Forty Guns West by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2016-04-21T04:00:00+00:00

2

Otto caught the woman before she hit the ground and gently placed her in the shade of the wagon.

“What’s the matter with her?” Preacher asked. “She comin’ down with the vapors?”

Prudence glared up at him. “You ... you . . . brute!”

“What did I do?” Preacher questioned, looking at the men and women.

Frank Collins said, “Really, nothing, sir. We all were under the impression that you were a man of God, that’s why Patience fainted.”

Preacher was clearly puzzled. Something was all out of whack here and he couldn’t figure out what it was. “A man of God? I been called a lot of things over the years, but damned if I’ve ever been called that.”

“Sir,” Hanna said, looming menacingly before him. “I must insist that you refrain from swearing.”

Preacher sighed. Before he could tell Hanna what was foremost on his mind, and after doing that would probably have to shoot her husband, Patience moaned and sat up.

“I had the most terrible dream,” she said, her face flushed. “I dreamt that we were confronted by a horrible man who drank whiskey and ran around killing people.” Her eyes began to focus and they focused on Preacher. “Oh, my word! It wasn’t a nightmare.”

“Now, I have been called that a time or two,” Preacher admitted. “Y’all splash some water on that female’s face and get her up. I got to talk to y’all. This just ain’t no place for pilgrims to be at any time, most especially right now.” He looked at Hanna. “You make some coffee and put on some grub. I got a case of the hongries flung on me. I’m goin’ over yonder to that crick and take me a wash and a shave. I’ll be back.”

“Well!” Hanna flounced about as Preacher turned his back to her and swung into the saddle.

“Do it,” Otto told her. “I think that, if I understand correctly his quaint way of speaking, we are in trouble here. I want to hear what he has to say.”

Prudence helped Patience to her feet and got her unflustered. Fifteen minutes later, Preacher reappeared. His buckskins were still stained, but he had taken a short bath and shaved the heavy growth of beard from his face.

“He really is a very handsome man,” the women all silently concurred.

“He really is a very dangerous man,” the men all silently concurred.

Preacher poured a cup of coffee and squatted down. The coffee was weak for his tastes, but he made no mention of that. “Now listen up, pilgrims. I got to tell you what’s goin’ on. Then you make up your own minds ’bout what kind of man I am. Not that your opinion means a damn to me. But I don’t like to be judged wrongly.”

While the bacon and fried potatoes were cooking, Preacher took it from the top, beginning with him and Eddie leaving civilization back east and the reasons why. When he finished telling about burying Eddie and his little paint pony, the only dry eye in the bunch was his.

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