Preacher's Carnage by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2020-10-14T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

One of the men stepped out a little in front of the others. He had a pistol in his hand, which was rock-steady as he said in a clear, commanding voice, “It might be a good idea for you to let go of that gun, friend. You’re liable to make the rest of us a mite nervous.”

The man sounded so icy-nerved that it was unlikely anything would make him nervous.

Outnumbered and outgunned the way he was, Preacher knew it would be foolish to do anything other than cooperate. Anyway, he wanted to find out what was going on here and who these hombres were, and if they really wanted him dead, they could have gunned him down easily by now.

“All right,” he said as he let go of the pistol butt and moved his hand away from the weapon. “I’d be obliged if you boys would hold off on fillin’ me full of holes.”

The spokesman chuckled. “I reckon we can do that,” he said. “Of course, somebody else might have an opinion on that.” He leaned over slightly to look past Preacher. “What do you say, Private Wallace? What should we do with this fellow?”

Preacher looked back. The man he had knocked down had recovered enough to push himself up on an elbow. He lay there braced like that while he slowly shook his head, as if trying to get rid of the cobwebs in his brain.

Preacher was a little surprised to see that. He thought he had knocked the fella out cold.

The man called Wallace didn’t answer right away. He gradually sat up and climbed to his feet while the others waited patiently. Then he lifted a hand, took hold of his jaw, and gingerly worked it back and forth.

“Don’t seem to be broke,” he drawled. “Which same is a mite surprisin’. Mister, I been kicked by mules that didn’t hit as hard as you.” He looked past Preacher. “Don’t kill him, Cap’n, leastways not yet. Anybody who can scrap like this fella deserves a chance to be heard out.”

“All right, Bill, if you say so.” The man who was obviously the leader of this group lowered his pistol and then slid it into a sheath attached to his belt. “At ease, boys. I don’t think our guest is going to cause us any more trouble. At least, I hope not.”

“Guest?” Preacher repeated in a growling tone. “What in blazes makes me a guest of you fellas?”

“Well, you’re not a Texian, are you? All of us are.” The man paused, then added with another chuckle, “Most of us might not have been born here. I was born in Tennessee, myself. But we got here as fast as we could, didn’t we, boys?”

That brought actual cheers from several of the men.

“No, I ain’t from Texas,” Preacher admitted. “I’ve been here a few times in the past.” He remembered that the spokesman had called the man he’d been battling “Private Wallace,” and Wallace had addressed the other man as “Cap’n.”

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