Free Preacher's Journey by William W. Johnstone Page A

ever since we started playin’ for money, one o’ you boys has won ever’ hand.”
    â€œThey’re playin’ for money?” Preacher muttered to himself. “I thought they was playin’ for pebbles.”
    â€œIt was you and your friend who wanted to ‘make things more interesting,’ as you put it,” Peter said to Watson. “We just went along with you, even though I didn’t think it was really that good an idea. If you’re too stupid to win, don’t blame us and claim we’re cheating.”
    For once, Preacher couldn’t blame Peter Galloway for being hotheaded, even though Peter might have phrased his argument a mite more discreetly. If a man was honest and came from an honest family, he couldn’t just let it pass when somebody accused him or his kin of cheating.
    â€œI ain’t stupid,” Watson shot back, “which means I don’t believe you. You’re all a pack of cheaters and liars!”
    Peter threw his cards down on the blanket and started to get to his feet. “Take that back or I’ll thrash you!” he said.
    â€œOh, my God,” Angela said softly. “Peter, don’t—”
    Watson had no intention of taking back his harsh words. Preacher knew that just by looking at the man’s face. He started forward, intending to intervene in the argument, but it was too late. Watson launched himself across the blanket, uncoiling from the ground like a striking snake. His fist lashed out and crashed into Peter’s jaw. Peter sprawled backward on the ground, scattering the powdery, new-fallen snow.
    â€œPeter!” Angela cried.
    Watson continued his attack, lunging at Peter and drawing back his leg for a kick. “Thrash me! Go ahead and thrash me, why don’t you!”
    Simon, Geoffrey, and Jonathan were all too stunned by the sudden vicious assault to do anything to help Peter. Preacher could have gotten there in time to stop Watson from kicking Peter, but he held back, wanting to see what the young man would do, how he handled himself. Might come a day when Preacher would have to depend on Peter Galloway to save his life or the life of someone else.
    Although stunned by the punch, Peter still had his wits about him enough to see Watson’s booted foot coming at him. He rolled to the side, avoiding the kick, and reached up to grab Watson’s leg. He heaved on it, toppling the mountain man and sending Watson crashing to the ground.
    Hawley started to his feet, reaching for the pistol behind his belt as he did so, and Preacher finally stepped in. He swung the Hawken up so that its barrel was pointed in Hawley’s general direction and growled, “Stay out of it, mister. Let them settle it.”
    Hawley stopped reaching for his gun and settled back down on the ground, but his face was taut with anger. He didn’t like having a rifle pointed at him. Preacher didn’t much care what Hawley liked or didn’t like.
    Peter tried to press his momentary advantage. He leaped at the fallen Watson and swung a couple of wild punches at the man’s face. Watson blocked them both, brought a knee up, and planted his foot against Peter’s chest. A hard shove sent Peter flying through the air.
    â€œCan’t you stop them?” Angela said worriedly to Preacher.
    â€œI could, but there ain’t no need to.”
    â€œNo need? Peter could get hurt!”
    Preacher shook his head. “Not too bad, as long as it’s just fists. Better to let them hash it out amongst themselves.”
    Watson had the advantage now. He threw himself on top of Peter Galloway and tried to lock his fingers around Peter’s throat. Peter was younger, taller, and heavier, but Watson knew all the tricks of rough-and-tumble, bare-knuckles brawling. He got a stranglehold on Peter and bore down, cutting off his air.
    That grip didn’t last long. Peter bucked up off the ground and threw Watson to the side.