wagons. The odds were no longer overwhelmingly on their side.
“What do you think they’re gonna do?” Lorenzo asked as he stood beside Preacher.
“They’ve hit us twice, and we’ve hurt ’em bad twice,” Preacher said. “Some of ’em will be thinkin’ by now that it’s time to cut their losses and go home.”
“But not all of ’em.”
Preacher shook his head. “No, not all of ’em. The hotheads are still gonna want blood. It’s just a matter of how many are left on each side, and if they can convince the others to go along with ’em.”
Bartlett came up to them and said, “Preacher, I . . . I don’t know how to thank you for saving my son’s life. Roland would be dead now if you hadn’t gone out there and brought him back. I’ve never seen such a thing.”
“And you ain’t likely to see it ever again,” Preacher said, “because most fellas’d have more sense than to try a damn fool stunt like that. But he’s back and he ain’t dead, and there ain’t no need to say anything else.”
“All right,” Bartlett said. “But I won’t forget, Preacher. Not ever.”
“Preacher.” Lorenzo pointed toward the Indians. “Looks like the hotheads won the argument.”
The Comanches were charging again. Preacher called out to the other defenders, “Get ready! Here they come!”
When the warriors were just outside easy rifle range, they swung to the side and began riding in a circle around the wagons. They yipped and shouted and waved their bows and lances in the air.
“What are they doing?” Bartlett asked.
“Showin’ off,” Preacher said. “They ain’t attackin’ after all. They’re just tellin’ us how fierce they are before they leave.”
“You mean they’ve given up?”
“That’s what it looks like to me. For now, anyway. There’s no guarantee they won’t try to rustle up some more warriors and come after us again later. But for now . . . I’d say it’s over.”
“Thank God,” Bartlett said fervently.
The Indians made several circuits around the wagons, yelling ferociously and gesturing threateningly with their weapons. Then they turned and rode up the trail to the site of the first battle to retrieve the bodies of their comrades who had fallen there.
“I’ll bet I could tag one of the red bastards from here,” one of the bullwhackers said as he sighted over the barrel of his rifle.
“Leave ’em alone,” Preacher said sharply. “They’re lettin’ us get out of here with our hair. It’d be plumb stupid to antagonize ’em. Anyway, they’re gatherin’ up their dead. Show some respect.”
“Respect?” the man repeated. “For those red heathens?”
“They’re honorable enemies, and they were here before we were. Sure, they came along and pushed somebody else out, but they were still here before we were.”
The man shrugged powerful shoulders. “Whatever you say, Preacher.”
“It won’t hurt to keep an eye on ’em. If they try to jump us again, then you can shoot as many of ’em as you want to.”
Within fifteen minutes, the Comanches were gone from sight. Preacher knew they might come back, but his instincts told him the trouble was over.
“We got some daylight left,” he told Bartlett. “Best hitch up the teams and get movin’ again.”
While that was going on, Roland sought out Preacher and said, “Casey tells me you saved my life. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry I acted rashly in shooting that Indian. I really thought he was going to take Casey with him.”
“Well . . . I reckon it ain’t your fault you didn’t know no better.”
“I’ll do anything and everything in my power to protect her.”
“That’s good to know. Just be sure you know what you’re doin’ when you do it.”
Roland nodded. Preacher had the feeling the young man still didn’t like him very much, but at least Roland had had the gumption to speak plainly.
A few minutes later, the oxen were hitched up and the wagons were rolling again. Since there was only one extra horse, the men who had been working as outriders took the places of the wounded bullwhackers. Casey rode in one of the wagons with Roland. He had volunteered to take over for one of the wounded men, but Casey insisted he rest after being knocked out, and Bartlett agreed with her.
Preacher picked Lorenzo to ride the extra saddle mount starting out. “We’re gonna have to take the place of all those other outriders,” he told the old-timer. “That means scoutin’ the flanks and our back trail as well as keepin’ an eye on what’s up ahead.”
Lorenzo nodded in understanding. “You go ahead,” he told Preacher. “I don’t mind bringin’ up the rear for a while.”
Preacher lifted a hand in farewell as Lorenzo wheeled his horse and rode toward the rear of the caravan. Preacher moved out ahead, wondering how they could get their hands on some more horses, knowing that wasn’t likely to happen short of Santa Fe.
For the rest of the day, Preacher and Lorenzo circulated around the wagons as the heavy vehicles made their slow, steady way southwestward. They checked in every direction for any sign of the Comanches or other trouble
