Preacher knew what Buckhalter was talking about. On a lot of these wagon trains, the immigrants pooled their funds and kept most, if not all, of their money in a chest in one of the wagons. That money would help them get started in their new lives when they got to where they were going. Many of the westward-bound pilgrims didn’t have a lot of cash; it was expensive to buy a wagon and outfit it with a team and supplies. It might take most of a family’s life savings to pay for such an epic journey.
But take those small amounts and multiply them by the number of families in a wagon train, and it could add up to a tidy little sum. Plus there were usually a few folks who were more well-to-do than the rest, and that would swell the total in the money chest even more.
“That’s insane,” Donnelly said in response to Buckhalter’s demand. “We’ll need that money when we get to Oregon. You can’t expect us to give it up.” He took a deep breath. “We’ll let the two of you go, though.”
Buckhalter shook his head. “Not good enough. After all we’ve risked, you can’t expect us to ride away without a payoff.” His mouth twisted in a sneer under the bushy beard. “Anyway, Donnelly, what will you need more in Oregon, the money or your wife?”
Donnelly didn’t have an answer for that. He stood there, obviously tortured by fear for Lorraine, as well as the responsibility he felt toward the other members of the wagon train. He looked toward them, and one of the men said, “We’re sorry, Ned, but we can’t—”
“I know,” Donnelly broke in. “I can’t ask you to give up everything.” He faced Buckhalter again. “Safe passage. That’s all.”
Several seconds crept by, the time drawing out painfully. Preacher heard a couple of owls hoot back and forth in the tense silence. Then Buckhalter jerked his head in a nod and said, “All right. Safe passage. Now tell that old man to stop pointing his gun at Moran.”
Preacher motioned for Uncle Dan to put down his pistol. The old-timer complied with obvious reluctance. Grinning smugly—the only real expression Preacher had seen on the granite-faced renegade—Moran moved over to join Buckhalter.
“There’s one more thing,” Buckhalter went on. “Mrs. Donnelly goes with us.”
Lorraine’s eyes widened even more. Donnelly exclaimed, “You’re mad!”
“Not at all. She’ll be our guarantee of safety. Otherwise, what’s to stop Preacher from coming after us as soon as we leave?” Buckhalter laughed. “You didn’t know it, Donnelly, but you had a famous man in your midst. Preacher is known from one end of the Rockies to the other. In fact, my employer has placed a bounty on his head. I’m passing up a nice chunk of coin by letting him live.”
Donnelly frowned over at Preacher. “Who’s this employer he’s talking about?”
“Fella name of Beaumont,” Preacher drawled. “He planned this whole thing so Buckhalter, Moran, and those other fellas could loot your wagon train. He did his best to get rid of me so I wouldn’t ruin the plan, but it didn’t work.”
Donnelly looked over at the other three guides, Stallworth, Jennings, and MacKenzie, who stood together at the edge of the crowd. Stallworth and Jennings appeared to have minor injuries from the battle.
“Did you men know anything about this?”
Stallworth shook his head and said, “Not a damned thing, Donnelly, and that’s the truth. We just hired on as guides, that’s all. Buckhalter and Moran double-crossed us as much as they did you.”
One of the men spoke up. “I reckon he’s telling the truth, Ned. I saw all three of them fighting those bastards who jumped us.”
“Enough palaver,” Buckhalter snapped. “We’re leaving . . . and like I said, Mrs. Donnelly is coming with us.” He told Moran, “Mike, saddle three horses for us.”
In a choked voice, Lorraine forced out, “Ned, don’t . . . let him . . . take me away . . . from my children!”
Buckhalter chuckled. “He doesn’t have any choice, Mrs. Donnelly. Not if he wants to keep you alive.”
Preacher said, “I hope you ain’t forgot about those Pawnee, Buckhalter. They’re still out there somewhere.”
“That’s why we’re going east instead of west. You see, I believed you about them, Preacher, even though I couldn’t admit that.”
People got out of Moran’s way as he went to saddle horses for him and Buckhalter and Lorraine. He had just lifted a saddle and turned toward the animals when there was a fluttering sound. Moran lurched to the side and dropped the saddle. He yelled in pain and reached up to clutch the shaft of the arrow that protruded from his shoulder.
“Pawnee!” Preacher shouted as he saw the arrow. “Everybody hunt cover!”
More arrows came flying out of the darkness around the camp. Preacher had suspected those owls he’d heard a few moments earlier weren’t the real thing, and now he was sure of it.
Standing Elk and the rest of the war party must have heard all the shooting and come to investigate it. Finding that the immigrants had their attention focused elsewhere, the Indians had decided it would be a good time to attack. Even though they didn’t really like to fight at night, they would seize an advantage any time they could get it.
The Pawnee weren’t Preacher’s only worry, though. Buckhalter still had Lorraine as his hostage. Preacher had to get her away from him before something happened to her. He leaped toward the two of them as Buckhalter turned toward the wagons, hauling Lorraine around with him. The son of a bitch was using her as a human shield if any arrows came flying his way, Preacher realized.
Buckhalter still had the gun to Lorraine’s head. The hammer was cocked, and all it was take was a little pressure on the trigger to send a heavy lead ball smashing into her skull at point-blank range. Preacher could see only one way to prevent that.
He drew his knife and let fly, putting every bit of skill and accuracy he possessed into the throw.
The blade flicked across the intervening space, turning over as it flew, and when it struck Buckhalter’s wrist it landed perfectly, slicing deep into flesh and muscle and slashing the tendons. Buckhalter cried out in surprise and
