“Halfway?” Bartlett’s eyes widened. “It seems like we’ve already been traveling forever.”
“That’s because all this country out here looks so much alike. It’ll change some once you’re on the Cutoff.” Preacher chuckled. “Won’t get any better, though. Just flatter and drier and hotter. And emptier.”
“That seems hard to believe.”
“You’ll see it for yourself soon enough. When you do ford the Arkansas, whether it’s today or tomorrow, be sure to stop and fill all the water barrels. You need to be careful with the water once you start across the desert. It’ll take several days, maybe close to a week, to get to Cimarron Springs. That’s the first dependable water you’ll find.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” Bartlett asked. “You’ll be with us, won’t you?”
“That’s the plan,” Preacher said with a note of grimness in his voice. “But anything can happen out here, like you saw last night with that blasted bear. It came damn close to rippin’ me open with those claws. If anything happens to me, you need to know where you’re goin’ and how you’re gonna get there. Listen to the men with you who have made the trip before. They’ll know what they’re talkin’ about. You can count on Lorenzo to help out all he can, but he ain’t never been this far west until now.”
Bartlett nodded solemnly. “All right, Preacher. I understand. But I hope I won’t have to worry about any of this. I’d like for you to be with us every step of the way to Santa Fe.”
“That’s the plan,” Preacher said again as he clapped a hand on Bartlett’s shoulder. “Now, I’m gonna go see if I can find me a bear.”
CHAPTER 13
Blood was splattered on the short, coarse buffalo grass at the spot where Preacher had confronted the bear. That was proof the creature had been wounded, but it didn’t tell Preacher how bad the bear’s injuries were. He didn’t find enough blood to convince him the bear was mortally wounded.
The rusty red droplets on the ground made the trail easy to follow. The bear had headed north. Dog bounded out ahead of Preacher and Horse, using his keen sense of smell to track the massive grizzly.
Preacher wondered if there had been something wrong with the bear to start with. While grizzlies could be found anywhere on the frontier, it was much more common for them to be in the mountains. Something had led the beast to wander out onto the plains.
Preacher followed the blood trail for several miles before it petered out. Dog still had the scent, and they continued their pursuit of the grizzly almost due north.
Preacher was convinced the bear wasn’t seriously injured. It couldn’t have gone that far if it was on the verge of bleeding to death. The wounds might fester and kill the beast eventually, but it would take time for that to happen.
He reined in and called, “Come on back, Dog!”
The big cur stopped and looked back at Preacher. He whined a little.
“I know, you got the scent and you don’t want to give up the trail,” Preacher said. “But I don’t think we’re gonna find that varmint any time soon and I don’t want to be away from the wagons all day. That bastard Garity and his bunch could still be out here somewhere. Maybe the bear’ll just keep goin’ and not bother us no more.”
Dog barked.
“Yeah, I ain’t convinced of that, neither, but we can’t rule it out. Now come on, you fleabitten old coot.”
Dog rejoined him reluctantly, glaring so fiercely that Preacher had to chuckle.
“Yeah, I know, you could call me a fleabitten old coot, too, if you wanted to. I’m damn sure gettin’ there.”
They angled southwest, since the caravan would have put a few more miles behind it. Preacher hoped to intercept the wagons, but when he and his companions reached the Santa Fe Trail, the canvas-covered vehicles were nowhere in sight.
Preacher swung down from the saddle and knelt to study the ruts. The dust in them had been disturbed recently. He glanced at Dog and said, “Looks like they beat us here. They’re makin’ good time. Probably be at Mullberry Creek crossin’ before the day’s over.”
Confident that the wagons were in front of him, Preacher let Horse rest for a little while, then mounted up again and rode after the caravan. He could see the silvery ribbon of the Arkansas River off to his left as he followed the trail.
By early afternoon he spotted the wagons in front of him. Urging Horse to a slightly faster pace, he soon caught up. The bullwhackers paused in their incessant yelling and cursing to wave greetings to him as he rode past the wagons.
Lorenzo, Casey, Bartlett, and Roland were riding together in front of the wagons. They heard Preacher coming and reined in to wait for him to catch up. As the mountain man brought Horse to a stop, Bartlett asked, “Well, did you find the carcass of that bear?”
Preacher shook his head. “Nope. He was wounded, sure enough. I found blood to prove that. But he was still movin’ just fine, headin’ north. I followed the trail for several miles before I turned around and came back.”
“You think he’s going off to die?” Roland said.
“Don’t know that,” Preacher replied. “Fact is, I’ve got a hunch he wasn’t hurt that bad. But I’m hopin’ he’s been stung enough by our guns to teach him he ought to leave us alone.”
Bartlett frowned. “I wish he was dead. That way we’d know he couldn’t threaten us anymore.”
“Even if he was, there’d still be plenty of other things you got to look out for.” Preacher nodded toward the edge of the trail. “Like that rattler over yonder.”
The others looked where he indicated. Lorenzo said, “Lord have mercy. That there is the biggest snake I ever seen.”
