Free Preacher's Journey by William W. Johnstone

in the night, they would be able to see it too. All the more reason to keep guards posted all night. With kids and a sick woman in the party, they couldn’t do without the fire, though.
    When he got back, he found Angela Galloway pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Get the young’uns settled down for the night?” Preacher asked her.
    â€œYes, they were exhausted. They went right to sleep.”
    â€œYou look about done in yourself.”
    Angela smiled wearily. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
    Over in the circle of cardplayers around the blanket, Peter laughed triumphantly. Preacher inclined his head in that direction and said, “Sounds like luck’s on your husband’s side, at least for now.”
    Peter Galloway was a damned lucky man, Preacher thought, in more ways than one.
    â€œThey seem to be enjoying themselves,” Angela said. “People have away of finding amusement, even in trying circumstances.”
    â€œIt don’t do no good to sit around moanin’ and cryin’ and feelin’ sorry for yourself. That’s just a plumb waste of time.”
    Angela smiled at him. “You’ve probably never felt sorry for yourself in your life, have you, Preacher?”
    He thought about Jennie and the pain he had felt when he found out she was dead. He had grieved for her, of course, but part of his sorrow had been for his own sake, for the loss he had suffered.
    â€œI wouldn’t say that,” he replied softly. “I just figure it’s better to try to do somethin’ about whatever’s wrong.” In his case, he had taken vengeance on the men responsible for Jennie’s death. It hadn’t helped much, but it was better than nothing.
    â€œThere’s an old saying about how it’s better to light one candle than to curse the darkness,” Angela said.
    Preacher nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I reckon that’s just what I’m talkin’ about.”
    They stood there quietly for a few moments after that while Angela sipped her coffee and Preacher leaned on the rifle, grasping the barrel of the Hawken while its buttstock rested on the ground. He had taken a shine to Angela Galloway as soon as he saw her, but he knew it was wrong and he would never act on the feeling. For one thing, and most importantly, she was a married woman, and Preacher respected the sanctity of marriage. Even though he had left home at an early age, his parents had given him a good moral grounding and the ability to tell right from wrong. For another thing, he didn’t want to be disloyal to Jennie’s memory, even though it had begun to fade. Someday, Preacher figured, he would be ready to let go of the pain and just remember the good things, but that day wasn’t here yet.
    A deep chuckle drew his attention to the men playing cards. “Looks like this pot is mine,” Jonathan Galloway declared as he leaned forward to rake in the pile of pebbles in the center of the blanket.
    â€œNot so fast.” The words, surprisingly, came from Ed Watson. “That pot ain’t yours.”
    â€œWhat?” Jonathan exclaimed. “Why not?”
    â€œBecause you cheated, you son of a bitch!”

NINE
    Preacher knew trouble when he heard it a-bornin’. He straightened from his casual stance as Peter Galloway said angrily, “Damn you, you can’t talk to my uncle that way! A Galloway never cheats!”
    â€œWell, he did,” Watson insisted in a reedy voice. “I seen him deal a card off the bottom of the deck.”
    â€œThat’s preposterous,” Geoffrey said. “Jonathan, tell him.”
    â€œOf course. I never cheated at cards in my life,” Jonathan said. “And I’m insulted that you think I did tonight.”
    Watson glared at him. “I don’t think it—I know it. I seen it with my own eyes. He ain’t the onliest one neither. It ain’t no coinseedence that