It became clear in no time at all that the riders were headed for the wagon train’s campsite. Preacher and Uncle Dan followed several hundred yards back, far enough so that the men wouldn’t be likely to spot them, although Preacher thought they probably wouldn’t suspect that anyone was behind them. From time to time, he and the old-timer stopped to listen, and as soon as they heard that the hoofbeats had stopped, they reined in, too.
“Hope the varmints didn’t hear us ’fore we stopped,” Uncle Dan muttered.
“Not likely,” Preacher said. “We were bein’ pretty quiet.” He swung down from the saddle, and Uncle Dan did likewise. “Chances are, they’ll sneak up on the wagons on foot, so nobody will hear their horses comin’.”
“And we’ll sneak up on
“That’s the plan,” Preacher said. “Come on, Dog. Stay quiet.”
The two mountain men and the big cur stole forward, all their senses alert. Preacher didn’t want to blunder right into the middle of the mysterious riders. He was convinced they were up to no good and were probably ruthless killers.
Of course, if he was wrong he’d probably wind up looking like a fool. But as he had told Uncle Dan about that Pawnee ambush the day before, foolish and alive beat smart and dead all to pieces.
Preacher went to his belly as he heard voices whispering nearby. Uncle Dan and Dog followed suit. The three of them lay there, listening intently.
The voices were too soft for Preacher to make out all the words, but what he understood was enough to make him stiffen in anger.
“. . . in position?”
“Yeah . . . around the camp.”
“Good. We’ll attack . . . Buckhalter gives . . . signal. Them pilgrims . . . never know . . . hit ’em.”
“. . . smart plan. Did Buckhalter . . .”
“. . . figure it was really Beaumont’s idea.” Preacher heard that plainly enough, and so did Uncle Dan. The old- timer’s hand reached over to Preacher’s arm and clenched on it. Preacher nodded and breathed, “Yeah, I heard.”
Beaumont! Somehow, Preacher wasn’t surprised that the man had his finger in this. These would-be robbers worked for Shad Beaumont, and so did Buckhalter. Beaumont had it in his mind to control everything crooked west of the Mississippi, and if nobody stopped him, he might just pull it off. Grandiose schemes sometimes succeeded purely because folks didn’t expect anybody to try something so big and audacious. Preacher wouldn’t put anything past Beaumont, though.
The two men were still talking. One of them said, “. . . can do now . . . wait.”
They would lurk there in the darkness until Buckhalter gave whatever signal they had agreed upon, and then they would rush into the camp, shooting and yelling, and gun down the menfolks. The women would probably be spared, at least the ones who were young enough to be taken back to St. Louis and forced to work in Beaumont’s whorehouses. Everyone else would be killed, even the kids.
Preacher wasn’t going to let that happen if there was anything he could do to stop it. The first step was to whittle down the odds a mite.
He put his mouth next to Uncle Dan’s ear and whispered, “We’re gonna take care of the two closest to us. The rest of ’em are probably spread out pretty good, so if we kill ’em quiet-like, the others won’t know about it.”
“Sure thing,” the old-timer breathed. He reached down to his waist and drew his knife from its sheath.
Preacher did likewise, then told Dog to stay put. The big cur wouldn’t like it, but he would obey. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to fight without making a racket with all his growls and snarls.
Moving slowly and in utter silence, Preacher and Uncle Dan crept forward. After a few moments, Preacher made out the shapes of two men lying on their bellies at the edge of some brush. The wagon camp was visible about fifty yards away. The cooking fires had all died down, but glowing embers were still visible through the gaps between the wagons.
Preacher tapped Uncle Dan on the shoulder and pointed to the man on the right. The old-timer nodded in understanding.
Preacher crawled toward the man on the left. He knew he and Uncle Dan would have to strike quickly in order to kill the men before they could cry out. If the rest of the bandits knew something was wrong, they might go ahead and attack the wagon train without waiting for Buckhalter’s signal. The gang had the men with the wagons outnumbered, and they were more experienced at fighting and killing, to boot. The defenders probably wouldn’t stand much of a chance unless Preacher and Uncle Dan could somehow change the odds.
When they were close enough, Preacher silently rose to his feet. Uncle Dan stood up beside him. They lifted their knives.
Then, at a nod from Preacher, both of them lunged for ward.
Preacher landed on the back of his man with both knees. He reached around the man’s head with his left hand and clamped it over the man’s mouth. At the same time, he brought the knife sweeping down and buried the blade in the man’s back.
The man spasmed as the razor-sharp knife penetrated deeply into his flesh. Preacher jerked the weapon out, flipped it around so that he gripped it differently, and swiped it across the man’s throat as he pulled the fella’s head back. He felt the hot flood of blood over his hand, and then the man went limp.
Preacher looked over at Uncle Dan and in the faint starlight saw the old-timer wiping his blade off on the shirt of the dead man he knelt on. Uncle Dan had killed his man as quietly and efficiently as Preacher had disposed of his.
And with any luck, they were just getting started.
