Pale Rider (15 page)

A chorus of protests rose from the anxious men. “We’re family men, Hull,” said one.

“Yeah,” another added, “we ain’t no match for seven guns!”

“Bullshit!” Hull glared at them. Silhouetted by the flickering light of the fire, he appeared somehow changed from the soft-spoken, easy-going man so well known to his neighbors. There was a new confidence in his voice, an unexpected assertiveness to his manner.

“How many of us are there? Twenty! I heard the Preacher same as the rest of you. I know these men he’s talking about are—professionals. But I fought at Bull Run and Shiloh. Henderson, what about you? You going to let some Marshal scare you off your land? You were at Manassas.” Jake Henderson nodded slowly in agreement.

“And Ev—Ev, you were with Farragut at Mobile.” Ev Gossage looked away but didn’t deny it. “You ran torpedoes—you goin’ to run away from half a dozen hired pistols?” He turned a slow circle. “It’s still twenty against one, ain’t it? And we know how to pull a damn trigger, don’t we? You all fought for Jackson and Grant and Lee. Now’s the time to fight for yourselves and your kin.”

“That was years ago, Hull,” said Ev Gossage quietly. “I didn’t have a wife and kids with me then, and Grant ain’t here to tell us what to do, and there’s no cavalry or cannon to back us up.”

“Didn’t have no cannon with us at Vicksburg,” muttered another of the men. “Fought our way through the damn swamps, we did.”

There was a flurry of agreement from a majority of the others. The War Between the States had taught most of them how to use a gun. Sure they were older now, with families some of ’em, but that was a skill never forgotten once learned.

On the other hand, they’d been common foot soldiers. This Stockburn and his men were professionals.

Ev Gossage raised a hand for quiet. “If it comes down to it, I’m willin’ as any man to fight before I’ll be driven off my claim. You’re right about that, Hull. We shouldn’t let ourselves be run off. But dammit, we’re not talking about being run off! Lahood’s offer is fair, and I ain’t just got myself to think about. There’s the missus and the kids depending on me. They weren’t in the war and they can’t fight back. If I decide to go and get myself killed, that’s my decision, but I got to think of them. I still vote we take the money and use it to start over fresh somewheres else.”

Gossage’s reasoning provoked a new storm of controversy. Hull had to shout to make himself heard.

“Hey, startin’ fresh always sounds good when folks get in trouble. That’s why most of us are here now instead of grubbin’ out on somebody else’s farm or clerkin’ in somebody else’s store back east. But before we vote to pack it in, we ought to ask ourselves what we’re all about, what we’re doin’ here in the first place. ’Cause if it’s no more’n money, well then, hell, we’re no better than Lahood himself.” He waited a moment for the import of his words to sink in.

“So you all look at yourselves and then tell me: why
did
we all of us come out here and set ourselves down in this godforsaken—excuse me, Preacher—place?”

Spider Conway took a seat close to the fire and tossed another split length of juniper on the blaze. Sparks flew, disappeared into the night sky. He was nearing the age when the cold started to dig its way into a man’s bones, making him ache when he had to get up early in the morning or slip out of a warm bed to stir the fire in the pot-bellied stove. But the chill was still a long ways from reaching his heart.

Hull gestured toward him. “Spider here asked us a question. If one of us turned up a thousand dollars’ worth of nuggets, would he quit? Hell, no! He’d build his family a better house, buy his kids some new clothes. Maybe even,” and here he glanced ever so briefly in the Preacher’s direction, “build a school or a church. If we were farmers we’d be plantin’ crops. If we raised cattle we’d be tendin’ ’em. But we’re miners, so we pan and dig and break our backs for gold. But hell, gold ain’t what we’re
about.”

They listened silently; Gossage and Henderson and Williams and the rest of them, conscious that Barret, who was one of their own, was on to something all the talk and arguing had so far avoided.

“This canyon’s our home,” Hull went on. “Our dream. We came out here to find gold, sure, but also to put down roots. To raise our families. God knows it ain’t much, but it’s a start. Better than any of us would’ve had back east, or we wouldn’t be here now.

“We’ve buried relations in this ground. This was their dream, too. Some of ’em died for it. Are we gonna take a thousand dollars and leave their graves untended? Don’t we owe ’em more than that? We owe ourselves more’n that. If we sell out here, what price do we put on our dignity the next time? Two thousand? Less? Or just the best offer?

“One thing you can be damn sure of. If Ev’s right and there is another good place, sooner or later another Lahood’s goin’ to find it too, and then what’ll we do? I say we make our stand against the Lahoods of the world here and now!”

There was utter silence around the campfire. Normally a reticent type, Hull was suddenly embarrassed at having made himself the center of attention. Having done so, however, there was no place to hide.

Besides, the words had to be said, and it had been left to him to say them.

It was Spider Conway who jumped to his feet to stand next to him in the spotlight.

“I say to hell with Lahood!” He raked over his fellow miners with his eyes. Most of them were younger and stronger than the old sourdough. They knew it and so did he, and it embarrassed them. The old man knew exactly what he was doing. If he couldn’t argue them into fighting, then maybe with the aid of Barret’s unexpectedly eloquent soliloquy he could shame them into sticking up for their rights.

Hull was as surprised as anyone when Ev Gossage stepped forward to join them. “I, uh, I ain’t a brave man, but I ain’t no coward, neither. I didn’t run from Pickett, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna run from the likes of Coy Lahood. We took our chances this far. I think it’s been worth it and I’d hate to chuck it all just now.” He gazed out into the darkness, past his friends and neighbors, past the places weakly lit by the fire.

“I been thinking about what Hull just said. The family and me, we been here over a year now, and I kind of like this canyon. We’ve seen what Lahood’s methods do to the land. I’d hate to see that happen here in Carbon. See, way I figure it, we owe this canyon something. It’s been decent enough to us, and I reckon we ought to be square by it. That means not givin’ it over to a man like Lahood.

“So—I vote we keep it up. Hull’s right. There’s more at stake here than gold, and a lot more that’s worth fightin’ for.”

“Hell with Coy Lahood’s money!” shouted Williams. “I ain’t leavin’ Carbon until I’m good and ready.”

The slight youth seated next to Williams sprang to his feet and glared excitedly around the circle. As the youngest unmarried miner in the canyon, Peterson was hardly older than Megan and had kept his peace in front of his elders. He could do so no longer.

“I ain’t givin’ up my home! First I ever had and I’m damned if I’m gonna be run out of it!”

“T’hell with Lahood and his gunnies!” The cry was taken up by each man in turn as the men found themselves caught up in a whirlwind of unexpected commitment.

“Yeah . . . I got a rifle! . . . let ’em come! . . . We’ll blow him and his dogs back to Sacramento!”

Overwhelmed by their newly resurgent enthusiasm and the spirit of defiance, they fairly danced around the fire. Only one man remained seated. The Preacher sat on his log and watched them, his eyes flicking from one celebrant to another. Now that they’d made their decision, they were trying to dance the tension away.

It would take a lot more than enthusiasm to stop Stockburn and his deputies, the Preacher knew. As he watched them gambol and prance around the flames, his eyes were filled with understanding and concern—and something else.

Sadness.

Because he knew what was coming now, knew it as surely as these simple but good folk did not. Just as he knew what he was going to have to do to prevent it.

No one paid much attention to him as he rose, turned, and walked away from the circle of men who continued to shout their defiance at the stars. Their yelling and whooping quickly faded behind him, as did the tiny pyramid of light that was their fire. He needed neither lamp nor torch. There was enough of a moon to show him the way.

He climbed without any particular destination in mind, following the only trail that wound upward. Knowing what he knew, he could not join in the celebration that was taking place below, and he did not wish to dampen it with any more truthful answers to difficult questions. Better to leave them to their newfound assurance and confidence.

They were going to need all of it they could muster.

It was good to be alone on that cool, clear evening. Except that he wasn’t truly alone. There was the forest to keep him company, and the night sounds of small mammals skittering through the roots and bushes. He had the companionship of the patient moon and a few curious clouds. Somewhere a Great Horned Owl soared just above the tops of the pines, its huge yellow eyes scanning the earth below, intent on small murders. A fox’s eyes glittered with moonlight as it froze to follow the movements of the tall human. It waited like a brown sculpture between two ironwood bushes until the man had gone and only his scent remained, and then continued about its business.

Only to find itself confronted by the same figure. The fox, which had thought itself well concealed, was not used to being surprised in its woods. It found itself petrified by that unexpectedly direct stare. Then it bolted for the deeper forest.

The Preacher smiled and walked on.

Eventually he found himself in a small glade, the grass surrounded by towering sugar pines. His appearance suggested a man asleep on his feet. Actually he was as alert as ever. His mind was doing all the work while his body rested. He was as motionless as one of the rough-barked trees that surrounded him.

A pine cone slid over a rock; a tiny sound. There were only two in that part of the forest with hearing sharp enough to detect it, and the fox had fled. Turning, the Preacher discovered that he had been followed.

The feminine shape was backlit by the moon. Having tensed at the sound, he now let himself relax. He would not have been surprised if Barret had come looking for him to make sure he was all right. He would not have been surprised if one of the miners had sought to kill him and so collect a reward from Lahood. But surprised he was when he was able to identify this unexpected shadow.

She wore her hair up in a graceful sweeping curve, and for an instant he was certain it was Sarah Wheeler. Then as the figure came close he saw that he was only half right.

The woman paused ten feet away and pointed to the base of the largest tree in the glade. A tiny white cross marked a place between two gnarled roots. The Preacher would not have noticed the marker if it hadn’t been pointed out to him.

“I buried my dog over there,” Megan told him slowly.

He responded with a reassuring smile. “That makes it hallowed ground then, doesn’t it?”

She hesitated until she was sure he wasn’t teasing her, then came toward him. “I said a prayer for him. He was a good dog, never bothered anyone.” In the moonlight her eyes were glistening. “It says in the bible that animals don’t go to heaven. I don’t think I want to go if there aren’t any animals there.”

“There are all kinds of ways to interpret what the bible says. I think if your dog was a good one, you’ll find him there one day. What happened to him?”

Her tone darkened. “Lahood’s men killed him. They didn’t have to do that. He wasn’t big enough to hurt them. They shot him for fun. Why would anyone do a thing like that, Preacher?”

He sighed and stared through the trees toward the far ridge. “Some men forget that they’re a part of the Earth. They think they’re above it. When they learn otherwise it’s generally too late for them. When did it happen?”

“During the last raid. It was after the raid that I prayed. I prayed for a miracle.”

His gaze dropped to her again. “Well, maybe some day you’ll get what you asked for. Miracles are mighty unpredictable things. It’s the folks that spend all their time looking for them that never seem to find ’em. I always say it’s better to get on with your life as best you can without hoping for a miracle to get you out of trouble.”

“That was the day you arrived.”

The Preacher’s smile widened and he allowed himself a small chuckle. Megan could feel herself blushing, and she averted her eyes from his face. Somehow she got the words out.

“There’s something else.”

“What might that be, Megan.”

“I think I love you.”

This revelation did not surprise him. “Nothing wrong with that. If there was more love in the world, there’d be a lot less dying. Some folks have a hard time understanding that.”

“Then, if there’s nothing wrong with being in love, there can’t be anything wrong with
making
love, either.”

That gave him pause. He considered his reply very carefully. “I think it’s better to practice just loving for awhile before you start the other. Lots of people don’t understand that, and they end up feeling awfully confused when things don’t work out the way they’re supposed to. They don’t understand why they’re so confused, and then they get hurt. It ain’t quite as simple as it seems.”

“Then if I practice just loving for awhile, would you—teach me about the other?”

“Most folks don’t usually get around to that until after they’re married.”

“But I’ll be sixteen next month. Mama was sixteen when she was married. Will you teach me then?”

The Preacher drew in a long breath, turned his face back to the trees. “I won’t be here next month.”

Megan’s lower jaw dropped. “What?”

He tried to be as gentle as possible. “It’s the way it has to be, Megan. I’ll be leaving soon.”

She took a step backward, shaking her bead disbelievingly as her eyes began to fill with tears. They spilled down her girlish cheeks, bright in the moonlight.

“But you can’t. I—I don’t want you to!”