around here in years. 'Cept maybe that medicine show fellow and his woman, and we took care of that problem.'
'You hung him. Not me. I wasn't there.'
'Judas didn't nail up Jesus either,' the older man said with a mean smile. 'Cut the holy-on-me shit, boy. You gave him to us. It's the same thing. And it ain't nothing to feel guilty for. He was just an Indian and that gal was half nigger at the least.'
'He was an innocent man.'
'Like the feller said, 'only good Injun is a dead'n'. And I'll second that on niggers, greasers, and half- bloods.'
The Reverend noticed that Matt's face drew up in disgust, but he said nothing.
'All right,' the older man continued. 'It wasn't Indians, and it damn sure wasn't no robbers. Didn't you say the bags wasn't bothered with?'
Matt nodded. 'Shitty robbers, I'd say. Polite like too. After they got the folks off the stage and hid them, they was nice enough to bring the stage on in, set the brake, and leave it in the middle of the goddamned street. Hell, I don't know why the lazy sonsabitches didn't just go on and feed the horses.'
The two sat silent for a moment, and the Reverend took this as his cue. He stood up and stepped over to their table.
'Excuse me' said the Reverend to the sheriff, 'I'd like a word with you.'
'Speak ahead. This here is Caleb Long. Sometimes he's a deputy of mine.'
The Reverend nodded at Caleb, who examined him with a look of wry humor.
Turning back to the sheriff, the Reverend said, 'Sheriff, I'm a man of God. I travel from town to town teaching and spreading the Word....'
'And filling your offering plates,' Caleb said.
The Reverend looked at Caleb. Considering that for some time that was exactly what he had been doing, he could not find it in himself to anger. He nodded.
'Yes, I admit that. I'm a man of God, but like you, I must eat. But I do bring something with me besides a sermon. I bring the Word of our Lord and eternal salvation.'
'You fixin' to pass the plate now, Reverend? If so, don't push it my way. I don't buy nothing I can't see.'
'I suppose I get a might carried away when the subject of the Lord is brought up,' the Reverend said.
'You brought it up,' Caleb said.
'So I did.'
'Pardon me,' Matt said, 'but Reverend, do you think we could cut through the horseshit here and get down to cases? What can I do for you?'
'I would like to rent a tent, and with your permission, hold a night of gospel singing, prayer, and bringing lost souls to Jesus.' Glancing at Caleb. 'And passing the offering plate.'
'It's all right by me,' Matt said, 'but we have a preacher.
He might not take too kindly to an outside Bible yacker. And as far as I know, he's the only one around these parts with a tent like you want. He used to travel-preach too.'
'That a fact,' the Reverend said.
'You go down the street,' Matt pointed in a southerly direction, 'till you come to a church, and Reverend Calhoun lives in part of it. You tell him it's okay by me if it's okay by him.'
'Thanks,' said the Reverend.
Caleb stood, tossed money on the table for his breakfast. He lifted one leg and cut loose with a loud fart.
For a moment the cafe went quiet. Customers stared at him.
Loud enough for everyone to hear, Caleb said, 'Don't let it slow you none, folks. My mama didn't teach me no manners.' He turned to Matt, 'See you,' then to the Reverend,
'See you in church, preacher boy,' and he went out.
'Unusual sense of humor your friend has,' the Reverend said.
'He's a little unrefined.'
'I suppose that's the word for it.'
'He was trying to embarrass you.'
'He did the job nicely'
'He hates preachers. One raped his mama when he was a boy.'
'And what about you? Do you hate preachers?'
'Are you an honest-to-God preacher?'
'I am.'
'Then do me a favor, say a little prayer for me. I think I need one.'
Matt stood up, tossed money on the table, and went out.
When he was gone, the Reverend said softly, 'I will.'
X
After breakfast, the Reverend paid up and started out the door. As he opened it, a beautiful dark-haired woman came in. The Reverend was stunned. She looked just the way he figured his sister would look now. He stood in front of her for a moment too long before stepping aside to let her pass.
As she did, she smiled and he tipped his hat.
Behind the woman was an elderly man with cigar-ash colored hair, glasses, and a glance that could drop a buffalo at fifty paces.
The elderly man took the woman's arm, walked her to a table. When they were seated, he turned to look back at the Reverend who was still dumbly holding the door.
The Reverend nodded, and as the woman smiled at him a second time, he hastened out.
As he walked toward the church, he had a sudden sinking in his stomach. He knew the woman was not his sister. They were not twins in appearance, but she certainly reminded him of her, and the old lust of her memory rose in his loins.
Was the woman one of God's little tests?
If so, she was a good one. He was as shook as an Indian rattle.
As he passed the livery, he saw David standing in the doorway grooming a horse. David waved. The Reverend waved back and continued down the street, the image of the woman still burning in his brain.
…
Unheard by David, when the Reverend walked by the livery — in the loft, hidden beneath loose hay — a crate had shifted ever so slightly in the Reverend's direction, as if it were a compass needle trying to point true north: the Reverend.
When the Reverend came to the end of the street, smack dab in the middle of it was a large white church with a large white cross sticking up into the sky. Out beside the church was a slope-off house, and beside that was a fenced-in garden, and in the garden, working furiously at weeds with a hoe, was Reverend Calhoun.
Jeb knew he was a Reverend at a glance. Like his father, Calhoun wore a constant mask of stern Baptist conviction. He worked at the weeds in his desperate little garden like the Lord himself chopping down sinners.
Calhoun lifted his head, leaned on his hoe, and wiped his sleeve at his sweaty forehead.
As he did, he laid eyes on the Reverend. He frowned slightly from habit, went to lean on the fence surrounding his garden.
The Reverend leaned on it as well.
'Good day, sir, I'm Reverend Jebidiah Mercer. I've come to ask you a favor.'
'A favor?'
'One that any good Christian could not refuse.'
'We'll see about that,' Calhoun said.
'The sheriff gave me permission, if it's all right with you, to hold a night of gospel here in Mud Creek. He wanted to be sure you agreed, as he didn't want there to be conflict, though I hardly see how there could be conflict between us—two men of God.'
'That so?' Calhoun said.
