by Jake Logan
By sundown, he had not seen any soldiers on his trail and angled toward the road. Dangerous though it might be, Slocum had no other choice if he wanted to get north to Bitter Springs. He and his horse walked along slowly until he heard the sound of horses coming from the direction of the fort. Quickly leaving the road, he went down in a draw out of sight. The horses slowed and then halted.
Slocum left his horse and ran down the draw, coming back around to a spot where he could see the road.
It looked mighty bleak to him. A squad had halted and the sergeant leading the soldiers pointed in the direction Slocum had taken. They had spotted his tracks. He reached for his six-shooter, but halted when he heard someone coming up behind him.
“They got you—unless you want to go along with me,” a deeply resonant voice boomed out.
Slocum rolled over and saw a man dressed in a black cutaway coat and a threadbare vest staring at him. A tall silk stovepipe hat made him look ten feet tall, but Slocum guessed he was hardly six feet, and probably several inches less.
“Who might you be?” Slocum asked.
“No time for that. Do they know you by sight?”
“Ran into three sentries along the road earlier today. They got a good look at me.”
The man nodded, chewed his thumb for a moment, then brightened.
“It’s going to be hard for them to identify you in the dark, even if they saw you earlier. Give me your gun belt and hat. And strip off your coat and shirt. It’s easier to remember a shirt than a face.”
Slocum considered his plight. The man, if he had been armed, could have back-shot him and never bothered with any charade. A quick move got his gun and holster off. He sailed his bullet-holed hat to the man, and then quickly added both his coat and bloodstained shirt. When the cold night air hit his bare skin, his shallow wounds ached and made movement difficult.
“Come along, uh, come along, Jethro.”
“Jethro?” Slocum laughed.
“It’s as good a name as any. It’s not your real name, is it? Good. No point letting them have too many clues.” The man headed toward the draw and kept moving along it. The draw widened onto a dry flood plain. Slocum saw a large peddler’s wagon parked ahead. The man in the stovepipe hat hurried to the rear of the wagon and tossed Slocum’s gear inside. He pointed to a wheel, then put his finger to his lips cautioning Slocum to silence.
Slocum knelt by the wheel and examined it. Two spokes were coming loose. He began working on them with tools already laid out on the ground as the squad of soldiers rode up.
“Who’re you?” demanded the sergeant at the head of the column.
“Why, sir, I am a man of the cloth, a man of God. I bring my ministry to those who cannot find the Gospel in remote towns. I am Daniel Whitmore, known far and wide as Preacher Dan.”
With a flourish, Whitmore doffed his hat and bowed deeply.
“What’s your business?”
“Why, Sergeant, I am bringing the word of the Lord to the people.”
“What are you doing out on the road right now?” the soldier asked angrily.
“My handyman, Jethro, is struggling to maintain the integrity of my vehicle.”
“What?”
“The wheel’s coming off,” Preacher Dan said tiredly. “It is a godsend that your men have come by so they can lend a hand.”
“We’re huntin’ for a man responsible for killin’ two soldiers. ”
“Your hunt can continue after you lend a hand. Remember the parable of the Good Samaritan.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Why, we are going toward Bitter Springs. We have just visited Fort Suddereth.”
“I seen ’im, Sarge,” said a private. “He was run out of the fort by Captain Gunnison while you was out on patrol down south.”
Slocum tensed. It was possible the sergeant had discovered the two dead soldiers rather than assuming they were dead because they had not returned. The commander at the fort seemed to prefer dropping off guards along the road rather than having them patrol on horseback.
“How many was with the preacher man?”
“Him an’ another. I only heard of ’em. I was in the stockade fer—”
“Never mind,” the sergeant said. “Patrol, ride!”
Slocum remained bent over the wheel until the soldiers had trotted off into the dark. Only when the dust had settled did he stand and wipe off his hands.
“Your wheel’s fixed,” he told Preacher Dan.
“Do tell. You are quite handy—as well as a murderer.” The preacher did not sound as if he was frightened at the prospect.
“It was self-defense, and I’m not sure they were soldiers, ” Slocum said. “They wore uniform jackets, but nothing else about them spoke of the cavalry. Might be they killed the soldiers and took their uniforms.” Slocum started to add “and looked for the loot from the stagecoach,” but he held his tongue.
“That is between you and your conscience,” Preacher Dan said. “I’m only pleased that you can fix things.”
“I’m obliged you gave me the chance,” Slocum said.
“And I’m glad he gave you the chance to take off your shirt,” came a voice as soft and smooth as silk. “I certainly enjoyed the chance to see you half-naked.”
Slocum turned and faced a dark-haired woman about as pretty as he had ever seen.
“Jethro, meet my daughter Tessa,” said Preacher Dan Whitmore.
4
Slocum looked straight into the woman’s bright blue eyes and saw the humor dancing there.
“You’ve got my horse,” he said. Tessa led the mare, allowing it to hobble along at its own pace.
“And you’ve got . . .” Tessa’s eyes dipped to Slocum’s crotch.
“What?” Slocum asked.
“Dirty. Did you fix the wheel for Papa?”
“He did a right smart job of it, daughter,” Preacher Dan said. “I knew the Lord would provide.”
Slocum did not hear all of what Tessa replied but caught “. . . helps herself.”
She handed the reins to Slocum. Their hands touched for a moment longer than necessary. Tessa was in no hurry to pull back, and neither was Slocum. She went around the wagon and opened the rear door, grabbed his shirt, and tossed it to him.
“It gets cold out in the desert. You’ll need this to keep you warm—if you don’t have other ways of doing so.” Her bold stare challenged Slocum. He looked from her to Preacher Dan, who seemed oblivious to the byplay. Slocum doubted he was the first man Tessa had been so open with. He wondered if anything bothered the preacher. He had not blinked when Slocum confessed to killing two soldiers, and now he pointedly looked the other way as his daughter propositioned a man she had only met a few minutes earlier.
“I’m obliged, but I had better clear out. I don’t want you good folks to get into trouble.”
“The cavalry is no problem,” Preacher Dan said. “Their commander chased us off the post, so we are a known quantity to them. We are beneath their notice.”
“Beneath their contempt, you mean, Papa,” Tessa said. “They were so rude. The things they said about us were criminal.”
“Turn the other cheek, dear,” the preacher said. “We must travel on now that we have done all we could at Fort Suddereth.”
Tessa laughed and caused Slocum to look around sharply. Something in their tone suggested their mission at the cavalry post had been something other than saving souls. What it might have been, he could not say. The interior of the wagon was almost bare, with only a few boxes carefully covered with tarps against the front wall.
She tossed Slocum his gun belt and pistol. He saw how her fingers lingered on the ebony handle. He settled the belt about his waist and went to see how his mare was faring.
“You won’t get a mile before they find you,” the preacher said. “Ride with us. We’re heading to Bitter Springs.”
“I heard,” Slocum said. He dropped the mare’s hoof. The horse could walk, but not carry his weight
. Escaping this part of the country looked increasingly as bleak as the desert itself.
“We can let your horse walk alongside. You can ride inside the wagon out of sight. Nobody’s going to poke around a preacher’s wagon,” Preacher Dan said.
“They get mighty forgetful about what they’re doing if I talk to them. I just don’t know why.” Tessa struck a pose that took Slocum’s mind off his predicament. He suspected she used her wiles on any man who rode by, not just on him.
“I should tell you it’s not only the cavalry that’s looking for me. There was a problem with a Ranger named Jeffers,” Slocum said. “There’s no easy way of clearing that matter up with half the Rangers from Sidewinder hunting for me, too.”
“You killed a Ranger?” This caused both father and daughter to look a mite more concerned.
“Can’t say it wasn’t for lack of trying,” Slocum said, gauging their expressions, “but he walked away from the shoot-out.” He did not add that Jeffers had escaped getting one of Slocum’s bullets poked through him not once but twice.
“You have been a busy boy,” Tessa said. “If you didn’t actually kill a Ranger, they won’t hunt for long. They have other pressing matters to occupy them.”
“The Warm Springs Apaches are free from their reservation over in Arizona,” Preacher Dan said.
“Heard tell of an outlaw gang that interested the Rangers, too,” Slocum said. “And no,” he hurried on, “I’m not part of any gang.”
“I think our friend Jethro might prove an asset to our travels, daughter. What do you think?”
“Oh, yes, Papa, a real asset.”
Slocum jerked when he felt her hand on his ass. She was a forward woman, bolder than many Cyprians he had encountered in saloons. But Tessa always leavened her lewd winks or outright leering with a small, almost shy look. It was as if she practiced on being bold as brass and was not quite sure of herself.
Slocum was sure of one thing. She was about the prettiest woman he had laid eyes on in a month of Sundays. Tessa stood about five feet five, with everything in perfect proportion. While the gingham dress she wore was chaste enough, the way she wore it was not. Her breasts thrust out impudently against the fabric, and bounced delightfully as she turned this way and that. As she moved, she made sure her skirt swirled around her ankles, giving Slocum a hint of what lay beneath. It was enough to get his heart hammering faster. Most of all, it was the way she looked at him that made him respond so.
When she eyed him, he thought there was nothing else in the entire world but the two of them.
“Get on in the rear, Jethro,” said the preacher. “It’s time we rolled on to Bitter Springs.”
“Go on, spread out a blanket, and get some sleep,” Tessa said. “You’re going to need all the rest you can get.”
There wasn’t much left to the imagination in the way she spoke or the look on her face. Slocum climbed into the rear of the wagon, and experienced a moment’s pang when the door was shut and latched behind him. It was almost completely dark, and he fumbled about until he found his bedroll and spread it out in the small space left. He curled up and closed his eyes. He drifted off thinking of Tessa, and awoke with her face only inches from his.
“We’re there,” she said softly. “You keep inside the wagon for a spell. And leave that shooting iron of yours behind when you go out. You’re a handyman, not a gunslinger.”
She bent and gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then was gone. He sat up and fumbled around before making sure his Colt Navy and holster were hidden under his blanket. Only then did he push open the rear door and step out into the bright sun of day. Squinting, he estimated the height of the sun, and knew it must be close to ten in the morning. He had slept like a dead man all the way along a rocky road.
He dropped to the ground, scratched himself, and then walked around the wagon. For the first time, he read the sign painted on the side in large gold letters: PREACHER DAN’S ROLLING MINISTRY.
Slocum wondered if he could scrape off the paint and find evidence that Daniel Whitmore had been a dentist before or maybe a peddler of snake oil. Neither would have been too outrageous for Preacher Dan.
He looked around the town as he circled the wagon, checking to be sure the wheel was still intact. He shook it, and decided the wheel had to be taken off and fixed better than he could do with it still on the axle. A wheelwright would be best, though Slocum could do the repair work if necessary. One thing he could not do without tools was shoe the mare. He unfastened the reins where the horse had been secured on their trip up from Fort Suddereth, and tugged gently.
“Time to get you looked after all properlike,” Slocum said. The mare understood, and hardly hobbled as he led her to the town stables. After a protracted amount of dickering, Slocum arranged for both care and shoeing without spending a fortune. Small-town businesses sometimes took it into their heads to overcharge travelers.
“What about the other horse?” asked the liveryman.
“Other?” Then Slocum remembered he worked for Preacher Dan as a handyman. “Oh, the one still at the wagon,” he said, covering his gaffe. “I’ll bring her over in a while. The preacher wanted to keep the rig ready to roll so he could set up once and not have to move later.”
“Makes sense,” the man said. “Same price fer the second horse, ’cept it don’t have to be shoed, does it?”
Slocum knew it did not. He almost asked about the saloons in town—he had seen three on his way to the livery stables—but caught himself in time. He had no idea what kind of spiel the preacher gave. If it was about the evils of Demon Rum, Slocum didn’t want to ruin things by being seen knocking back a few shots of whiskey.
“There you are, Jethro,” Tessa called. “Papa wants the wagon taken to the edge of town, out by the bank. You know how to set it up.” She looked around and smiled at two women eavesdropping from the nearby boardwalk. The women nodded brusquely and hurried away, whispering between themselves.
“Don’t reckon you’re always welcome in these towns. Is there already a minister in Bitter Springs?”
“I couldn’t say,” Tessa admitted. “Papa usually comes to an arrangement with any competition.”
“Competition for souls or money?”
“What’s the difference? As the Bible says, it’s easier to get a camel through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God.”
“Matthew 19:24,” Slocum said automatically.
“What?” Tessa looked at him suspiciously.
“The Bible quotation.”
“Oh, yes, of course. You are a surprising man . . . Jethro.”
“John,” he said. “John Slocum.”
“I like that better,” Tessa said. She reached out and lightly brushed her fingertips across his stubbled cheek. “Get the wagon down to that empty lot across from the bank. I’ll be down soon.”
Slocum looked over the woman’s shoulder, and saw two men come out of a saloon. The sunlight glinted brightly off their badges. Texas Rangers.
He turned suddenly and said over his shoulder, “I’ll only get you in trouble if you’re seen with me.”
“Oh,” Tessa said. “I thought they’d be inside for a while yet. They had half a bottle of whiskey on the table in front of them.”
“You knew they were in town and didn’t tell me?”
“Why bother you with something like that? Get into the back of the wagon, John. I’ll drive down where Papa wants you to set up.”
Slocum ducked into the back of the wagon and closed the door. The last look he got outside was of the pair of Rangers walking purposefully toward him. There wasn’t any way of securing the door on the inside, and Slocum could not risk letting go of his grip on the handle to reach for his six-shooter. His muscles knotted with strain as he heard one Ranger call out, “Wait up. We want a word with you, ma’am.”
Slocum almost let the door flop open so he could get his six-gun and shoot his way out of town. Tessa might tip off the lawmen that
a desperado was lurking in the rear of her wagon, or she might inadvertently give him away.
“Why, if it isn’t two big, strong Rangers. What can I do for such fine, upstanding God-fearing men?”
Slocum thought she laid it on too thick, but neither Ranger sounded put out.
“Ma’am, we seen you just pulled into town.”
“That is true. Please, take this broadside. It explains everything. Preacher Dan will hold a tent meeting this afternoon. ”
“We’re not interested in that,” said the other Ranger. “Did you come across an hombre out on the trail?”
“Why, yes,” Tessa said. Slocum strained to wrap a corner of his bedroll in his fingers. He tugged hard and brought it closer. His Colt slid with it.
“What’s that noise?”
Slocum fumbled to wrap his hand around the ebony butt of his six-shooter before the Rangers poked their heads into the rear of the wagon.
“Why, nothing. We’ve had problems with a wheel rattling and wobbling on us.”
“The man you spotted outside town? What about him?”
“There were four of them, Ranger,” she said. “They said they were from Fort Suddereth. They wore uniforms and all, so we just assumed they were telling the truth. That’s always the best policy, don’t you think? Believing people until you learn different?”
“Soldiers?” The Ranger sounded disgusted.
“One wore stripes. The others called him Sergeant, so we thought he was.”
“Nobody else? A solitary rider?”
“It’s mighty lonely out on the road to Bitter Springs,” she said wistfully. “I wish there had been someone else. Papa would have preached some Gospel to him.” She chuckled. “I do declare, it gets mighty boring out there when I’m the only one he has to practice his sermons on.”
That was the right thing to say. The Rangers promised they would look in on the revival meeting, but Slocum doubted they would unless they came solely to gawk at Tessa. He relaxed and placed his six-gun back on the floor just as the wagon lurched and sent him sprawling. The door swung open and then closed. He doubted the Rangers got a good enough look into the wagon to see him, but he got back to his feet and grabbed the handle to hold the door shut as they bounced along the rocky street.
