Wolf Creek (5 page)

With that, Father Sean tore off his Roman
collar, ripped open his shirt, and tossed them to the ground. The
men who still had shirts on also removed them and threw them
aside.

“And if we’re going to be accused of being
loose women, we may as well look the part,” Katy said. She undid
the buttons of her blouse, stopping just before her breasts would
have spilled out. “Are you with me, ladies?”

“I am,” Luz Estevez shouted.

“Me also,” eighteen year old Emma Hartman
added. “Are you with us, Ma?”

“I sure am, honey,” her mother, Virginia,
answered. She, Emma, and Luz, along with several other of the
women, loosened their blouses.

“Jezebels! Trollops! Harlots!” Bessie May
screamed. “Showing so much of…of… yourselves in public!”

“Perhaps they’ll show us even more,” her
husband, Howard, half-whispered to Waymon Pratt.

“Howard Ferguson!” Bessie May screeched. She
slapped him across the face.

Marshal Sam Gardner, along with another of
his deputies, Quint Croy, rode up. He looked over the scene, and
gave a slight smile.

“Mornin’, Seamus,” he said. “Right hot day,
isn’t it?”

“Fair to middlin’ hot it is, Marshal.”

“So it seems. Anything goin’ on here you
can’t handle?”

“Not so far. The builders are about to
return to their work, and the folks gathered her are about to have
a prayer meetin’. Aren’t you? I said, aren’t you, Reverend Hyder,”
Seamus repeated, when he received no response.

“Yes. Yes, that is what we are about to do,
Marshal,” Hyder said. “Since we cannot dissuade these evildoers
from their wicked ways, we shall pray for their seeing the light,
or, failing that, ask the Lord to smite them down.”

“As long as you and your bunch don’t take
the smiting into your own hands, Reverend,” Gardner warned. “Father
Flannery, that goes for your people too. Quint, it looks like
Seamus has everything well in hand here. We’d better go down to Asa
Pepper’s place and question him about the stabbing that took place
there last night. Seamus, if you need us, send for us.”

Seamus nodded. “I think these folks
understood your meaning quite clearly, Marshal. I don’t expect any
trouble at all.”

“Good.” Gardner and Cory turned their horses
and rode for Dogleg City.

“Sisters and brothers, let us bow our heads
and ask the Lord to remove this plague from our midst,” Hyder
said.

“We gonna do anythin’ about ʼem, Father?”
Ben asked.

“No, Benjamin. As long as they don’t attempt
to keep us from completing our church, let them pray all they want.
In fact, their prayers may inspire us to work even harder. Now, all
of you, back to the job at hand.”

For the next hour, construction continued on
the new church building, while Dill Hyder led in prayer those who
wished to see it destroyed. Then, the prayers ceased. Carole
Collier, Bessie May Ferguson, Rose Cotton, milliner Lucy Bell, and
several other women knelt and began to sing. They started with
Rock of Ages,
then continued with
Shall We Gather at the
River?

“It’s rather kind of them, singing hymns for
us,” Father Sean said.

“It would be if they were singin’ them
for
us, not for God to smite us,” Abigail Higgins
answered.

“It’d also be a lot more pleasant if they
were singin’ on key,” Ben said. “I’ve heard cats yowlin’ outside my
stable at night that sound better.”

“Well, as long as they’re singing, they’re
not doing us any real harm,” Father Sean said. “Words won’t hurt
us, and eventually they’ll tire and go home.”

Unfortunately, much to Father Sean’s
chagrin, he was wrong. Not only did the singing continue, it grew
louder as the day wore on. Evidently, Carole had decided singing
the same hymn continuously might drive the builders to distraction,
for the women kept repeating
Shall We Gather at the River?
ad
nauseum.

Shall we gather at the river,

Where bright angel feet have trod,

With its crystal tide forever,

Flowing by the throne of God?

Yes, we’ll gather by the river,

The beautiful, beautiful river;

Gather with the saints at the river

That flows by the throne of God.

Finally, even Stephanie “Ma” Adams, one of
the cheeriest persons in Wolf Creek, who was loved by just about
everyone, and whom no one had ever seen truly angry, had had
enough. She gathered the women feeding the construction crew around
her.

“I can’t take any more of this
caterwauling,” she declared. “I’m sure most of you feel the
same.”

“I certainly do,” Anna Kloepfer said.

“Good,” Ma answered “Ladies, follow me.”

“Ma, don’t do anything foolish,” Seamus
cautioned.

“I have no thought of doing any such thing,”
Ma answered. “I’m just going to give those cackling old biddies a
good old-time baptism. Ladies, if you please. And sing along.”

Ma led her group toward Phoebe and her
choir. Katy lent her clear, lilting Irish voice as they sang their
own version of the hymn:

“
Shall we throw them into Wolf
Creek,

The beautiful, beautiful Wolf Creek?

Yes, we’ll throw them into Wolf Creek,

And wash their sins away!

The men on both sides of the confrontation
looked on, dumbfounded, as Ma Adams led her companions straight
into the midst of Carole Collier and her cohorts, grabbed them by
their collars, dragged them to the creek, kicking and screaming,
and tossed them in the waist-deep water. By the time they managed
to drag themselves out of the water, looking like nothing so much
as bedraggled wet hens, all the fight was out of them. All the
others, both for and against the building of St. James of the
Prairie, burst into laughter. Even Reverend Hyder joined in.

“Come, Bessie May, it’s time to go home,”
Howard said, as he helped his wife up the bank.

“Don’t say a word. Not one word,” she said
in reply.

To Carole Collier’s horror, her blouse had
come undone when she was tossed into the river. She hastily pulled
it closed.

“You haven’t heard the last of this!” she
shouted. “We will return to fight another day.”

“Yes, we will,” Reverend Hyder agreed. “The
battle has just been joined.”

“You’d better think twice about that before
attempting to start trouble again, Hyder,” Seamus warned.

“That’s Reverend Hyder, deputy.”

“Even a man of the cloth has to earn my
respect,” Seamus replied. “You sure haven’t.” He looked around as
Sam Gardner and Quint Croy came galloping up.

“Everything under control here, Seamus?” the
marshal asked. “We could hear a lot of yellin’ and squealin’ all
the way down to Fifth Street.”

“Everything’s just fine, Marshal,” Seamus
answered, still chuckling. “Some of the women just decided to go
for a swim, that’s all.”

“Yes, with a little help from Ma Adams,”
Father Sean added.

“Ma?” Croy echoed, clearly surprised.

“Yes, from me, Quint,” Ma confirmed. “They
wanted to gather with the saints and angels at the river. We just
obliged ʼem.”

“Well, I’ll be,” was all Gardner could say.
Of all people, Ma Adams was the one who gave Carole Collier a good,
and much needed, dunking. Ma Adams, who had the patience of a
saint. Ma, who loved just about everyone in town, and who was loved
by just about everyone in return. Was there never an end to the
surprises in Wolf Creek?

“C’mon, Quint, let’s go for a beer,” he
said. He and Croy rode away, still chuckling.

3

Danny decided to spend the night at his
friend Frank’s, so after the party at the Emerald Isle broke up,
Ben rode to the Millers’ house with him.

“Don’t forget to be home in time to help
clean the stalls, Danny,” Ben said. “And you behave yourself. Make
sure you listen to Mrs. Miller.”

“Danny’s always a good boy,” Josephine
Miller said. “I don’t mind him visiting at all.”

“Well, I appreciate your putting up with
him,” Ben answered. “And don’t forget, Frank’s welcome to stay with
me and Danny anytime.”

“I’ll remember that, Ben.”

“Fine. Josephine, Frank, good night. Danny,
good night.” Ben leaned over in his saddle and tousled his son’s
hair.

“G’night, Pa. I’ll see you in the mornin’,”
Danny said. He handed the reins of Lemon Drop, his pet palomino, to
Ben.

“See you in the mornin’, Danny.” Ben heeled
Cholla, his paint gelding, into a walk, with Lemon Drop trailing. A
few minutes later, he reached his livery stable. A man was seated
on an empty nail keg by the front door. He stood up when Ben
approached.

“Can I help you, mister?” Ben asked.

“Perhaps you can. Are you Ben Tolliver, the
owner of this stable?”

“You’ve got me pegged,” Ben admitted, as he
swung off Cholla’s back. “However, you also have me at a loss. I
have no idea who you are.”

“My name is Shelton Huntington. I am one of
the players in the poker tournament at the Lucky Break.”

“Oh, I see. Well, what can I do for you, Mr.
Huntington?”

“Unfortunately, Lady Luck didn’t smile on
me. The cards were bad, the deck cold. I’m out of the game, and
need to get back home to Wichita. To that end, I was hoping I could
rent or purchase a horse from you.”

“I see. I’m assuming you’re really talking
buying a mount, since I assume you have no need to return to Wolf
Creek, at least in the foreseeable future.”

“That would be preferable, yes.”

“Well, I don’t usually like to part with any
of my horses, if I don’t know who the purchaser is, but perhaps we
could arrange something. How much would you be willing to
spend?”

“I’m not certain, but as little as possible.
I would also need you to extend credit. You see, I miscalculated my
last wager, and am left with no ready cash. I will send you a bank
draft immediately upon my arrival in Wichita.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Huntington, but I don’t
extend credit to anyone, except folks I’ve known for a long time,
and can trust. I don’t know you from Adam. You said yourself you’re
dead broke. If I let you have a horse, I’m certain I would never
see the money, or my horse, again.”

“But I assure you I am good for payment,”
Huntington insisted.

“If you are, then wire your bank in Wichita
and have it forward funds to you here. Then perhaps we could make a
deal,” Ben answered.

“I don’t have that much time,” Huntington
said.

“Again, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,”
Ben said.

“How am I supposed to get to Wichita, then?”
Huntington answered.

“I suggest you hop an eastbound freight, and
hope the brakeman doesn’t discover you,” Ben answered. “Or stop by
Umberto’s Freight Company, over on North Street by the railroad
station. Marco still occasionally makes a run between here and
Wichita. Perhaps you could ride with one of his teamsters. Other
than that, I suggest you start walking.”

“So you won’t help me?”

“I can’t help you. Not without payment. Now,
Mr. Huntington, it’s been a long day, and I still have to care for
my horses before I can turn in. Good night, and good luck to
you.”

“You’re just like Sam Jones, a
four-flusher,” Huntington snarled.

“You’d better be careful how you talk about
Sam,” Ben said. “He’s a friend. Now, get goin’, before I help you
along with a boot right in the seat of your pants.”

Huntington started to frame a retort, but
thought better of it. He turned away and began trudging along North
Street, toward the railroad station.

“That hombre sure had a lot of nerve,
Cholla, thinkin’ I’d just let him have one of your buddies without
payin’ for him,” Ben told his horse, as he pulled the saddle off
him. “Oh, well, it takes all kinds.”

Ben placed Cholla’s saddle on its peg, then
stopped and peeled off his shirt. He chuckled to himself. Despite
what Carole Collier thought, and the late Edith Pettigrew before
her, he didn’t spend all his time shirtless. Most of the time he
was fully clothed. It was only when he was hard at work, building
up a sweat, when he preferred to pull off his shirt. That, and when
he was relaxing in the sun. The old bullet and saber wounds his
body carried still bothered him on occasion, and nothing else
provided as much relief as the hot rays of the sun warming his
flesh. Oh well, let Carole Collier and her coterie complain about
him all they wanted. When they were worried about his bare chest,
it meant they weren’t bothering someone else.

Ben finished caring for Cholla and Lemon
Drop, gave them and the rest of the horses final forkfuls of hay
for the night, then headed for his small office and living
quarters. He undressed, crawled into bed, and was soon asleep.

Sometime later, Ben was awakened by the
horses, stamping and whinnying.

“What the devil are they carryin’ on about?”
he muttered, blearily. Apparently he had consumed one beer too many
at the Emerald Isle, for his brain was fogged. He sat on the edge
of his bed, picked up his denims from the floor and pulled them on,
and took one of his converted Navy Colts from the top of his
bureau. He stumbled through the door, into the aisle of the stable…
and into a shovel brought down hard on the back of his head. He
pitched into the straw covering the floor, moaned once, and lay
still.

4

Brad Kane, oldest of the four Cribtown
children who sometimes took shelter at Ben’s livery, arrived at the
stable just after sunup. Ben had discovered the dark-skinned nine
year old had a natural way with horses, and given him a job
brushing some of the gentler mounts in his stable. Brad always
arrived right on time for his chores, as soon as it was light. He
slid open the stable door and walked into the dimly lit barn.