Preacher's Justice

by William W. Johnstone

  “Good stew,” Caviness said. “I appreciate the invite.”

  “You’re mighty welcome. Like I said, I enjoy the company.”

  “Fire’s getting’ low,” Caviness said.

  “That’s all right. Bout time to turn in anyway.”

  “I see a good-sized piece of wood over there,” Caviness said. “I’ll get it and throw just one more piece on the fire.”

  Seagraves chuckled. “Go ahead. If we’re going to talk a while longer, we may as well be lookin’ at each other while we’re doin’ it.”

  Caviness walked over to pick up the piece of wood. It was about three feet long and three or four inches in diameter. In truth, it wasn’t a very good piece for burning at all, but it was an excellent piece for Caviness’s use.

  “So tell me about that bear,” Seagraves said without turning toward Caviness, who was now coming up behind Seagraves’s back. “How did he happen to chaw off an ear without taking off your head?” He chuckled. “That’s a story I’d like to—”

  That was as far as Seagraves got. At that moment, Caviness brought the club around, holding it in both hands and swinging hard. The blow crushed the side of Seagraves’s head, and he fell forward into the fire.

  The next morning Seagraves was still belly-down, with his head in the ashes of what had been the previous night’s fire. His head was turned to one side and the bottom of his face was burned away so that what flesh was left was blackened and disfigured. Amazingly, the top half of his face was undamaged.

  Caviness found a change of clothes that were somewhat less conspicuous than the clothes he was wearing, so he changed. Then, saddling Seagrave’s horse, he rode off.

  Near Alexandria, Ohio

  Two days later, when he smelled pork chops frying, he determined to find its source. Riding through a cornfield, he came upon a small farmhouse, the origin of the enticing aroma. Dismounting, he tied the horse off, then using trees and bushes to mask his approach, eased up to the house.

  Looking through the window, he saw a man sitting in a chair, smoking a pipe and reading a book. In addition to the man, there were two women standing at the stove. As he examined them more closely, he saw that one of the women was very young, perhaps no more than fifteen or sixteen years old.

  “Papa, supper’s about ready,” the younger woman said.

  “All right, missy, I’ll sit at the table soon as I finish reading this page.”

  “Go get Billy, Suzie,” the older woman said.

  Nodding, Suzie opened the back door. From his position of observation through the window, Caviness saw that the man was sitting with his back to the door Suzie had just used. That was good. That meant that the door would be unlocked because Suzie had just gone through it. And as Suzie’s father’s back was to the door, Caviness would be able to sneak in without being seen.

  Moving quietly, and with the knife he had taken from Seagraves in his hand, Caviness opened the door and slipped inside.

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” the man said without looking around.

  Caviness stepped up behind the chair, then drew the knife across the man’s throat, cutting jugular and windpipe. Unable to make a sound, the man grabbed the wound on his neck, then tumbled forward from the chair.

  The woman had stepped out of the kitchen for a moment, but hearing the fall, called out.

  “Hiram, what was that? What just fell?”

  Caviness stepped quickly to one side of the door and waited for the woman to come back into the room.

  “Hiram?” the woman called again.

  Once again, Caviness made use of his knife, slicing the woman’s throat. She died as silently as her husband.

  With the bloody knife still in his hand, Caviness walked over to the table, where he picked up a pork chop and began eating.

  As soon as the girl came back, Caviness would take care of her . . . though not before he had a little fun with her. Then he would search the house for a gun, any money they might have, and some extra food. Maybe a blanket or a quilt would be nice too.

  Outside the house, seventeen-year-old Billy Potter was using a pitchfork to toss hay in the feeding trough when Suzie came to get him.

  “Mama says get washed up for supper.”

  “What are we having?”

  “Pork chops,” Suzie answered. “And I cooked them.”

  “Ha! If you cooked them, they are probably poison,” Billy teased.

  “Well, if you don’t like them, you don’t have to eat them.”

  “Oh, I’ll eat them, all right,” Billy said. “I won’t like them, but I’ll eat them.”

  Finishing with the hay, Billy walked over to the well, where he drew out some water and poured it into a basin.

  “Billy, are you going to the county fair this Saturday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you take me?” Suzie asked hopefully.

  “No, I won’t take you. Who wants to go to a county fair with a little sister hanging around him all the time?”

  “Little sister?” Suzie replied. “I’m near as old as you are,” Suzie said. “And I’m almost a woman, full grow’d now.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. You’ll go sparking with all the boys, and I’m the one that will get in trouble for letting you do it.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will too. You’re the biggest tease in the whole county.”

  “Ohh, you make me so mad!” Suzie said. She grabbed the pan of water and started to toss it on him.

  “No, no, wait! You can go! I was just teasing!” Billy said, laughing.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Suzie put the water pan down and Billy grabbed it. “I’ll show you to threaten me,” he said, starting after her.

  Laughing and screaming, Suzie ran back up to the house with Billy chasing her.

  “Mama! Billy is going to . . . ” Suzie started, but as soon as she stepped into the house she gasped, then screamed.

  There, on the floor of the kitchen, lay her mother and dad, both with their throats cut. The most terrifying-looking human being Suzie had ever seen was standing there over them, holding a bloody knife in one hand and a pork chop in the other.

  Billy, coming in right behind her, saw the scene as well.

  “Suzie, run!” Billy shouted, pulling her back outside and giving her a shove. Billy turned and ran with her.

  Reaching the barn, Billie grabbed the pitchfork he had been working with, then turned back.

  Caviness had come as far as the kitchen door to chase them, but when he saw the boy with a pitchfork, he had second thoughts. He didn’t have a gun. All he had was a knife. Even though this was just a boy, the kid was nearly full grown. In a fight between a knife and a pitchfork, the pitchfork would always win.

  Turning to go back through the kitchen, Caviness grabbed a couple more pork chops, then ran out the front door and headed for his horse. He managed to get mounted just as the boy came out the front door of the house.

  “You son of a bitch!” the boy called. “You bastard! You killed my ma and pa!” The boy chased after him, but couldn’t catch up with the horse, which easily opened the distance between them.

  Caviness hadn’t noticed the boy when he first came upon the house. If he had, he might have been able to surprise the boy and take care of him first. Instead, the boy had almost managed to kill him. Caviness knew that if he was going to survive this, he was going to have to be much more careful in the future.

  TEN

  Carla’s house was very small, consisting of only one room, which served as a bedroom, living room, kitchen, and dining room. But using curtains and flowers and a handmade quilt, she and Jennie had done what they could to make it attractive.

  The pleasant aroma of fried chicken and freshly baked biscuits greeted Preacher when he arrived.

  “Please, come in. Sit down and make yourself at home,” Carla said. “And excuse me for a moment while I check my biscuits.”

&n
bsp; “Everything smells good,” Preacher said.

  “Thank you,” Carla said, returning to her work.

  As Preacher watched the young woman work in the kitchen, he recalled the first time he had ever seen her. She was Jennie’s friend, and had been, even then. But their chance meeting had had nothing to do with Jennie.

  Preacher had just arrived in St. Louis when he heard a woman’s voice call out. The cry had come from LaBarge’s saloon.

  “No, please, don’t! It was an accident!” the woman was saying in a frightened voice.

  “You bitch! I’ll teach you to be clumsy around me!” a harsh voice said. The expletive was followed by a smacking sound, and as Preacher looked toward the commotion, he saw a young woman who he now knew to be Carla being propelled backward through the open front door. She fell on the porch and a large, gross-looking man stomped out of the saloon toward her.

  “Please,” Carla had begged. “I didn’t mean to spill the beer on you.” She tried to get up, but as she did so, the big man hit her again, knocking her back down onto the porch. She rolled over onto her hands and knees and tried to escape him that way, but he followed after her and kicked her. She cried out in pain.

  Preacher stepped up onto the porch behind the man.

  “I’ll learn you to spill beer on me, you worthless whore. I’ll kick your ass clear into Illinois,” the man growled at Carla, who was still cowering on the wooden planks of the porch.

  “Sir?” Preacher said in a calm voice from just behind the man.

  “What the hell do you . . . ?” the man started to ask, but he was unable to finish his question because as soon as he turned toward Preacher, the young mountain man brought the butt of his rifle up in a smashing blow to the man’s face. The blow knocked out two of the man’s teeth, broke his nose, and sent a stream of blood gushing down across his mouth and into his beard. If he had been ugly before, he was grotesque now. His eyes rolled up into his head and he dropped, heavily, to the porch.

  Preacher chuckled.

  “What is it?” Clara asked.

  “I was just thinking about the first time I ever saw you,” Preacher said. “You were one miserable-looking soul.”

  Clara laughed as well. “I reckon I was,” she said. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for coming to my rescue then.”

  “Oh, no more’n a dozen times,” Preacher said flippantly.

  Clara laughed again. “Well, here is one more time,” she said. “Thank you for saving me from the clutches of a horrible man like Shardeen.”

  “You’re welcome,” Preacher said.

  “Oh, I think the biscuits are done.”

  Using her apron as a hot pad, she pulled out a pan of golden-brown biscuits and set them on the table, beside a platter of fried chicken. She had also prepared boiled potatoes and green beans for their meal.

  “Oh, this looks and smells great,” Preacher said.

  “Back when I lived in the House of Flowers with Jennie and the girls, I would often cook for them,” Carla said. “They all said I was the best cook.”

  “Well, if this is any indication, I’m sure you were.”

  “That’s why I’m working at Little Man’s Café now. One of these days, I’d like to own a café of my own. Oh, I know that’s probably just a foolish dream, but like Jennie used to say, a person should always hang onto their dreams.”

  “Jennie was a wise person,” Preacher said.

  “She was the wisest person I ever knew, and I miss her terribly. Actually, I miss all of the girls,” Carla said. “Oh, I know, they were all whores, and the town didn’t think much of them. But that’s because they didn’t know them the way I knew them. Why, there wasn’t a one of them who wouldn’t do everything they could for all the others. Especially Jennie. She was like a big sister to us all.”

  “She started out like a big sister to me as well,” Preacher said.

  Carla laughed. “I don’t think Jennie thought of herself as a ‘big sister’ to you.”

  Preacher laughed as well, then coughed in embarrassment.

  “No, it didn’t wind up that way,” he said.

  “Why, Preacher. I do believe you are blushing,” Carla said with a laugh. “Imagine that. Me, making you be embarrassed.”

  “These biscuits are really quite good,” Preacher said, changing the subject and taking a bite from one.

  Carla chuckled again, but she didn’t tease him any further. Then, after a moment of silence, she changed the mood.

  “You’re going after Caviness, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I prayed that you would,” she said. “Jennie deserved better than to be killed, only to have her killer just walk away without so much as a fare-thee-well.”

  “Oh, Caviness isn’t going to get away with it,” Preacher said. “I promise you that.”

  “Caviness isn’t the only one, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, but if you’re talking about the man named Slater, he didn’t get away with it,” Preacher said. “Dog saw to that.”

  Carla shook her head. “I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about the man that’s the cause of all of this. Theodore Epson.”

  “Epson? Do you mean the banker?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I know Epson cheated Jennie out of her house, but what do you mean that he is the cause of all of this?”

  “I’ve got something to show you,” Carla said. Going to her dresser, she took out a letter, then brought it to Preacher.

  “One night after coming home, we found this letter stuck in our door,” she continued. “I think you should read it.”

  A single candle sat on the table, its perfectly still cone of flame lighting the distance between them. Preacher held the letter in the golden bubble of light and began to read.

  To the Harlot known as Jennie

  I have been informed that you are attempting to make trouble for me by accusing me of stealing. I cannot, and will not, allow my good name to be besmirched by a common whore.

  For your own safety, I advise you to say nothing more of what went on between us.

  T. Epson

  “You say you found this stuck in the door?” Preacher asked, holding it up.

  “Yes,” Carla answered.

  “Huh. Constable Billings gave me a file he had on Jennie, everything about her. I looked it over pretty thoroughly this afternoon, didn’t see any mention of this,” he said.

  “I know. Jennie didn’t mention this to him.”

  “Why not?”

  Carla sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I think by the time she got this letter, she had given up on ever getting anything done. It was like everything she took to Billings just died there.”

  “Well, he must’ve at least contacted Epson, because there was a letter from him in the file,” Preacher said. “I believe it was from Philadelphia.”

  “Yes, that’s where he is.”

  “Well, if he’s in Philadelphia, then that means he had to have someone in town leave the letter for him.”

  “Caviness,” Clara said.

  “You’re sure it was Caviness?”

  Clara nodded. “I’m positive. On the night Caviness jumped out of the alley after her, he told her that she had upset a very important man, and he warned her not to do it anymore. That could only be Epson.”

  Preacher drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. “Then Caviness killing her didn’t have anything to do with me and with what happened back in Rendezvous.”

  “No,” Carla said.

  Preacher was silent for a moment. “I’m glad,” he said. “That doesn’t sound right,” he added. “I’m not glad Epson had her killed, you understand. I’m just glad that I wasn’t the reason Caviness killed her.”

  “Oh, Preacher, how could you ever think such a thing?” Carla asked, getting up from the table and walking over to lay her hand on his shoulder. “Why, that’s as foolish as Dog thinking he was responsible.”

  Preacher
nodded. “I know,” he said. “But it was a feeling I couldn’t shake until now.”

  “Well, I know how you feel. I’ve been thinking that, if I had gone with her the night she went to Mrs. Abernathy’s, she wouldn’t have had to come home by herself.”

  “She didn’t have to come home by herself,” Preacher replied. “She had Dog with her. And if you had been with her, you both would have been killed.”

  “I know, I think about that as well. Still, I just wonder if my being with her might not have made a difference.”

  “Do you have any idea where Caviness might be?” Preacher asked.

  Carla shook her head, then returned to her chair on the opposite side of the table. “Nobody seems to know,” she said.” He hasn’t been seen around in quite a while. In fact, he hasn’t been seen since the night of the murder. That’s one of the reasons everyone is so sure he is the one who did it.”

  They had been eating all during their conversation, and finally Preacher pushed his plate away.

  “Carla, I have to tell you, that was the best meal I’ve eaten in years,” he said.

  “Well, I certainly hope you saved room for some of my apple pie,” Carla said, smiling sweetly. “I baked it just for you,” she added.

  “Oh, apple pie? I wish you had told me earlier you were going to have apple pie. I would have for sure saved room for it,” he said, rubbing his stomach.

  “That’s all right,” Carla replied with a sweet smile. “We can always eat it after.”

  “After?” Preacher replied, a puzzled expression on his face.

  Carla looked at Preacher with an expression of wonder and barely suppressed excitement. The pupils of her eyes grew large, and she licked her lips. Preacher had always thought she was a pretty girl, but now, at this moment, she was beautiful to him.

  “After,” she said again rather cryptically.

  The momentary confusion rolled away. Preacher knew exactly what Carla meant. Preacher pointed toward the bed, the presence of which now seemed to dominate the single room of the little house.