Preacher's Peace by William W. Johnstone Page B

“No. But I had a run-in with a couple of Arikara because of them.”
    â€œYou’re lucky you still have your scalp,” Matthews said.
    â€œWas the fella right when he said Mr. Ashley wouldn’t have any choice but to make one of them two the head of his party?” Art asked.
    â€œYeah,” Matthews said disgustedly. “I’m afraid he was. All the good ones have left already.”
    â€œToo bad,” Art said. He sat in silence for a couple of minutes, then finished his drink. “It’s been nice talking to you,” he said. The two men watched him leave, then fell to talking between themselves again.
    Departing the tavern, Art walked back down to William Ashley’s fur trading post. Seemed he couldn’t stay away from the place. Again, the little tinkling bell over the doorway announced his entrance.
    Almost instantly, William Ashley appeared from the back room where he had been working. He smiled at Art, as if he were genuinely glad to see him.
    â€œWell, if it isn’t the man called Art.”
    â€œHello, Mr. Ashley,” Art said.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, Art?”
    â€œIt’s time for me to get my supplies laid in for the winter,” Art said. “But . . .”
    â€œBut what?”
    Art made a motion in the general direction of the burned-out store. “Dunnigan’s store got burned down. And Dunnigan was killed in the fire. Don’t know where I can get outfitted now.”
    â€œI can outfit you, Art. I have all the things you’ll need right here. Including livestock.”
    â€œIs that a fact? Well, I may just have to take you up on that.” Art frowned and frankly eyed the successful fur trader. “Though I reckon, now that Dunnigan’s place is gone, you’ll be wantin’ to charge a body an arm and his leg to do business with you.”
    â€œWell, a fella has a right to make a reasonable profit,” Ashley said. “But I won’t hold you up none, I promise you that.” He opened the ledger book and took a quill pen from the inkwell. “You just tell me what you need and I’ll . . .” Ashley stopped in mid-sentence, then closed the ledger book and stared at Art for a long moment. “On second thought, I’ve got a proposition for you. I won’t charge you anything at all if you’ll do a favor for me.”
    â€œWhat kind of favor?”
    â€œI want you to lead the trapping party upriver,” Ashley said.
    Art chuckled. “The way they’re talking over in the tavern, you’ll be asking McDill or Caviness to lead the party.”
    â€œWell, truth to tell, I figured I was goin’ to have to ask one or the other. What with Thompson dead, they’re near ’bout the only ones left in town that could find their way upriver and back without wearing a quiver of arrows in their backs. But they are a couple of the biggest no-accounts that ever drew a breath, and I hate the thought of putting either one of them in charge.”
    â€œWhy would you ask me to lead the party?” Art asked. “You don’t know anything about me.”
    â€œI know you brought in the largest catch of any single man this season,” Ashley said. “And they were all fine pelts too. I’ve been through ’em all. Most folks will try and pass off ten or twenty bad pelts, but you culled them out, had all the lower-quality plews together. That’s plumb unusual in my experience. Why’d you do that, Art?”
    â€œI figure if a man wants honest treatment, then he needs to be honest.” The young mountain man had remembered the lessons taught to him by his father and mother, and even some of the preaching he had heard in church of a Sunday many years ago.
    â€œThat’s a good policy. But it’s not just the pelts you brought back that makes me think you would be a good man. I checked around on you, Art. There’s some fellas in town say they