Donnelly thought about it for a moment, then sighed. “So you’re saying that you
“Wouldn’t serve any purpose. Do you believe me about that war party?”
Donnelly looked steadily at him. “Yes, I think I do.”
“Then talk to the other men you can trust. Spread the word that you’ve all got to be more careful and more responsible for your own safety, instead of just leavin’ it all to Buckhalter. Keep scouts out durin’ the day, and fort up like this at night. Keep your guns clean and loaded and your powder dry. If there’s trouble, circle the wagons and fight. Fight like the very devil was tryin’ to get his hands on you.” Preacher paused. “Because with the hostiles out here, that’s just about what it amounts to.”
After another moment, Donnelly nodded. “All right. I see your point. There’s no reason to panic all the women and children.”
“That’s right. Your wife knows about us runnin’ into them Pawnee yesterday, so you might want to tell her to keep it to herself. Are those guides, Moran and Stallworth, married?”
“No, they’re single men. They don’t have wagons in the train.”
“Tell them not to be flappin’ their jaws around camp, too.” Preacher paused. “You said there are two scouts up ahead now?”
“That’s right. MacKenzie and Jennings.”
“What time do they usually come in?”
Donnelly frowned again. “About this time. They’re always back before nightfall, and it’s almost sundown.”
Preacher rubbed his jaw and didn’t say anything. There was a chance those two fellas had run into Stalking Elk and the rest of the war party. If their horses weren’t faster than the Pawnee ponies . . .
No use in borrowing trouble, though, he told himself. They could wait a while longer before they started worrying about the scouts.
Sure enough, the two men rode in less than ten minutes later. They looked a little surprised at seeing the wagons drawn up in such a defensive posture. Preacher made it a point to be close by when they dismounted and Buckhalter strode over to talk to them.
“Any signs of trouble up ahead?” the wagon master asked.
One of the men shook his head. From his lantern jaw and rusty hair, Preacher figured him for MacKenzie, the Scotsman. “The way is clear,” the man reported.
“No hostiles?”
“No people at all.”
Buckhalter shot a sneering glance at Preacher, who paid no attention to it. He didn’t put a whole lot of stock in what Jennings and MacKenzie said, either. If the Pawnee were out there and didn’t want to be seen, chances are the scouts wouldn’t have seen them.
Preacher felt a tug on the sleeve of his buckskin shirt and looked down to see one of the boys who’d been helping Lorraine Donnelly earlier. The youngster said, “My ma told me to tell you that supper’s ready, Preacher.”
“Much obliged, son. You see the fella who was with me around anywhere? Old-timer with long white hair and a white beard?”
“You mean Uncle Dan?” The boy grinned. “He’s already over at the wagon talkin’ to Ma.”
Preacher chuckled. Uncle Dan might be old, but he wasn’t dead. And being around a pretty woman would make him feel a mite younger for a while.
Preacher followed the boy over to the wagon. Lorraine smiled at him and said, “Ned will be back in a few minutes, and then we can eat.”
“Where is he?” Preacher asked.
“Going around the wagons talking to some of the other men.”
Preacher nodded. Donnelly was proceeding as he had suggested and discreetly spreading the word among the other men. That would improve the chances of these pilgrims making it all the way to Oregon.
The two boys went over to Uncle Dan. One of them asked the old-timer, “Will you show us your fiddle?”
“Why, I’d be plumb happy to. I put it back here on the tailgate. Figure on scrapin’ out a tune or two after we’ve et.”
The three of them wandered off to the back of the wagon. Lorraine turned to Preacher and said, “Would you mind helping me with something for a minute?”
“Nope. What do you need?”
She led him over to the front of the prairie schooner, where she said, “Do you know anything about wagons like this?”
“A little. I ain’t never traveled much in one, though. I’m more of a horsebacker.”
“This brake lever keeps sticking . . .” She tugged on the lever as if to demonstrate. “And I can’t seem to figure out what’s wrong with it.”
“Has your husband taken a look at it?”
Lorraine laughed softly. “Ned was an attorney before we came west, Preacher. He doesn’t know any more about such things than I do.”
