probably won’t.”
The grim expressions on the rough, bearded faces of the men grew even more bleak.
“Dios mio, Preacher, you can’t go through with it,” Juanita said. “It’s a trick. They will kill you, and the others, as well.”
Preacher nodded. “I reckon they’ll try.”
He took the jug when Fawcett offered it to him, tipped it back, and let some of the fiery tequila slide down his throat and set off a blaze in his belly. When he passed the jug on to Lorenzo, one of the bullwhackers opened his mouth as if he were about to say something about sharing the liquor with a black man, then shrugged and let it go.
Preacher wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then asked Juanita, “Ain’t there any law in this settlement? I know Powell’s place ain’t in a very good part of town, but there were three shots and nobody came to see what was goin’ on.”
Juanita’s shrug was eloquent. “There is an army garrison, but they have little to do with civil matters unless there is an insurrection. The constables seldom venture into that area, and anyway, Powell pays them to ignore the things that go on in his house. We cannot look to the law for help, Preacher.”
The mountain man snorted. “I wasn’t plannin’ to, just a mite curious is all. I been my own law, most of my life.”
“So what are you goin’ to do?” Fawcett asked.
Preacher laid out the setup for them. Lorenzo asked, “If you start across that plaza unarmed, what’s to stop Garity and Powell from shootin’ you right then and there?”
“Nothin’ . . . except I think that’d be too easy for Garity. You didn’t see him when he had me and the others prisoner. He’s got a real mean streak in him. I think he’s plannin’ on torturin’ me to death and makin’ it last a long time.”
“So you’re figurin’ if they let Roland and Casey go, then we’ll come after you and rescue you before Garity can finish killin’ you?”
“We can storm that whorehouse,” Fawcett said. “I’d like to see ’em try to keep us out.”
Preacher shook his head. “They won’t let Casey and Roland go. I suspect they’ll have some sharpshooters with their sights lined on the two of ’em, ready to blow their lights out as soon as Powell gives the signal. But we’ll have some sharpshooters of our own.” He looked around the table at the bullwhackers. “Who’s the best with a rifle?”
After some discussion, they settled on two men named Newcomb and Tobin as the best shots in the bunch. “You two will set your sights on Garity and Powell. I’ll see to it they know if they don’t go through with the bargain, they won’t leave the plaza alive.”
“So what it comes down to is you’ll be tryin’ to outbluff ’em and make ’em let go of Casey and Roland,” Lorenzo said.
Preacher nodded. “Yep.”
“There’s just one problem with that,” Lorenzo said.
“That leaves you in the hands of those awful men!” Juanita finished.
“I’ll take my chances,” Preacher said, grinning around at those gathered in the cantina’s back room. “You may have noticed, I’m a mite hard to kill.”
At that altitude, the nights were quite cool even in the summer. Wisps of fog floated ghostlike in the plaza in the predawn light. Santa Fe slumbered. The streets were deserted, and so was the plaza with its low-walled well in the center. The settlement was quiet.
Preacher waited with Lorenzo, Fawcett, Newcomb, and Tobin behind a wagon parked on the east side of the plaza. The other five bullwhackers were in a nearby alley, holding rifles in case they were needed.
The mountain man had rounded up a set of buckskins. He wanted to be back in his normal duds for the showdown. If it was to be the day he died, he didn’t want to be wearing town clothes. He was bareheaded, and he didn’t have rifle, pistol, or knife. He had told Powell he would be unarmed, and he was a man of his word, even when he gave it to no-good snakes.
He hadn’t slept any, and weariness set deep in his bones. He knew he wasn’t in good enough shape yet. Circumstances didn’t leave him much choice, though. He had fortified himself with some of Juanita’s frijoles and a few slugs of tequila before leaving the cantina.
Juanita had given him something besides the frijoles. She had drawn him to her and kissed him hard on the mouth, pulling back and telling him, “Come back to me, Preacher. If you die, the angels who greet you in heaven will not be nearly as pretty as I am.”
“I reckon you’re a mite mixed up about which direction I’ll be goin’ when I cross the divide,” he had told her with a grin, “but you’re right about bein’ prettier’n any angel.”
“I am right about the other, too,” she had whispered as she hugged him.
As pleasant as the memory of that moment was, he put it aside and turned his head to look at the eastern sky. The time had almost come. The sky was growing lighter by the minute as the sun climbed from behind the mountains. Streaks of red and gold shot through the purpling vault above the earth.
Preacher nodded to Lorenzo and the other three men. “Don’t forget what we talked about,” he told them.
“Ain’t no chance o’ that,” Lorenzo assured him.
As the sun peeked above the mountains, Egan Powell called from the other side of the plaza, “Preacher! Are you there?”
“I’m here, Powell!” Preacher shouted. “Step out where I can see you!”
“You first!”
Counting on the fact that Garity wanted something more satisfying than just having him shot down from
