Preacher's Justice Read online

  As they approached St. Louis from the river, Preacher marveled at the changes the city had undergone since he had first laid eyes on it. He had come to St. Louis the first time in 1813, and from there, he had joined a regiment of volunteers to fight against the British at the Battle of New Orleans.

  Even though Preacher was only fourteen years old, he had been breveted a lieutenant in that battle, earning the respect of his commanders and the men who had served with him. Since that time, Missouri had become a state, and St. Louis had grown from a frontier town to a bustling, prosperous city of nearly twenty thousand people. That was a lot of people—too many people for someone like Art, who had grown accustomed to life in the wilderness and went for days or weeks without seeing another human soul.

  St. Louis was a vibrant city, alive with the pulse of commerce and enterprise: the scream of a steam-powered sawmill, the sound of steamboat whistles from the river, the hiss and boom of boats’ engines, and the clatter of wagons rolling across cobblestone streets. To someone used to solitude so complete that he could hear the flutter of a bird’s wings, the noise of civilization was almost unbearable.

  Preacher had not planned to visit St. Louis during this trip down from the mountains, and had in fact not planned on any visit in the near future. But, upon learning that his dear Jennie had been murdered, he’d felt that he had no choice. He had to come, to find out just what happened, and to find justice for her.

  “I say, Preacher,” the purser said, coming to him shortly after the boat docked. “I seem to have lost the Culpepper brothers. Have you seen them recently?”

  “Yes,” Preacher said.

  “Where are they?”

  “Oh, they got off the boat last night,” Preacher said without further explanation.

  “They got off last night? My word,” the purser said, scratching his head as he started back to his office.

  Emma and Cynthia came to the deck of the boat, preparing to leave. They were accompanied by the headmistress of the finishing school they were to attend, and followed by three young black boys who were struggling to carry their luggage.

  “Oh, Miss Peabody, this is Preacher,” Emma said by way of introduction.

  Miss Peabody held her glasses up on a long stem and looked at Preacher. Seeing by his dress that he was a frontiersman, she turned away from him without even acknowledging his presence.

  “Come, ladies, we mustn’t tarry,” she said.

  “He saved our lives,” Cynthia said.

  Miss Peabody hesitated for a moment, then turned to Preacher. “I’m sure the families of these young ladies would be more than willing to provide you with a reward for your service,” she said.

  Preacher nodded. “Thank you, ma’am, but seeing their pretty smiles is reward enough.”

  Both women giggled in delight, but Miss Peabody just let out a disapproving “hurrumph” and, again, ordered the girls to come with her.

  Preacher watched them get into a beautifully lacquered carriage, then drive away. He picked up the roll he kept his own gear in, tossed it over his shoulder, walked down the gangplank and up the street.

  A neatly painted sign on front of the building read: FURS BOUGHT AND SOLD, WILLIAM ASHLEY, PROP. Squaring his shoulders, Preacher went inside.

  A little bell hanging from the door summoned the proprietor from the back. A tall, rather dignified-looking man came up to greet him. Then, recognizing Preacher, he smiled broadly and extended his hand.

  “Preacher!” he said. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Hello, Mr. Ashley,” Preacher said, returning the handshake. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Ashley leaned over to see beyond Preacher. “Did you bring your own plews?”

  “No, no, I sold them to your representative out at the Rendezvous.”

  “Oh? Well, then, what brings you to St. Louis? Not that I’m not pleased to see you,” he added quickly.

  Preacher pulled the letter from inside his shirt. “I came because of this,” he said.

  The smile left Ashley’s face, and he nodded. “About Miss Jennie,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “To tell the truth, I rather suspected that would bring you to St. Louis.”

  “I would like to visit Jennie’s grave,” Preacher said. “Is it marked?”

  “Yes, I put up a marker for her.”

  “Thanks. Where in the cemetery will I find her grave?”

  “I don’t even need to tell you that. You’ll find her easily enough,” Ashley said.

  Preacher looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “The cemetery is just down at the end of the street here. Go on down there and look for yourself. You’ll see what I’m talking about,” he said mysteriously.

  “May I leave this here?” Preacher asked, taking the roll from his shoulder.

  “Yes, of course,” Ashley said, taking the roll from Preacher and putting it down behind the counter. “Go visit Jennie’s grave, then come on back. We’ll have dinner at Chardonnay’s.”

  “Thanks.”

  Leaving the shop, Preacher started down the street toward the cemetery, wondering what Ashley meant when he said he wouldn’t have any problem locating Jennie’s grave.

  As soon as Preacher reached the gate to the cemetery, he saw what Ashley was talking about. There, on the far side of the cemetery under a spreading maple tree, he saw a familiar-looking dog lying on one of the graves.

  “Dog?” Preacher called.

  Dog raised his head. Then, seeing Preacher, he bounded across the cemetery toward him. Preacher dropped down on one knee. When Dog reached him, Preacher began rubbing him on the head and behind his ears, one of which, he noticed, was only half an ear. In addition, there were half-a-dozen scars on the dog’s head and body.

  “Is that Jennie’s grave over there?” Preacher asked.

  Whether in sorrow or shame for having failed in his duty, Dog lowered his head.

  “I’m not accusing you, Dog,” Preacher said quietly. “From the looks of you, you did all that you could. Come on, take me to see Jennie.”

  With Dog leading the way, Preacher followed through the cemetery until he reached Jennie’s grave. Dog lay down. Putting his nose between his paws, he looked up at Preacher, sharing his grief.

  Preacher read the inscription:

  Precious Flower,

  Divine providence hath seen fit to pluck thee

  from this earth

  and transplant thee to the garden of Eden

  where a more fitting abode awaits thee.

  Cherished one,

  As long as blood flows through the veins

  of the hand that pens these lines,

  Thy memory shall be kept ever green.

  Gone but not forgotten,

  Carla

  EIGHT

  “You found Dog, I see,” Ashley said when Preacher returned with the dog several minutes later.

  Preacher sat in a chair, tipped it back against the wall, and began rubbing Dog behind his ears.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Did you see the inscription on the tombstone?”

  “I saw it.”

  “Carla had me put it there. You remember her, don’t you? She was one of Jennie’s girls, but not really one of her girls. Carla never was a whore.”

  “Yes, I remember her. She’s what now, sixteen, seventeen?”

  Ashley laughed. “She’s twenty-two now, and quite a pretty woman. She’s waitin’ tables down at Little Man’s Café.”

  “Mr. Ashley . . . ”

  “Lord, Preacher, haven’t we known each other long enough for you to call me Bill?”

  “Bill,” Preacher said, “you said you thought Ben Caviness was one of those who killed Jennie?”

  “That’s right. Nobody saw who did it, but if I had to make a guess, he’s the one I would pick.”

  “In the letter you said there were two of them, but only one got away.”

  “Yep.”

  �
�What about the one that was caught? Haven’t you been able to make him say anything?”

  “If he does say something, he’ll be saying it to God,” Ashley said. “We found him at the same time we found Miss Jennie. He’s dead.”

  “Dead? How? What happened to him?”

  Ashley nodded toward Dog, who was now sleeping with his head resting on Preacher’s foot. “As near as we can figure it, Dog killed him,” he said. “I mean, Dog must’ve put up one hell of a fight.”

  “If nobody saw it, and you found one man dead, how do you even know there was another one?”

  “Because when we found Dog, he was more dead than alive,” Ashley said. “And he had a man’s ear clenched in his teeth.”

  “An ear?”

  “Yep. And that ear didn’t come off the dead man, ’cause he still had both his ears. That means there was another person involved.”

  “Speaking of ears, I notice that Dog just barely has both of his,” Preacher said. “He also seems to have several scars.”

  “Like I said, Dog was more dead than alive when we found him. We really didn’t think he was going to live,” Ashley said. “He had a gunshot wound, and six stab wounds. He was lying in a pool of blood, though most of it was Jennie’s blood. He was lying on her body when we found him.”

  “What was his name? The fella who was killed, I mean. Do you know?”

  “They called him Slater, but nobody knows if that was his first name or his last. He drifted in here about a year ago. Some say he had been a river pirate; others say he was just a petty thief. He was almost always in some kind of trouble, I know that. Folks all agree that Dog did the city a favor by killing him.”

  “I suppose,” Preacher replied. “But it would’ve been good to talk to him, to find out for sure if Caviness was the other man.”

  “Well, whether it was Caviness or not, whoever did it is not in St. Louis,” Ashley said. “We know that much at least.”

  “How do we know that?”

  “Because everyone in this town is wearin’ both their ears,” Ashley replied with a little laugh.

  The men were quiet for a moment. Then Ashley nodded toward the dog. “I have to tell you, I’m surprised to see him here,” he said.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because this is the first time since the day Miss Jennie was buried that Dog has left the cemetery. Folks have taken notice of him, and someone is always bringing him something to eat, just because they want to. There are a lot of rabbits and squirrels out there, and Dog is pretty resourceful. There is also a stream that runs through the place.”

  “I wonder why he won’t leave the cemetery,” Preacher said.

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s all that much of a mystery,” Ashley replied. “You did leave him to look out for Miss Jennie, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think he’s feeling guilty for not being able to do what you asked.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Preacher said. “You might be right.” He looked down at Dog. “Dog?”

  Dog opened his eyes and looked up at him.

  “Dog, you don’t have anything to feel guilty about,” Preacher said. “You did the best you could do. You killed one of them, and you fixed it so that when I find the other one, I will recognize him.” He reached down and rubbed Dog on the head again. “You did a good job, Dog, and I am very proud of you.”

  Dog stretched, stood up, then shook himself so that the loose skin slipped around noisily. He licked Preacher’s hand.

  Ashley laughed. “You know what? I think you just took a big load off his mind. I really do think he was worried about what you would think of him failing his responsibility.”

  “He didn’t fail anything,” Preacher said.

  “Nevertheless, I bet he won’t spend all of his time down at the cemetery anymore.”

  “Listen, didn’t you say something about buying my dinner?”

  “I did. Chardonnay’s is just down the street. That’s the best restaurant in St. Louis.”

  “Yes, I’ve eaten there,” Preacher said. “But if it’s all the same to you, I believe I’d just as soon eat at—where is it you said Carla works?”

  “Little Man’s.”

  “Yes. Let’s eat at Little Man’s,” Preacher said.

  “Preacher!” Carla squealed in joy when Preacher and Ashley stepped into Little Man’s Café. She was carrying a pitcher of water and she put it down, hurrying over to give Preacher a big hug.

  Preacher returned her hug, and she hung onto him for a long time. After a moment, he felt a wetness on his cheek and realized that she was crying. He didn’t force her away from him, but let her hold him for as long as she wished. Finally, she drew away and, raising the end of her apron, dabbed at her tear-filled eyes.

  “You know about Jennie?” she asked.

  Preacher nodded. “Mr. Ashley sent me a letter. I just visited her grave. That was really nice, Carla, what you had put on her tombstone.”

  “Jennie was like a big sister to me,” Carla said. “I’ve never loved any person like I loved her. She loved me too.” She smiled through her tears. “But of course, she didn’t love me the way she loved you. She was really in love with you, Preacher, did you know that?”

  Preacher nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I knew it.”

  “It wasn’t all one-sided, was it? You did love her too, didn’t you? I mean, I know you did.”

  “It wasn’t one-sided,” Preacher said. “I did love her, perhaps even more than I thought I did. But nothing would have ever worked out between us.”

  “I guess not. Oh, if you visited her grave, then you saw Dog there. He won’t leave it, you know.”

  “He won’t?” Ashley asked with a broad smile. He nodded toward the front door. “Who do you think that is?”

  Looking in the direction Ashley indicated, Carla saw Dog curled up on the front porch. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my,” she said. “There he is, on the front porch.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I don’t understand. Ever since Jennie died, day or night, rain or shine, cold weather or hot, Dog has been right down there, lying on Jennie’s grave. He never leaves the cemetery, never. Yet there he is, right outside on the front porch.”

  “I released him,” Preacher said.

  “You released him? What do you mean?”

  “I had charged Dog with looking out for Jennie. He thought he had failed.”

  “Preacher told him he did all he could do to protect Miss Jennie,” Ashley said.

  “But I told him that,” Carla said. “We’ve all told him that.”

  “Yes, but you weren’t the one who charged him with that responsibility,” Preacher said. “Only I did that, and in Dog’s mind, only I could release him from that charge.”

  “Bless his heart,” Carla said. “Maybe he can find peace now.”

  Lying out on the porch, Dog looked through the door at Bear Killer and the friend of Bear Killer’s woman. Dog had believed that Bear Killer would be angry with him because he had not done his job.

  He had tried as hard as he could, and even now, he could recall the warm rush of blood as he ripped open the neck of one of the two men who had attacked Jennie. Even as he was engaged with that one, the one Bear Killer’s woman called Caviness was attacking him with a knife, stabbing him repeatedly.

  When Dog felt the life drain from the one he had attacked, he turned on Caviness, despite the pain and the weakness he was feeling. He went for Caviness’s neck, but Caviness covered it with his arm, and turned his head to one side. Dog ripped off his ear, and heard Caviness scream in pain.

  Then Dog saw a flash of light and heard a loud noise. He felt a blow to his side, followed by a darkness. When he came to, he saw that Bear Killer’s woman was dead, lying in a pool of blood from a wound in her neck.

  Dog felt an intense shame for having failed in his duty. Bear Killer had asked him to protect his woman, and he hadn’t done so. He could not bring himself to le
ave her, even when she was buried. He stayed at the place where they buried her, determined to carry out the responsibility Bear Killer had given him, determined to continue to protect her, even though she was now dead.

  But now, Bear Killer had returned. Dog could see that Bear Killer wasn’t angry. Bear Killer understood that Dog had done all he could. Dog was at peace.

  Ordinarily, the hotel would not allow dogs in the patrons’ rooms. But like nearly everyone else in town, the proprietor of the Dunn Hotel knew the story of Dog, how he had killed one of the men who attacked his mistress and had chewed the ear off the other. He also knew that Dog had stayed at Jennie’s grave all this time, out of a sense of loyalty, or love, or responsibility that was almost humanlike. Because of that, when Preacher took a room that night, and walked up the stairs with Dog following right behind, the proprietor said nothing.

  In fact, he thought, both Preacher and the dog were fast becoming legends. It might well be that being able to say they stayed in his hotel would mean an increase in business.

  Preacher and Dog stepped into the magistrate’s office the next morning to find Constable Billings sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on his desk. He was paring an apple, and one long peel hung from it all the way to the floor. He looked up as Preacher came in.

  “I remember you,” the constable said. “You’re the one they call Preacher.”

  “Yes.”

  “I expect you’re here to ask about Miss Jennie. William Ashley said she was your woman.”

  “She was.”

  Billings finished, then tossed the peeled apple to Preacher. “Want this?” he asked. “I don’t particularly like apples.”

  Preacher looked at Billings with a confused expression on his face.