two of them were trying to murder and rob the mountain man didn’t mean anything to him.
Now they had spotted the object of Fairfax’s wrath and spied on him while he was arranging to sell his furs to Joel Larson. Schuyler and Fairfax knew Larson, and had tried to sell him some stolen furs in the past. Larson must have been suspicious, because he’d made such a low offer that the partners had turned it down. They’d wound up selling the pelts to one of the other fur traders, still for less than they were worth.
“No money changed hands,” Schuyler pointed out as he and Fairfax withdrew around to the other side of the shack. “Larson’s probably gonna meet him later and pay him then.”
Fairfax nodded. “In that case, the wisest course of action would be to follow him and wait until our quarry has the cash in hand. Then we’ll relieve him of it.” An evil smile stretched across the man’s face. “And of his life, too, of course.”
Chapter Two
Preacher had told Jake the truth about something else, too—he wasn’t looking for a whore.
But a whore had found him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.
It wasn’t that Preacher was morally opposed to prostitution or anything like that. Indeed, if he could be said to have had a love of his life, it would be the girl called Jennie. She had become a soiled dove at an early age, and had remained in that profession for the remainder of her too-short life.
But ever since Jennie’s death, for the most part Preacher had steered clear of women. He had met a few that he had grown fond of, but his fiddle-footed nature had assured that nothing came of those brief relationships.
Now he had a buxom redhead named Abby perched on his lap, and she was being stubborn about getting off. She leaned closer and kissed on him and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. She wanted him to take her out to the crib behind Fargo’s place where she plied her trade.
What she really wanted, of course, was some of the money she had seen Joel Larson giving him earlier in payment for those pelts.
Preacher had put away about a fourth of a jug of whiskey and a couple of thick steaks during the time he’d waited at Fargo’s for Larson. He wasn’t drunk, but the who-hit-John had caused a pleasant glow to spring up inside him, like the warmth from a campfire on a chilly night. The steaks had filled his belly. All of it combined to make him a mite drowsy.
Then Larson arrived and gave him a small leather pouch that was heavy with gold coins. They had shared a drink; then the fur company man had gone on his way. Preacher had already told Fargo he wanted to rent one of the rooms on the tavern’s second floor for the night. He’d also asked the tavern keeper to haul the big washtub up there and see that it was filled with hot water. Fargo had agreed, knowing that Preacher was scrupulously honest and was good for any debts he incurred during his stay in St. Louis.
Preacher wasn’t in the habit of thinking much beyond the present, but if anybody had pinned him down on the question, he would have said that he was going to hang around the settlement for a few days, buy some supplies for his next trip to the mountains, and then gamble and drink away whatever funds he had remaining. He’d planned to get started on that with a hot soak in the washtub, but before he got around to going upstairs, Abby had come over and plopped herself down on his lap.
To tell the truth, Preacher was thinking about asking her if she wanted to come upstairs with him and share that bath. It would be a tight fit for both of them in the washtub, but he thought they could manage, and having his arms full of wet, firm-fleshed woman sounded pretty damned good right now.
“Hold on, hold on,” he said as he unwound Abby’s arms from his neck.
She pouted. “I just want to show you some lovin’, Preacher.”
“And I reckon we might just get around to that. First, though, I told Fargo to haul that ol’ washtub o’ his upstairs and fill it with hot water. How’d you feel about gettin’ in there with me?”
Abby giggled and said, “Why, that sounds like just about the dandiest thing I ever heard!” She pushed her large, plump breasts against him. “We can wash each other.”
“All right, but you got to get off of me first.”
She stood up and took his hand, eager to get on with the bath now that he had suggested it. “Come on!”
Preacher stopped at the bar to ask the burly, bearded tavern keeper if the tub had been filled. Ford Fargo nodded and said, “Yep, that boy o’ mine just got through haulin’ the last two buckets o’ hot water up there. It’s ready for you, Preacher. I ain’t sure why you’d want to do such a thing, though. I hear that washin’ too reg’lar ain’t good for you.”
“Well, since it’s been months, I reckon I’ll chance it,” Preacher replied with a grin. He allowed Abby to tug him toward the stairs as he heard Fargo’s knowing chuckle behind them.
Preacher had long since gotten over any guilt he felt about Jennie, and by the time he had followed Abby up the stairs with her well-cushioned rump wiggling back and forth in front of his face, he had decided this was a pretty good idea after all. When they reached the room he was renting and went inside, he saw curls of steam rising from the water in the big wooden tub. Abby turned and came into his arms, lifting her face for him to kiss her. Preacher obliged.
After a moment, Abby pulled back. She was a little out of breath as she said, “Let’s get these duds off and get in that tub.”
Sounded like a good plan to Preacher.
Schuyler Mims and Colin Fairfax had followed the mountain man to Fargo’s tavern. They hadn’t been close enough that afternoon to overhear the conversation between the mountain man and Joel Larson, so they hadn’t known where he was going and had to trail him. After he went into the tavern, they loitered across the street and waited for Larson to arrive with the money they were sure he would be bringing to pay for the pelts.
Dusk was settling down over the riverfront town when Schuyler nudged Fairfax with an elbow and asked, “Ain’t that the kid who was talking to that mountain man earlier?”
Fairfax squinted at the boy who had ambled along the street and come to a stop in front of the tavern. “Yes, I believe it is.”
