Preacher's Peace by William W. Johnstone Page A

wrong with that whiskey. Only mistake we made was in givin’ whiskey in the first place. Indians can’t handle whiskey. I know that now.”
    â€œYeah, you know it now, but it took a war for you to learn your lesson.”
    â€œWasn’t that much of a war,” McDill said. “And in the long run, it was probably a good thing.”
    â€œHow can a war be a good thing?”
    â€œIt taught the Indians better than to mess with us,” McDill insisted. “They’s slow learners anyhow, seein’s they ain’t got no proper schools and such. So they need to be teached proper.”
    â€œYeah, well, that ain’t the way I look at it, and I don’t think that’s the way Ashley looks at it either. You notice, he didn’t send nobody out to Northwest to buy furs this year. Like I say, there’s no way he’s goin’ to make you head of his trapping party.”
    â€œI’d like to know just who it would be then, if not me or Caviness,” McDill said. “Who? Matthews? Montgomery? Hoffman?” McDill snorted what may have been a laugh. “Them three is greener than a spring sapling. Couldn’t none of ’em find their way up the river and back. Me ’n Caviness is the only ones that’s made the trip more’n one time.”
    â€œI’m afraid McDill may be right,” another said. “I reckon when it comes right down to it, Ashley won’t have no choice but to put one of the two of ’em in charge.”
    Caviness laughed, speaking at greater length than he had in a long time. “Why so glum? You gotta find the furs if you want to make any money, and best way to do that is go with someone that knows what he’s a-doin’. Very few of us around anymore, what with Injuns murderin’ and accidents a-happenin’. Come on, boys, me ’n McDill will set all of you up to a drink.”
    After that oration, several crowded up to the bar to get a refill.
    Art, who was sitting by the stove that still had Shardeen’s bullet hole in the pipe, watched the whole thing with little interest. He noticed, however, that the two men sitting at the table next to him made no effort to join the others at the bar. One of the two men was the one who had spoken up for him yesterday, when the constable was investigating the incident with Shardeen. His name, Art remembered, was Joe Matthews. The other man at the table with Matthews was the one who had challenged McDill when McDill suggested that he or Caviness would lead the trapping party.
    â€œI’ll say this,” Matthews said, speaking quietly to his table companion. “There ain’t no way I’d go up the river with either one of them no-’count bastards in the lead. Ain’t neither one of them worth a bucket of warm piss.”
    â€œYeah,” the other agreed. “If they didn’t get you lost, they’d more’n likely get you kilt by Indians. Besides which, they’re goin’ to make life miserable for anybody that’s under them.”
    â€œStill, McDill is right. There’s no one else in St. Louis, right now that Ashley can get to lead the party. The good ones has already left.”
    â€œGents,” Art said. “Since you two aren’t drinking with McDill and Caviness, maybe you’d let me buy you a beer. Least I can do, in thanks for your speaking out for me,” he added to Matthews.
    â€œWell, that’s very generous of you, mister,” Matthews said.
    â€œI remember your name is Matthews,” Art said. He looked at the man with Matthews.
    â€œThe name is Montgomery,” he said. “Don Montgomery.”
    Art signaled to Carla and she brought three beers to the table.
    â€œI take it you men aren’t too fond of McDill and Caviness,” Art said as they began drinking.
    â€œFond of them? I doubt their own mothers are fond of those two. Do you know them?”
    Art shook his head.