The hand of the man with the scowl slapped down on the table. “Don’t you lecture me, you little coon. Your master wouldn’t like it if he knew you were out sassin’ white men.”
“Ain’t got no master,” Lorenzo said. “I’m a free man. Fella I used to work for didn’t hold with havin’ slaves.”
“One of those damned do-gooders, eh?”
Lorenzo laughed. “No, sir. If you’d knowed him, you wouldn’t ever say that. He never done good in any way, shape, or form.”
That was the truth, thought Preacher. Lorenzo’s former employer was the man he had gone to St. Louis to kill.
“I still say you’re too damn lucky,” the poker player went on.
“You wouldn’t be hintin’ that I’m a cheater, would you?”
“You said it, not me,” the man snapped. “But I’m damn sure something fishy is goin’ on here.”
Preacher saw the old-timer’s face grow taut with anger and stepped over to the table. “You about ready to go, Lorenzo?”
Glaring across at the man who had all but accused him of cheating, Lorenzo said, “I reckon so. It ain’t feelin’ too hospitable in here no more.”
He reached for his winnings. The man on the other side of the table suddenly whipped out a knife and plunged the tip of the blade into the wood with a solid
“You just hold on a minute there, darky,” he said. “You and your partner ain’t gonna waltz off with my money like that.”
Preacher put his hand on the butt of one of his pistols. “No,
The words were barely out of Preacher’s mouth when from behind him came Casey’s alarmed voice. “Preacher, watch out!” she cried, as the metallic cocking of a gun’s hammer sounded.
Preacher glanced over his shoulder and saw a man pointing an old blunderbuss pistol at him. At the same time, Lorenzo grabbed the edge of the table and shoved upward. Despite his age, he was still nimble and strong. The table went up and over with a crash, scattering cards and money across the puncheon floor.
Twisting and whirling, Preacher exploded into action. He drew both pistols and lashed out with the one in his left hand, smashing the barrel against the skull of the man who had accused Lorenzo of cheating.
The blunderbuss pistol went off with a dull boom. It fired a heavy ball, but at low velocity. Preacher ducked aside to avoid it and fired the pistol in his right hand. The ball from it smashed the shoulder of the man who had just shot at him.
Lorenzo was on the floor, scrambling to gather up as much of the money as he could. Preacher told him, “Come on!” and headed for the door, ready to shoot and slug his way out of there if he had to.
And it looked like he might have to. Several men, probably friends of the pair that had started the trouble, were moving to block his path.
Casey was in trouble, too. A couple of the serving girls attacked her, slapping at her and trying to pull her hair. Suddenly, a stranger moved in, grabbing one of the trollops and flinging her aside. The man shoved the other serving girl away, took hold of Casey’s hand, and pulled her away from the bar.
“Come with me!” he told her. “I’ll get you out of here!”
Six men barred Preacher from the door. He could have waded into them, but there was a simpler way. He let out a piercing whistle, and the door banged open as Dog threw himself against it from outside. The big cur hit the men from behind like a cyclone, scattering them like ninepins.
Preacher stuck his empty pistol behind his belt and reached down to take hold of Lorenzo’s arm. He hauled the old-timer to his feet and hustled him toward the entrance.
“I wasn’t cheatin’, Preacher, I swear it!” Lorenzo declared. “That fella, he just couldn’t play cards worth a fig!”
“I know,” Preacher said. “But let’s get outta here first, then we can talk about it.”
Dog whirled this way and that, snapping and snarling, keeping a path open to the door. One man scooped up a fallen chair and raised it to strike at the dog, but before the blow could fall, the barrel of Preacher’s pistol thudded against the back of his head. The man dropped the chair and folded up.
Preacher shouldered another man aside and shoved Lorenzo ahead of him. The old man went through the door right behind Casey and the man who had rescued her at the bar. Preacher turned and backed through the door, holding the loaded pistol in front of him in menacing fashion. When he was clear of the threshold, he called, “Dog!”
The big cur bounded out of the tavern, leaving several shaken and bleeding men behind him. He loped easily alongside Preacher as the mountain man followed the other three.
Preacher had expected their last night in Independence to be a peaceful one. The attempted robbery in the alley and the brawl in the tavern had ruined those plans.
The trouble might not be over yet. As men spilled out of the tavern, a torch flared to life.
“There they go!” a man shouted. “After ’em!”
“We’ll tar and feather the bastards!” another man bellowed.
No, thought Preacher as he hurried through the night with an angry mob on his heels, their last night in Independence wasn’t going to be a peaceful one at all.
