The First Mountain Man (6 page)

“Knowin' Preacher is a-layin' in wait in that dark don't make me feel real good, Jack,” Beckman said. “You know damn well he ain't no pilgrim.”

“He ain't but one man,” Jack replied. “Move. Let's search this place. See where it leads.”

Preacher had heard only the murmur of voices. He had not been able to make out any of the words. He really didn't need to; he figured they were coming on in.

Bull was the first to inch forward into the dimness of the passageway, moving in a crouch, and advancing very carefully. He was a thug and a murderer, but not an idiot. He knew perfectly well that if Preacher was at the end of this winding, twisting passageway, it would mean a fight to the death.

His fingers touched a rock about the size of a human head. He pushed it aside. That released a tight rawhide thong that whipped out and up, disappearing out of sight and releasing about a dozen other large rocks.

“Slide!” Jack hollered, jumping back as he heard the sound.

Bull jerked back, but not fast enough to avoid getting conked on the head by a rock. The impact laid him out cold on the ground, a swelling knot on his noggin.

“Pull him out of there,” Jack said, and he and Beckman tugged at the limp Bull and dragged him out of the passageway, back out into the light.

“Is he daid?” Leo asked.

“I don't think so,” Beckman said. “But he's shore gonna have him a headache.”

“I think he moved a rock and that triggered the slide,” Jack said. “It was a trap.”

“You think Preacher done it?” Bum asked.

“Yeah. I do. And they's probably more traps in yonder.”

“And Preacher and them others could be long gone,” Keyes pointed out.

“Could be,” Bum said. “But I don't think so. I think they holed up in yonder for rest. One of 'em's hurt; we've all seen the bloody bandages. The size of 'em tells me it's either a thigh or head wound. Moses, fetch us some long poles to push along ahead of us and wave in the air. That'll set off any traps Preacher might have laid.”

All but the last one.

Preacher had taken a small keg of powder salvaged from the wagon train and rigged up a fuse. He had placed the keg between a large rock and the face of the stone wall. When it blew, he felt there would be enough force behind the blast to bring the boulder down and block the passageway.

Preacher could now hear the sounds of sticks whapping the sides of the passageway.

Smart,
he thought.
I ain't dealin'with idiots. I'll have to remember that.

Preacher grinned as the sounds of the sticks striking the earth and the rock walls drew closer. He cocked one of his pistols and let it bang. The sound was enormous in the cave. And he got what he was hoping for.

“Oh, my God!” Beckman hollered in pain, as the wildly ricochetting lead struck him in the leg. “I caught me a ball. Oh, God, it tore up my leg. Get out of there. Git me outta here.”

Preacher let bang another ball. He could hear the ugly sound of the ball as it howled from wall to wall, bouncing and careening, looking for a place to strike.

“Get back!” Jack hollered. “Drag Beckman outta there. We got to come up with another plan. It's a death trap in yonder.”

“I cain't walk!” Beckman bellered. “Oh, my leg's tore up bad, y'all.”

Preacher was reloading as fast as he could, with ball, patch, powder, and ram. He capped his pistols and waited.

“Preacher!” Bum yelled. “You give us the women and the gold and you can walk free. That's a promise, man.”

“Go to hell!” Preacher shouted.

“Don't be a fool, Preacher. You're trapped in yonder. Think about it. All we got to do is wait and starve you out. We got the time and you ain't. Them pilgrims ain't worth your dyin' for, man. Give it some thought.”

“Ask him if he's got some whiskey to pour on this leg,” Beckman said.

Bum gave the man a disgusted look.

Preacher waited.

“One way or the other, we're gonna get you, Preacher,” Bum yelled, his words echoing around the twisting passageway. “All you got to do is walk out of there and you're a free man.”

“In a pig's eye,” Preacher muttered. He knew they'd kill him on sight.

Preacher settled down for a long wait.

6

“So who's got a plan?” Jack asked.

The gang was sitting well away and to the side of the opening in the mountain. They had dug the flattened ball out of Beckman's leg and he lay moaning in pain while Moses rambled around in the woods, gathering up various leaves with which to make a poultice.

“Why not smoke 'em out?” Leo suggested. “It's a cave, ain't it?”

“That ain't a bad idea,” Bum said. “As a matter of fact, it's a damn good idea. Let's start gatherin' up all the wood we can tote.” He thought for a moment. “No. I got a better idea. We'll build us a shield outta small branches. Lash half a dozen good-sized branches together and stay behind it while we advance. That'll protect us from ricochets and we can get right up on Preacher. When we get close enough we can get right up on Preacher. When we get close enough we can toss burning pitch over into the cave proper and really smoke 'em out.”

The thugs all agreed that Bum had come up with a fine plan. The first log shield they lashed together was too wide and got hung up in the first turn in the passageway. Preacher sat back in the cave and listened to them cuss and holler. He chewed on jerky and waited.

When they finally got the right size shield lashed together, it didn't take them long to get close. Preacher had bellied down on the dirt, his .50 caliber pistols in hand. When the men rounded the long curve that would lead them to the cave, Preacher smiled at the sight. The men were holding the shield about six inches off the passageway floor. Preacher fired both pistols, keeping the muzzles about three inches off the ground. Two of the thugs started squalling in pain as the balls tore into one's foot and the other's ankle, shattering bone.

The shield was dropped to the earth and forward movement halted while the two wounded men were stretched out on the earth, to be dragged out into the clearing.

“I'll kill you for this, Preacher!” Slug bellered. “I'll skin you alive, damn your eyes!”

“I'll do worser than that, Preacher!” Bobby screamed over the pain in his shattered foot. “You'll rue the day you shot me, you dirty bastard! You tore offen some toes, damn you. When I git my hands on you, it'll take you days to die, you sorry son.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Preacher muttered, reloading. “Flap your mouth, boy.” He chuckled. He had put three of them out of action so far. He was cutting down the odds right good, he figured.

Preacher popped another piece of jerky in his mouth and waited.

Then the gang got real quiet. He knew they were up to something, and he didn't think it was going to be pleasant.

It wasn't. They started chucking lit torches into the cave. Preacher grinned and began chucking them right back, figuring he might get lucky and set someone on fire.

He did.

“Halp!” Keyes yelled. “My britches is on far. Halp me beat it out, boys. Jesus Christ. Oh, Lord, hit's a-burnin' my leg. Halp!”

Preacher chucked several more burning brands behind the shield.

“Goddammit, Bum!” a man yelled. “This ain't workin' out like you said it would.”

“Well, hell's fire, Adam. I never said it would be perfect, now, did I? Oowww! Somebody kick some dirt on my britches leg. Jesus, it's on fire. Hurry up, dammit!”

“Now you know how I feel!” Keyes hollered.

Preacher felt it was time to add even more confusion to the yelling knot of thugs. He had prepared a small bag of powder—a bag-bomb as Richard had called it while watching the mountain man make it—and now he took it out of his possibles pouch and lit the fuse. He tossed it over the top of the log shield.

“Holy Christ!” he heard a man yell. “Run. It's a damn bomb.”

The small grenade really didn't do a lot of damage when it exploded. But in the confined space of the passageway, it sounded a lot more dangerous than it really was. It also peppered the thugs with small rocks and pebbles when it blew, stinging and bloodying the men.

Preacher leaned back and laughed at the sounds of panic echoing all around him.

“Damn you, Preacher!” George hollered, then immediately fell into a coughing fit due to all the dust. “Why don't you fight fair, man?”

“Idiot,” Preacher muttered. “There ain't no such of a thing as a fair fight.”

“Oh, I cain't walk!” Rod moaned. “The bomb done crippled me. Don't abandon me, boys.”

“Fool!” Bum yelled. “That's Leo sittin' on our legs. You ain't hurt.”

“The whole side of my face is bloody,” Adam squalled. “Look at me. Did it blow my face off, boys?”

Preacher scooped up a double handful of dirt and wrapped it up in a piece of cloth. He fashioned a fuse and lit it. He yelled, “Here comes another one, boys!” Then he chucked it over the logs.

Wild panic broke out in the narrow space as the outlaws began screaming and cussing and literally running over each other in their haste to depart the scene. Preacher crawled forward, pushing the burning brands the thugs had tossed into the cave in front of him. He stacked them up all around the front of the lashed-together logs and then hustled back around the bend in the passageway to safety.

“It was a dud!” Jack shouted.

“Long-burnin' fuse!” Preacher yelled.

“You're a liar, Preacher,” Bum shouted.

“Look!” Moses shouted. “The barricade's on far.”

“Grab some dirt and put it out, boys!” Bum yelled.

Preacher decided he'd had enough fun and lit the long fuse leading to the charge behind the rocks above the barricade. He grabbed his gear and headed out the mouth of the cave. He figured he had maybe thirty seconds to vacate the area before all that powder blew.

He misjudged it slightly. The fuse burned quickly and then touched the powder. The concussion rocked the ground beneath his moccasins when it exploded.

The huge rock and dozens of smaller ones came tumbling down, completely blocking the passage and sealing that entrance to the little valley.

Oue rock bounced off Moses's head and knocked the thug sprawling to the earth, addling him. Jack Harris took a stone right between the eyes and it knocked him cold.

Bum Kelly assessed the damage and threw his hat to the ground and cursed.

In the valley, sitting his saddle, Preacher threw back his head and howled like a great gray wolf. Then he laughed and headed for the waterfall.

* * *

Preacher led his party through the blow-down and headed westward into the Grand Tetons. He figured he had bought them at least two days and maybe as many as four.

Behind him, Bum Kelley and his outlaws had staggered out of the passageway to fall exhausted on the ground. All of them were cut, bruised, and bleeding from wounds ranging from minor to serious.

“Let's start checkin' each other out,” Bum finally spoke, heaving himself up off the ground. He swayed slightly on his boots. “Unless you boys want to give up on gettin' the gold and them women.”

The outlaws gave him grim looks.

“Not damn likely,” Bum muttered darkly. “But I want Preacher worser than I want anything else. I want to stick his feet into a far and burn him slow.”

“Yeah,” Bobby moaned the word. He looked at the bloody bandage that covered where some toes had been. He was alternately working on a piece of deerskin, making a crude moccasin, and moaning through his pain. “I wanna gouge his eyes out.”

“I'm gonna cut him,” Beckman said. “And that's just for starters.” He looked at his wounded leg and cussed.

Slug was splinting his broken ankle over the damage done by the .50 caliber ball. “I'm gonna rape both them women and make Preacher watch. Then I'm gonna skin him. Slow.”

Bum smiled grimly. He knew there would be no stopping these men now. Now it was a matter of honor with them. Preacher had shamed them all and if need be, they would track him right up to and through the gates of hell for revenge.

But, Bum thought, to make matters even worser, as soon as Preacher reached some post or settlement, he would tell the story, and really juice it up. Unless he was stopped, Bum and his boys would be the laughing stock of the territories. He knew the others had the same thought.

They couldn't none of them allow that to happen. They had to close Preacher's mouth. Forever.

* * *

Preacher would chuckle occasionally as he built a fire to cook their supper.

“I fail to see what is so amusing about inflicting pain and suffering upon your fellow man,” Edmond said.

Preacher looked at the missionary. “Do you have any idea what them ol' boys back yonder will do to you if they catch you?”

“Rob us.”

Preacher chucked. “You really are a babe in the woods, ain't you? Well, let me tell you something. If they catch you people, after they get tired of usin' the women, then they'll use you men. You get my drift?”

“I don't believe that!” Edmond said. “That would be—well, barbaric!”

“It sure would. But they'd still do it. Then they'd torture you just to listen to you scream. They've done it all before. Ain't nothin' new to none of them. They been doin' it for years and years.”

“Why don't the authorities stop them?” Richard asked.

“Good God, people!” Preacher blurted in exasperation. “Look around you. What authorities? There ain't no law out here. This is wilderness. Can't you people understand that?”

“The
Army
is the authority in wilderness areas, I believe,” Edmond said. “When we reach this fort you spoke of, we shall certainly report the reprehensible behavior of those ruffians who attacked the cave.”

“Sure,” Preacher replied. “People, this land is in dispute 'tween England and the U-nited States. There might not be soldiers their. 'Sides, ain't but about five hundred million billion acres out there. Hell, they oughtta be able to search that in no time a-tall.” He shook his head, “Foolish, foolish people.”

Preacher fell silent as the little something that had been nagging at him all day finally settled down in the light of his mind. He had known about half of the men behind the voices back yonder in the cave. But yet another voice had been awful familiar to him.

“Jack Harris!” he blurted.

“What?” Richard said, looking at the mountain man. “What about our guide?”

“I
knowed
that voice was familiar. He was one of them back at the cave. I'm sure of it!”

Melody scooted closer to him. “If that's correct, Preacher, then that means that ...” Her voice trailed off, her face frozen in shock.

“Yeah,” Preacher spoke the word softly. “The whole thing wasn't nothin' but a set up from the git-go.”

“Whatever in the world do you mean?” Penelope asked.

“Them Injuns spoiled Bum and Jack's plans. They wasn't figurin' on them Injuns attackin'.
They
was gonna ambush the wagon train. That's why Jack took y'all so far north of the Oregon Trail.”

Edmond was speechless—which, to Preacher's ears, was a great relief.

Penelope sat on the ground, her mouth open.

“Yes,” Richard finally said. “Yes. It has to be. What a thoroughly untrustworthy, black-hearted, and totally reprehensible individual.”

“Does that mean he's a dirty, low-down, sorry skunk?” Preacher asked.

“Yes. That sums it up quite well.”

“Thought so. Well, it means something else, too: it means they got to kill us all. You see, no tellin' how long Jack's been doin' this. You say Jack hooked up with y'all in Missouri?”

“Well ... not exactly,” Richard said. “Ten days out of Missouri, our guide suddenly disappeared. He'd been out scouting. I think. Well, you can imagine our predicament. We were beside ourselves with worry. We were
lost.
The next morning, Jack Harris rode in. He was so strong-appearing and full of confidence. We practically had to beg him to take on the job of guide.”

“Where was your wagon master?”

“Why ... I don't suppose we had one.”

“Just how much beggin' did y'all have to do 'fore Jack agreed to sign on?”

“Well, actually, not very much.”

“I thought not. Well, let's fix some vittles and eat up. We got to push hard come the mornin'. There's some damn rough country ahead.”

* * *

They crossed the Yellowstone and Preacher took them straight west. He took them over the Divide and headed for the Snake. By now, he knew that Bum and his boys would have circled the small range in which the cave was located. They would pick up their trail and be hard on it.

“By the Lord!” Edmond exclaimed one frosty morning in the high country. “This land is exhilarating!”

“Does that mean you like it?” Preacher asked.

“My word, yes!”

“You ain't thinkin' of settlin' here, is you?”

“We've discussed it,” Melody said sweetly. “After all, savages are savages, whether on the west coast or here. Of course, we shall have to push on to deliver the monies. But we think we shall return to this wonderful and primitive land.”

“Is that a fact?” Preacher's words were glumly spoken.

“Yes!” she said brightly. “Aren't you excited with the news?”

“I can tell you truthful I am purt near overcome.”

“I knew you would be ... darling,” she added softly.

Preacher felt like he was standing in quicksand, and slowly sinking. Movement caught his eyes. He looked up. First time in his life he was happy to see a band of Indians.