CHAPTER 2
The man who had helped Casey held her arm as he trotted beside her. He turned his head to look back at Preacher and Lorenzo. “Follow me!” he said. “I know a place we can go to get away from them!”
Preacher had gotten only a brief look at the man in the tavern. He was young, with dark hair worn long over his ears and the back of his neck, and was dressed in store-bought duds, but not fancy ones. Preacher had never seen him before.
He seemed to be on their side, although Preacher couldn’t discount the possibility the young man was leading them into a trap. But it didn’t feel likely.
Besides, with a bunch of howling, angry varmints behind them, what did they have to lose?
“Lead the way, mister!” Preacher told the stranger. “We’re right behind you!”
They ran through the streets, around corners, down alleys. More torches had sprung to life behind them, casting long, misshapen shadows that seemed to pursue Preacher and his friends with a life of their own.
Preacher spotted lights ahead of them, and a moment later they came up to a wagon encampment on the western edge of the settlement. Twenty massive freight wagons were ranged in a circle, with the herd of oxen that would pull them penned in the center. A cooking fire burned in a pit outside the wagons. Half a dozen men stood talking near the fire, while others who had already turned in for the night were dark, formless shapes in bedrolls underneath the wagons.
One of the men by the fire heard them coming and stepped forward to meet them. “Roland, what’s the meaning of this?” he demanded roughly. “Who are these people?”
“Friends, Pa,” the young man replied. “We have to help them.”
A curse came from the older man. “What in blazes have you gotten yourself into, boy?”
The youngster called Roland didn’t answer. He pushed Casey toward one of the wagons and told her, “Crawl under there and wrap yourself up in the blanket you’ll find. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s all right.”
Casey glanced at Preacher. He gave her a curt nod. The mob wasn’t far behind them. There wasn’t time to question the offer.
“You two get under one of the wagons as well,” Roland said to Preacher and Lorenzo. “Take the wolf with you.”
Normally, Preacher would have explained that Dog was only part wolf, but he didn’t take the time to do that.
“Wait just a minute,” Roland’s father objected. “Is that a black man?”
“It’s all right, Pa,” Roland said. “I’ll explain it all later. They didn’t do anything wrong. I give you my word. But in a minute some men are going to show up looking for them. I want you to say that you haven’t seen them.”
“You mean you want me to lie?”
“Please, Pa.”
The older man looked like he was going to argue. But after a couple seconds, he jerked his head in an angry nod and said, “All right. But when this is over, I’ll be expecting a damned good explanation!”
Preacher, Lorenzo, Dog, and Roland crawled into the shadows underneath a couple wagons. With Dog close beside him panting slightly, Preacher waited.
But not for long. The mob arrived less than a minute later, shouting questions, demanding to know where Preacher and the others had gone.
Roland’s father strode forward to meet the mob and planted himself squarely in its path. “Who are you men?” he demanded. “What the hell do you want?”
A spokesman stepped out of the torch-wielding group. Preacher could see his face and recognized him as the sore loser from Lorenzo’s poker game. “We’re lookin’ for three men and a girl,” he said. “One of the men is an old nigger, and the girl looks like a whore.”
“We don’t have any slaves here, or any harlots,” Roland’s father said, the words lashing out.
“The darky claimed to be a freedman, and I just said the girl looked like a whore. I don’t know if she is one or not.”
“That doesn’t make any difference. They’re not here. This is a respectable wagon train.”
“I’m not sayin’ it ain’t, damn it. But those bastards came in this direction. You must’ve seen ’em or at least heard ’em.”
“The only commotion I’ve seen or heard is the one you’re creating,” Roland’s father insisted. In the darkness under the wagon, Preacher grinned. The fella had struck him as the prickly sort, but he had to admit, Roland’s pa was doing a good job playing his part.
The spokesman for the mob rubbed his angular, beard-stubbled jaw. “I don’t understand it,” he said. “I know good and well they came this way.”
“They must have headed off in another direction without you realizing it.” Roland’s father paused. “Why are you looking for them, anyway?”
“They started a ruckus in a tavern, attacked the folks there, and stole some money.”
“Why don’t you report that to the law? I know Independence has a constable.”
The spokesman made a disgusted face. “My friends and I handle our own troubles. When we catch those varmints, we’ll tar and feather ’em and teach ’em they can’t get away with things like that around here.”
“Well, that’s none of my business,” Roland’s father said, “and since some of my men are trying to sleep, I’ll
