"Like the folks didn't do nothing when Gimet was alive," Old Timer said. "Folks like me that let what went on go on."
Jebidiah nodded. "Maybe."
The deputy looked at Jebidiah. "Not you too, Reverend. You should know better than that. There ain't but one true god, and ain't none of that hoodoo business got a drop of truth to it."
"If there's one god," Jebidiah said, "there can be many. They are at war with one another, that's how it works, or so I think. I've seen some things that have shook my faith in the one true god, the one I'm servant to. And what is our god but hoodoo? It's all hoodoo, my friend."
"Okay. What things have you seen, Reverend?" the deputy asked.
"No use describing it to you, young man," Jebidiah said. "You wouldn't believe me. But I've recently come from Mud Creek. It had an infestation of a sort. That town burned down, and I had a hand in it."
"Mud Creek," Old Timer said. "I been there."
"Only thing there now," Jebidiah said, "is some charred wood."
"Ain't the first time it's burned down," Old Timer said. "Some fool always rebuilds it, and with it always comes some kind of ugliness. I'll tell you straight. I don't doubt your word at all, Reverend."
"Thing is," the deputy said, "I don't believe in no haints. That's the shortest road, and it's the road I'm gonna take."
"I wouldn't," Old Timer said.
"Thanks for the advice. But no one goes with me or does, that's the road I'm taking, provided it cuts a day off my trip."
"I'm going with you," Jebidiah said. "My job is striking at evil. Not to walk around it."
"I'd go during the day," Old Timer said. "Ain't no one seen Gimet in the day, or when the moon is thin or not at all. But way it is now, it's full, and will be again tomorrow night. I'd ride hard tomorrow, you're determined to go. Get there as soon as you can, before dark."
"I'm for getting there," the deputy said. "I'm for getting back to Nacogdoches, and getting this bastard in a cell."
"I'll go with you," Jebidiah said. "But I want to be there at night. I want to take Deadman's Road at that time. I want to see if Gimet is there. And if he is, send him to his final death. Defy those dark gods the girl's mother called up. Defy them and loose my god on him. What I'd suggest is you get some rest, deputy. Old Timer here can watch a bit, then I'll take over. That way we all get some rest. We can chain this fellow to a tree outside, we have to. We should both get slept up to the gills, then leave here mid-day, after a good dinner, head out for Deadman's Road. Long as we're there by nightfall."
"That ought to bring you right on it," Old Timer said. "You take Deadman's Road. When you get to the fork, where the road ends, you go right. Ain't no one ever seen Gimet beyond that spot, or in front of where the road begins. He's tied to that stretch, way I heard it."
"Good enough," the deputy said. "I find this all foolish, but if I can get some rest, and have you ride along with me, Reverend, then I'm game. And I'll be fine with getting there at night."
Next morning they slept late, and had an early lunch. Beans and hard biscuits again, a bit of stewed squirrel. Old Timer had shot the rodent that morning while Jebidiah watched Bill sit on his ass, his hands chained around a tree in the front yard. Inside the cabin, the deputy had continued to sleep.
But now they all sat outside eating, except for Bill.
"What about me?" Bill asked, tugging at his chained hands.
"When we finish," Old Timer said. "Don't know if any of the squirrel will be left, but we got them biscuits for you. I can promise you some of them. I might even let you rub one of them around in my plate, sop up some squirrel gravy."
"Those biscuits are awful," Bill said.
"Ain't they," Old Timer said.
Bill turned his attention to Jebidiah. "Preacher, you ought to just go on and leave me and the boy here alone. Ain't smart for you to ride along, cause I get loose, ain't just the deputy that's gonna pay. I'll put you on the list."
"After what I've seen in this life," Jebidiah said, "you are nothing to me. An insect…. So, add me to your list."
"Let's feed him," the deputy said, nodding at Bill, "and get to moving. I'm feeling rested and want to get this ball started."
The moon had begun to rise when they rode in sight of Deadman's Road. The white cross road sign was sticking up beside the road. Trees and brush had grown up around it, and between the limbs and the shadows, the crudely painted words on the sign were halfway readable in the waning light. The wind had picked up and was grabbing at leaves, plucking them from the ground, tumbling them about, tearing them from trees and tossing them across the narrow, clay road with a sound like mice scuttling in straw.
"Fall always depresses me," the deputy said, halting his horse, taking a swig from his canteen.
"Life is a cycle," Jebidiah said. "You're born, you suffer, then you're punished."
The deputy turned in his saddle to look at Jebidiah. "You ain't much on that resurrection and reward, are you?"
"No, I'm not."
"I don't know about you," the deputy said, "but I wish we hadn't gotten here so late. I'd rather have gone through in the day."
"Thought you weren't a believer in spooks?" Bill said, and made with his now familiar snort. "You said it didn't matter to you."
The deputy didn't look at Bill when he spoke. "I wasn't here then. Place has a look I don't like. And I don't enjoy temptin' things. Even if I don't believe in them."
"That's the silliest thing I ever heard," Bill said.
"Wanted me with you," Jebidiah said. "You had to wait."
"You mean to see something, don't you, preacher?" Bill said.
"If there is something to see," Jebidiah said.
"You believe Old Timer's story?" the deputy said. "I mean, really?"
"Perhaps."
Jebidiah clucked to his horse and took the lead.
When they turned onto Deadman's Road, Jebidiah paused and removed a small, fat bible from his saddlebag.
The deputy paused too, forcing Bill to pause as well. "You ain't as ornery as I thought," the deputy said. "You want the peace of the bible just like anyone else."
"There is no peace in this book," Jebidiah said. "That's a real confusion. Bible isn't anything but a book of terror, and that's how God is: Terrible. But the book has power. And we might need it."
"I don't know what to think about you, Reverend," the deputy said.
"Ain't nothin' you can think about a man that's gone loco," Bill said. "I don't want to stay with no man that's loco."
"You get an idea to run, Bill, I can shoot you off your horse," the deputy said. "Close range with my revolver, far range with my rifle. You don't want to try it."
"It's still a long way to Nacogdoches," Bill said.
The road was narrow and of red clay. It stretched far ahead like a band of blood, turned sharply to the right around a wooded curve where it was as dark as the bottom of Jonah's whale. The blowing leaves seemed especially intense on the road, scrapping dryly about, winding in the air like giant hornets. The trees, which grew thick, bent in the wind, from right to left. This naturally led the trio to take to the left side of the road.
The farther they went down the road, the darker it became. By the time they got to the curve, the woods were so thick, and the thunderous skies had grown so dark, the moon was barely visible; its light was as weak as a sick baby's grip.
When they had traveled for some time, the deputy said, obviously feeling good about it, "There ain't nothing out here 'sides what you would expect. A possum maybe. The wind."