Part 9 (2/2)
Sally turned a little green around the mouth. Buck had heard the story; he yawned.
”I didn't think crows were good to eat, Mister Preacher,” Sally said.
”Not the bird, Missy,” Preacher corrected. ”The Indian tribe. You see, it was a bunch of Crows on the warpath that kilt Johnston's old woman. John never did lak Crows after that. Et a bunch of 'em.”
”You mean he was a...cannibal?”
”Only as fer as the liver went,” Preacher said blandly. ”He got to lookin' at me one night while we's a-camped in the Bitterroot. Right hongry look in his eyes. I took off. Ain't seen him since. Last I heard, old Crow Killer was a scout for the U.S. Army, over on the North Plains.”
Sally sat back on the bank, averting her eyes, mumbling to herself.
”I wish you had gotten word to me that you were still alive, you old coot,” Buck said.
”Couldn't. I were plumb out of it for a couple of months. By the time I could ride out of that Injun camp, Nicole and the baby was dead and buried and you was gone. I'm right sorry about Nicole and the boy, Smoke.”
Buck nodded. ”Better get use to calling me Buck, Preacher. You might slip up in town and that would be the end of it.”
”I ain't goin' into town. Not until you git ready to make your move, that is. You wanna git a message to me, Smoke, they'll be a miserable-looking old Injun in town named Hunts-Long. Flathead. Wears a derby hat. He'll git word to me. Me and the boys was spotted last yesterday, so we'll be changin' locations.” He told Buck where. ”I's tole you met up with Audie.” That was said with a grin.
”I thought I was seeing things. I thought he was an elf.”
”He's the furrtherest thang from an elf. That little man will kill you faster than you can spit. Yessir, Smoke, you got some backup that'll be wrote up strong when they writes about the buryin' of Bury. Got Tenneysee, Audie, Phew, Nighthawk, Dupre, Deadlead, Powder Pete, Greybull, Beartooth, and Lobo. And me. 'Course I'm a better man than all them combined,” Preacher said, in his usual modest manner. ”And Matt.”
”Phew?” Sally said. ”Why in Heaven's name would you call a man that?”
”'Cause he stinks, Missy.”
”I know Matt. The negro.”
”That's him. Ol' one-eye.” Preacher stuck out his hand. ”Be lookin' at you, Smoke. You take care, now.” He whistled for his pony and the spotted horse trotted over. Preacher jumped onto the mustang's back and was gone.
Sally looked at Buck. A load seemed to have been removed from his shoulders. His eyes were s.h.i.+ning with love as he watched the old man ride out. He seemed to stand a little taller.
He met her eyes. ”It's sad. When those men are gone, a...time will have pa.s.sed. And it will never be again.”
”That is not entirely true, Smoke Jensen,” Sally said.
”Oh? What do you mean?”
”You'll be here to carry on.”
12.
The day after seeing Preacher, Buck was witness to a scene that lent credence to what MacGregor had said about the men and women who made up the population of Bury. Buck was sitting on the boardwalk in front of one of Bury's hurdy-gurdy houses, leaned back in his chair, when a man and woman and three children walked up the main street. The man and woman wore rags and the kids looked as though they had not eaten in days. The ragged little band of walkers stopped in front of the large general store. Buck drifted over that way just as the red-headed cowboy, Sam, walked over from another direction. Buck and Sam looked at each other and nodded greetings.
”Watch this,” Sam said out of the corner of his mouth. ”This might change your mind about the men you're working for. And the sorry people in this town.”
”You get your money out of the same hand that pays me,” Buck reminded him.
”But I don't have to like it...Smoke.”
”Do I know you from somewheres else?” Buck asked.
”I was in Canon City when you and that old mountain man drew down on Ackerman and his boys. Took me awhile to put it all together. But I knowed I'd seen you before.”*
”Why haven't you tried to collect the bounty on my head, then?”
Sam hesitated. ”I don't know,” he finally admitted. ”Mayhaps I'm havin' some second thoughts 'bout the way my life's been goin' up to date. And then mayhaps I just want to hang around and see the show. 'Cause I know when the time gets right, you're goin' to put on one h.e.l.l of a show.”
”You gonna watch my back?”
”I don't know. Talk to you later. Listen to this.”
The ragged emaciated-looking man was talking to the store manager. ”I'm begging you, mister. Please. My kids are starving and my wife is worn out. I ain't asking nothing for myself. Just a bite of food for my wife and kids. I'll work it out for you.”
The storekeeper waved his broom at the ragged man. ”Get on with you. Get out of here. Go beg somewhere else.”
”I'll get down on my knees and beg you, mister,” the man said. He was so tired, so worn out, he was trembling.
The man who ran the leather shop next to the general store stepped out onto the boardwalk to watch the show. ”What happened to you, skinny?” he called to the ragged man.
”Indians. They ambushed the wagon train we was on. We didn't have time to circle. They split us up. Most of the others died. We lost everything and have been walking for days. Brother, can you find it in your heart to give my kids and woman something to eat?”
”Only if you got the money to pay for it. If you don't, then haul your ashes on, beggar.”
The man's shoulders sagged and tears began rolling down his dusty face.
Buck could not believe what he was hearing and seeing. But he knew he could not afford to step out of character-not yet. He watched and waited.
Other shopkeepers had gathered on the boardwalk. The man who ran the apothecary shop laughed and said, ”There's a joyhouse down the end of this street. Why don't you put your woman in there? Clean 'er up some and she'll make enough to get you goin' again.” The gathering crowd roared with laughter.
Sam explained. ”Man poisoned his partner back in Illinoise,” he said. ”Then stole his woman and come out here. Real nice feller. Name's Burton.”
”Yeah,” Buck returned the low tone.
The hotel manager stepped out. He waved his arms at the ragged little band. ”You ne'er-do-wells get out of here. That little girl looks like she's got galloping consumption. No one here wants to catch that. Stir up the dust and get gone from here.”
”Morgan,” Sam said. ”Ran a hotel in Ohio until he burned it down. Killed several sleepers. Another nice feller.”
”I just don't believe the heartlessness of these people,” Buck said.
”You ain't seen nothin' yet, partner,” Sam said. ”Stick around.”
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