thank you to go on your way and stop disturbing us. We’re setting out on a long journey early in the morning.”
The spokesman regarded him with a narrow-eyed glare. “I’m thinkin’ maybe it’d be a good idea if we took a look around this camp for ourselves.”
Roland’s father made a curt gesture that brought the men from the fire to his side. They were all brawny, powerful-looking men, and several of them had bullwhips wrapped around their waists. Preacher recognized them as bullwhackers, the men who whipped, prodded, and cursed the ox teams across the long miles of the Santa Fe Trail. Such men were tough as nails, with a reputation for brawling.
The spokesman for the mob seemed to know that, too. He looked a little nervous as he said, “There are more of us than there are of you.”
“I have more than a dozen other men here in camp, and all I have to do is call them. That’s exactly what I’m going to do if you don’t get out of here.”
“All right, all right,” the spokesman muttered. “No need to get proddy. We’re leaving.”
“You’ll have to find the people you’re looking for somewhere else,” Roland’s father said.
With plenty of frustrated curses, the mob took their torches and started drifting back toward town. Roland’s father and his men watched them go.
When the mob was out of earshot and the torches had dwindled to sparks, Roland’s father turned and called softly, “All right, you can come out of there now.”
Preacher and the others emerged from their hiding places. Running away from trouble rubbed Preacher the wrong way and always had. Hiding from it was even worse. Sometimes, though, it was the only prudent thing to do.
Besides, they had Casey to look out for. Preacher didn’t want her to come to any harm, and there was no telling what some of those men might have done to her if they’d gotten their hands on her. She had suffered enough in her life.
“Thanks, Pa,” Roland said as he used his hat to knock dust from the ground off his clothes.
His father glared at him. “I’ll have that explanation now,” he said. “What sort of thieves and scoundrels have you fallen in with?”
Preacher didn’t wait for Roland to reply. He said, “Mister, we’re obliged to you for your help, but that don’t give you leave to call us names. The fella doin’ the talkin’ for that mob didn’t exactly give you the whole story.”
The man crossed his arms over his chest. He was a tall, thick-bodied man with graying hair, prominent side- whiskers, and a jaw that jutted out like the prow of a boat. He gave Preacher a cool stare and said, “That’s fair enough, I suppose. Why don’t you tell me the whole story?”
“That fella accused my friend here of cheatin’ at cards,” Preacher replied with a nod of his head toward Lorenzo. “It’s true the table got knocked over durin’ the scuffle and Lorenzo grabbed up some cash, but I reckon he didn’t wind up with as much as he won fair and square.”
“That’s right,” Lorenzo put in. “Fact is, I had to leave some of our money there.”
“As for Casey here,” Preacher went on, “it appeared some of the gals who work in that tavern took a dislike to her on account of how she’s so much prettier’n they are. There was some scratchin’ and hair-pullin’ goin’ on when your boy gave her a hand and got her out of there.”
As a matter of fact, Roland was still hovering rather attentively around Casey, enough so that if things had been different between her and Preacher, he might have been a little jealous. Neither of them had any claim on the other, though. They were just traveling together and enjoying each other’s company from time to time.
“So that’s all there was to it? Just a sordid tavern brawl over a card game and a woman?”
Preacher shrugged. “That’s one way of lookin’ at it, I reckon.”
The man shook his head in apparent disgust. He looked at Roland and said, “I thought you had more sense than to get mixed up in something like that, son. You shouldn’t have been in one of those squalid dives in the first place, not with our trip to Santa Fe starting in the morning.”
Roland returned the look with a defiant gaze of his own. “These people didn’t do anything wrong, Pa, and when they stuck up for themselves, the men in that tavern tried to gang up on them. I would think you’d be proud of me for helping them.”
His father snorted and turned back to Preacher and his companions. “If anyone asks us, we’ll continue to say that we haven’t seen you, although it pains me to lie.”
“I try to be an honest man, too,” Preacher drawled.
“Well, it should be safe for you to go on your way now. That mob seems to be gone.”
Roland said, “We can’t be sure they’re not lurking out there somewhere, waiting for them. Why don’t we let these folks stay the night with us, Pa?”
“Absolutely not,” the man snapped. “I won’t have you associating any longer than you have to with such gutter trash—”
Dog sensed the way Preacher stiffened, and a growl came from deep in the big cur’s throat.
Preacher was about to point out to the man that they didn’t cotton to being called names, when one of the bullwhackers stepped forward and said, “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Bartlett, but I think you got it wrong about these folks. I recognize that big fella. Saw him in St. Louis last year. He’s the one they call Preacher.”
Bartlett, who had been about to snap at his employee for butting in, jerked his head toward Preacher and drew in a deep breath that caused his nostrils to flare. “Preacher,” he repeated. “That’s who you are?”
“Wasn’t the name I was born with,” Preacher said, “but it’s the one I’ve answered to for a heap of years now.”
“My God. I owe you an apology, sir. My son and I discussed trying to locate you and hire you to accompany us.” The man held out a hand. “My name is Leeman Bartlett.”
