Preacher's Assault

“These are Pawnee,” he said with a nod toward the Indians. “They’re friendly, but they want gifts in exchange for safe passage across their land. Tell Bartlett I figure that’s a good idea. Have him bring up a bolt of the most colorful cloth he’s got in those wagons, along with some knives and maybe a handful of whatever bright, sparkly geegaws he’s got. That ought to do it.”

The outrider nodded. “I’ll tell him. I ain’t sure he’ll go along with it, though.”

“He will if he’s got any sense.”

“Hell, no offense, Preacher, but there’s only about half a dozen of these savages.”

“There’s only half a dozen right here, right now,” Preacher said meaningfully. “We don’t know how many more there could be later on.”

“Well, that’s true, I reckon.” The man turned his horse. “I’ll pass the word.”

He galloped back toward the wagons. Preacher turned to the Pawnee and said in their tongue, “I have sent word to my chief to bring gifts.”

The warrior nodded. Preacher could tell he was pleased, even though the man was careful to keep his face impassive.

Preacher talked with the Pawnee leader for several minutes before three riders set out from the wagon train. As they approached, Preacher recognized one of them as Leeman Bartlett. The other two were outriders, including the one who had talked to Preacher a few minutes earlier.

One of the men was carrying a bolt of bright yellow cloth. Preacher saw the Pawnee leader’s eyes light up at the sight of it. Bartlett had a canvas bag that clattered metallically as the men rode up.

“This is robbery, you know,” he said as he held out the bag to Preacher.

“Nope, it’s just good business,” Preacher countered. “Man’s got to expect to pay his way in the world.”

“I suppose.”

“It’s a pretty small price to pay to keep your hair,” Preacher added.

He swung down from the saddle and spread out the contents of the bag on the ground so the Pawnee could see them. There were three hunting knives, some spoons, a couple sewing thimbles, and a compass. The only items of any practical value to the Indians were the hunting knives, but they showed plenty of interest in the other items, too.

Preacher took the bolt of cloth from the man who held it and offered it to the leader. The warrior took it and passed it along solemnly to one of the other men. He looked at the rest of the offerings and nodded his head in approval.

“It is good,” he said. “The white men and their wagons may pass through Pawnee land unharmed.”

“You will see that the rest of your people know of this as well?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then the bargain is sealed.”

Preacher mounted up and told Bartlett, “You can go back and get the wagons moving again. The Pawnee won’t bother you.”

“You’re certain? They won’t come back later and demand more tribute?”

“Nope. Their leader gave his word. They’ll abide by it. Wouldn’t be honorable not to.”

“What about the next group of savages?”

“Well, that might be a different story,” Preacher allowed. “But like I said, that’s just the cost of doin’ business.”

“They don’t actually own this land, you know.”

“No Indian owns land, at least not in his mind,” Preacher said. “They don’t believe in it. But they use it as hunting grounds, and they believe in protecting what they use.”

The Pawnee gathered up their gifts and raced off on their ponies, taking the warrior they had left behind as a watcher with them. Preacher returned to the wagons with Bartlett and the other two men.

Lorenzo, Casey, and Roland were waiting anxiously for them. “Is it all right?” Roland asked. “Are they going to attack us?”

“Not this group,” his father replied. “According to Preacher, we’ve successfully bought them off.”

“That’s a relief. I was sure we were going to have to fight.”

Preacher said, “Likely you will have to, before you get to Santa Fe. But not today.”

“Those were real savages, weren’t they?” Lorenzo said. “I never seen any Injuns in St. Louis except tame ones.”

“They were plenty real,” Preacher said, nodding.

The wagons resumed their journey. The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. The first encounter with Indians had occurred sooner than Preacher expected it to, but maybe that meant they would be lucky the rest of the way.

“How far did we come today, do you think?” Bartlett asked over supper.

Preacher shrugged. “Four, maybe five miles.”

“Is that all?” Roland asked.

“You can’t expect much more than that out of those oxen, not with the loads they’re pullin’. That’s why it’s