“
“All right.”
“Been there a time or two.” Preacher had been
“But Ackerman’s there.”
“That’s the one betrayed your brother? The one Luke thought was his friend?”
“That’s him.”
“Man like that needs killin’.”
“That is exactly what I intend to do.”
“Figured you’d say that.”
A few miles outside of Florence, two riders stopped the pair early one morning. They were rough-looking men, with tied-down guns, the butts worn smooth from much handling. Their Missouri cavalry hats were pulled low, faces unshaven.
“Been waitin’ here for you,” one said. “Word of you hangin’ Casey spread fast. They be warrants out on you ’fore long. You made that marshal look like a fool.”
“What’s your interest in this?” Smoke asked.
“I rode for the Gray. Know the story of what happened from a man that was there. What we wantin’ to tell you is this: One of them hands that was on the range back at the TC beat it quicklike to Canon City. Seen him ride in, horse all lathered up and wind-broke. He ruined a good animal. Went straight to Ackerman’s spread, few miles out of town, east. They waitin’ for both of you.”
“Much obliged to you,” Smoke said. “Where you heading?”
“Back to Missouri. Got word that Dingus and Buck needin’ some boys to ride with ’em. Thought we’d give it a whirl. You shore look familiar in the face to me. We met?”
“You was with Bloody Bill the night Jesse gave me this Colt. Tell him hello for me.”
“Done. You boys ride easy and ready, now. See you.” The outlaws wheeled their horses and were gone, heading east, to Missouri — and into disputed history.
“Now what?” Preacher asked his young partner.
“We’ll just ride in for a look-see.”
“Figured you’d say that.”
“Welcome to Oreodelphia,” Preacher said, as they approached Canon City from the south. They stopped, looking over the town.
“Oreo … what?”
“Oreodelphia. That’s what one feller wanted to name this place — ’bout ten year ago. Miners said they couldn’t say the damned word, much less spell it. Never did catch on.”
“Gold around here?”
“Right smart. Never got the fever myself. Found some nuggets once — threw ’em back in the crick and never told no one ’bout it.”
“You may have found a fortune, Preacher.”
“Mayhaps, son. But what is it I need that there gold for? Got ever’thing a body could want; couldn’t tote no more. I got buckskins to cover me, a good horse, good guns, and a good friend. Had me a right purty watch once, but I had to give ’er up.”
“Why?”
“One time a bunch of Cheyennes on the warpath come close to where I was hidin’ out in a ravine. I plumb forgot that there watch chimed on the hour. Liked to have done me in. Thought I was dead for shore. Them Injuns was so took with that watch, they forgot ’bout me. I took off a-hightailin’.” He laughed. “I bet them Injuns was mad when that watch run down and wouldn’t chime no more.”
They urged their horses forward. “One more thing I think you should know, Smoke.”
“What’s that?”
“I hear tell the state’s gonna build a brand new prison just outside of town. They might be lookin’ to fill it up.”
The old mountain man and the handsome young gunfighter rode slowly down the main street of Canon City. They drew some attention, for they were dressed in buckskins and carried their Henry repeating rifles across their saddles, instead of in a boot. And the sheriff and one of his deputies were among those watching the pair as they reined up in front of the saloon and stepped out of the saddle.
Boot heels clumped on the boardwalk as the sheriff walked toward them. Neither Smoke nor Preacher looked up, but both were aware of his approach, and of the fact that a deputy had stationed himself across the street, a rifle cradled in his arms.
“Howdy, boys,” the sheriff greeted them.
He received a nod.
The sheriff looked at their horses. “Been travelin’, I see.
“A piece,” Preacher said.
The sheriff recognized him. “You’re the Preacher.”
“That’s what I’m called.”
