Preacher managed to avoid going with any of the other girls, and Beaumont didn’t press the issue. While he was upstairs with Jessie, Preacher usually stayed in the kitchen and sometimes played cards with Brutus and Lorenzo. Brutus didn’t seem to hate Preacher quite as much as he had at first. At least, he tolerated the mountain man being around.
During the days, Beaumont rose late, had a leisurely breakfast, and then set out in the carriage from the big, whitewashed house on the south side of town that reminded Preacher of plantation houses he had seen down around New Orleans when he was a young man. As Beaumont’s bodyguard, Preacher went with him, of course, while Beaumont made the rounds of his businesses in St. Louis, both the legitimate ones—and the not-so- legitimate. They stopped at taverns and lower-class brothels and dusty warehouses where the merchandise stored in them was probably stolen, Preacher thought.
During that week, Preacher didn’t get a chance to slip away and pay a visit to Uncle Dan’s camp. He hoped the old-timer wasn’t getting too worried about him.
Then one evening, Beaumont stayed home and sent Lorenzo with the carriage to fetch Jessie back to his house, instead of him going to her place. “I’m not leaving the house tonight, so you won’t have to stay around, Donnelly,” Beaumont said. He took a coin from his pocket and flipped it to Preacher. “You’ve been doing a good job . . . not that you’ve really had anything to do. Why don’t you go out and find a woman or a poker game and enjoy yourself ?”
Preacher caught the coin, deftly plucking it out of the air. He stuck it in his pocket and said, “Thanks, boss. Reckon I’ll do that.”
Beaumont was in his study, sipping some brandy that he didn’t offer to share with Preacher this time. He took a drink and said, “You know, I put the word out that I wanted to know who took that shot at me, the night you saved my life. People have been asking around on my behalf all over town, because it’s hard to keep a grudge quiet if it’s bad enough to prompt an ambush. But no one seems to have any idea who could have done it.”
For a second, Preacher thought that Beaumont was getting suspicious and was about to accuse him of something. But then the man went on, “If you could turn up that information, Donnelly, there’d be a bonus in it for you. I don’t like the idea that there’s some mysterious stranger out there somewhere who wants me dead.”
But he nodded and said, “I’ll see what I can find out, boss.”
Chapter 16
Preacher had reclaimed Horse from the livery stable where he had kept the stallion temporarily, and now Horse had a stall in the stable behind Beaumont’s house where the carriage and the team of fine black horses were kept. Lorenzo had been impressed by the rangy gray stallion, proving that he was a good judge of horseflesh. That had probably raised his opinion of Preacher somewhat, too, although Preacher knew that Lorenzo wouldn’t admit that to save his life.
Preacher walked out to the stable and saddled Horse, then rode toward the center of town, just in case Beaumont was watching. When he was out of sight of the house, he turned west and headed out of St. Louis toward Uncle Dan’s camp.
When he neared the grove of trees, he reined in and hooted like an owl. A moment later, an answering hoot came, telling him that the old-timer was still there, just as Preacher had hoped. He rode into the trees and found the camp, which had been moved a short distance from where it had been the last time Preacher was here.
“Too fiddle-footed to stay in one place for a whole week, eh?” he asked with a grin as he swung down from the saddle. Dog reared up, put his paws on Preacher’s shoulders, and licked the mountain man’s face.
“That ain’t it at all,” Uncle Dan replied. “This campsite’s just a mite better, that’s all. Better firewood, and a little closer to the crick that runs through these trees.”
“Sure,” Preacher said, knowing full well that Uncle Dan’s restless nature had had something to do with it, no matter what the old-timer said. He knew that because he was the same way. His feet always began to itch after a few days in the same place. He had already experienced that in St. Louis, although the desire for revenge on Shad Beaumont that drove him made it easy to suppress those urges.
“I been keepin’ the coffee warm for you ever’ night,” Uncle Dan went on as he took the pot from the embers of the campfire. “Figured you’d be showin’ up before now.”
“Beaumont’s been keepin’ me pretty busy. He’s still spooked from that bushwhack attempt, so I’ve had to stay close to him whenever he leaves the house.”
Uncle Dan clucked his tongue. “Must be a terrible chore, havin’ to visit saloons and whorehouses ever’ night.”
Preacher laughed. “It ain’t as entertainin’ as you might think it’d be.”
With the exception of the time he had spent with Casey, he told himself. And he’d managed to mess that up at the end and hadn’t seen her since. He hoped she was all right.
The two men sat on logs and sipped coffee while Dog lay at Preacher’s feet. Preacher reached down with his free hand and scratched between the big cur’s ears.
Uncle Dan asked, “Now that you’re workin’ for Beaumont, what do you figure on doin’? Want me to take another shot at him, so’s he’ll know he’s still got somebody gunnin’ for him?”
Preacher shook his head. “No, we got away with that once, but I don’t want you runnin’ that risk again, Uncle Dan. I’m waitin’ for Beaumont to come up with some new scheme, so I can ruin it for him.”
“How long you gonna keep that up?”
“Don’t know. Depends on what happens, I reckon.”
“You know . . . you could kill the son of a bitch just about any time now, and be halfway back to the mountains ’fore anybody knowed what happened.”
“Yeah, but there’s one problem with that.” Preacher took another sip of coffee. “I ain’t a murderer. When I kill Beaumont, it’s gonna be head-on, and he’s gonna know why he’s dyin’.”
