“I don’t,” Preacher said. “But I’m a pretty fair hand at sneakin’ in and out of places.”
“You’ll need to be better’n a fair hand,” Uncle Dan said. “You’ll get yourself killed, that’s what you’ll do.”
Preacher shook his head. “I got to try. Simple as that. I’ll take one of the pack horses and ride back to town.”
Casey stood up and came over to him. She laid a hand on his arm and said, “That sounds awfully risky to me. Can’t you stay here with us? I don’t want anything to happen to you. You can get another horse and some guns somewhere else, can’t you?”
“You’re wastin’ your time, darlin’,” Uncle Dan said. “I never seen anybody get Preacher to change his mind once he’s got it made up. He’s just about the stubbornest ol’ cuss you’ll ever see.”
“That’s because I’m right more often than not,” Preacher said.
Jessie got to her feet and came over to Preacher, standing on his other side. She put a hand on his arm as well and said, “Are you sure that Cassandra and I can’t change your mind, Preacher? We could give you plenty of good reasons to stay here tonight.”
Uncle Dan let out a low whistle. Preacher had to laugh at the old-timer’s reaction.
“You gals make it mighty temptin’,” he said, “but like Uncle Dan said, my mind’s made up. I’ll be back by mornin’, and then we’ll figure out what to do next.”
“Best sing out when you get close to camp,” the old-timer advised. “My nerves is gonna be a mite on edge knowin’ that Beaumont’s out there with a powerful grudge against you three.”
Preacher untied one of the pack horses. He didn’t have a saddle and he wouldn’t take Uncle Dan’s, but he had grown up riding bareback and knew he wouldn’t have any trouble doing so now. The horse wasn’t used to having a rider and was a little skittish at first, but Preacher had fashioned a hackamore out of rope and soon had the animal under control.
He said so long to Uncle Dan and the two women and rode out of the trees. He had a powder horn, shot pouch, one pistol, and his knife. It would have been nice to be better armed as he ventured back into the lion’s den, but a man had to make do with what he had.
As he rode, he thought about what he planned to do. First he would go to Beaumont’s house and size up the situation. He might have to create some sort of distraction in order to get into the barn where Horse was and then into the servant’s quarters to get his rifle and his other gear. One way or another, though, he would get the things he was after and then head back to Uncle Dan’s camp, hopefully without anybody on his trail.
There was a village of friendly Mandan Indians a ways up the Missouri. Preacher had been on good terms with them for a number of years. He thought he might send Uncle Dan and the two women to that village. Beaumont wouldn’t think to look for them there, and the Indians would help protect Preacher’s friends.
Once he didn’t have to worry about them anymore, then he could turn his attention to finishing the chore that had brought him east from the mountains in the first place. He was confident that he could always ride into St. Louis and get close enough to Beaumont to put a bullet in the bastard before anyone could stop him, but that would probably get him a date with the hangman, as well. And while he didn’t mind dying if that’s what it took to square accounts with Beaumont, Preacher didn’t particularly want to give up his life just yet. He’d prefer to survive the confrontation.
The best thing to do would be to lead Beaumont and his men on a chase that might extend all the way to the mountains. Preacher knew that if he could do that, he would have the advantage, no matter how many hired killers Beaumont brought with him. Preacher would stack his own skills up against any of them.
The lights of the settlement glittered in front of him. He circled to the south to come at it from that direction.
Preacher fully expected Beaumont to have guards posted at his house. Now that Beaumont knew the threat against him had originated within his own organization, he wouldn’t trust anybody. He’d be on the alert for another attack. And knowing now that Preacher had been posing as Jim Donnelly, Beaumont might expect him to show up to get Horse. Of course, that was exactly what Preacher intended to do.
He left the pack horse tied loosely in some trees about half a mile south of town. If he got back later to reclaim the animal, that would be fine. If not, the horse wouldn’t have much trouble getting free later on and undoubtedly would wander into town where someone would find it and give it a home. Preacher was willing to lose the pack horse in return for his gray stallion, if it came to that.
Sticking to the shadows, he approached Beaumont’s house on foot. Dogs barked here and there, and wagons rattled past occasionally in the streets. This sedate residential neighborhood was too far from downtown and the riverfront for any of the raucous sounds originating in those areas to penetrate. To all appearances, it was a quiet, peaceful night in these parts.
Preacher’s instincts told him that wasn’t the case. Somewhere out there were armed men who wanted him dead.
He came at the barn from the rear, moving slowly and carefully. When he was about fifty yards from the building, he stopped and let his senses reach out into the night. He listened for a cough or any other faint sound a guard might make. His eyes searched the shadows for any trace of movement. He sniffed the air like a wild animal trying to find the scent of an enemy, which in this case might be the lingering tobacco odor from a pipe.
After a few minutes, he was rewarded by a tiny scraping noise that came from the shadows near the rear door of the barn. That was a sentry changing position, he thought. As Preacher moved closer, he heard the man clear his throat. The guard was being quiet—for a city fella. To a man like Preacher, though, who had slipped in and out of Blackfoot camps on numerous occasions, the sentry might as well have been holding a lantern and a sign announcing his presence.
Preacher took his time about it. Five minutes later, he was within arm’s reach of the man who stood near the barn door with a rifle cradled in his arms. The mountain man had approached in utter silence, and he was confident the guard had no idea he was there. Preacher struck in silence as well, looping his right arm around the man’s neck and jerking him back while using his left hand to pluck the rifle out of the guard’s grasp. The man tried to struggle, but Preacher’s iron grip on his throat all but paralyzed him. Within a minute, the guard lost consciousness and slumped in Preacher’s grasp. Preacher lowered him noiselessly to the ground.
He could have just killed the varmint with a thrust of his knife. Anybody who would work for Shad Beaumont had it coming, as far as Preacher was concerned. But tonight he was more interested in getting what he’d come
