Dixon pulled his horse to a halt just outside of Surbank, its buildings dark against the evening sky. The sun set on the gray snow-peaked mountains in the distance. The close of a horrific day for the village. Pink and orange colors deepened as they lined the western horizon. The sun slipped behind the mountains, and purple edges formed along the ends of the colored sky.
Beneath him, his horse’s sides moved in a steady rhythm, and the smell of its sweat swirled around him. He frowned and stroked the gun that lay across the front of his saddle. The hunt for the wild dogs had been unsuccessful.
They disappeared much like the golden sun.
With a gentle squeeze of his legs, he urged his mount into town and down Main Street to Mrs. Clumpit’s restaurant. His horse’s hooves clip-clopped on the hard ground and sounded as tired as he felt.
He pulled up at the hitching rail, dismounted, and flipped open his pocket watch. 9:00 pm. Mrs. Clumpit usually closed before 8:30 pm.
Voices filtered from the building and wafted through the cooling air. Sounded like a full house.
He pushed open the white door and stepped into the building. The chandelier cast shadows in the corners, giving a somber air to the room. On each of the seven tables a wax candle lit the patrons’ faces. All of those faces, maybe twenty of them, focused on one man who sat at the center table, under the chandelier.
Dixon squeezed his fists shut.
The stranger from earlier that day.
The man appeared luminous as before, and sung a low, almost mournful tune. His voice, a fine tenor, held his audience captive and sent chills down Dixon’s spine.
Not a person made a sound as the man sung of sorrow caused by straight living and the lonesome life of the prairie farmer. Tears stained every cheek.
Dixon let out a short huff. Nothing like playing on people’s emotions. What was the man up to?
With a grunt, he stepped around to a chair by Barty and lowered his sore body onto its hard seat.
Barty nodded to him but kept his eyes fixed on the stranger. “Says his name is Abbadon.”
What nationality was that? So many people came from other countries to Alberta, but most of them European. Abbadon wasn’t a European name. Sounded more Jewish or perhaps Arabic, but the man didn’t look it.
The stranger turned to Dixon. “Any luck catching those wild dogs, Sergeant?” The man’s eyes flipped and flickered in the candlelight. A challenge perhaps or maybe he mocked.
Dixon shook his head. “It’s as though they disappeared off the face of the earth.”
Abbadon raised his chin like he knew something the rest of the crowd did not. “Happens sometimes. Why, I was in another town the other day and a similar incident occurred. The dogs just disappeared. Turns out the boy that got killed was the son of a successful preacher. Well, it came out that this preacher was dipping into the church’s coffers. God’s justice, I say.”
Everyone nodded and mumbled in agreement.
Dixon narrowed his eyes. Two similar incidents while this man was around. Not enough to convict, but an interesting coincidence nonetheless.
“Joab is such a good man, and his wife is the prettiest thing this side of Ontario,” said Mrs. Kirkland. She folded her hands neatly on her lap and sat straight as a board against her chair.
“Mm-hm.” Abbadon nodded and winked at Dixon. “No man is perfect, if you don’t mind me saying, ma’am.”
Dixon tapped his heel on the floor, but kept his thoughts to himself. Joab was likely the best man around. Maybe not perfect, as the man said, but hardly someone God Almighty would consider a criminal worthy of His wrath.
“Everyone has their secrets.” Abbadon leaned back and looked at Doc Petrie who toyed with the brass buttons popping out from his tight-fitting waistcoat. “Right Doc? You know a few, don’t you?”
Doc stiffened his neck, which started to redden, and then he leaned into the shadows behind him.
Barty chuckled. “Old Doc could tell a few on all of us, I’m sure. How badly I eat, for one.”
The crowd laughed, and everyone started talking.
Barty leaned toward Dixon. “I’m sure you know a few too, eh, Sarge?”
Dixon tilted his head. He didn’t want to get into this. Gossip usually led to trouble, and gossip came to life in this restaurant. He stood and walked over to Mrs. Clumpit who leaned on the kitchen door holding a cup of tea. “Are you tired, ma’am?”
“I’m all right, thank you.” She sipped her tea and her pleasant brow wrinkled. “Feel awful about Rupert. He was such a dear boy.”
“Did you want to close up? I could shoo everyone out for you if you like.”
She placed her calloused, hot hand on his arm. “You’re sweet.” She nodded toward the crowd. “It’s times like this we need each other as a community. I’ll keep the doors open for as long as they need to talk.” She turned. Tears wet her gray eyes. “Sarah will be needing some comfort that only womenfolk can give. I’ll ride up there first thing tomorrow morning. Carrie can take care of the restaurant for awhile.”
“You’re a kind woman.” Her goodness warmed him. Few people went out of their way to help another the way Mrs. Clumpit did.
“It’s a hard place to live in times of sorrow.” She looked out the window. “The prairies just suck the life out of you when you’re alone. They are as endless as life without hope.” She looked back at him. “And that’s what it feels like, life without hope, when you lose someone you love—especially a child.”
Dixon patted her hand. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”
“I thought my life was over when baby Joe and Jethro died two winters ago. I’d look across that snowy expanse and think how endless it looked, not even a hill high enough to escape to. How do you get out of a place like that? Death in that plain, well you can’t get over that.” She choked back a tear. “But you go on, and you find some way of blocking out the empty expanse. I put up walls and made this restaurant. Keeps me busy enough not to be looking out across that lonely land.”
Her sorrow still pulled on her face, and it pulled on his. He looked at the floor. “I’m going to my office. If you need anything just send Barty over. I’ll come in a jiffy.”
“I’ll be fine. You look like you need a rest.”
His heart surged. He tipped his head goodbye and moved across the room. Sorrow enough in this world, why add to it with the heartache of love? He’d best be careful, or he’d be getting himself into something he wouldn’t be able to escape from.
Resting his hand on the door handle, he glanced back at the stranger. Abbadon smiled and saluted him. Dixon didn’t acknowledge him. A knot of tension formed between his shoulder blades as he stepped out the door and headed to his office. Something was up with that man. He was certain of it. Whatever it was, he hoped he’d be able to stop it before it went any further.