“But you believe it is.”
“We kilt half a dozen of the varmints yesterday,” Uncle Dan said.
Lorraine’s eyes widened, and although her face had a healthy tan from being outside most of the time, Preacher thought she paled a little. “Killed . . . half a dozen of them?” she repeated.
“They ambushed us,” Preacher said shortly. “We’ll be tellin’ the whole bunch about it directly. I think your husband wants everybody to hear about it.”
“Yes, that sounds like Ned. He thinks everyone should have a voice in any decision.”
That was an admirable goal, thought Preacher, but sometimes it wasn’t practical. Too many people didn’t know enough about a particular situation and didn’t have enough experience to make a wise decision. And some were just damned fools to begin with. When it came down to life and death, it was usually better to let somebody who knew what he was doing make the decisions for everybody, and save the dithering for later.
Lorraine recovered her smile and said, “You’ll have dinner with us tonight. No arguments.”
Uncle Dan gave her a gap-toothed grin. “I wasn’t plannin’ on arguin’, ma’am. Was you figurin’ on givin’ the lady an argument, Preacher?”
“Nope,” Preacher said.
“Fine. We’ll eat about sundown.”
“Yes’m,” Uncle Dan said.
Lorraine nodded and turned to go back to the wagons. When she was out of earshot, Uncle Dan said quietly, “That there is a
“Yeah . . . and a mighty married woman, too,” Preacher reminded him. “I reckon you can forget any ideas of courtin’ her, Uncle Dan.”
“Me? Hell, boy, I thought you might try to find out how she’d feel about doin’ a little sparkin’. I’m too old for such foolishness.”
“See this gray in my hair? I ain’t no spring chicken, neither.”
“No, but it’s still summer for you. I’m closin’ in on winter in my life!”
“Let’s just go tend to the horses,” Preacher said.
While they did that, the pilgrims finally succeeded in maneuvering their wagons into a reasonably tight circle, which was then tightened up even more as each team was unhitched in turn and the wagons backed closer to each other, leaving only one fairly wide gap where the first team could be hooked up the next morning. Preacher and Uncle Dan brought their saddle horses and pack animals into the circle and picketed them where they would be out of the way.
The guides led their mounts into the circle, too, and Preacher spotted Buckhalter again for the first time in a while as the bearded man unsaddled his horse and rubbed the animal down. Buckhalter might be a prickly son of a bitch, Preacher thought, but at least he was taking good care of his horse. That had to count for something in Preacher’s book.
Preacher could tell which wagon belonged to Ned and Lorraine Donnelly, because he saw Donnelly tending to the team and Lorraine taking supplies from the wagon to start preparing the evening meal. She set up a cook pot while two boys about eight and ten years old took wood from the wood box and began building a fire under the pot. The youngsters had the same reddish-gold hair as Lorraine, so it was obvious they were her sons.
Preacher nodded toward the wagon and told Uncle Dan, “I’m gonna go talk to Donnelly.”
“You wouldn’t be goin’ over there to be around Miz Donnelly, now would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Preacher said. “I got an eye for a pretty gal, same as the next man, but I don’t mess with married women, Uncle Dan.”
“Never said you did. Nice just bein’ close to one, though, ain’t it? A pretty gal, I mean.”
Preacher didn’t answer that. He walked over to the wagon where Donnelly was putting out buckets of grain for his oxen.
“Preacher,” the man said with a friendly nod. “I figure I’ll gather everybody after supper, and then you can tell them what you told us about the Pawnee.”
Preacher hooked his thumbs in his belt and leaned a hip against the wagon. “And what good’s that gonna do?” he asked.
Donnelly turned to him with a frown. “What do you mean?”
“I been thinkin’ about it. Buckhalter’s got his mind made up. He’s not gonna believe me and Uncle Dan now. To him, that’d look like backin’ down. Anyway, what can you do except push on? Buckhalter’s right about one thing. You’ve come too far to turn around and go back to St. Louis. The rest of the folks would never go along with it.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“I already told you, and you’re doin’ it already. You need to be ready for trouble all the time, day and night. Just because things seem quiet and peaceful, don’t never take that for granted.”
“But what if Mr. Buckhalter says that everything is all right and there’s no reason to worry?”
Preacher started to say that Buckhalter would be a blasted idiot if he thought that. He bit back the harsh words and said instead, “You hired Buckhalter and those other fellas to get you to Oregon. I reckon you either have to have some faith in him . . . or not. Maybe he knows what he’s doing and where he’s going.”
“Maybe?” Donnelly laughed humorlessly. “That doesn’t sound very comforting.”
“There’s nothin’ comfortin’ about takin’ a wagon train clean across this wild country, mister. Sooner you get that notion out of your head, the better.”
