Preacher's Pursuit. William W. Johnstone
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and had demonstrated that on more than one occasion. Jake was…well, Jake was Jake. For good or bad, there was no other kid quite like him. Preacher liked quite a few of the other folks, too. Maybe, in the long run, civilization wouldn’t be such a bad thing…
Lost in those thoughts as he rode through the pass leading the packhorse, at first Preacher almost didn’t notice the low-pitched rumble that sounded somewhere above him.
But he heard it, and his instincts warned him that something was wrong. He jerked his head up to peer toward the direction of the noise, and his eagle-sharp eyes saw instantly what was happening.
High above him in the pass, rocks had begun to fall, taking other rocks with them, and in little more than the blink of an eye, thousands of tons of stone had gathered steam and were sliding down the slope right toward Preacher, crushing everything in their path.
Chapter 4
Dust billowed up from the avalanche, but the thick gray cloud didn’t obscure the vanguard of the slide. Preacher could see the massive boulders bounding down the slope like they were no more than pebbles. Any one of those giant rocks would be enough to smash him into something that didn’t even resemble a human being.
That is, if he waited around and let one of the stony bastards land on him.
He dug his heels into Horse’s flanks and leaned forward over the stallion’s neck, yelling encouragement to the animal as Horse lunged ahead in a gallop. Dog ran alongside, stretching his legs to keep up with the stallion. Preacher hung on tightly to the packhorse’s reins and dragged it along with them.
He had known instantly that their only hope was to charge straight ahead. The angle of the slide made it impossible for them to turn around and get clear in time, going that way.
There was a slim chance, though, that they might be able to get ahead of it. Horse was an ugly, hammer-headed brute, but he had speed and strength and stamina to spare.
The same could not be said of the packhorse, however. Preacher realized that after only a few strides by Horse. The other animal was holding them back. If Preacher hung on to the reins, they were all doomed.
Hating to do it, both for the sake of the packhorse and for the supplies that the horse carried, Preacher let go of the reins and called to his own mount, “Let ’er rip, you son of a gun!”
The roar of the falling rocks was deafening now. Preacher watched the inexorable advance of the slide from the corner of his eye as Horse raced along the winding trail that led through the pass. Those twists and turns slowed them down; a flat, straight run would have given them a better chance.
But a fella had to play the cards he was dealt…and Preacher would always stay in the hand until the end. He’d be damned if he would fold.
He glanced around, saw that Dog was falling behind. “Come on!” he yelled, not knowing if the big cur could hear him over the unholy racket or not. “Come on, you shaggy varmint!”
Dog lunged ahead harder, digging for all the speed he could muster. The two animals were Preacher’s best friends in the world, and he wasn’t going to leave either of them behind. He slowed Horse slightly, and Dog drew closer.
“We’ll make it together, or we won’t make it!” Preacher said through gritted teeth.
On they raced, until it seemed that the roar of the avalanche would be enough to crush them by itself, until the dust reached them and clogged Preacher’s mouth and nose and stung his eyes, until it seemed that the whole world was about to come crashing down on top of them.
Then suddenly, they were in the clear as they broke out of the great swirling cloud. The earth shook under them as countless tons of rock came smashing down a mere matter of yards behind them. Smaller rocks pelted them, and Preacher lifted an arm to protect his head. Even a fist-sized chunk of stone might catch him in the head and knock him out of the saddle, and then the edges of the slide could still engulf him.
Gradually, the punishment eased and the rumbling began to die away. Preacher slowed his mount. Horse’s sleek hide was covered with foamy sweat and his sides heaved from the exertion. Dog’s head hung low and his tongue lolled from his mouth as he padded along. Preacher was a mite weary from the strain himself, but at least he hadn’t had to do any of the running. His gallant companions had handled that.
He reined Horse to a stop and leaned forward to pat the stallion on the shoulder. “You’re the damned finest horse any man ever rode,” he said. He looked behind him regretfully. Dust still obscured the pass. The packhorse was back there somewhere, trapped under the avalanche. Poor son of a gun had never had a chance, Preacher thought.
Then he lifted his head and looked up toward the rimrock. It was possible that the rock slide had started on its own and that it had been just a coincidence that he was traveling through the pass at that moment.
Yeah, it was possible…but he didn’t believe it.
Not for a damned second.
Somebody had been up there watching him, waiting for just the right moment to shove one of the precariously balanced boulders that littered the rimrock and launch that avalance into deadly motion. Luckily for Preacher, Horse, and Dog, whoever it was had misjudged things a mite. Just enough to give them the narrow hope of escape that they had seized so fiercely.
Preacher wanted to hitch Horse into motion again and start circling through the rugged terrain, heading upward toward the rimrock to find out exactly what had happened. But after the valiant dash that had saved Preacher’s life, Horse was too played out for any more effort right now. The stallion had to rest for a while.
That was all right, Preacher told himself. He would get up there before the day was over, and when he did, he would find the sign that the man who started the avalanche had left behind. There was always sign of some sort, if a man knew how to look for it.
Preacher knew, and once he had the trail, he wouldn’t lose it.
That fella didn’t know it yet, but he had bought himself a world of trouble when he rolled that stone.
Horse was strong enough that he recovered quickly, but Preacher gave him a little extra time anyway, waiting until midday before starting the climb to the rimrock. Preacher had some jerky and a biscuit in his saddlebags, so he and Dog made a skimpy lunch on that.
Then he rode the rest of the way through the pass and began the arduous task of circling back and climbing, following faint game trails that most men barely would have been able to see. Horse was almost as sure-footed as a mountain goat, so Preacher didn’t hesitate to trust his life to the stallion’s balance, even though at times hundreds of feet of empty air yawned right at his elbow.
By the middle of the afternoon, they reached the rimrock where the avalanche had started. Dog ran forward and sniffed the ground. Preacher dismounted and left the reins dangling as he hunkered down and studied the place that interested Dog. He saw some pebbles that had been disturbed recently, so that their undersides now lay upward, and he knew the man who’d tried to kill him had walked along here.
“Trail, Dog,” he said.
Nose to the ground, Dog followed the command, leading Preacher away from the rimrock’s edge. A few minutes later, they came to a place where fairly fresh droppings and the marks of steel-shod hooves on the rock told Preacher that three horses had waited here for a while.
Three men, Preacher reflected. One to hold the horses, two to push a boulder over the edge and start the avalanche. And the dumb bastards hadn’t even tried to hide the evidence that they’d been here.
Of course, they had assumed that they were going to kill him and that no one would ever follow them.
They would find out just how wrong they were about that.
Even now, they probably thought he was dead. After escaping from the avalanche, he had stayed close to the side of the pass so that anyone looking down from above might not be able to see him. The dust had been too thick for