name stuck.”
One of the bullwhackers stepped up and said, “Ben was worried about one of the wheels on his wagon. He thought a hub nut was workin’ loose. I reckon he came around here to check on it.”
“A man’s life is a mighty high price to pay for somethin’ like that. Like I told you, stay together as much as you can. And keep your rifles handy.”
The bullwhackers began to drift back toward the fire, muttering among themselves and looking around nervously as they did so. Preacher couldn’t blame them. The night held more terror than it had before. They had seen for themselves how swiftly and brutally death could strike.
The man who had told Preacher about Hammond checking on the wheel lingered, as did the man who held the lantern. “Ben and me were good friends,” the first man said. “I’ll fetch a shovel and start diggin’ a grave for him so he can be laid to rest proper-like.”
Preacher nodded. “I reckon he’d appreciate that. I’ll give you a hand. Lorenzo, how about you stay and stand guard while we’re doin’ that?”
“Sure, I can do that,” the old-timer said. “I hope that grizzle-bear don’t come back, though. I ain’t never seen one of the critters, and it’ll be just fine with me if I never do!”
Bartlett said, “Now that he’s made his kill, what do you think the chances are that he’ll leave us alone the rest of the journey, Preacher?”
“That’s hard to say,” Preacher replied. “He’s been stalkin’ us for several days. I don’t see any reason for him to go off and leave us alone now. Besides, he didn’t get a chance to drag Hammond off before I ran up and scared him away, so he didn’t get what he really wanted.”
“Do you mean . . . food?” Roland asked hollowly.
“He’s probably been livin’ on prairie dogs. That ain’t enough to keep a big varmint like him goin’. He needs some bigger prey.” Preacher peered off into the blackness, as if he could see the bear lurking in the darkness. “And I reckon we’re it.”
CHAPTER 11
Nothing more was said that night about the fight between Preacher and Roland Bartlett. Ben Hammond’s sudden, unexpected, and bloody death had everyone too shaken up to worry about such things.
Preacher thought about it, though. Roland had made it pretty clear how he felt about Casey. The question was whether she would give up on her feelings for Preacher and turn to the younger man instead.
It would sure simplify things if that was what happened, Preacher told himself.
That wasn’t the only thing on Preacher’s mind. He pondered the advisibility of going out to track down and kill that rogue grizzly, perhaps taking Lorenzo with him. The old-timer didn’t know all that much about the frontier yet, but he was smart and brave and would do what Preacher told him to do without arguing about it. Preacher was convinced they hadn’t seen the last of the bear, so the question was whether he went after it or waited for it to come to them again.
On top of that were the other troubles that had plagued the caravan since its departure from Independence. The terrible storm and the cyclone it had spawned could have meant disaster for the wagon train. Likewise the raid by Garity and the rest of that outlaw bunch. In both cases, luck had been with Preacher and his friends, and they had dodged pure catastrophe by the narrowest of margins.
How long could their luck hold? Preacher asked himself that question, but he didn’t have any answers.
He wasn’t an overly superstitious man, but he couldn’t help wonder if Hammond’s death was an omen. Maybe fate had turned on them and was no longer on their side.
Those thoughts ran through Preacher’s head while he helped dig Hammond’s grave. Lorenzo stood nearby with his rifle ready, keeping a watchful eye on the darkness outside the circle of light cast by the lantern. Preacher and a couple bullwhackers got the grave dug fairly quickly. Hammond’s body was wrapped in a blanket. The actual burial would wait until dawn.
With everything going on in his mind, Preacher’s slumber was restless that night. He spent a lot of time prowling around the camp, rifle in hand and both loaded pistols in his belt, just waiting for trouble.
It didn’t show up. The bear didn’t pay a return visit to the camp, and neither did Garity and his men.
As the sun peeked over the horizon, the members of the party gathered by the grave. Once again, Leeman Bartlett brought out his Bible and said words over the deceased. Since Ben Hammond had been one of them and not an outlaw, the prayers were more extensive. Some of Hammond’s friends spoke as well, testifying to what a good fella he had been and how he hadn’t deserved to end up like that.
A lonely hole in the ground was how he would end up, Preacher mused. A forgotten grave, tended by no one, mourned by no one. Six months after he’d been laid to rest, no one would even be able to tell he was there. The earth would have reclaimed him. Preacher had long since resigned himself to that same fate. No man who lived a life such as he did was going to die in bed with a bunch of kids and grandkids and great grandkids around him.
At least he hoped not.
When the speechifying and praying was finally over, some of the men got to work filling in the grave while Preacher, Lorenzo, and Leeman Bartlett walked over to the creek bank to look at the stream. It had gone down quite a bit during the night, as Preacher had thought it probably would.
“What do you think, Preacher?” Bartlett asked. “Can we make it across?”
“I reckon so,” Preacher replied. “The creek’s still runnin’ pretty fast, but it ain’t near as deep now. You’ll be all right.”
“Good,” Bartlett said fervently. “Being stuck here for two nights is more than enough.” A smile creased his lined face. “I’m ready for some good luck for a change.”
He just didn’t know how lucky they really were, Preacher thought.
