shivered so violently, they appeared to be caught in some sort of seizure. Once secure inside the cabin, he poured them cups of coffee and urged them to drink. Their coats were threadbare, hardly more than rags. Terrance had strips of cloth wrapped around his feet instead of boots or shoes.
Recalling a pair of moccasins in his kit, Preacher rose and turned to both shaking youngsters. âNow, you strip outta them clothes, down to your long johns, and get close to the fire.â
Victoria flushed a deep red. âWe ainât got no long johns, not any kind of underclothes.â
âWell, then, wrap up in blankets and skin outta your clothes. They need to be warmed and dried. For you, boy, I got a pair of moccasins. Theyâs a tad mite too small for me, anâ I figger youâll be able to swim in âem. But, theyâre rabbit-fur-lined and a lot warmer than those rags.â
Terrance lowered long, blond lashes over wide, pale blue eyes. âIâd be obliged, mister.â
âCall me Preacher. Evâryone else does.â
Terrance snapped his head upward at that. For all his furtive, rodentlike manner, he stared wide-eyed now at Preacher. âGosh. Youâre famous.â
It became Preacherâs turn to blush. âSome fool folks try to make it that way. But, I was alus just tryinâ to do my job as I saw fit. Let me git them moccasins, anâ then Iâll rustle you up some grub.â
He turned away to do as he had promised. The fireâs warmth, the food, and hot coffee did their job. The children became more animated. When Preacher considered them past the point of desperation, and relaxed enough to answer sensibly, he opened a little inquiry into their background.
âI know you said you were Terrance and Victoria. Only, whatâs your last name?â
Terrance gave him that now-familiar ferret stare. âAre you a real preacher? A Bible-thumper?â
âNope. I reckon Iâm about as far away from that sort as a man can get. Though I do consider myself on good speakinâ terms with the Almighty.â
âWhatâs your name, then?â Terrance challenged.
Preacher hesitated a moment. âArthurâs mâgiven name.â
âWhatâs your family name?â the boy persisted.
The mountain man puzzled over that a while. âWell, by dang, if I donât think Iâve plumb forgot it. Folks have called me Preacher for so long, itâs sort of stuck.â
Terrance brightened. âThen, I reckon thatâs the case with us. We donât know what our family name is ... or even if weâve got one.â He gave Preacher a âso thereâ look.
âIâll buy that. Now, tell me, how come you were out in that tempest?â
âThat what?â Victoria asked, puzzlement on her wide, clear face.
âHowâd you come to be out in that blizzard?â
Terrance took up the answers. âWeâve been wandering around for daysâweeks now. Those we were travelinâ with got lost in the woods. They stumbled around, and the food got real short,â the boy continued, his expression one of far-off construction. âWhen they runned clean out, they abandoned us. Just dropped us off in a canyon one day.â
Preacher scowled. That didnât ring true. âWho were these folks?â
Terrance scrunched his high, smooth brow. âSome real mean fellers. Theyâthey stole us from our home far, far away.â
This had begun to sound to Preacher like one of those melodramas in one of the Penny Dreadfuls. âAnâ I suppose they made you do all sorts of awful things?â
âYeâyes, sir,â Terrance acknowledged.
Preacherâs flinty eyes bore into the boy. âLike what?â
Terrance flinched. âNoânothinâ below the belt. Me anâ Vickie wouldnât allow that.â
âIf they were that mean, what choice would you have?â Preacher
Learning to Kill: Stories