Preacher lay there for a moment, catching his breath as the water streamed off his sodden clothing. When he could talk, he looked up and said, “You may not’ve noticed, Cap’n, but I reckon I saved your life a few minutes ago. One of those fellas on the shore was drawin’ a bead on you when I blew a hole in his head.”
The captain looked confused. “But I thought you were one of the river pirates!”
“So did they,” Preacher said.
The skiff reached the riverboat. One of the men in it called, “Howdy! Looked like you needed a little help there!”
The captain nodded toward Preacher and told his men, “Keep him covered,” then turned to the men on the skiff and went on, “Indeed we did, sir! We are much obliged to you. Did you just happen to be traveling along and saw those scoundrels attacking us?”
“Nope.” The man in the skiff raised a pistol and pointed it at the captain. “We’re here for the same thing they were. Now put this boat ashore so we can start unloading that cotton you’ve got on deck.”
The captain of the
“That’s right,” the man in the skiff said. “And there are a dozen men on shore with rifles pointing at you and your men right now, Captain. You’d better do as you’re told.”
For a moment, the captain’s bulldog-like face looked like he was going to put up a fight. But then his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Are you going to kill me and my crew?” he asked in a dull voice.
“Nope. All we want is the cotton.”
“Very well.” The captain motioned for his men to drop their guns, then cupped his hands around his mouth and called up to the man in the pilot house, “Ahead one-quarter! Put her ashore!”
Preacher had watched the exchange with interest. He was glad the men working for Jessie weren’t going to murder the captain and crew. Now as he stood up, the man who seemed to be the leader said, “You’re the fella we were supposed to watch out for, aren’t you?”
Preacher was relieved that Jessie and Cleve hadn’t told these men who he really was. The longer he could keep that information under wraps, the better. He nodded and said, “That’s right. You came mighty near to hittin’ me with some of those shots, too.”
The man shrugged. “Hard to be too careful in the middle of a shootin’ scrape. And you’re not dead, are you?”
“No, I reckon not.”
The riverboat captain glared at him. “You double-crossed the men you were with? That makes you even worse than them, and I don’t care if you
“Think whatever you want, mister,” Preacher snapped. He picked up his empty rifle. Along with his pistols, it would need a thorough cleaning and drying before he tried to use it again. “Just do what you’re told and be grateful you’re alive.” He paused and then added truthfully, “I am.”
It didn’t take all that long to run the boat aground and unload the cargo. Some of Jessie’s men had crossed the river before the attack even began and gotten the drop on the drivers Beaumont had hired. Those drivers had been sent packing, and they had been glad to be given the chance to flee and save their lives. So it was Jessie’s men who brought the wagons to the riverbank and unloaded the cotton onto them. Then they drove off, taking the valuable cargo with them.
Preacher didn’t know what Jessie planned to do with the cotton. She would probably sell it, although she would have to be careful not to let Beaumont get wind of the transaction. Preacher figured she was smart enough to be able to handle that.
Some of Jessie’s men took the horses left behind by Dugan and the others. As Preacher got ready to mount up on Horse and ride back to St. Louis, the man who’d led Jessie’s group asked, “What are you going to do now, mister? Go back to Beaumont’s place?”
“That’s right.”
“What will you tell him?”
“The truth . . . some of it, anyway. We got bushwhacked. I’m the only one who got away.”
Preacher had checked to make sure that was true. All of Beaumont’s men were dead. Their bodies had been hauled out of the river and left on the bank in a grisly display.
“You reckon he’s gonna believe that?”
“He won’t have any reason not to,” Preacher said, although he expected that Beaumont might be a little suspicious of his story. Beaumont wouldn’t be able to prove any differently though.
“Well, I suppose it’s your business. Seems to me like you’re playin’ a mighty dangerous game though.”
Preacher just shrugged. The man was right. If Beaumont found out the truth, things could get bad in a hurry. But that was a risk Preacher was prepared to run. The danger had always been there, right from the start.
He said so long, swung up into the saddle, and rode north along the river. He had gone about half a mile when he heard a sudden flurry of shots behind him. Reining Horse to a stop, Preacher hipped around in the saddle to look back in that direction. He couldn’t see anything. The bends of the river and the trees that grew along its banks hid the riverboat from his view.
But that was about where the shots were coming from, he realized as the reports continued, a steady, ominous booming that might have been mistaken for thunder if the skies hadn’t been clear except for some high, fluffy white clouds.
Grim lines formed trenches in Preacher’s cheeks as he listened to the shots die away. He turned Horse around and watched as black smoke began to rise in the sky, blooming and billowing. He dug his heels into Horse’s flanks and sent the stallion racing back along the shore of the river.
As Preacher came around a bend a few minutes later, he saw that the riverboat had drifted away from the
