Leeman Bartlett hurried up. “Do we need to do anything else to prepare?”
“No, these wagons are loaded down with enough freight so they weigh plenty. They shouldn’t go anywhere unless a damn cyclone comes along and picks them up.”
Bartlett stared at Preacher. “Is such a thing even possible?”
“I’ve seen the destruction those twisters can leave behind,” Preacher replied grimly. “It’s possible, all right. But maybe we’ll just get wet. Maybe the wind won’t blow that hard.”
As if to punctuate his words, thunder suddenly boomed as skeletal fingers of lightning clawed brilliantly across the sky. Under the wagon, Dog whimpered a little. He was a ferocious creature, but like all of his species, he didn’t cotton to loud noises.
Preacher pulled back the canvas cover over the wagon bed. Inside, the vehicle was stacked with crates and barrels and burlap bags.
“Climb in,” he told Lorenzo. “I’ll give you a hand.”
“How about you?” the old-timer asked.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll find me a hidey-hole.”
Preacher helped Lorenzo clamber into the wagon, then pulled the canvas tight so it would shut out as much rain as possible. The drops hadn’t started to fall, but he knew it was only a matter of time—a minute, maybe two —before the deluge started.
Leeman Bartlett trotted up to him. “All the men are in the wagons,” he said. “How long does a storm like this last?”
“Usually not very long. Fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour. I’ve seen downpours that lasted for days, but with them you don’t get wind like this.”
“We’d better get undercover,” Bartlett said. “I think there’s room for both of us in the third wagon.”
Preacher followed Bartlett to that wagon. As Bartlett pulled back the canvas, Preacher saw Casey peering out at him through a narrow gap in the rear canvas flap on the second wagon. He smiled at her and tried to look reassuring.
He and Bartlett climbed into the third wagon. Preacher tied the canvas shut behind them. Thick black clouds covered the entire sky and didn’t let much light through them, so it was almost pitch black inside the wagon. Preacher perched on a short keg of nails while Bartlett sat cross-legged on a wooden crate.
“Do you know what’s in here?” Bartlett asked as he slapped a hand against the side of the crate.
“No idea,” Preacher said.
“China. Fine china. Do you think they’ll have a use for it in Santa Fe, assuming we can get it there unbroken, that is?”
“I suspect they will. There are a lot of old, rich families in Santa Fe, and those grandees like to show off a mite for each other. They’ll buy your china, and likely everything else you’ve got. Folks in
“I hope you’re right. I’ve sunk a great deal of money into this venture.” Bartlett rubbed his face wearily. “It’s not exaggerating to say that if it fails . . . I’ll be ruined.”
“We’ll try to see to it that don’t happen,” Preacher said, but before he could go on, the rain hit. It slammed against the canvas with a loud sluicing sound. The wind howled louder.
Bartlett’s eyes were big with awe at the sound of nature’s fury. Preacher could see how wide they were, even in the dim interior of the wagon. With each gust of wind, the vehicle shook. The canvas cover billowed and popped against the steel hoops that gave it shape. If the storm lasted too long, it might rip the canvas right off the wagons. People and cargo would be in for a drenching if that happened.
“My word,” Bartlett said quietly between booming peals of thunder. “I thought I had seen storms back in Pennsylvania. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced anything to compare to this.”
“These plains thunderstorms are the biggest I’ve ever seen.” Water dripped through a tiny gap in the canvas and plunked down on Preacher’s hat. “If it keeps up for very long, you’re gonna be stuck here for the rest of today and probably most of tomorrow.”
“Why can’t we move on once the storm is over?”
“Because the trail will be too muddy,” Preacher explained. “The wheels would bog down in a hurry. You’d have to use two or three teams on each wagon just to pull them loose, and even if you did that, you’d probably be stuck again before you went twenty yards. It’ll be better just to wait and let the sun dry the ground some tomorrow before you try to move.”
“I’ll bow to your superior wisdom, sir. I’m not fond of the delay, but I suppose in a journey of this magnitude, a difference of a day or two doesn’t have much significance.”
“That’s the truth,” Preacher agreed. “The trip to Santa Fe is a long haul. You got to be patient.”
The rain continued pounding down. The rumble of thunder was so loud the ground shook with each peal, and the lightning was so frequent that the flickering illumination cast by the bolts was almost as constant as firelight.
Preacher suddenly frowned as he heard a rumbling noise that didn’t seem to be caused by the thunder. He had heard something like it before and didn’t like the sound. He leaned over to the canvas flaps at the front of the wagon and pulled them apart slightly, creating a narrow gap. He couldn’t see anything except the wagon ahead of them in line, so he widened it a little more.
He put his eye to it and peered out.
What he saw brought a heartfelt exclamation from his lips. “Son of a
