Absaroka Ambush (First Mt Man)Courage of the Mt Man by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2014-12-23T16:00:00+00:00

5

Preacher took his time tracking the remnants of Bedell and his gang as they headed deeper into the Absaroka wilderness. Wilderness to most of them, home ground for Preacher. He suspected that sooner or later, probably sooner, they would have an ambush set up for him.

They had to be hurting, for Preacher knew they had precious few supplies left them, and if they had doubled back—which they had not done, as yet—they would have found that Preacher had burned all the supplies he hadn’t taken with him. So far he had heard no shots at all, so they weren’t eating any fresh meat. He didn’t know what they were doing for food, for they were no more than a few miles ahead of him and in this country he would have heard any shots.

“Goin’ hungry, probably,” he muttered.

Just then his ever-roaming eyes caught a bit of color that didn’t fit in with the surroundings. He left his saddle about one second before the rifle boomed. Rolling to his knees, Preacher brought his Hawken to his shoulder and sighted in. His shot was true and the man stumbled out of cover, both hands holding his punctured belly, his face pale with pain and shock. Tom Cushing fell to his knees and cried out.

“You’ve killed me, Preacher!” he screamed.

“I damn sure tried my best,” Preacher called over the distance.

Tom Cushing fell forward on his face and began sobbing like a baby.

Preacher squatted where he was and reloaded. Then he slowly looked all around him. His packhorses were grazing and Thunder, after looking around, joined them. Preacher walked up to the crying man and stood over him. Tom rolled over onto his back and stared up at the mountain man.

With tears cutting paths through the grime on his face, Tom said, “You played hell with us, Preacher.”

“You should have took my advice back in Missouri, Tom. I told you to go on home and leave me alone.”

“You gonna bury me proper and read words from the Good Book over my grave?”

“I ain’t plannin’ on it.”

“But you cain’t just leave me for the varmits!” the gut-shot man wailed.

“Why not? That’s what you’d a-done for me. And don’t say you wouldn’t have. You don’t wanna die with a lie on your lips.”

“Oh, Lord!” Tom squalled. “My poor body’s gonna be et by a bear.”

Preacher kicked the man’s rifle away from his reach and threw his pistols into the brush. Then he sat down on a rock and chewed on a piece of jerky. “You best hurry up and expire,” he told Tom. “I ain’t gonna sit around here no two or three days and listen to you complain.”

“Sweet Baby Jesus!” Tom said. “You the hardest man I ever seen in all my borned days!”

“You come after me, Tom. I didn’t start this affair. I told you to leave me alone.”

“Do something for me!”

“Cain’t. Ain’t nothin’ I can do. Can you move your legs?”

“No. I can’t feel nothin’ from my waist down.”

“You’re done for.”

That really set Tom to hollerin’.

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