Blood on the Divide (4 page)

“Those men back there in the clearing,” Betina asked, sitting close to Preacher in the darkness. “Why – ?”

“ 'Cause they're no good,” Preacher cut her off, knowing what she was going to say. Or he figured he knew. “Anyone who hooks up with Son just ain't no good. Son's a murderer, a thief, and a rapist. If he was to ever go back east of the Mississippi, the law would hang him.”

She paused a moment and then said softly, “I see.”

“No, you don't neither, missy. It's different out here than back where you come from. You told me you was from Albany. That's in New York State. Town's real old; maybe two hundred year old. Used to be called Beverwyck, I think. Missy, I ain't entirely stupid. Whenever I can get my hands on a newspaper or a book, I read it. But them things is kinda scarce out here. Back where you come from, you got uniformed constables, right? You can walk the streets and be safe at night, right? You can sit on your front porches, enjoyin' the cool of the evenin' drinkin' tea and eatin' cake and a-passin' a gentle time talkin' to friends and neighbors. You should have stayed back yonder, missy. But you didn't. So here you are with your man more'n two thousand hard miles away. And for the second time in less than a year, I find myself explainin' to pilgrims that this is wild country. There ain't no law out here 'ceptin' the gun and knife and arrow and war axe, and there ain't likely to be none for many a year to come. Probably not much law will ever be out here in our lifetime. So what are you goin' to do, missy?”

“Stop callin' me missy. My name is Betina. Friends call me Bet. Do? Why . . . teach school.”

Preacher was silent for a moment, listening to the sounds around him. “You mean you don't have no noble thoughts about educatin' the savages?”

“Heavens no.”

“Well, that's a relief. 'Cause the so-called savages got they own way of life and don't want nobody tryin' to change them. You might make it out here after all.”

A wolf flung his howling message into the night sky and then another called and then the pack all began singing. Betina scooted a little closer to Preacher and he chuckled softly. “Afeard of wolves, are you?”

“Shouldn't I be? Everyone else is.”

“Stupid people are. There ain't no reason to be afeard of wolves. They won't bother you if you don't mess with them. I like wolves. They're good company as long as you know their ways.”

“
Wolves
are good company?”

“Sure. I've took up with several over the years. And I've had several take up with me. They're social critters. Strong family bonds. Devoted to their mate. Some folks say that a wolf won't never mate up again ifn they lose a mate. I don't know about that. I like to think it's true. Wolf ain't like a human person. It won't kill 'ceptin' for food, family, territory, or self-protection. They better than humans in that way. Wolf eats what it kills and keeps its family fed and protected. They a persecuted animal and there ain't no need for it. I been out here in the wilderness all my life, near 'bouts, and I ain't never heard of no healthy, full-grown wolf ever attackin' a human bein' unless that human bein' messed with it first. Injuns will tell you the same thing.” Preacher smiled in the night. “Ain't that the God's truth, ol' feller?”

Betina looked at his shadowy shape. “Just who are you calling an old fellow?”

“That big ol' lobo wolf right over yonder at the edge of the timber. See him? He's lookin' right at us.”

Betina squealed and got so close to Preacher he could feel the heat. Right nice feeling, too. Then he chuckled.

“Oh ...
you!”
She scooted away.

Preacher laughed softly. “Bet, for ever' time you seen a wolf, a wolf has seen you a hundred times. They real shy critters. Relax, you're safe enough here. We'll be at the settlement tomorrow afternoon.”

Movement at the edge of the small clearing cut Preacher's eyes. He saw the cold and unblinking eyes of a big gray wolf watching them from the timber. Preacher and the wolf stared at each other for a moment, then the big gray vanished silently into the night.

“What if the settlement isn't there?” Betina asked, unaware of the wolfs presence.

“I done give that some headwork.”

“And . . . ?”

“I don't know. Cross that bridge when, or if, we come to it. Ain't no point in worryin' 'bout something that might or might not have happened.”

“Preacher, what about the people in the wagon train who got away from the ambush?”

Sharp little gal, Preacher thought. “What people, Bet?”

“Don't fun with me, Preacher. You are perfectly aware that men and women and children got away from the attackers. Just as I am aware of it.”

“I seen signs of that, yeah.”

“Mr. Larrabee was not at the train when it was attacked. He had gone on ahead to scout, or something. They struck us just after everyone had settled in for the night.”

Preacher had not pushed her to talk about the attack. This was the first time she had offered to say anything about it. He let her talk softly while the children slept the deep sleep of the exhausted.

“We all wondered and thought the worst when Mr. Larrabee didn't return before dark.”

That's it, then, Preacher thought. More'n likely, Jack's dead. They nailed him 'fore he could get back to the train. Arrow or lance, probably. A gunshot would have alerted the pilgrims. But if the renegades hit the settlement, they didn't come this way. And this is the easiest route.

“They dragged some of the younger women away,” Betina continued after a moment. “The white outlaws were ripping the clothing from them as they rode off. It was awful. I had not taken off my dress to sleep. Just laid down on the blankets under a wagon. Melinda and Lorrie were sleeping next to me.”

We're in bigger trouble than I first thought, Preacher mused. That smoke I seen this afternoon. . . or thought I seen. It was comin' from the direction of the settlement. Or what's left of it. Damn!

“The boys had gone into the bushes for personal reasons,” Betina said. “I grabbed Jody as she was running past the wagon and the four of us made the woods and ran for our lives. But I saw others made it to the woods. What happened after that, I just don't know.”

But I more'n likely do, Preacher thought. Them folks that made it away from the ambush is either dead or lost and scared out of their minds. And a scared person will get turned around faster than a whirlwind.

“I hope that settlement is there,” Bet said, covering her mouth as she yawned.

So do I, Preacher thought. But I'll wager it ain't.

The large meeting building was the only structure that had not been burned.

Preacher had circled wide and come up with the creek and line of trees between the settlement and himself. He had smelled the unmistakable odor of charred wood long before he reached the creek. Leaving Betina and the kids hidden in the line of trees, Preacher rode on up to the settlement – or what was left of it. It was an ugly and savage sight.

“Lord God Almighty!” Preacher had whispered.

The bodies of the dead lay naked, stiffening and bloated in the yard. The men and teenage boys had been tortured, scalped, and mutilated. What had been done to the women and girls was even worse – as bad as anything Preacher had ever seen. And Preacher had just about seen it all.

Preacher turned to see Betina riding up the slope. “Don't come up here!” he shouted. “Get back. Stay with the kids.”

Naturally, she came riding up. And promptly fell off her horse and got sick all over the place. She got to her feet and staggered around blindly for a moment before she could take her hands from her face.

“Take a good look at it, Bet,” Preacher told her in a hard voice. “And then don't ever lecture me again 'bout shootin' a man out of the saddle.”

“Horrible!” she gasped, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her dress. “Do you . . . can you recognize any of them?”

“Yeah. I think that's Efrem and Maddie something-or-the-other over there. She's got the heft to her.”

“What did they do to the man?”

“Held his head in a fire. Brains cooked, built up steam, and the head busted open. I've seen it before a time or two. That's Gerald Twiggs and wife Pauline over yonder. I don't know the names of them little girls. I think them two boys there belong to Efrem and Maddie. The renegades took the rest of the girls and womenfolk. I'll start gatherin' up all the bodies. You see if you can find a shovel, Bet. We got some holes to dig.”

“What type of human being would do this to another? Filthy, horrible, despicable . . .” She threw her bonnet to the ground and broke down and wept.

Preacher hunkered down and let her squall. He was not unfeeling or uncaring. It was just that he had seen it all before. He let her bawl for a time and then grabbed her and stood her up and shook her as he would a petulant child. “Now, listen to me, Bet. Damnit,
listen to me
! We ain't got the time for this. We got to get these people in the ground and get the hell gone from here. They ain't been dead more'n a day, so that means that whoever done it ain't far off. Now you go find us a couple of shovels and then you hump your back heppin' me dig. Then – ”

“Mr. Preacher?” The small voice spun the mountain man around and filled his hands with pistols.

The MacGreagor kids, Andrew and Mary, stood by the corner of the meeting house, hand in hand, staring at him with wide eyes set in dirty faces.

“Lord God, kids!” Preacher said, shoving his pistols back behind his sash. “Did anyone else make it out alive?”

“Our mother's hid out in the tater cellar out back. Mr. Nelson is alive, but he's been hurt real bad. He took an arrow in the belly. It poked out his back.”

“He's gone, then,” Preacher told Betina. “They'll be pison spreadin' all through him. I've seen it. It ain't pretty. Go with the girl and see what you can do. Me and the boy will dig the holes. Come on, lad. Let's find us some shovels.”

Betina took Mary's hand and walked around the only building left standing and Preacher and the boy started looking for shovels. As they dug, Preacher asked, “What about your pa, boy? You ain't said nothin'.”

“He's over yonder in the cornfield. He was plowing when the savages and the white men struck. He never had a chance. I saw some white men shoot him down while they laughed and whooped and hollered like it was a game. But he had told us kids and Ma what to do should the savages come. You see, Pa dug a tunnel from the house to the cellar out back. It's small, but reenforced right good. Ma yelled for me and Mary and we slipped into the tunnel and hid. I guess we was lucky that we couldn't hear much of the screamin'.”

“I'd say so,” Preacher replied, as he rolled Maddie into the shallow grave and put her husband in on top of her. At least he thought it was her husband. His condition, it was kind of hard to tell. He looked across the flats from the ridge. “Yonder's a pony, boy. And two more to the north of that one.”

“It's Heck!” Andy said. “He's mine.”

“Well, go fetch him and the others and get them kids I told you about down at the crick. We got to look around for any food left here and then get the hell gone.”

“My pa didn't hold with cussing, Mr. Preacher,” the boy admonished.

Preacher looked at the boy. He started to tell him he wasn't his pa. He bit back the words and said, “When you get a few more years on you, boy, then maybe you'll be big enough in the poot to tell me what I can and can't do. For now, do like I tell you

“Two to a grave, Preacher?” Betina asked, walking up behind him.

“Less work. They can comfort each other on their way to wherever it is they're goin'. Grab a shovel.”

“The man died, Preacher.”

“Figured he would. You and Coretine drag him out here whilst I go out in that stupid cornfield and get MacGreagor. I told them all to tie a rifle boot to the plow and to keep a brace of pistols handy. Can't tell a goddamn pilgrim nothin'. They think they know it all.”

She studied his face. “And that makes you angry, doesn't it, Preacher?”

“Mighty right it does. 'Cause it's a waste of good human life. These was decent people we're plantin'. Even Maddie, and she didn't like me worth a whit. For some reason. But she weren't no bad person. And she shore deserved a better end than what she got. Betina, you can't put eastern ways of life to work out here. Maybe someday, but not now. It's wild and untamed and savage. You lookin' at what I mean. I tried to tell these folks that. It was like talkin' to a tree stump.” He threw down his shovel and swung into the saddle. “I'll go fetch MacGreagor. We got to get gone from here. Red Hand's bunch done this, and that's one bad Injun.”

“You know him?”

“I know him.”

Preacher took a tattered and somewhat scorched blanket and went after MacGreagor. Hammer was not real thrilled about totin' any dead body and he let Preacher know this by trying to bite him. But Preacher was ready for it and jerked his arm away just in time.

“I don't like it either, Hammer. So just calm down and let's get this done.”

MacGreagor had been scalped and mutilated, so Preacher made sure the blanket covered the man's head so Coretine and the kids couldn't see what all had been done to him. Preacher didn't want the kids to have to carry that image of their pa all the rest of their days.

The bodies covered with the earth they had traveled a thousand miles to work and live on, Betina and the others prayed while Preacher kept a lookout. He'd caught a glimpse of smoke to the west, and wanted to get gone from what was left of the small settlement.

The women and the kids all started bawlin' and carryin' on something fierce and Preacher could do nothing except let them squall. He figured the full load of grief had finally overtook the kids from the wagon train. So while the survivors whooped and hollered, Preacher tightened cinches and made certain what supplies they had managed to salvage were secured down tight for the ride.

Finally, Preacher had to break it up. Each second they delayed was a dangerous one. “Get on them horses!” he said sharply. “We ain't got time for no more of this. Can't nobody here do nothin' for them that's in the ground. That's all up to God now. So let's ride.”

About five miles from the ruins of the settlement, Preacher found the remains of Millard and Rosanna whatever-their-last-names-were. Both of them had been stripped naked and tortured long and hard.

“Filthy red savages!” Coretine said.

“This was white man's work. Injuns got more style than this,” Preacher told her. “This is the work of Malachi Pardee and his no-count brothers and them other white trash with them. And all Injuns ain't the same, lady. They's just as many peaceful tribes as there is warrin' tribes. One of you boys fetch them shovels from the packhorses and let's get these folks all covered up.”

“Smoke to the west, Mr. Preacher,” Josh said.

“I seen it, boy. You're doin' real good. Keep your eyes sharp, now.”

What Preacher didn't tell the others was that the smoke was not from campfires. It was talking smoke. It might mean that they had been spotted. It might not. No way of knowing. Yet.

The tortured bodies buried, Preacher took the lead and moved them out. He had him a place in mind that just might mean their salvation. If he could get to it. There would be graze for the animals and plenty of water. There was one way in and one way out of the little valley, and one man with two or three rifles and a brace of pistols could hold off an army, if he had people reloading for him.

“The children are tired, Preacher,” Betina called from the rear of the line. “They need to rest.”

“You can rest when you're dead,” Preacher called over his shoulder. “Keep moving.”

He pushed them hard the rest of that day. Some of the girls began to cry from exhaustion. Preacher remained stoic and did his best to ignore them. Their whimperings touched him, and he truly felt sorry for the kids. Maybe they'd never forgive him, but that was no matter if they were kept alive. Betina and Coretine were giving him dark looks, but he could live with that, too. He pressed on.

An hour before dusk began settling over the land, Preacher saw the upthrustings of rocks in the distance and turned in his saddle. “We're almost there,” he called. “A few more minutes and we're safe.”

He stopped at a line of trees and told the exhausted party to dismount and wait – he'd be right back. Preacher disappeared into the trees and was back in five minutes. “Lead your horses and follow me,” he told them. “Quick now. We ain't got no whole lot of time.”

“But we're safe!” Coretine protested. “You said we were safe here.”

“Lady, move!” Preacher told her. “I got to clean up where we stopped here. They's horse droppin's and hoofprints and footprints all over the place.”

There was just enough light left to show the weary party the lushness of the peaceful little valley, although it was more like a well-concealed box canyon. Preacher didn't waste a moment of precious time.

“Strip the saddles and pack frames from the horses and let them roll and drink and graze. Let them wander where they will. I'll fix the pass so's they can't get out. You people lay out your bedrolls and eat cold this evenin'. No fires. We're in a lot of trouble, folks, and I can't make that no plainer. We could easy be trapped in here if we're not all real careful. So stay quiet. I'll be back.”

Preacher moved quickly to clean up the area where they had stopped outside the hidden valley. He worked fast, but thoroughly, using twigs and leaves and handfuls of fine dirt and sand. He'd come back at first light to do a better job of it, but for now, he felt he'd done all he could do.

Back inside the towering rock walls, Preacher longed for a cup of coffee, for he was a coffee-drinkin' man. Instead, he bellied down at the spring and contented himself with a long pull of icy cold water. He noticed that the younger kids had already rolled up in their blankets and were sleeping.

He squatted down beside the women and said, “Tomorrow, we'll gather up some dry wood and build a small fire back yonder under a cave overhang. We can have a hot meal and coffee. We got plenty of supplies – last us ten days or more with nobody on short rations. By that time, Pardee and Red Hand will have done their evil deeds in this part of the country and be gone. Then I'll get y'all to the post.”

“I'm sorry I was so testy with you today,” Coretine said. Her voice was numb with grief and exhaustion.

“It don't matter,” Preacher told her. “Forget it. I was pushin' you folks pretty hard. And I was mad 'cause I had to bury some decent folks back yonder.”

“Yes. I know. My husband was a decent man. Would it have made any difference if he had mounted a musket boot on his plow, Mr. Preacher?”

“Might have. Folks see a gun, they think twice about startin' trouble. Least he might have gotten one or two of the attackers and the shot would have alerted the others. Don't make no never-mind now. What are you going to do, Mrs. MacGreagor?”

“I guess I will return to the East. I don't like this dreadful country.”

Preacher smiled gently. “I can understand how you might feel that way, Mrs. MacGreagor. But tell me this: the feller who come back East talkin' up the new promised land, what all did he have to say about this country?”

“That the land was free and it was ours for the taking. That it was lush and lovely and so rich that crops seemed to just leap out of the ground with hardly any work at all. Of course, we didn't believe that last part, but we did pay him, signed on with the forming-up wagon train, and left a few months later.”

“And nobody asked nothin' about how Injuns was gonna take to a whole bunch of people movin' in on them?”

“Well . . . yes. But Mr. Sutherlin said that the Indians were peaceful and liked the white man. They welcomed the whites coming and settling. He said the Indians were anxious to learn the white man's ways.”

“Did he now?” Preacher shook his head. “Mrs. MacGreagor, your Mr. Sutherlin fed y'all a bunch of bull. You know that now, don't you?”