Wheeler gave a weary smile. 'I could make a law that says a man can only breathe on a Sunday. You think it would be obeyed? The only laws men will follow are those that they either agree with, or can be enforced by men like me. I can make the miners and the rogues stay away from the decent folk here. I can do that. But Unity needs silver, and this is the richest strike ever. So we got special dispensation from the Apostle Saul to operate our. . places.’ It was obvious that Wheeler didn't like the situation, and he struck Clem as a decent man. 'So where you heading?' he asked Nestor.
'We're looking for someone,' replied the youngster.
'Anyone in particular?'
'Yes, sir. The Preacher from Pilgrim's Valley.'
'Jon Cade? I heard he was killed after his church was burnt down.'
'You knew him?' asked Clem.
'Never seen him, but word spread that he was friendly to Wolvers — even had them in his church. No wonder it got blazed. He's alive then, you reckon?'
'Yes, sir, we think so,' said Nestor. 'He killed some of the raiders, but he was wounded bad.'
'Well, he's not been here, son. I can assure you of that. Still, give me a description and I'll see it's circulated.'
'He's around six feet two, dark hair — a little grey at the temples. And he was wearing a black coat and a white shirt, black trousers and shoes. He's sort of thin in the face, with deep-set eyes, and he don't smile much. I'd say he was around 35, maybe a little older.'
'This wound he took,' said Wheeler softly. 'Was it in the temple. . here?' he added, tapping the right side of his head.
'Yes, sir, I believe so. Someone seen him riding out, said he was bleeding from the head.'
'How would you know that if you haven't seen him?' put in Clem.
'Oh, I've seen a man who answers that description. What else can you tell me about him?'
'He's a quiet man,' said Nestor, 'and he doesn't like violence.'
'You don't say? Well, for a man who doesn't like it he's mighty partial to it. He shot our Oath Taker to death. Right there in the church. I have to admit that Crane — the dead man — was an odious little runt, but that ain't hardly the point. He was also involved in an earlier gun-battle when Crane and some other men attacked a group of Wanderers. Several men — and a woman — were killed. I think the wound must have scrambled your Preacher's brains, son. You wouldn't believe who he's claiming to be.'
'Who?' asked Nestor.
'The Jerusalem Man.'
Nestor's mouth dropped open, and he swung a quick glance to Clem. The older man's face was expressionless. Wheeler leaned back in his chair. 'Don't seem to have surprised you none, friend?'
Clem shrugged. 'Head wounds can be very tricky,' he said. 'I take it you didn't catch him?'
'Nope. To be honest, I hope we don't. That's a very sick man. And he was provoked. I'll tell you this, though, he can surely handle a pistol. That's a surprising gift for a Preacher who don't like violence.'
'He's a surprising man,' said Clem.
Jacob Moon was thinking of other, more weighty matters as the mortally wounded man crawled painfully across the yard, trying to reach the fallen pistol. He was considering his prospects. The Apostle Saul had treated him fairly, giving him back his youth and supplying a plentiful share of wealth and women. But his day was passing.
Saul might think he could take the Deacon's place, but Moon knew it wouldn't happen. For all his bluster and his willingness to kill for power, there was a weakness in Saul. Others had not, apparently, noticed it.
But then they were blinded by the brilliance of the Deacon, and failed to see the flaws in the man who stood beside him. Let's face it, thought Moon, Saul casts a mighty thin shadow.
The wounded man groaned. He was close to the pistol now; Moon waited until his hand closed over the butt, then shot him twice in the back. The last shot had severed the spine just above the hip, and the man's legs were useless. Moon's victim, the pistol in his hand, was trying to roll over in order to aim at his assailant. He couldn't. The legs were dead weight now.
Moon moved to the right. 'Over here, Kovac,' he said. Try this side.'
Gamely the injured Bull Kovac pushed against the ground," his powerful arms finally twisting him far enough to be able to see the tall assassin. With trembling fingers Bull eased back the hammer of his pistol.
Moon drew and fired, the bullet entering Kovac's head just above the bridge of the nose.
'By God, he was game,' said one of the two Jerusalem Riders accompanying Moon.
'Game doesn't get it done,' said Moon. 'You boys get back to Pilgrim's Valley and report the attack on Kovac's farm. You can say that I'm out hunting the killers. If you need me, I'll be in Domango. And Jed,'
he called as the riders turned their mounts.
'Yes, sir, Jacob?'
'I haven't the time to deal with the storekeeper. You handle it.'
'When?'
'In two days,' Moon told him. 'The night before the Oath Taking.'
As the men rode away Moon stepped across the corpse and strolled into the house. The log walls were well-crafted and neatly fitted, the dirt floor hard-packed and well-swept. Bull Kovac had traced a series of motifs into it, making it more homely. There were no pictures on the wall, and all the furniture was hand-made. Moon pulled up a chair and sat down. A jug of Baker's was still sitting on the old iron stove, gently steaming. Reaching out he filled a mug, his mind returning to the problem of Saul.
The Apostle was right. Land was the key to wealth. But why share it? Most of what they had gathered was already in Moon's name. With Saul dead I will be doubly rich, he thought.
A small black and white cat moved out of the shadows and rubbed against Moon's leg. It jumped to his lap and began to purr. Moon stroked its head and the animal gratefully curled up, its purrs increasing.
When to kill him was the question now.
Stroking the cat, Moon found his inner tension subsiding, and he remembered a line from the Old Testament. Something about, for every thing there is a season, a time to plant, a time to reap, a time to live, a time to die. That sounded right.
It wasn't the season on Saul just yet. .
First there was the Jerusalem Man. Then the woman, Beth McAdam.
Moon finished his mug of Baker's and stood, the cat dropping to all fours on the floor. As he strode from the building, the cat followed, and stood in the doorway meowing.
Moon turned and fired in one flowing motion. Then reloading his pistol, he mounted his horse and set off for Domango.
CHAPTER SEVEN
People say we no longer live in an age of miracles. It is not so. What has been lost is our ability to see them.
The Wisdom of the Deacon Introduction
Josiah Broome put aside his Bible. He had never been a believer, not in the fullest sense, but he valued those sections of the New Testament which dealt with love and forgiveness. It always amazed him how people could be so quick to hate and so slow to love. But then, he reasoned, the first seemed so much easier.
Else was out for the evening, at the Bible study group held every Friday at Frey Bailey's home on the outskirts of town, just beyond the meeting hall, and Josiah Broome was enjoying the unnatural silence.
Friday night produced an oasis of calm within his tidy home. Replacing the Bible on the bookshelf, he moved to the kitchen and filled the kettle. One mug of Baker's before retiring, heavily sweetened with honey, was his one luxury on a Friday night. He would carry it out on to the porch and sip it while watching the distant stars.
Tomorrow he would give Oath for Beth McAdam, and Else would scold him for the entire evening. But tonight he would enjoy the silence. The kettle began to vibrate. Taking a cloth from a peg on the wall, he wrapped it around the handle and lifted the kettle from the range. Filling the mug, he added the powdered Baker brew and three heaped spoonfuls of honey. As he was stirring it he heard a tapping at his front door. Annoyed by the interruption, he carried the drink through the kitchen and across the main room.