Bartlett at first, but then he glanced underneath the vehicle and spotted their feet. They were on the far side of the wagon, inside the circle with the oxen and the horses.
Preacher was about to step over the wagon tongue when he heard sobbing. That made him move even quicker. He came around the wagon and saw Casey and Roland standing there. Roland had his arms around her, but he wasn’t actually hugging her. His arms just sort of encircled her, and he patted her awkwardly on the back with one hand as he said, “Casey, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
She had her hands to her face. She sagged a little against Roland.
“Casey,” Preacher said. “There ain’t no need to carry on so. I didn’t mean—”
“You!” Roland said as he looked past Casey at Preacher. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her gently aside. He came toward Preacher, saying, “Leave her alone. You’re the reason she’s crying, you—”
“Careful there, boy,” Preacher warned in a low rumble. “I don’t cotton to bein’ called names.”
“Oh? Well, let’s see how you cotton to this!”
With that exclamation, Roland leaped at Preacher, swinging a fist straight at the mountain man’s face.
CHAPTER 10
Preacher’s instincts took over, as they always did when he was attacked. He pulled his head to the side to avoid the punch. Roland’s fist sailed past, missing Preacher’s ear by a couple inches. The miss threw Roland off balance and made him stumble forward.
Preacher’s right fist came up hard, burying itself deep in the young man’s belly. Roland bent over, gasping for breath.
Preacher gained control of himself and grabbed Roland’s shoulders. He slung him to the side, sending him sprawling on the muddy ground.
“Stay down, boy,” Preacher warned him. “Don’t you come at me like that again.”
“Preacher, no!” Casey cried. “Leave him alone.”
“That’s what I’m tryin’ to do, damn it,” Preacher snapped.
Panting, Roland lifted his mud-splattered face. “I won’t let you . . . treat her that way,” he said as he struggled back to his feet. As soon as he had them planted under him, he launched himself at Preacher again.
Preacher didn’t want to hurt the young man, but it wasn’t in him to let someone attack him without fighting back. When the Good Lord made him, He hadn’t included the ability to run from trouble.
Nimbly, Preacher stepped aside from the charge and grabbed the front of Roland’s shirt. He threw the young man to the ground again. Stubbornly, Roland struggled back to his feet.
Some of the bullwhackers had noticed what was going on and started yelling, “Fight! Fight!” The men began to converge, hustling around the wagons to watch. Preacher caught glimpses of Lorenzo and Bartlett among them.
For the most part, he ignored the spectators. Pointing a finger at Roland, he said, “Now that’s enough. I don’t want to fight you—”
“You’re gonna have to,” Roland interrupted. “I’m going to thrash you, Preacher.”
“Not on your best day and my worst one, boy,” Preacher said.
“You’ve got to pay for hurting Casey—”
She broke into his breathless declaration, saying, “Roland, no! You don’t have to defend me.” She came up beside him and clutched his arm. “I’m fine.”
He looked over at her. “He made you cry.”
“It doesn’t matter. I was just being foolish.”
Roland shook her off. “I don’t care. I won’t let him get away with it.”
With clenched fists, he started toward Preacher again.
Preacher held up a hand, palm out. “Blast it, Roland, back off. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’ll have to kill me to stop me,” Roland said through gritted teeth.
“Roland!” Leeman Bartlett called out sharply. “Stop this foolishness right now. I won’t have my son brawling in the mud over some woman. Stop it, I say!”
Roland ignored the orders his father barked at him, just as he ignored Casey’s pleas to end the fight. His face was set in grim lines, as he continued his menacing advance toward Preacher.
The mountain man watched him closely, wondering if he would have to knock the boy out to get him to settle down. Preacher was ready to react if the youngster threw a punch.
Before that could happen, a shrill scream of terror suddenly split the night. It came from outside the circle of wagons. Everyone’s head jerked in that direction. A shot boomed out, followed by another scream.
Preacher reacted instantly, jerking the pistols out of his belt and breaking into a run toward the sounds. As he pushed his way through the oxen, which slowed him down, he heard a man yell, “No, no!” then the plea abruptly choked off in a hideous gurgle.
Preacher broke free of the livestock and hurdled a wagon tongue. It was dark on that side. Only a faint flickering glow from the campfire reached the area, but it was enough to show Preacher a huge, swiftly moving shadow. He couldn’t make out any details. The thing was just a deeper patch of darkness.
Both pistols roared and bucked in Preacher’s hands as he fired. It was too dark for him to tell if he hit the thing,
