savages use fire arrows.”

“For a fact. And they'll do it, too. That's why I had y'all doin' all that practicin' weeks back. We hurt them during that first charge. They'll have to think about that for a time. If we can hurt them that bad the next time, they just might say to hell with it and pull out. An Injun is not goin' to fight no losin' battle.”

“We are too few in number to fight both the savages and a burning wagon,” Eudora pointed out.

“For a fact,” was all Preacher had to say.

The air was suddenly filled with arrows, seemingly coming out of nowhere, for not a single Kiowa could be seen. Two mules were hit, one seriously and the other hurt only slightly. When the barrage of arrows stopped, Preacher put the badly wounded mule out of its pain while Eudora applied salve to the other mule's slight wound.

“You make war against defenseless animals!” Preacher shouted out in Kiowa. “You are nothing but cowards, fops, and old trembly women. You are not braves. You sleep with boys. No woman would have anything to do with you.” He shouted out insult after insult on the warriors.

When he had finished, a voice called out from the prairie. “Who are you who knows our language?”

“I am Ghost Walker. The man called White Wolf. And I will kill you. I will gouge out your eyes so you cannot find your way after death. I will cut off your hands and feet and leave you helpless against your enemies. I will tear out your tongue so you will be mute for eternity.”

“Preacher is dead. We heard the men from the long wagons talking the other night.”

“Did you find a Kiowa with his throat cut?” Preacher yelled. “I did that. So if I am dead, I am a ghost.” He moaned, loud and long. It was so realistic, most of the women shuddered.

“How can you fight a ghost?” Preacher shouted. “Come on, you old women. Let me show you my powers; powers that I now have after death. My guns will fire ten times more than those in the hands of the living.” To Eudora: “When I fire my pistols, you reload them just as fast as you can.”

She nodded her head. “You think it will work?”

“You never know with Injuns. They're notional.”

“You convinced me of your ghostly abilities,” Rupert called softly.

“You lie,” the Kiowa spokesman said. “You are not a ghost. You do not have magic guns.”

“Faith, you, Eudora, and Gayle get you double handfuls of dirt. Just as soon as I finish actin' the fool, you hurl that dirt high into the air and keep pickin' up dirt and tossin' it. Whilst you're doin' that, each of you start squallin' like a bunch of pumas. You got it?”

They smiled through the grime on their faces and filled their hands with earth.

“I will summon friends from the dark side of life!” Preacher shouted. “You will be able to see their evil coming like a whirlwind. Listen and watch! But if you stay here, you will die!” Preacher cut loose with another ghostly sound, the women tossed the dirt into the air, and then screamed like a pack of wounded animals. Preacher moaned long and loud and fired his pistols faster than he ever had.

He tossed his pistols to Eudora and began jumping around, throwing dirt into the air and whirling around, darting in and out of the open space between the wagons. The women began hurling more dirt into the air until it looked like a sandstorm.

“Your guns are empty now, White Wolf,” the Kiowa called. “They boom no more.”

Eudora tossed the recharged pistols to Preacher and he cut loose with another barrage.

There was a moment of shocked silence from the other side, then the sounds of galloping horses.

“They fell for it,” Preacher said, and looked over at the ladies and started laughing. All of them were covered with dirt. Soon the entire contingent of the wagon train were howling with laughter.

A lone Kiowa brave who had hung back, albeit with much fear in his heart, listened to the wild howling coming from the circled wagons. He rolled his eyes and looked toward the heavens. Then he drummed his heels against his horse and got the hell gone from there.

After the group had settled down, Preacher ordered the teams hooked up. “Let's get gone from here whilst we got the chance to do it.”

The ladies didn't need a second urging.

 

 

Preacher picked the most easily defended place he could find for that evening's camp.

“Will we see those Indians again, Preacher?” Agnes asked, handing him a cup of coffee.

“Doubtful. That bunch was some ways from home. We might not see another Indian on the warpath for the rest of the journey. But don't count on that. In their own way, ladies, the Indian is a good person. Now, that sounds funny, seein' as how we just killed a few back up the trail, but if you stop and think about it, their way of life makes sense. For them at least, if not for us. They respect the land and use it well. Can't say that for the white man. And how would you like it if somebody was to come driving a bunch of wagons across your yard back home? Indian feels the same way. This is his yard.” He waved a hand at the prairie. “It's been his for centuries. I don't feel hard toward the Indian. I've lived with 'em. Now the Pawnee just flat out don't like me and I don't like them. Never have and never will. They been tryin' to kill me since the first day out here when I was just a boy. Ever' time they try they lose one or two or three more. Seems like they'd learn after a time, don't it?”

“Do you know why they dislike you so?” Faith asked.

“Nope. And neither do they. If either of us ever did, it's been lost durin' the years. I'm the type of man who would get along with ever' one of God's children and creatures if they'd just let me. Bears, snakes, scorpions, and all. Even a buzzard, and the Good Lord knows I can't hardly abide a buzzard. But they've a place in things. They're nature's garbage collectors, I reckon. But I still don't like 'em.”

“Why don't the savages stop fighting the whites?” Maude asked. “If they would do that, then we could all get along.”

Preacher smiled. “Listenin' 'tween your words, lady, I hear: 'If they'd just be like us!' But they ain't like us. You're you, I'm me, and they's them. I couldn't survive back east. And it ain't that I
wouldn't
survive, I couldn't. I been free too long. Really free. The only law I have to worry about is the laws I set on myself. I'm like the Indian, I reckon. I don't like people tellin' me what to do and where to go and where I can't go and what I have to do oncest I'm there.”

“But any productive society has to have laws, Captain,” Eudora said.

“Sure. I know that. And the Indian tribes all have their own laws. It's just that they ain't like the white man's laws, that's all. And the laws them fancy-pants lawyers and swelled-up judges and goofy-actin' politicians force people to live under ain't my laws, neither. I don't want any part of it.”

“There is a great hue and cry back east for people to move west, Preacher,” Faith said. “Soon this part of America will be abounding with humanity. Considering how you feel about that. What will happen to you?”

Preacher's smile was a slow and sad one. “I reckon I'll suffer pretty much like the Injuns is gonna suffer. Not as much, 'cause I ain't got no thousand-year-old way of life behind me that's gonna have to be pitted agin another thousand-year-old way of life. White man says his way is the only way, Injuns say their way is the only way. And pretty soon, if I'm readin' the newspapers right, the black folks all over the country is gonna have freedom. And when that happens that'll mean another way of life will be challenged. I figure the next twenty/thirty years is gonna be right interestin'. With the white man always endin' up havin' his way, of course.”

“All the savages have to do is to adopt Christian ethics and we can all get along,” Bertha Macklin opined. “Everything is spelled out quite clearly in the Bible.”

“Is that right?” Preacher said. “I read the Good Book from time to time. It's contradictory to me. One line reads an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, another line says don't kill nobody. Some of them folks in there tooken all sorts of wives to bed down with, begettin' sons and daughters all over the place. But now it's agin the law to have more than one wife. Certain parts of the Good Book is right comfortin'. Other parts just don't make no sense to me. Now if it don't make no sense to me, who was raised up readin' the Bible and goin' to church on Sundays and prayin' over grub, how in the hell do you expect an Injun to understand it?”

“After all the times the savages have tried to kill you,” April Johnson said, “I find it hard to believe that you are defending them.”

“Well, Missy, I reckon it's because like can be said about the white people, they's a hell of a lot more good Injuns than there is bad ones. Injuns got their own code they live by, and it ain't like ours. Now I don't agree with all the codes the Injun lives by, but then, I don't agree with all the laws the whites live by, neither. So I reckon I'm closer to the Injuns than I am to the whites.”

“But you know right from wrong!” Lisette protested.

“I know the white man's definition of right and wrong, Missy. The Injun's version is different. And it ain't up to me to say which one is the correct one. 'Sides, it don't make no difference. It won't be many more years—in our lifetime, probably—when the Injuns will be killed off or herded onto reservations like animals in a cage. And then the white man will say, 'There now, we've done it. We've destroyed a way of life so's ours can thrive. Let's all be right proud of what we done.' Well, you be proud. I ain't so damn sure it'll be anything to boast about.”

“Anyone who stands in the way of progress is apt to get hurt, Preacher,” Rupert injected. “Progress is the natural order of things.”

“That's right,” Faith said. “We cannot stand still. We must go forward or we'll stagnate.”

“Ain't that a fact,” Preacher replied. “With no regard to whether it's men, women, or kids.”

“It certainly doesn't appear to me that that makes any difference to the savages,” Cornelia said. “They've been butchering women and children for years. Certainly you won't argue that fact.”

Preacher shook his head. “No. I can't argue with that. The Injuns earned the name of savages. I sure won't be the one to deny that.”

“I can't feel much sorrow for a people who won't change for the better,” Gayle said.

“Nor can I,” Faith agreed, as the other women gathered around nodded their heads in agreement.