Casey said, “No one has to watch out for me. Give me a pistol and some powder and shot, and I’ll handle my share of the fighting.”
As Preacher looked at her determined face, he knew she meant it. He said, “That ain’t a bad idea. Roland, you’ve got extra pistols in the freight these wagons are carryin’. Go rustle up one for her. I’ll stay here for the time bein’.”
Roland looked like he wanted to argue, but after a second he nodded. “I’ll be right back,” he told Casey. He climbed out of the wagon.
“Don’t you think you were too hard on him?” Casey asked when Roland was gone.
“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t the truth.”
“Maybe not, but he’s just learning his way around out here, like I am.”
“He won’t live long enough to learn much of anything if he don’t start payin’ more attention to the folks who know better.”
“Maybe you’re right. But I was scared that Indian was really going to take me with him, and I was glad when Roland stopped him.”
Preacher shook his head. “I never would’ve let that happen. I’d have shot the varmint myself before I let him carry you off.”
Casey’s voice softened a little as she said, “I know that. I just didn’t stop to think about it at the time.”
Preacher didn’t have anything to say to that. He hunkered on his heels in silence as Casey sat beside the wounded man.
He didn’t stay that way for very long. A shout went up somewhere outside, and a second later Preacher heard running footsteps approaching the wagon. He straightened as much as he could in the cramped confines of the wagon and shoved the canvas flaps aside to see Lorenzo hurrying toward the wagon.
“Preacher!” the old-timer called. “It’s them Injuns. They’re attackin’ again!”
CHAPTER 16
Preacher bit back a curse. Roland hadn’t come back yet with that pistol for Casey. He pulled one of his own pistols from behind his belt and pressed it into her hand.
“Did this fella you patched up have a powder-horn and shot pouch?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I didn’t see them if he did.”
“All right. You got one shot here. If you need it, make it count. I’ll send Roland back here if I see him.”
“Don’t worry about me, Preacher. I’ll be fine.” Her face was pale with fear, making the scar on her cheek stand out more than usual. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and climbed quickly out of the wagon.
He saw dust boiling up from the hooves of the Indian ponies as the Comanches charged toward the circled wagons. They must have been making medicine to have taken this long to attack again, he thought. He shouted to the men crouched behind the wagons, “Hold your fire until they’re closer!” He added the same advice he had given Casey. “Make your shots count, boys!”
They had plenty of powder and ammunition. What they wouldn’t have was a lot of time to reload. If they didn’t break the back of the charge with their first volley, some of the warriors were going to make it into the circle.
Preacher took up a position at the back of the wagon where Casey and the wounded man were. Lorenzo stood at the front of the next wagon in line. Leeman Bartlett was a couple wagons away. Preacher didn’t see Roland.
“Where’s Roland?” he called to Lorenzo. “Have you seen him? He was gonna fetch a pistol for Casey.”
The old-timer shook his head. “Don’t know. Ain’t seen hide nor hair of him this last little while.”
Preacher didn’t have time to worry about Roland. He brought his long-barreled flintlock to his shoulder and aimed toward the charging riders.
“Roland!” Leeman Bartlett suddenly screamed. “My God! Roland, come back!”
Preacher lowered his rifle and looked around to see Bartlett clambering over a wagon tongue, leaving the circle. Preacher ran after him. He hurdled the wagon tongue and grabbed Bartlett’s arm. The Comanches were only about five hundred yards away.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Bartlett?” he demanded. “You gone loco?”
Bartlett pointed a shaking finger. “Look!”
Preacher’s face grew grim as he spotted the mounted figure riding toward the onrushing warriors. Roland had gotten hold of one of the extra horses and was meeting the Comanche charge by himself. It was the most foolhardy thing Preacher had ever seen.
Despite that, he felt a surge of admiration for the youngster. It was a crazy, futile gesture on Roland’s part . . . but there was no doubt it took courage to do what he was doing.
Preacher shoved Bartlett toward the wagons. “Get back in the circle!” he ordered.
“But my son—”
“There’s nothin’ you can do for him.”
Nothing any of them could do, Preacher thought.
Except maybe him.
“Go on,” he told Bartlett. “I’ll see if I can get him.”
