EIGHT

“You found Dog, I see,” Ashley said when Preacher returned with the dog several minutes later.

Preacher sat in a chair, tipped it back against the wall, and began rubbing Dog behind his ears.

“Yes,” he said.

“Did you see the inscription on the tombstone?”

“I saw it.”

“Carla had me put it there. You remember her, don’t you? She was one of Jennie’s girls, but not really one of her girls. Carla never was a whore.”

“Yes, I remember her. She’s what now, sixteen, seventeen?”

Ashley laughed. “She’s twenty-two now, and quite a pretty woman. She’s waitin’ tables down at Little Man’s Café.”

“Mr. Ashley . . . ”

“Lord, Preacher, haven’t we known each other long enough for you to call me Bill?”

“Bill,” Preacher said, “you said you thought Ben Caviness was one of those who killed Jennie?”

“That’s right. Nobody saw who did it, but if I had to make a guess, he’s the one I would pick.”

“In the letter you said there were two of them, but only one got away.”

“Yep.”

“What about the one that was caught? Haven’t you been able to make him say anything?”

“If he does say something, he’ll be saying it to God,” Ashley said. “We found him at the same time we found Miss Jennie. He’s dead.”

“Dead? How? What happened to him?”

Ashley nodded toward Dog, who was now sleeping with his head resting on Preacher’s foot. “As near as we can figure it, Dog killed him,” he said. “I mean, Dog must’ve put up one hell of a fight.”

“If nobody saw it, and you found one man dead, how do you even know there was another one?”

“Because when we found Dog, he was more dead than alive,” Ashley said. “And he had a man’s ear clenched in his teeth.”

“An ear?”

“Yep. And that ear didn’t come off the dead man, ’cause he still had both his ears. That means there was another person involved.”

“Speaking of ears, I notice that Dog just barely has both of his,” Preacher said. “He also seems to have several scars.”

“Like I said, Dog was more dead than alive when we found him. We really didn’t think he was going to live,” Ashley said. “He had a gunshot wound, and six stab wounds. He was lying in a pool of blood, though most of it was Jennie’s blood. He was lying on her body when we found him.”

“What was his name? The fella who was killed, I mean. Do you know?”

“They called him Slater, but nobody knows if that was his first name or his last. He drifted in here about a year ago. Some say he had been a river pirate; others say he was just a petty thief. He was almost always in some kind of trouble, I know that. Folks all agree that Dog did the city a favor by killing him.”

“I suppose,” Preacher replied. “But it would’ve been good to talk to him, to find out for sure if Caviness was the other man.”

“Well, whether it was Caviness or not, whoever did it is not in St. Louis,” Ashley said. “We know that much at least.”

“How do we know that?”

“Because everyone in this town is wearin’ both their ears,” Ashley replied with a little laugh.

The men were quiet for a moment. Then Ashley nodded toward the dog. “I have to tell you, I’m surprised to see him here,” he said.

“Why is that?”

“Because this is the first time since the day Miss Jennie was buried that Dog has left the cemetery. Folks have taken notice of him, and someone is always bringing him something to eat, just because they want to. There are a lot of rabbits and squirrels out there, and Dog is pretty resourceful. There is also a stream that runs through the place.”

“I wonder why he won’t leave the cemetery,” Preacher said.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s all that much of a mystery,” Ashley replied. “You did leave him to look out for Miss Jennie, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I think he’s feeling guilty for not being able to do what you asked.”

“I’ll be damned,” Preacher said. “You might be right.” He looked down at Dog. “Dog?”

Dog opened his eyes and looked up at him.

“Dog, you don’t have anything to feel guilty about,” Preacher said. “You did the best you could do. You killed one of them, and you fixed it so that when I find the other one, I will recognize him.” He reached down and rubbed Dog on the head again. “You did a good job, Dog, and I am very proud of you.”

Dog stretched, stood up, then shook himself so that the loose skin slipped around noisily. He licked Preacher’s hand.

Ashley laughed. “You know what? I think you just took a big load off his mind. I really do think he was worried about what you would think of him failing his responsibility.”

“He didn’t fail anything,” Preacher said.

“Nevertheless, I bet he won’t spend all of his time down at the cemetery anymore.”

“Listen, didn’t you say something about buying my dinner?”

“I did. Chardonnay’s is just down the street. That’s the best restaurant in St. Louis.”

“Yes, I’ve eaten there,” Preacher said. “But if it’s all the same to you, I believe I’d just as soon eat at—where is it you said Carla works?”

“Little Man’s.”

“Yes. Let’s eat at Little Man’s,” Preacher said.

 

 

“Preacher!” Carla squealed in joy when Preacher and Ashley stepped into Little Man’s Café. She was carrying a pitcher of water and she put it down, hurrying over to give Preacher a big hug.

Preacher returned her hug, and she hung onto him for a long time. After a moment, he felt a wetness on his cheek and realized that she was crying. He didn’t force her away from him, but let her hold him for as long as she wished. Finally, she drew away and, raising the end of her apron, dabbed at her tear-filled eyes.

“You know about Jennie?” she asked.

Preacher nodded. “Mr. Ashley sent me a letter. I just visited her grave. That was really nice, Carla, what you had put on her tombstone.”

“Jennie was like a big sister to me,” Carla said. “I’ve never loved any person like I loved her. She loved me too.” She smiled through her tears. “But of course, she didn’t love me the way she loved you. She was really in love with you, Preacher, did you know that?”

Preacher nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I knew it.”

“It wasn’t all one-sided, was it? You did love her too, didn’t you? I mean, I know you did.”

“It wasn’t one-sided,” Preacher said. “I did love her, perhaps even more than I thought I did. But nothing would have ever worked out between us.”

“I guess not. Oh, if you visited her grave, then you saw Dog there. He won’t leave it, you know.”

“He won’t?” Ashley asked with a broad smile. He nodded toward the front door. “Who do you think that is?”

Looking in the direction Ashley indicated, Carla saw Dog curled up on the front porch. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my,” she said. “There he is, on the front porch.”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t understand. Ever since Jennie died, day or night, rain or shine, cold weather or hot, Dog has been right down there, lying on Jennie’s grave. He never leaves the cemetery, never. Yet there he is, right outside on the front porch.”

“I released him,” Preacher said.

“You released him? What do you mean?”

“I had charged Dog with looking out for Jennie. He thought he had failed.”

“Preacher told him he did all he could do to protect Miss Jennie,” Ashley said.

“But I told him that,” Carla said. “We’ve all told him that.”

“Yes, but you weren’t the one who charged him with that responsibility,” Preacher said. “Only I did that, and in Dog’s mind, only I could release him from that charge.”

“Bless his heart,” Carla said. “Maybe he can find peace now.”

 

 

Lying out on the porch, Dog looked through the door at Bear Killer and the friend of Bear Killer’s woman. Dog had believed that Bear Killer would be angry with him because he had not done his job.

He had tried as hard as he could, and even now, he could recall the warm rush of blood as he ripped open the neck of one of the two men who had attacked Jennie. Even as he was engaged with that one, the one Bear Killer’s woman called Caviness was attacking him with a knife, stabbing him repeatedly.

When Dog felt the life drain from the one he had attacked, he turned on Caviness, despite the pain and the weakness he was feeling. He went for Caviness’s neck, but Caviness covered it with his arm, and turned his head to one side. Dog ripped off his ear, and heard Caviness scream in pain.

Then Dog saw a flash of light and heard a loud noise. He felt a blow to his side, followed by a darkness. When he came to, he saw that Bear Killer’s woman was dead, lying in a pool of blood from a wound in her neck.

Dog felt an intense shame for having failed in his duty. Bear Killer had asked him to protect his woman, and he hadn’t done so. He could not bring himself to leave her, even when she was buried. He stayed at the place where they buried her, determined to carry out the responsibility Bear Killer had given him, determined to continue to protect her, even though she was now dead.

But now, Bear Killer had returned. Dog could see that Bear Killer wasn’t angry. Bear Killer understood that Dog had done all he could. Dog was at peace.

Ordinarily, the hotel would not allow dogs in the patrons’ rooms. But like nearly everyone else in town, the proprietor of the Dunn Hotel knew the story of Dog, how he had killed one of the men who attacked his mistress and had chewed the ear off the other. He also knew that Dog had stayed at Jennie’s grave all this time, out of a sense of loyalty, or love, or responsibility that was almost humanlike. Because of that, when Preacher took a room that night, and walked up the stairs with Dog following right behind, the proprietor said nothing.

In fact, he thought, both Preacher and the dog were fast becoming legends. It might well be that being able to say they stayed in his hotel would mean an increase in business.

 

 

Preacher and Dog stepped into the magistrate’s office the next morning to find Constable Billings sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on his desk. He was paring an apple, and one long peel hung from it all the way to the floor. He looked up as Preacher came in.

“I remember you,” the constable said. “You’re the one they call Preacher.”

“Yes.”

“I expect you’re here to ask about Miss Jennie. William Ashley said she was your woman.”

“She was.”

Billings finished, then tossed the peeled apple to Preacher. “Want this?” he asked. “I don’t particularly like apples.”

Preacher looked at Billings with a confused expression on his face.

“If you don’t like apples, why did you peel it?”

“For the peel,” Billings replied. He stretched the long, unbroken peel out on the floor. “How long you reckon that is?”

“I don’t know. Three, four feet maybe?”

Billings stroked his chin. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what it looks like to me as well.” He sighed, picked up the peel, then opened the door to the little potbellied stove and tossed it in. “That’s not long enough.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s not long enough,” Billings repeated. “You see, I’ve got me a two-dollar bet with the mayor of the town on who can make the longest unbroken apple peel. He claims he can do five feet. We’re all set to do it come Saturday.”

“About Jennie,” Preacher said.

“We found her down by the riverside. Her throat was cut, but before that, it looked like she had been beat up pretty bad.

“Found Slater there too. His throat was ripped out. Figure Miss Jennie’s dog did that. The dog was still guarding her. We had the devil’s own time getting to her. I reckon the dog finally decided that we didn’t mean her any harm.”

“Mr. Ashley said there was a second man. A fella by the name of Ben Caviness.”

“Well, now, we don’t know for sure that that’s who it was,” Billings said. “I reckon Ashley told you the dog had a man’s ear clinched in his teeth. Funny that he didn’t eat it. It was almost like he wanted us to know there was someone else.”

“Mr. Ashley seems pretty sure it was Caviness.”

“Well, some folks did see Caviness and Slater together on the night it happened,” Constable Billings said.

“All right. If you know that, how come you won’t say for sure that the one who got away was Caviness?”

“’Cause we don’t have no actual witnesses to the killin’, ’cept for that dog there,” Billings said, pointing to Dog. He chuckled. “And it’s kind of hard to identify someone by his ear.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Have what? The ear?”

“Yes. Do you still have it?”

“Now, just what in the Sam Hill makes you think I’d hang onto somethin’ like that?”

“Do you still have it?” Preacher asked again.

Billings sighed, then walked over to a chest and pulled out a drawer. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “I dried it out in the sun, so it wouldn’t rot away.”

“I’d like it, please.”

“What are you aimin’ to do with it?”

“As soon as I find Caviness, I aim to sew this ear back on his head,” Preacher said. “Then I aim to kill him.”

“Sounds reasonable enough,” Billings said, handing the sun-blackened piece of leather to Preacher. “Oh, you might want this as well.” He took an envelope from the drawer.

“What is that?”

“It’s everything I’ve got on Miss Jennie: complaints she made, and complaints made against her. I don’t know that it’ll do you any good, but I got no need to be keepin’ it now, so it’s yours if you want it.”

“Thanks.” Preacher said, taking the envelope, then starting toward the door.

“Preacher?”

Preacher was nearly to the door when the constable called him. Stopping, he turned toward Billings.

“Yes?”

“The man you’re lookin’ for, whether it’s Caviness or someone else, ain’t in St. Louis. I’m pretty sure about that. If he is here and you find him and kill him, well, I just want you to know you won’t be havin’ no trouble with me or the law, seein’ as any son of a bitch who would do somethin’ like that needs killin’ pure and simple. But if you find him in some other town, and you kill him there, then you might have some explainin’ to do.”

“I know,” Preacher said.

“What I’m sayin’ is, once you leave St. Louis, there won’t be nothin’ I can do to help you.”

“I know,” Preacher said again.

“Just so’s you understand.”

Preacher nodded, then stepped outside. Dog followed Preacher as he headed toward LaBarge’s Tavern.

In the shadowed interior of the tavern, Preacher ordered a beer, then sat at a table in the back. Dog curled himself onto the floor beside Preacher’s chair.

“Folks don’t normally bring dogs into the saloon,” the barkeep said.

“You want him out, you run him out,” Preacher replied.

“You,” the bartender said to Dog. He pointed to the door. “Out! No dogs allowed in here.”

Dog made no effort to respond.

The bartender came around from behind the bar. “I said get out of here,” he said menacingly. He took a couple of steps toward Dog, but stopped when the hackles went up on Dog’s neck. Dog bared his teeth and growled a low, quiet, but menacing growl.

The bartender stopped. “I, uh, guess you can stay,” he said, retreating back to the bar. Dog closed his eyes in dismissal.

Preacher had paid no attention to what was going on between Dog and the bartender. Instead, he busied himself with dumping the contents of the envelope.

Examining the little pile on his table, Preacher found a document written in Jennie’s neat hand.

I, Jennie (no middle name, no last name), do hereby file this complaint against Mr. Ben Caviness.

Last night, while returning home from a job I was doing for Mrs. Sybil Abernathy, Mr. Ben Caviness jumped out of an alley in front of me. I believe it was his intention to attack me, but my dog ran him off.

There was also a complaint filed against the River Bank of St. Louis, and Theodore Epson, for failing to credit her mortgage payment.

In addition, there were several documents that had been filed against Jennie. These were much older, the oldest being six years old, the newest one almost two years old. All of these had been filed by Mrs. Sybil Abernathy. The gist of Mrs. Abernathy’s complaints was that Jennie was a prostitute and the practice of her profession prevented St. Louis from realizing its potential as a city of culture and influence.

There was also a letter in the file from Theodore Epson, responding to an inquiry made by Constable Billings.

Mr. Theodore Epson
Chief Teller
Trust Bank of Philadelphia

 

Dear Constable Billings:

I assure you, sir, that any suspicion you may have that I absconded with cash due the bank is totally without merit. The woman in question, known only as Jennie, was indeed in debt to the River Bank of St. Louis for the mortgage held on her home.

In point of fact her home was not a private residence as she claimed in her loan application. It was, instead, used as a house of ill repute. Thus, you can see that if a case of fraud is to be made, it should rightfully be made against her, for misrepresenting herself in securing the loan.

I cannot believe that anyone would take seriously the accusations of a whore against a respectable banker.

Sincerely,
Theodore Epson

“Preacher?”

It was a woman’s voice and, looking up, Preacher saw Carla coming toward him. Generally, only bar girls and women of the street, plying their profession, would enter a saloon. But Carla was very much at ease in LaBarge’s Tavern. She was not, and had never been a prostitute, but in her younger days she had worked as a bar girl in this very establishment.

“Carla,” Preacher replied. Preacher was a man of the mountains, but he retained enough manners to stand as she approached his table. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I would . . . well . . . I mean, if you don’t have other plans, I thought I might cook supper for you,” Carla said.

“Cook supper for me where?” Preacher asked.

“Jennie and I shared a small house over on Olive,” she said. “Well, actually, in the alley behind Olive. I’d be happy to cook dinner for you tonight.”

“You don’t have to cook for me, Carla. We could have dinner at Little Man’s.”

Carla smiled. “I work at Little Man’s,” she said. “Sometimes I just want to get out of there.”

“Oh, yes, well, I guess I can understand that. All right, how about if we have dinner at Chardonnay’s?”

“Why, Preacher, one would think you don’t want my home cooking,” Carla said with a teasing pout.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Preacher replied. “I’m just trying to keep you from going to any trouble for me, that’s all.”

“You don’t know anything about women, do you, Preacher?”

Preacher smiled, and shook his head. “Not much,” he admitted.

“Sometimes, women want to go to the trouble of fixing dinner.”

“All right, if you put it that way. I’ll be glad to come.”

“About seven?”

“Seven will be fine,” Preacher agreed.