But what if it was a trap of some sort? he asked himself. What if they knew somehow that he was out here, eavesdropping on their conversation, and were testing his loyalties?
Preacher gave an abrupt shake of his head. He couldn’t rule out that possibility completely, but it was far- fetched enough so that he couldn’t take it seriously.
He didn’t have time to ponder the question any more, because at that moment, he heard the metallic clicking of a gun hammer being cocked behind him, and in a voice like the rumble of distant drums, Brutus said, “Don’t you move, mister, or this old blunderbuss of mine will blow a hole in you.”
Chapter 17
Preacher stayed right where he was, although for a second he considered trying to leap out of the line of fire, twist around, and jerk his own pistol from behind his belt.
But maybe this was exactly what he wanted, he realized, so he said, “Take it easy, Brutus. It’s just me, Jim Donnelly.”
“Donnelly!” Brutus boomed. “What the hell are you doin’, skulkin’ around out here? Damn it, man, I was just startin’ to trust you.”
Before Preacher could answer, the window above his head was thrust up, and Cleve leaned out with a gun in his hand. “What’s going on out here?” the gambler demanded. “Who’s that standing there?”
“It’s that fella Donnelly,” Brutus replied. “I just caught him skulkin’ around. Looked like he was eavesdroppin’ on you and Miss Jessie.”
And that was why he hadn’t heard Brutus until it was too late, Preacher thought. He’d been concentrating on what Jessie and Cleve were saying inside the office and had missed the small sounds Brutus must have made as he came around the house. That had to be how the man had approached, because Preacher was certain the back door hadn’t been opened.
“Donnelly!” Cleve exclaimed. “By God, I was just—” He stopped short, probably because he didn’t want to admit that he had been following Preacher tonight. Preacher wasn’t going to let him get away with that, though.
“I know what you were doin’,” Preacher said, allowing some harsh anger to creep into his voice. “I heard you and Miss Jessie talkin’ about it. You were followin’ me, because you don’t trust me.”
Jessie came up beside Cleve at the window and said tensely, “Evidently with good reason. Bring him into the house, Brutus. We have to find out how much he knows.”
Brutus came closer with the old, short-barreled musket. From the way the muzzle flared out, Preacher knew the weapon was old, probably from colonial days. But if it had been well cared for—and from the looks of it, it had —and still worked properly, the heavy ball the blunderbuss fired could indeed blow a fist-sized hole all the way through him at this range. Preacher didn’t want to risk it, and besides, this gave him a good excuse to talk to Jessie and Cleve. He kept his hands half-raised and in plain sight as he walked to the back door with Brutus behind him.
Once they were inside, they used a rear hallway to reach Jessie’s office, avoiding the parlor where customers were talking and laughing with the women who worked here. Preacher could hear them. Jessie and Cleve waited in the office, and both of them wore grim expressions when Preacher walked in ahead of Brutus. Cleve’s pistol was still in his hand.
“Close the door, Brutus,” Jessie ordered.
“You want me to stay, Miss Jessie?”
She shook her head. “No, I think we can handle Mr. Donnelly.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Go tend to the house.”
“Yes’m. But you just holler if you need me.” Brutus put his face close to Preacher’s and glared murderously. “You best behave yourself, Donnelly.”
He turned and stalked out, taking the blunderbuss with him.
Jessie nodded toward an armchair in front of the big desk that dominated the room. “Sit down,” she told Preacher.
He did as she said. She went behind the desk and sank into the big, leather-upholstered chair there. Cleve stood beside her, the pistol still pointing in Preacher’s general direction. Preacher felt pretty good about his chances of taking the gun away from the gambler any time he wanted to . . . but right now, he didn’t want to.
“How much did you overhear?” Jessie asked as she gave Preacher a stern, level stare. Even at a moment such as this, when she was angry and maybe even a little scared, she was still stunningly beautiful, he thought.
He said, “Enough to know that the two of you are plottin’ against Shad Beaumont.”
Cleve’s lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace. “I say we go ahead and kill him. Brutus can get rid of the body so that no one will ever find it.”
Preacher didn’t wait to see how Jessie would respond to the suggestion. He said, “If you do that, you’ll be losin’ an ally.”
That statement put his opposition to Beaumont right out in the open. If they really were trying to trick him into admitting that, the next few seconds might prove to be extremely dangerous. He was ready to lunge across the desk at Jessie if he saw Cleve’s finger tightening on the trigger. He figured the gambler would be less likely to shoot if he thought Jessie might be in the line of fire.
Instead, Cleve just frowned in puzzlement, and Jessie’s lips thinned. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I reckon you must have some sort of grudge against Beaumont. Well, you ain’t the only ones.”
