Free Blood on the Divide by William W. Johnstone Page A

“We’ll take it up,” he said quietly. “What do you think about that, Preacher?”
    â€œI reckon so, Caleb.” Preacher walked to his own pack horse and got a shovel. “Ain’t no law books nor constables out here. Seems to me like if any sort of decency is gonna pre-vail, those of us who are at least tryin’ to do some right has got to act as the law.”
    â€œThey’s a word for that.”
    â€œVigilante. Do it bother you?”
    â€œCain’t say it do, mainly ’cause I don’t know what it means or how to spell it. Somebody’s comin’.”
    â€œI know. I been watchin’ Hammer. But he ain’t all that upset. Must be somebody whose scent he’s familiar with.”
    But just in case, the men dropped shovels and picked up rifles.
    â€œThere ain’t no need for nothin’ like that.” The voice came out of the rocks and brush.
    â€œHell, it’s Windy,” Caleb said, lowering his rifle. “Come on in, Windy. You can hep us plant Jack. You alone?”
    â€œRimrock’s with me. You boys got airy coffee?”
    â€œShore,” Preacher said, easing the hammer down on his Hawken as the two mountain men came into view. “But we ain’t gonna boil none here. Let’s get Jack decent, or as decent as he’ll ever be, and then move on a few miles.”
    Windy and Rimrock were just about as disreputable looking as two men could get, and just about as opposite. They were shaggy and woolly and had fleas, but their courage was limitless and they knew the country from Canada to Mexico. They dismounted and walked over to where Jack lay, looking at the body, the arrows still sticking out of the body.
    â€œGoddamn Blackfeet,” Rimrock rumbled.
    â€œGet something to dig with,” Caleb told the pair. “But don’t stand too close to me and Preacher. We had us a bath last week and we’re still fairly fresh and pure. Did you never heared of no soap, Windy?”
    â€œI run out. But you take Rimrock here, I don’t think his mamma ever introduced him to soap.”
    â€œRimrock never had no mamma,” Preacher said. “He was found as a child in the woods and bears raised him.”
    Caleb stopped his digging and looked at Rimrock. “Come to think of it, you and a griz do favor.”
    Rimrock just smiled. He was one of the easiest-going people in the mountains, until he lost his temper, which wasn’t often. Then he was awesome. Rimrock stood about six and a half feet tall and weighed about two hundred and eighty pounds. His horse was huge, looking more like a dray animal than riding stock. Windy, on the other hand, would have to stand on tiptoes to hit five feet two inches, and probably weighed about a hundred pounds . . . but it was all muscle and gristle and bone. To get on his pony, Windy usually had to find a large rock to climb up on. If one was not handy, Rimrock would just pick him up and throw him into the saddle. The two men had been partners for years, only occasionally going off on their own.
    â€œTwo musket balls and two arrows, hey,” Windy said, shaking his head. “He give them a run for it, I’ll say that. And they respected him for it.”
    Preacher told the newcomers about the wagon train and the settlement.
    â€œWe been up north, along the Powder. We ain’t heard nothin’ or seen nothin’,” Rimrock rumbled in a deep bass voice. “’Ceptin’ movers comin’ in. Why, we seen five families ’tween here and the Powder. Place is gettin’ all crowded up with folks. I never seen nothin’ like it. Gettin’ to be a regular city out here.”
    â€œTrappin’ up there?” Caleb asked.
    â€œNaw. That’s about over. We’re just ramblin’ around,” Windy told him. “I wonder how many made the rendezvous?”
    â€œProbably a goodly number,” Preacher said, breaking off the