They saddled their horses and got the animals ready to travel. As they were doing so, Ned Donnelly came over and asked, “Is there anything I can say to get you to change your mind about this, Preacher?”

“Nope,” the mountain man replied. “Look, Donnelly, it’s just one night’s difference. Come mornin’, you’d have headed west and we’d have headed east anyway. Uncle Dan and I got business in St. Louis, and it can’t wait.”

Donnelly shrugged. “I suppose that’s true. I just hate to part when there are hard feelings involved.”

“There ain’t no hard feelin’s,” Preacher said with a shake of his head. “Not where you and your wife are concerned. You seem like fine folks, and I hope you make a good life for yourselves out yonder in Oregon Territory.”

Donnelly stuck out his hand. “Thank you. Good luck with your business in St. Louis.”

Preacher didn’t hesitate. He gripped the man’s hand and gave him a brisk nod.

Two minutes later, Preacher and Uncle Ned were riding away from the camp. As they went out through the gap between wagons, Preacher had seen Buckhalter watching them.

The wagon master wore a satisfied smirk on his face, as if he had gotten what he wanted after all. Preacher had the urge to knock that smirk right down Buckhalter’s throat, but that would have to wait. It was more important to figure out exactly what was going on here. Preacher’s gut told him that some sort of threat loomed over the wagon train, but he was damned if he knew what it was.

Once they were well away from the wagons, Uncle Dan said, “Now, you want to tell me what in the blue blazes is goin’ on here, Preacher?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Preacher said. “Buckhalter dreamed up that scheme, and I want to know why he was so desperate to get rid of us that he’d set a trap to murder me.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“You saw how he was ready to step right in there and blow a hole in my hide. He knew there was gonna be a fight before Moran ever threw the first punch. He would’ve likely got away with it, too, if you hadn’t been so quick to holler that warnin’ at me. Even with that, it was a mighty near thing.”

“Yeah, I thought you was a goner.” Uncle Dan scratched at his beard as they rode along in the thickening darkness. “You’re sayin’ that Buckhalter told Moran to jump you like that?”

Preacher explained the theory that had formed in his mind, and as he put it into words, he became even more convinced that he was right.

“Buckhalter was scared to have us around,” he concluded. “Scared that we’d mess up some plan of his.”

“What sort of plan?”

“That’s what we got to find out. Whatever it is, it must be happenin’ quick, maybe even tonight, for Buckhalter to get so spooked just because we were there.”

“So you weren’t really mad at those pilgrims? You were just puttin’ on so we’d have an excuse to leave and do some pokin’ around?”

“I was a mite put out,” Preacher admitted. “But yeah, it was mostly just to make Buckhalter think he’d done got rid of us.”

Uncle Dan cackled. “He’s gonna be mighty surprised when he finds out he’s wrong, ain’t he?”

“I damn sure hope so,” Preacher said. He reined in and went on, “Let’s wait here a few minutes, then we’ll turn around and head back to the camp so we can keep an eye on it tonight.”

As they sat there on their horses, Uncle Dan sighed and said, “I sure wish ol’ Buckhalter had waited until after supper to spring that little trap o’ his.”

“After we find out what’s goin’ on, maybe Mrs. Donnelly will have some leftovers you can scrounge,” Preacher told him with a smile.

“Preacher . . . you wasn’t really makin’ advances toward Miz Donnelly, were you?”

Preacher’s smile went away and was replaced by a frown. “Hell, no. You oughta know me better’n that, Uncle Dan.”

“Well, I didn’t think you would, but you gotta remember, I ain’t really knowed you all that long. And you can know a feller for years and years and then have him surprise you when it comes to women.”

“I suppose that’s true. But in this case, naw, there was nothin’ dicey goin’ on—”

Preacher stopped short as a growl came from Dog. He looked down at the big cur, and despite the poor light, he could tell that Dog was standing stiffly and gazing off to the east as another growl came from his throat.

“Quiet, Dog,” Preacher said softly.

“What’s got him stirred up?” Uncle Dan asked. “Some sort o’ animal, maybe?”

“Yeah. Maybe some two-legged ones.”

Uncle Dan’s breath hissed between his teeth. “Them Pawnee!”

“Chances are, it ain’t them,” Preacher said. “The last sign we saw, they were west of here.”

“Could’ve circled around.”

“Yeah.” Preacher waved a hand toward some trees along the riverbank. “Let’s get over there in the shadows under those trees. Come on, Dog.”

Quickly, the men and animals moved over into the concealment of the trees. Preacher listened intently, and after a moment he heard the drumming of hoofbeats.

“Riders comin’,” he whispered to Uncle Dan. “I reckon Dog smelled ’em before we could hear ’em.”

“Dogs is good about that,” the old-timer agreed. “I hear ’em now, too. Sounds like a pretty big bunch.”

Preacher thought the same thing. Enough riders were moving through the darkness that they could be the Pawnee warriors led by Standing Elk, as Uncle Dan had suggested. Something about that struck Preacher as wrong, though. He thought it was much more likely that the Pawnee would lie in ambush somewhere up ahead along the river, rather than circling around to attack the wagon train by night.

The riders came into view, a dark mass moving from left to right in front of Preacher and Uncle Dan. Dog growled again, as if his instincts wanted to send him charging forward. “Stay, Dog,” Preacher told him. “Steady.”

“Too dark to count ’em,” Uncle Dan said. “Got to be thirty or forty of the varmints, though.”

“And I’m bettin’ they’re white, not red,” Preacher said. “You know what I think is goin’ on here, Uncle Dan?”

“Nope, but I’m bettin’ you’re about to tell me.”

Preacher nodded toward the group of riders. “Those fellas are workin’ with Buckhalter. They’ve probably been followin’ the wagon train since it left St. Louis. As soon as everybody’s settled down for the night, they’re gonna jump the camp, kill those pilgrims, and loot the wagons.”

Uncle Dan let out a low whistle of astonishment. “And you think Buckhalter knows about this, you say?”

“I figure he’s the one who planned the whole thing. He knew the attack was scheduled for tonight, and that’s why he didn’t want us around. Didn’t want us stirrin’ up Donnelly and the others, either. He had ’em thinkin’ that everything’s peaceful and they ain’t in any danger, so they won’t be as watchful and can be took by surprise easier.”

“Well, we sort of fouled that up by ridin’ in with news of that Pawnee war party.”

Preacher nodded. “Yeah. But it’s probably too late to call off the attack, especially if there’s a chance the wagons might be ambushed in the next day or two by Indians. Buckhalter will want to get his hands on the loot before that can happen.”

Uncle Dan ran his fingers through his beard and then said, “You know, Preacher, we ain’t got a lick o’ proof that this idea of yours is right. Those fellas who just rode by might not have a damned thing to do with Buckhalter or that wagon train.”

“That’s true,” Preacher admitted, “but there’s one good way to find out.”

“Follow ’em?”

“Damn right,” Preacher said.

“You know there’s thirty or forty o’ them, plus Buckhalter and however many o’ them other guides are really workin’ for him, and only two of us.”

“We got somethin’ they don’t, though . . . the element of surprise.”

“Oh, yeah,” Uncle Dan muttered as he and Preacher rode out from under the trees and started after the men they suspected of being bandits and outlaws, “that’ll even up the odds.”

It became clear in no time at all that the riders were headed for the wagon train’s campsite. Preacher and Uncle Dan followed several hundred yards back, far enough so that the men wouldn’t be likely to spot them, although Preacher thought they probably wouldn’t suspect that anyone was behind them. From time to time, he and the old-timer stopped to listen, and as soon as they heard that the hoofbeats had stopped, they reined in, too.

“Hope the varmints didn’t hear us ’fore we stopped,” Uncle Dan muttered.

“Not likely,” Preacher said. “We were bein’ pretty quiet.” He swung down from the saddle, and Uncle Dan did likewise. “Chances are, they’ll sneak up on the wagons on foot, so nobody will hear their horses comin’.”

“And we’ll sneak up on them, right?”

“That’s the plan,” Preacher said. “Come on, Dog. Stay quiet.”

The two mountain men and the big cur stole forward, all their senses alert. Preacher didn’t want to blunder right into the middle of the mysterious riders. He was convinced they were up to no good and were probably ruthless killers.

Of course, if he was wrong he’d probably wind up looking like a fool. But as he had told Uncle Dan about that Pawnee ambush the day before, foolish and alive beat smart and dead all to pieces.

Preacher went to his belly as he heard voices whispering nearby. Uncle Dan and Dog followed suit. The three of them lay there, listening intently.

The voices were too soft for Preacher to make out all the words, but what he understood was enough to make him stiffen in anger.

“. . . in position?”

“Yeah . . . around the camp.”

“Good. We’ll attack . . . Buckhalter gives . . . signal. Them pilgrims . . . never know . . . hit ’em.”

“. . . smart plan. Did Buckhalter . . .”

“. . . figure it was really Beaumont’s idea.” Preacher heard that plainly enough, and so did Uncle Dan. The old-timer’s hand reached over to Preacher’s arm and clenched on it. Preacher nodded and breathed, “Yeah, I heard.”

Beaumont! Somehow, Preacher wasn’t surprised that the man had his finger in this. These would-be robbers worked for Shad Beaumont, and so did Buckhalter. Beaumont had it in his mind to control everything crooked west of the Mississippi, and if nobody stopped him, he might just pull it off. Grandiose schemes sometimes succeeded purely because folks didn’t expect anybody to try something so big and audacious. Preacher wouldn’t put anything past Beaumont, though.

The two men were still talking. One of them said, “. . . can do now . . . wait.”

They would lurk there in the darkness until Buckhalter gave whatever signal they had agreed upon, and then they would rush into the camp, shooting and yelling, and gun down the menfolks. The women would probably be spared, at least the ones who were young enough to be taken back to St. Louis and forced to work in Beaumont’s whorehouses. Everyone else would be killed, even the kids.

Preacher wasn’t going to let that happen if there was anything he could do to stop it. The first step was to whittle down the odds a mite.

He put his mouth next to Uncle Dan’s ear and whispered, “We’re gonna take care of the two closest to us. The rest of ’em are probably spread out pretty good, so if we kill ’em quiet-like, the others won’t know about it.”

“Sure thing,” the old-timer breathed. He reached down to his waist and drew his knife from its sheath.

Preacher did likewise, then told Dog to stay put. The big cur wouldn’t like it, but he would obey. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to fight without making a racket with all his growls and snarls.

Moving slowly and in utter silence, Preacher and Uncle Dan crept forward. After a few moments, Preacher made out the shapes of two men lying on their bellies at the edge of some brush. The wagon camp was visible about fifty yards away. The cooking fires had all died down, but glowing embers were still visible through the gaps between the wagons.

Preacher tapped Uncle Dan on the shoulder and pointed to the man on the right. The old-timer nodded in understanding.

Preacher crawled toward the man on the left. He knew he and Uncle Dan would have to strike quickly in order to kill the men before they could cry out. If the rest of the bandits knew something was wrong, they might go ahead and attack the wagon train without waiting for Buckhalter’s signal. The gang had the men with the wagons outnumbered, and they were more experienced at fighting and killing, to boot. The defenders probably wouldn’t stand much of a chance unless Preacher and Uncle Dan could somehow change the odds.

When they were close enough, Preacher silently rose to his feet. Uncle Dan stood up beside him. They lifted their knives.

Then, at a nod from Preacher, both of them lunged for ward.

Preacher landed on the back of his man with both knees. He reached around the man’s head with his left hand and clamped it over the man’s mouth. At the same time, he brought the knife sweeping down and buried the blade in the man’s back.

The man spasmed as the razor-sharp knife penetrated deeply into his flesh. Preacher jerked the weapon out, flipped it around so that he gripped it differently, and swiped it across the man’s throat as he pulled the fella’s head back. He felt the hot flood of blood over his hand, and then the man went limp.

Preacher looked over at Uncle Dan and in the faint starlight saw the old-timer wiping his blade off on the shirt of the dead man he knelt on. Uncle Dan had killed his man as quietly and efficiently as Preacher had disposed of his.

And with any luck, they were just getting started.