“Bears don’t see too good,” Preacher said. “They rely on their hearin’ and their sense of smell. He knows we’re here, and he’s just tryin’ to make up his mind what to do about us. How far away is he?”
“About . . . twenty feet, I guess.”
A big grizzly could cover that distance in the space of a heartbeat.
“Start backin’ away from me, slow and easy,” Preacher said. “Be as quiet about it as you can. Since I’m in between you and him, he may not be able to tell you’re movin’ away from him.”
“What about you?”
“I’m gonna stay right here and keep him occupied, if he gets feisty before you get back to the wagons.”
“But he’ll kill you,” Casey whispered.
“Not without a fight,” Preacher said. “When you get to the wagons, tell everybody what’s goin’ on. With one rifle, it takes a mighty lucky shot to put down a monster like this. But if twenty men are pourin’ lead into him at the same time, even a big ol’ griz can’t stand up to that.”
“Preacher . . .”
“Go,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do it, Casey. Back away slow.”
With a stricken expression on her face, she began to do as he told her. She took several shaky steps backward. When she was about ten feet away, Preacher said, “All right, turn around and walk toward the wagons. Don’t run. That’ll just draw the bear’s attention. Move, Casey.”
Again, she followed his orders. But as she walked, she kept glancing back over her shoulder at him.
Preacher wanted to look at the bear, but he continued to stand rock-still. After a moment, with his body concealing the movement, he lowered his rifle to the ground and slid his other pistol from behind his belt. He looped his thumbs over the hammers. Casey was only about ten yards from the wagons when Preacher eased back both hammers, with a metallic click.
He heard a sudden chuffing noise and recognized it as the sound a bear makes when it breaks into a charge toward an enemy. He twisted around and threw himself to the side as he brought the pistols up.
The bear was practically on top of him, moving with blinding speed. The pistols in Preacher’s hands roared and spouted fire as he dived out of the way of the attack.
All four lead balls from the double-shotted pistols struck the bear, most likely failing to penetrate the thick layers of fat and muscle that coated the animal’s enormous body and reach a vital organ. Chances were the wounds would sting like hell and irritate the varmint even more, but Preacher had to make the effort.
The bear let out an angry bellow as it swiped a huge paw studded with razor sharp claws at the mountain man. The bear was fast, but so was Preacher. His dive took him out of reach and the bear missed.
Preacher hit the ground on his shoulder and rolled over. He couldn’t reach his rifle. The bear was between him and it. With the pistols empty, that left his knife as his only weapon. When he was younger he had fought a grizzly with a knife and killed it. That battle had left him severely injured. He was facing a much bigger bear than that one had been. It topped seven feet easily.
Preacher scrambled to his feet and darted to the side. The bear lunged after him. There was nowhere to get away from it, no tree to climb, and on open ground the bear could outrun him. Still, he could make the thing chase him and lead it away from the wagons.
“Come on, you hairy son of a bitch!” he yelled. “Come and get me!”
He whirled and sprinted away. Roaring, the bear lumbered after him. The creature didn’t seem to be moving that fast, but it covered the ground and closed the gap in a matter of seconds.
Preacher was vaguely aware that Casey had started yelling and screaming for help as she reached the wagons. He expected the men to start shooting at the bear, even though he was sort of in the line of fire. He was surprised, when he heard hoofbeats pounding nearby.
“Preacher!” That was Lorenzo’s voice. “Preacher, over here!”
Preacher jerked his head in the direction of the shout and saw the old-timer galloping toward him. Man and horse were silhouetted against the light from the campfire. A couple other riders followed closely behind Lorenzo.
Preacher darted toward them. Hope leaped in his chest. If he could avoid the bear’s claws long enough to get on one of those horses, they could race back to the wagons before the massive creature could stop them.
The bear was fast, but its great weight gave it so much momentum it couldn’t stop or turn quickly. Preacher zigzagged across the prairie, relying on his instincts to tell him when to change direction. The riders closed in on him. Lorenzo slowed his mount and extended an arm. Preacher reached up and grabbed it.
Lorenzo might be old, but his wiry body had a lot of strength in it. With the horse still moving, he hauled Preacher up and swung him onto the animal’s back behind the saddle. Preacher grabbed hold with his legs and put an arm around Lorenzo’s middle.
“Let’s get the hell outta here!”
Lorenzo sent the horse running toward the wagons while the two men with him fired their rifles at the bear to distract it. Preacher recognized them as Leeman and Roland Bartlett. Their bravery and quick thinking in making the rescue attempt impressed him.
The bear bellowed as the shots struck it, but the wounds didn’t slow it down. It swatted at the riders, and one of its paws clipped a horse’s rump, making the horse scream in pain as the claws ripped gashes in its hide. The horse leaped high in the air, almost unseating its rider, Roland Bartlett. He had to hang on for dear life as the horse hit the ground again and dashed toward the wagons.
Preacher glanced over his shoulder. If Roland had fallen, it would have been all over for him.
The horse carrying Preacher and Lorenzo reached the circle of wagons and leaped over a wagon tongue. Bartlett and Roland followed closely. The bullwhackers who had crowded up behind the wagons with their rifles opened fire on the bear. Preacher slid down from the horse and ran back over to one of the gaps between wagons
