The Ghost Dancers (A Crossed Arrows Western Book 2)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  The usual buzz of conversation in the churchyard went on for some ten minutes before Leo Horton appeared on the front steps. “Good morning, folks. Please enter the House of God; if you please.”

  As the worshipers filed into the church, they immediately perceived this was going to be a special service. Reverend Hezekiah Woodward stood behind his pulpit on the dais at the end of the building. The lay brothers Farley Dempsey, Ed Turnbull and Zeke Mason were to his left. Leo walked up the aisle to stand on the preacher’s right. The deacon and brothers stood with bibles in their hands, their faces solemn as they gazed down on the congregation.

  The women noticed the brothers’ wives were not present. The special pew where they usually sat was empty. It was particularly unsettling when Hezekiah’s wife Mildred was not at the battered old piano on the far side of the dais. A few of the females exchanged glances, silently puzzled.

  Hezekiah began the service, announcing, “Please stand and open your hymnals to Number 187; Onward Christian Soldiers.”

  Without a piano player, Hezekiah began singing and the congregation joined in. That particular hymn was the favorite of the churchgoers and they sang it lustily with great emotion. However, several of the men, suffering from headaches after a Saturday evening of drinking at the Dessert View Saloon, grimaced and only mouthed the words.

  After all five verses of the religious song were sung, Hezekiah uttered, “Let us pray.”

  The worshippers remained standing and bowed their heads.

  “Dearest Father in Heaven,” the pastor began, “we are gathered here on this Sunday to praise you and thank you for the great task you have set before us. I thank you for your holy guidance when you showed me the final part of your eternal plan for Christian folks. And I thank you for choosing me to be the pastor of this coming miracle that will soon take us all up to the eternal glory of heaven. Amen.”

  The people were puzzled by that baffling prayer. Those with hangovers were hoping for a short service so they’d have time for a nap before Sunday dinner. But it didn’t look like that was going to happen.

  Hezekiah smiled down on his audience. “I’m sure you’ve notice that my wife and those of the brothers are not with us at this particular service. They are gathered in my home praying. And I am going to tell you why.”

  The congregation, genuinely interested, remained silent.

  Hezekiah cleared his throat and spoke out boldly. “I bring you the word of the Lord our god who art in heaven. And that word is—” He paused for effect, his hands clasped together “— the hour of grace is here. Within a short time our savior Jesus Christ is gonna be walking on the earth in what will be his second coming. And he’s gonna start this final miracle right here in Hope Wells, Arizona Territory.”

  Now gasps and cries came from the congregation. There was as much from fear as surprise in the collective reaction. One oldster by the name of Lester Watkins, exclaimed, “What in the blue-eyed world are you talking about, Hezekiah?”

  “I am talking about the final steps in God’s eternal plans, Lester,” the pastor replied. “I am talking about the holy truth.” He turned to Deacon Leo and the three lay brothers. “Ain’t that right!”

  “Repent!” they yelled in unison. “Repent and prepare to meet your maker!”

  Hezekiah continued. “I’m gonna start from the very beginning of this miracle that has befell upon us.” He cleared his throat again. “All you fine Christian folks know about how me and Deacon Leo went out to the Guerras Apache Reservation to make those poor savage heathens accept our savior Jesus Christ.”

  Ben Rawlins, another elderly parishioner, leaned against the pew in front of him and asked, “Hezekiah, can we please sit down now?”

  “O’course, Ben,” the preacher replied. “Ever’body take your seats.” He waited until everyone had settled on the pews. “I got to admit that me and Leo wasn’t able to baptize a single, solitary Injun. As the months went by, I began to wonder if we wasn’t just wasting our time. But some mysterious force pushed us on to keep trying to bring them the word of the Lord.” He glanced at his deacon. “Didn’t it, Leo?”

  “Hallelujah!” Leo shouted.

  Hezekiah turned back to his audience. “But one day while we was preaching our hearts out, a Injun I had never seen before, approached us.” At this point he began twisting the truth a bit, to keep the story conveniently short. “I asked him who he was and this heathen stranger looked me right in the eye and said the messiah was coming. I asked him what messiah. And he told me the one the white folks had kilt at his first visit.”

  Most of the congregation now leaned forward, their attention riveted on their religious leader.

  Hezekiah went on. “Well! To me that meant the messiah he was talking about was no other than our savior Jesus Christ! I looked at Leo and asked him if he had the same opinion I had. Was that savage actually talking about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ the son of God? And Leo said that he agreed with me a hunnerd percent.”

  “Hallelujah!” Leo shouted.

  Doctor Harold Simpson queried, “Will you please tell us what an unlearned primitive Apache Indian is going to know about Jesus’ second coming?”

  “That’s the puzzle all right,” Hezekiah replied. “And there was only one way I could find out the truth about this whole thing. And that was to retire to my home and pray for God to tell me what was going on.”

  Hezekiah knew he had the congregation’s complete and undivided attention. His voice rose and he shouted, “And after nights of beseeching God to enlighten me, he told me them Injuns was his instruments in this miracle! Jesus has always cared more about the humble and the poor than anyone else. And he has chose them Apache Injuns because they have been beaten down. It says so in the good book that Jesus offered solace to prisoners, and them Apaches are prisoners out there on that reservation.”

  Dr. Simpson spoke up again. “But what’s that go to do with you?”

  “God told me that the Injuns was confused about the second coming,” Hezekiah explained. “And they needed guidance. And since I’ve had the Call to be a preacher of the Gospel, God wanted me to help in the second coming by explaining things to the Injuns who are ignorant and poor. He will win them to Christianity by showing them mercy instead of punishment for their heathen, evil ways. So what he’s gonna do is use me to tell ‘em things they need to do in order to throw all the world’s sinners into the depths of Hell. And I was to give ‘em whatever they needed to take part in this miracle of miracles.”

  Sheriff Dan Martin now stood up. “Just what are they gonna need for this here miracle of miracles?”

  “Religious guidance mostly,” Hezekiah answered. “I’m gonna be teaching ‘em lessons from the Gospel. And, of course, there’ll be non-spiritual items like tools, maybe or weapons that will cast the sinners into hell.”

  The sheriff frowned. “What kind of weapons?”

  “Weapons that are strength and righteousness. It’s the same thing as the Great Flood and Sodom and Gomorrah. You remember your bible lessons— those of you who came to studies on Wednesday evenings— that Sodom and Gomorrah was wicked cities with sinful people living in ‘em. The onliest righteous man was Lot, and the Lord told Lot to gather his family and leave, but don’t look back while them evil places was eaten up by flames. But Lot’s wife looked back and was turned into a pillar of salt. So beware! You must obey the Lord’s commandments in this second coming or you’ll be throwed to Satan hisself.”

  Hezekiah was beginning to ramble, and the rancher Arlo Wheatfall slowly stood up with an expression on his face that was so emotional, that it stopped Hezekiah from speaking. Arlo’s voice was gravely and hoarse as he asked, “Are you saying that God hisself told you all this?”

  “That he did!” the pastor replied passionately. “Don’t you folks see what this means? There ain’t gonna be no Battle of Armageddon! There ain’t gonna be no armies of good and evil fighting each other. All us Christians is gonna go straight up to the Kingd
om of Heaven! God is done with all the evil in this world and wants us— his children— to join him. And Jesus Christ our Savior is gonna lead the way. He’s gonna lead the way!”

  One member of the congregation listened to the rhetoric without elation. Sheriff Dan Martin was thinking about Apache Indians. If anybody ever wanted to see pure hell and damnation, he’d trot out a Guerras warrior for their edification.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mack Hawkins, Ludlow Dooley and Dennis O’Rourke, along with the half dozen men of the scout detachment, stood in the shade provided by the banks of a dry arroyo. It was early in the morning and Kawa and Istee had ranged ahead in an effort to pick up the trail of the stolen horses. So far they hadn’t been able to come across a single sign. And to make things worse, the group had wandered into a part of the Tierra Brava Desert that was completely unknown to the pair of Tijones Apaches. Nor had Captain Hawkins or Marshal O’Rourke served in that particular area during their days of campaigning. This was a sure indication they were deep into the wildest part of that unforgiving territory.

  Sergeant Eagle Heart had positioned the scouts into a defensive position. With that done he walked up to the three white men. “You know this place, Cap’n?”

  “Nope. Me and O’Rourke were never in this part of the desert.”

  “We come long way. I think much long way. Maybe no can find water, eh? This bad place to get thirsty.”

  “You’re right,” Hawkins said, appreciating the sergeant’s candor. “If Kawa and Istee have lost the tracks of the horses, we’ll have to retrace our steps and get the hell out of here. At least we’ll know where all the waterholes are when we go back the other way.”

  Ludlow, who had been listening intently, reflected on another problematic slant on the situation. “Even if we do find the horses, how’re we going to drive them back to the two ranches?”

  “In a case like that, we’ll drive them to the Guerras reservation and telegraph the ranchers to come get ‘em themselves.”

  O’Rourke pulled his last cigar from his vest pocket. He lit the stogie and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “There’s always the chance the Guerras took the herd down to Mexico.”

  “Then the mission is already a failure,” Hawkins conceded. “But I can’t see that happening. Apaches aren’t dealers in horses. If they’re riding them to Mexico it’s to raid and kill, then skedaddle back up here.”

  O’Rourke chuckled. “I’m sure glad we have Winchester repeaters in case there’s a fight.”

  “Me too,” Hawkins said. “There might be a short skirmish, but I figure they’ll turn the horses loose and hightail it back to the safety of the reservation. The agent will punish them, but not too severely. He’ll cut back on the goodies they get from the U.S. Government for a few weeks.”

  O’Rourke wasn’t that optimistic. “Let’s hope them Injuns ain’t kilt nobody else while they was out looking for a good time.”

  Kawa and Istee returned to the crude bivouac in the early evening. They rode over to the white men’s cook fire. Sweat streaked through the powdery dust on the their faces and they weren’t in a happy mood. Sergeant Eagle Heart came over to join the group.

  Kawa jumped down from his horse and shrugged. “We no see nothing. And no find ciénegas,” he said, using the Spanish word for oasis.

  Hawkins swung his gaze over to Dennis O’Rourke. “What do you think?”

  O’Rourke was thoughtful for a long moment, then announced, “I say we keep searching for that herd. To the south.”

  “That’s prob’ly the best direction to go,” Hawkins agreed. “The only way we can find those horses is if we expand our area of operation.”

  Ludlow Dooley wasn’t so sure. “Kawa just said that he and Istee didn’t find any water out that way.”

  “That right,” Istee said sitting on his horse. “Pretty godamn dry.”

  “Ha’ah,” Kawa agreed in the Apache language. “Pretty godamn dry.”

  Hawkins stuck his hands in his pockets and walked off a few steps. He stopped for a moment, then turned and came back to the fire. He pointed southward. “That’s where we go.”

  “When?” Ludlow asked.

  “Now.”

  Sergeant Eagle Heart immediately headed for the detachment. “Fall in!” he barked. The Kiowas and Comanches immediately formed a single rank and dressed right, ready for orders.

  Sheriff Dan Martin sat at the table in his kitchen, thoughtfully consuming the breakfast of bacon and eggs his daughter Emily had placed in front of him. The young woman sat down joining him and her mother Agnes. The family was extremely disturbed by the sermon preached by Pastor Hezekiah Woodward. The idea of Jesus Christ appearing in Hope Wells was scary, but not as much as having a group of savage Guerras as his entourage.

  “I know what I should’ve done,” the sheriff murmured as much to himself as to the women. “I should’ve asked him how come the twelve disciples wasn’t gonna be with Jesus. Well, make that eleven since Judas turned out to be a turncoat.”

  Emily was close to weeping. “I’m afeared, papa. It’s too overwhelming and frightening.”

  Martin laid his hand on his daughter’s. “Don’t fret, honey. There’s lots of holes in that announcement Hezekiah made.”

  Agnes hadn’t touched her food. “This is all too much, Dan!”

  Martin, in truth, hadn’t believed a word of the so-called revelation. In fact, the only reason he attended church services was at the request of his wife and daughter. He was also upset about the two females he loved being panic-stricken to the point of desperation.

  Martin wiped up the remnants of egg yolk on his plate with a hunk of bread. “I ain’t gonna be going directly to my office this morning. I’m thinking on stopping off for a haircut.”

  Agnes knew her husband well. “I think you’re doing that more to have a talk with Leo Horton than get a trim.”

  “Could be,” he remarked. “I’ll see y’all this evening.”

  He left the table and took his hat and gunbelt off the rack by the front door. When he stepped out on the porch, he noticed several neighborhood residents conversing over fences with serious expressions on their faces. He knew what the subject of those worrisome tête-à-têtes would be.

  As the sheriff strode down main street’s boardwalk he saw more somber discussions in progress. A slow surge of anger rose up in him, but he fought it down as he continued toward his destination.

  Leo Horton was standing in front of his barbershop talking to a couple of townsmen when Martin arrived. “Howdy, Sheriff,” the barber said, smiling.

  “I need a haircut, Leo.”

  Leo excused himself from his companions, and led the way into the shop. He slipped a tonsorial cape over the sheriff as he sat down in the chair. “Well, Dan, you wasn’t in here too long ago. It looks like you just need a trimming up.”

  “That’ll do it.”

  Leo began combing back the sheriff’s hair in preparation for the scissors. “I reckon you and your women is excited about the second coming, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Martin replied. “That was a perty big shock for ever’body.”

  “I never in my whole life thought I’d be taking part in our savior coming back to earth for the second— actually the last— time.”

  “I was surprised that Guerras Apaches was gonna be taking part.”

  “God’s ways is mysterious,” Leo remarked, snipping hair.

  “Well, I’m sure you and Hezekiah gave ‘em plenty of spiritual guidance.”

  “That we did.”

  “Mmm,” Martin mused. “What about that material support that the pastor mentioned. What was that all about?”

  Leo didn’t answer right away. Hezekiah had warned him about revealing furnishing guns and ammunition to the Guerras. Nobody would fully understand even if it was revealed that God had instructed Hezekiah to do exactly that.

  Martin asked, “Did you hear what I asked you, Leo? What material support did you give them Guerras?”

&nbs
p; “Oh, it was just some things out of Hezekiah’s store,” Leo replied as instructed by the pastor. “Pots and pans, blankets, tools, and stuff like that.”

  Neither man spoke again during the haircut, and the snip-snip of Leo’s scissors was the only sound in the barbershop. Meanwhile, traveling salesman Archie Garfield stepped off the morning train with more .44 caliber ammunition for Hezekiah.

  The pastor’s sermon continued to cause a big uproar in Hope Wells that day. There were arguments between husbands and wives in which the women begged their unbelieving husbands to pray for forgiveness of their sins. Neighbors argued and shouted at agnostics and a couple of atheists.

  The three lay brothers even went through the swinging doors of the saloon and demanded its closure. The angry response they received from the bar owner and his drinkers resulted in them making a prudent retreat.

  Chapter Twenty

  Second Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley was not a happy subaltern. Once more his commanding officer’s impetuosity had brought about the possibility of a deadly calamity. Ludlow fully realized that the odds against reclaiming the stolen horses was now beyond calculation. And there was a very disturbing chance it was the same for returning from this deployment.

  The patrol had immediately resumed the hunt on the night after the return of the two Tijones scouts. Since they had not found any sources of water, Hawkins decided to take a more easterly direction in the hopes of locating an oasis.

  Ludlow objected the best he could. “Excuse me, sir. We’re out here in one hell of a dangerous environment. If we continue a search for water that the ends up a failure, we’re doomed.”

  Hawkins shook his head. “Not if we find water. The canteens and water bags are approximately half-full. With a bit of pluck and luck, we’ll be just fine.”

  “Sir, but—”

  “As you were, Mr. Dooley. I say again; we will continue this patrol.”