Free Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6 by Bernard Schaffer

justice, God willing.”
     
    “You some kind of a lawman?   You don’t look like one.”
     
    “No, sir, I ain’t no lawman.   I’m just trying to find the type of villain you seem to be so agitated about and hand him over to Johnny Saringo at the first opportunity.”
     
    The preacher’s eyes narrowed, “Saringo’s looking for him?”
     
    “Yes, sir.”
     
    “And what does he have over you to make you do such a thing?”
     
    Bob shook his head, “That’s a private matter, sir, and I prefer not to speak of it, even if you are a preacher and even if you do have me at gunpoint.”
     
    The preacher flipped the gun backwards and dropped it behind his belt in one fluid motion.   “I’m gonna hold on to this weapon for a while until we get to know one another a little better if that’s all right with you, Mr. Ford.   Come on out of there now.   You can ride up front since you’re awake.”
     
    Bob stepped out of the wagon and said, “I appreciate that, sir.   I also want you to know I appreciate you rescuing me from certain death and that I understand your hesitation about my intentions.”
     
    The preacher grabbed the forward carriage’s hand rail and hoisted himself up.   “You always talk this much?”
     
    “Only when I’m nervous, sir.”
     
    “I put the gun away, son.”
     
    Bob climbed up into the seat beside him and said, “Guns I’m used to.   I meant about being around a preacher.”
     
    ***
     
    Bob reached up and clutched his throat, trying to force himself to swallow dry.   There was nothing to swallow.   He looked down at the cantina on the seat between him and the preacher and dreamed about the sea of refreshment within.   He wanted to lick the beads of sweat puddling on the seat’s wooden board.   He thought about grabbing for his gun.  
     
    “What are you doing?”
     
    Bob turned back to face front and said, “Nothing.”
     
    “Why you grabbing your throat?”
     
    “Because I can’t swallow.”
     
    “Swallow what?”
     
    Bob shrugged and looked away.   The preacher picked up the cantina and tossed it into Bob’s lap.   “You waiting for a special invite, boy?   Drink the whole thing.   We’re not too far from Seneca 6, plus I got more in the back.”
     
    “You sure, sir?”
     
    The preacher looked at him sideways, trying to assess the young man’s tone.   “You’re either sassing me or you haven’t run into many kind people during the course of your life, son.”
     
    “Not particularly, no sir.”
     
    “Maybe it’s just that there aren’t too many to run into, Mister Ford.   The way I see it, there’s the types that are born good.   Graceful people from the ground up.   They come into this world like a cool breeze on a hot day.   Mainly, I reckon they’re womenfolk.”
     
      Bob nodded while he thought about the Alvarez sisters, working girls who preyed on men at the Dalewood Saloon in the Filthy Five.   Beautiful and treacherous.   They could drain a man in more ways than fifteen.   Probably not the kind of cool breeze the preacher means, he thought.  
     
    “The other types are ones making up for the wrongs they done.   Trying to buy back their souls a little piece at a time.”
     
    Bob turned to look at the man’s hard, weather-beaten features and said, “Is that you, sir?”
     
    The preacher grunted and said, “There’s not enough good I could do to pay off what I got coming, Mister Ford.   Let’s just say I’m trying to purchase some leniency.”
     
     
     

 

     
    Chapter 9: Treat 'Em Like a Million Bucks
     

     
    Betsy rocked the baby back and forth and hushed her but Claire shoved her hands away and wailed in protest.   Betsy tried sitting with her, standing with her, bouncing her.   Nothing worked.   She felt herself getting angry and knew it was time to put the child down and walk away.   She laid her back down in the crib and closed her eyes.   She took a deep breath and counted to ten.