William Johnstone - Eyes of Eagles

“What do we do?” Kate called from the rocks.

“Get ready to kill some white trash,” the mountain man said shortly.

“Just like that?” Jamie questioned.

“Just like that. Believe me, they’d kill you and leave you for the ants without never blinkin’ a eye.”

“I must have missed something those years living in the Shawnee town,” Jamie said.

“You missed puttin’ up with white trash. Next time you see a Shawnee, thank him for that.”

Even though Jamie knew they were surrounded by danger, he had to chuckle at that. “Why do you hate them so?”

“Oh, I don’t hate them, Jamie. I don’t hate very much. Takes a lot to make me hate somebody. I just don’t have no use for them. They’re takers. Anytime a person takes more from his community or his fellow man than he gives back, that feller is what I call a taker. A lot of bankers is takers. A lot of lawyers is takers. You don’t have to be trash to be a taker.”

“I never thought about that.”

“You never had to. Until you left that Shawnee town and come back to live with the whites. Injuns won’t put up with takers. They’ll run them off or kill them. Well, most Injuns, that is. They’s a couple of tribes up in the northwest that’s pretty damn shiftless, but as a rule your Injuns have a fairly strict code they live by.”

“Everything is loaded up full and I’ve patches and balls ready,” Kate said.

“That’s a good girl, Jamie,” the mountain man said. “Don’t never treat her bad.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Say... what is your name? I can’t go on calling you ’hey.’ ”

The young mountain man laughed. “ ’Bout three years ago, folks started callin’ me Preacher. I’ll tell you why later. Right now, cock that rifle. ’Cause here they come!”

Eleven

Jamie did not hesitate once the first shot was fired from across the river. A second after the ball whizzed past his head, Jamie pulled his rifle to his shoulder and fired. Across the river, the shooter dropped his rifle, threw his arms into the air, and pitched face-forward onto the bank.

The young mountain man fired and the ball struck a man in the stomach, doubling him over, screaming. He dropped to his knees and wailed in pain.

Kate fired from the rocks and her shot struck a man in the hip, spinning him around. Like the others, he dropped his rifle and went down.

“Three shots, three down,” Preacher said. “Can’t ask for no better than that.”

“Damn your black hearts!” the same unseen voice called from across the river. “Now you’ve done it. We come into this land as poor homeless pilgrims and all we asked was for compassion. Now you heathens has kilt kin. You’ll pay. You’ll all pay for this unjust mistreatment.”

“Unjust mistreatment?” Jamie muttered, reloaded and ready. “They started it, not us.”

“That’s the way them sort of people think, Jamie,” Preacher said. “They blame others for their misfortune. They don’t never put the blame where it belongs — on themselves.”

“That’s stupid!”

“Yep. Sure is. But they’ll never change. It’ll be the same a hundred and fifty years from now. Probably worser as government seems to be gettin’ bigger.”

“What do you mean?”

“The government’ll be payin’ folks not to work. That’s what I heard somebody say in St. Louis a few weeks back.”

“That day will never come,” Jamie argued.

“Don’t bet on it,” the mountain man replied. “See ’em movin’ over yonder?”

“Yes. They are very clumsy . . . and stupid if they think we haven’t spotted them.”

Preacher sighted in and let a ball fly. From the other side came a fearful shriek and a man thrashed around in the brush and then fell out into the clear and rolled down the bank, coming to a stop at the water’s edge.

“I ’spect that’ll just about do it,” Preacher said, reloading quickly. “They lost a goodly number to us and by now they know we ain’t a bunch of pilgrims.” He held up a hand. “Listen.”

Jamie and Kate could hear the faint sounds of wagons bouncing and creaking away.

“Stay here with your woman,” the mountain man said. He picked up his rifle and was gone.

Kate left the rocks at a run and came to Jamie’s side. Her face was pale and her eyes were startlingly wide. “I shot a man, Jamie. I killed him!”

“No, you didn’t, Kate. He was hip-shot and crawled into the brush. I saw him. Don’t worry about it, Kate. We did what we had to do. I’m proud of you.”

The young couple stood silent for a few moments. “They’re gone,” Preacher called. “Come on across and help me gather up this gear and such. You’ll need it.”

Kate went across with Jamie and stopped by a dead man, staring down at him. “Why... this wretch has fleas!” she said, looking at the tiny parasites hopping about, not yet realizing that their host was dead.

“That probably ain’t all he’s got,” Preacher called out, his tone very dry. “Jamie, strip him of his shot and powder and pistols.”

“I don’t rob from the dead, Preacher.”

Preacher stepped out of the brush. “Learn something valuable now, Jamie.” He was carrying several rifles and pistols. “This ain’t no church picnic. Where you and Kate are goin’ there ain’t no white people, much less stores and the like. Whatever y’all gonna have, you got to tote it in with you and make it do. You got that through your head, now, boy?”

It still irritated Jamie for the young mountain man to call him boy, but he realized that Preacher, while only a few years older, was vastly more knowledgeable in such matters than he and Kate. “I understand,” he said softly.

“Fine,” Preacher said. “Kate, you get on back ’crost the stream and get some lye soap and hot water ready. We got to wash these britches and shirts and coats.”

“You’re going to strip the bodies?” she asked. “All three of them?”

“Five of them,” Preacher corrected. “They was two waitin’ for us over here. I used my good knife on them. Now go on acrost. It ain’t fitten for you to witness what me and Jamie got to do.”

“Are we going to bury them?” Jamie asked.

“Cave that bank yonder on them,” the mountain man said. “That’ll do for this bunch.”

Kate beat it back across the river and Jamie and Preacher fell to their grisly task.

“They left a wagon and a team,” Preacher said. “That might be what you and Kate had better use to get to where you’re going. They also left four saddle horses. Pretty good stock. That will help y’all get started when you reach your stoppin’ point. We’ll hide all signs of a fight and then I’ll take the spare horses and lay a false trail west. That will throw off them comin’ in behind you. By the time they realize they’re mistooken, y’all’s real trail will be gone. I’ll hook up with y’all in a few days.”

“You’re a real friend, Preacher,” Jamie said, his eyes serious.

“You’re a MacCallister. Your grandpa took me under his wing soon as I got to the high lonesome. If he hadn’t a-done that, I’d have died, probably. ’Sides, I like you and Kate. Now close your mouth and get to work, ’fore you start blubberin’ on me.”

* * *

The next morning, Preacher was gone before the dawning, leading the spare mounts and laying down a false trail. Jamie and Kate pulled out in the wagon. Both knew, in all probability, the wagon had been stolen, for it was filled with provisions and other gear. They didn’t even know for sure what all was in the wagon for they did not want to take the time to inspect the load. But they did have four fine mules that would prove invaluable when they began homesteading.