Then he looked down at the clearly stunned Beaumont and asked, “You hit, mister?”
Beaumont swallowed. “No, I . . . I’m all right—”
“Stay here, then,” Preacher told him. “I’ll go after that son of a bitch who tried to bushwhack you!”
He leaped to his feet and dashed down the boardwalk toward the mouth of an alley. As Beaumont called,
“Wait!” behind him, Preacher rounded the corner of the building and ducked into the alley. Another shot roared, the muzzle flash lighting up the night for a second. In that flicker of light, Preacher saw the big grin on Uncle Dan’s face as the old-timer fired into the air.
Then the two of them ran along the alley, ducking in and out of the shadows as they entered a rat’s warren of darkened side streets and lanes.
They didn’t stop until they were several blocks away from Dupree’s. Uncle Dan was breathing a little hard, but that didn’t stop him from chuckling.
“Hope I didn’t come too close with that first shot,” he said.
“It was just right,” Preacher told him. “You had to come close, otherwise Beaumont wouldn’t believe it.”
“He’d better believe it. I damn near parted your hair with that ball. That would’ve played hob with the whole plan, wouldn’t it?”
Preacher grinned in the darkness. “Yeah, if you’d blown a hole in my head, you’d have had to finish the job by yourself.”
“Not hardly,” Uncle Dan said with a shake of his head. “I ain’t that crazy. I’d’ve just bushwhacked the son of a bitch for real.”
“Let’s hope it don’t come to that,” Preacher said. “Reckon I’d better get back now. Beaumont’s probably wonderin’ what happened to me. You headin’ back to the camp west of town?”
“Yeah, I suppose it’s as good a place as any to wait. You’ll get word to me if you need me?”
Preacher nodded. “Yep. I’ll try to get out there in a few days to let you know what’s goin’ on.”
Uncle Dan extended his hand. “Good luck to you, son,” he said as he and Preacher shook. “I reckon you’re the one who ought to be named Daniel, since you’re about to waltz right into the lion’s den.”
Preacher thought about that as he made his way back toward Dupree’s. He was taking a big chance, all right, no doubt about that. But he had to run the risk if he wanted to give Beaumont a taste of his own medicine and bring the man’s empire crashing down around him.
When Preacher emerged from the alley next to the fancy saloon and started along the boardwalk toward the entrance, he saw Beaumont standing there talking to a man with a badge pinned to his coat. That would be the local constable, Preacher thought, who’d likely been summoned because of the shooting. St. Louis was still enough of a frontier town that the law wouldn’t come a-runnin’ every time some shots broke out, but it was different when the intended victim was a man as rich and important as Shad Beaumont.
Beaumont caught sight of Preacher approaching and exclaimed, “There’s the man now!”
The constable turned toward Preacher and reached for the pistol at his waist, causing Beaumont to continue hurriedly, “No, not the one who shot at me. The one who saved my life.” He came along the boardwalk to meet Preacher. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m just sorry I couldn’t catch up to that varmint,” Preacher said. “How about you, mister? That damn bushwhacker missed you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, thanks to you.” Beaumont put out a hand and smiled. “And I mean that. Thank you.”
Up close, the man was big, handsome, and charming. Preacher began to understand how Beaumont got folks to do what he wanted. Couple that persuasive charm with greed and a complete lack of scruples, and what you got was a man who was as dangerous as a diamondback rattlesnake.
Preacher clasped Beaumont’s hand anyway and didn’t allow the revulsion he felt to show on his face. This was all part of the plan.
“How did you know someone was about to take a shot at me?” Beaumont went on.
Preacher shrugged. “I was just walkin’ along and saw a rifle barrel poke around the corner at you. Figured nobody does somethin’ like that unless they intend to shoot.”
“So you risked your own life to push me out of the line of fire.”
“Don’t make me out to be some sort o’ hero,” Preacher said with a frown. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t really think all that much about what I was doin’. I just saw the gun and jumped.”
“And I’m glad you did. But then you gave chase to the man. Why did you do that?”
“I don’t like a damn bushwhacker. Back where I come from, folks get into feuds now and then. I’ve had kin shot down from ambush. Can’t stomach it. I say, if you’ve got somethin’ against a fella, it’s better to come at him head on.”
The irony of his words wasn’t lost on him. Truthfully, he would have been more comfortable walking up to Beaumont, telling the man who he was, and shooting it out right then and there. But as he’d told Uncle Dan, that just didn’t seem like a fitting punishment for all the misery Beaumont had inflicted on people from here to the Rocky Mountains.
“What happened when you ran into the alley?” Beaumont went on. “I heard another shot.”
“Yeah, I reckon he’d had time to reload. He took a shot at me but rushed it. When he missed, he lit a shuck. He was so nimble, I never even got a good look at him.” Preacher narrowed his eyes. “You got any idea who’d want to bushwhack you like that, mister?”
The question drew a laugh from Beaumont. “I’m a successful man, and no man becomes successful without making enemies along the way. I’ve made my share. Maybe more than my share. But there aren’t many who’d have the guts to come after me like that. Most of them know better.”
