TWENTY
The lobby of the Federal Hotel had a red carpet and was dotted here and there with potted plants, chairs, and benches. Coming in off Fourth Street, the stairwell to the upper three floors was to the left of the lobby, while the registration desk was to the right.
When Preacher returned to the hotel from lunch, written in chalk on a slate just inside the door was a sign that read: MR. PREACHER TO THE DESK, PLEASE.
Preacher picked his way through the potted plants. The clerk was making entries in a ledger. He looked up as Preacher approached.
“I’m Preacher.”
“Yes, this was delivered for you, sir,” the clerk said, handing him an envelope.
“Thank you,” Preacher said.
Preacher climbed the stairs to his room, then sat in the light of the window to examine the envelope. There was no name or address on the outside. He withdrew a one-page letter.
Dear Preacher,
Shortly after you called upon me I was visited by Ben Caviness. I confess that I did ask him to frighten Jennie, so she would stop making false claims against me. But I did not ask, nor did I expect, him to kill her.
Now, just as you said he would, he has asked me for more money. I told him that I would not give him any more money, and I took him to task for misinterpreting my instructions. He grew very angry and threatened to kill me if I did not comply with his demand for more money. Therefore, it is for my own safety that I tell you where to find him.
You will not find him staying in a hotel. Rather, he has made camp in the park area of Kensington, very near a place known as “Elephant Rock.” It was in this same area that the first of our recent murders took place, and I am now convinced that Caviness was responsible for those terrible killings.
Therefore, were you to take care of him, you will not only achieve justice for yourself and your lady-friend, but peace of mind for the citizens of Philadelphia, who are now too frightened to leave their homes at night.
Theodore Epson
Preacher did not believe for one moment that Epson’s instructions to Caviness had been misunderstood. He was convinced that Epson had wanted Jennie killed.
He was equally convinced that this wasn’t a letter giving up Caviness, but was, instead, a letter designed to set him up. He was certain that once he showed up at the park in Kensington, he would be ambushed by Ben Caviness. But as they say, forewarned is forearmed. Preacher intended to keep that rendezvous.
If Epson went so far as to set Preacher up for an ambush, then he was sure that the banker had even more surprises in store for him. Therefore, before Preacher left the hotel that night, he prepared himself for any eventuality. He had two pistols, loaded and stuck down into his belt. He also had two knives—one on his belt and one stuck down into his boot.
Thus armed, he entered the park.
There was no moon tonight, so it was very dark. Even more so because the park was some distance from the ambient light of the city. The night sky was alive with the sounds of insects and frogs, as well as the silent whisper of the Schuylkill River. Although he was in the middle of a great city, Preacher was more at home right now than he had been at any time since leaving the mountains. He was in the middle of a wilderness, albeit a small one, listening to the ebb and flow of the sounds and moving with—not intruding upon—the natural order of things.
As he approached Elephant Rock, he noticed something that not one other person in Philadelphia would have noticed. There was a slight disruption in the sound patterns made by the night creatures, and that disruption told him that someone was very close and watching him. The hackles stood up on the back of Preacher’s neck and he eased one of his pistols from his belt, then cocked it.
Suddenly a shot was fired. The night was lit up by the light from the muzzle flash. In an instinctive reaction, Preacher had anticipated the shot by no more than an instant, and he dove to the right.
Hitting the ground, Preacher rolled quickly to his right, as the ball whizzed by where he had been but a moment before. Had he not moved when he did, he would be dead now.
Preacher returned fire, and was momentarily blinded by his own muzzle flash. In addition, tiny bits of expended gunpowder peppered his face. He heard a grunting sound, then the sound of someone falling.
Remaining on his belly, he crawled forward until he reached the body of the man he had just shot. Rolling him over, he saw that the man was dead.
He also saw that it wasn’t Ben Caviness.
A second shot hit the rock just above Preacher, then careened off through the park, its transit marked by a whining sound.
“Scott, did you get him?” someone called. Preacher did not recognize the voice. “Scott, did you get him?” the voice repeated.
“Nah, the son of a bitch got Scott,” another voice answered. “Scott is dead.” Preacher didn’t recognize this voice either. How many were out here?
“Kelly, Gray, quit your jabbering and wait for a shot,” a third voice called from the darkness.
This voice, Preacher did recognize. It was Ben Caviness.
“Caviness,” Preacher called. “I’m coming after you, Caviness.”
“Come ahead, you son of a bitch!” Caviness shouted. His shout was punctuated with a pistol shot, and once again a ball passed dangerously close.
Preacher returned fire, and saw his bullet strike sparks as it hit a rock. He also heard Caviness yelp in pain, though he knew that hadn’t done any real damage to the outlaw. The best he could have done was to send shards of his bullet into him. That would be painful, but certainly not fatal.
“Kelly, he’s already fired twice,” Gray called. “Unless he’s carryin’ a whole bag of guns, he’s got nothin’ left.”
“Let’s get ’im!” Kelly yelled.
Suddenly, two men jumped up from their place of concealment, no more than thirty feet in front of Preacher. With shouts of defiance, they rushed toward him, their pistols leveled.
Preacher filled his hands with his two knives. He waited until they had closed to within ten feet, then suddenly stood up in front of them.
“There he is!” Gray shouted.
Gray and Kelly fired simultaneously while, at the same time, Preacher brought both his arms forward, throwing the two knives. The dual muzzle flashes momentarily illuminated the park. In a picture that was frozen in time, the two knives seemed to hang in the air, the points of the blades toward Kelly and Gray, suspended between Preacher and his two adversaries
The two assailants saw the knives coming toward them, but they had no time for any reaction other than fear. Both blades struck the men in the chests, burying deep. With groans of pain, they went down. By now, the two bullets they had fired were landing harmlessly in the river beyond.
Now Preacher was effectively unarmed. Both pistols were empty, both knives expended. He dropped behind a rock, then moved quickly and silently to his left in order to reload.
His own pistol empty, Caviness left after his brief exchange with Preacher. He was already on his way out of the park when he heard Kelly and Gray’s challenge. He also heard the discharge of their weapons. What he did not hear was their shouts of victory, and had they killed Preacher, he knew they would have let it be known.
The silence could only mean that they missed, or even more likely, that somehow Preacher had killed them. And Caviness believed it was the latter. He knew Preacher, had run across him before, and he knew what the man was capable of.
Caviness had only one thought in mind now, and that was to find Epson, get his money, and get out of Philadelphia.
The only way Caviness knew how to find Epson was to return to the bank and stay there all night long. When Epson showed up for work the next morning, Caviness would be waiting for him.
It was daylight when Epson stepped down from the omnibus in front of the bank. Caviness was waiting behind a flowering shrub as Epson, nattily dressed in a suit, vest, and hat, came walking by. When he drew even with him, Caviness suddenly stepped out into the path in front of him.
Epson gasped, then took a step back. “Caviness!” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Caviness looked awful. His face was cut and swollen where the shards of Preacher’s bullet had cut into him. He smiled, showing stained, crooked, and broken teeth.
“Well, now, is that any way to greet an old pal?” he asked.
“We aren’t . . . pals,” Epson said.
Caviness put his hand over his heart. “Well, now, that pains me deeply, that you don’t consider us pards,” he said. The smile left. “But that makes no never mind. Just give me my two hundred dollars, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Did you . . . that is—is Preacher dead?”
“No, Preacher ain’t dead,” Caviness said. “But all my pards is. You’re hard luck to be around, you know that, Epson? First off, Slater gets hisself kilt back in St. Louis and I get my ear chewed off. Then my new pards that I met here got themselves kilt last night. Three of ’em,” he added. “They was three of them and one of me, so that we was four to one against Preacher. But that didn’t make no never mind. He kilt all three of them.”
“Four of you against one man, and he got away?”
“Yeah. So you can see, Epson, the best thing for me to do is just get the hell out of Philadelphia, only I can’t do that if I ain’t got no money. So, I’ll take that two hundred dollars you was goin’ to give me.”
“That money was to be disbursed only if you killed Preacher,” Epson said.
Caviness pulled his pistol. “Yeah, well, I didn’t kill him, but you are going to disburse it anyway,” he said mockingly.
Even before sunrise, Preacher was pretty sure that Caviness had gotten away from him somehow, sneaking out of the park under the cover of darkness. He dragged the bodies of the three men he had killed into a spot that was some distance from the normal path people took when walking through the park. With the bodies out of the way of incidental pedestrians, he went to the headquarters of the Philadelphia Police Agency to report upon the events of the night before.
Chief Constable Dolan, Constable Coleman, and a couple of the watchmen, including one whose “watch box” was very near the entrance of the park, were there to, listen as Preacher told his story.
“You think it happened the way this man says it happened?” Constable Coleman asked after Preacher was finished.
“Why? Do you think it didn’t?”
“I don’t know . . . four men against one, and this morning three of the four is dead. It don’t ring right to me.”
Dolan nodded. “Well, I believe it,” he said. “Let’s go down to the park and have a look.”
Accepting a ride in Dolan’s carriage, Preacher led them into the park and to the place where he had left the bodies this morning. They were still there, undisturbed.
Chief Dolan looked at them for a moment, then pointed out the bodies, identifying them one by one. “That’s Jim Gray, Luke Kelly, and Martin Scott,” he said. “They are the dregs of society, three of the most disreputable men in the city. If they were out here in the park in the middle of the night, you can bet they were up to no good. Preacher did the whole city a favor by killing these three.”
“Thanks,” Preacher said. “But the one I wanted got away.”
At that moment, a constable on horseback came riding into the park at a gallop.
“Chief!” he started shouting, even before he dismounted. Dismounting, he handed the reins of his horse to one of the other watchmen, then hurried over to Chief Constable Dolan.
“What is it, Smith?”
“Some banker has been taken prisoner,” Smith said.
“Taken prisoner? What do you mean ‘taken prisoner’?”
“A fella by the name of Epson,” Smith said. “Witnesses say another man jumped out from behind some bushes this morning and took him at gunpoint down to the river.”
“Epson?” Preacher said. “Chief Dolan, if Epson has been taken prisoner, then Caviness has to be the one who took him.”
The recently arrived watchman looked at the tall man in buckskins, then looked back at Dolan. “Who is this?”
“This is my deputy,” Dolan said. “Come on, let’s get down to the river.”
Down at the river’s edge, Caviness had commandeered a small paddle boat. Ordering the boatman to build up the steam, he stood there, pointing his pistol at Epson, while a crowd of curious onlookers began gathering around to watch the unfolding drama.
“My name is Constable Marvin Jensen,” one of the men in the crowd shouted to Caviness. This was a watchman, a member of the Philadelphia Police whose watchbox was close enough to the area to arouse his interest in what was going on by the river. He’d arrived to find Caviness standing there by the edge of the water, holding a pistol pointed at the head of a very frightened Theodore Epson. “Just what is it you are planning on doing?” the constable asked.
“I’m going to kill him if anyone comes any closer,” Caviness replied with a menacing jerk of his gun.
“You don’t want to do that, mister. That would be cold-blooded murder, and you would hang for it for sure,” the watchman replied.
“You want to save this man’s life?” Caviness called.
“Yes.”
“Then you go to this here feller’s bank, and you tell the person in charge there that he had better come up with two hundred—no, make that one thousand dollars. Yeah, one thousand,” he repeated, getting bolder. “You tell the bank it’s going to cost them one thousand dollars to keep me from killin’ this here little pissant.”
“What makes you think the bank will pay one thousand dollars to save this man?” the constable asked.
“’Cause he ain’t just anybody. This here feller works for that bank. I reckon they’ll pay to save him,” Caviness said with self-assurance.
“Caviness, Mr. Fontaine is never going to agree to something like that,” Epson said in a voice that was laced with panic. “He won’t pay one thousand, he won’t pay one dollar.”
“Then you’re going to die,” Caviness replied. He looked toward the boatman. “How much longer before we have steam?” he demanded.
“Not much longer,” the boatman replied.
“Hurry it up,” Caviness said.
“You can’t make steam any faster than you can make steam,” the boatman complained.
While holding the gun in one hand, Caviness pulled his knife with the other. “You’d better figure out some way to do it,” he said. “Or I’ll split you open like guttin’ a fish.”
“No, no, it won’t be much longer,” the boatman promised.
“It better not be,” Caviness said. Then he turned to Epson. “The bank has got until this here feller gets the steam built up to come down here with my one thousand dollars,” he said.
“What if . . . what if they don’t get here before the steam is up?” Epson asked in a frightened voice.
“Then you’ll be leaving with me. Leastwise, till I figure out what to do with you.”
The drama continued to play out on the banks of the Schuylkill River, the boatman working hard to build up the steam while an ever-growing crowd gathered to see what was going on. Now and then someone would yell at Caviness, imploring him to release Epson, but Caviness paid no attention to them and, eventually, the crowd became still.
The situation became very eerie as hundreds of people stared in silence at the three men who were standing on the small paddle boat.
Finally the boatman spoke.
“Steam’s up,” he said.
“All right. Let’s go,” Caviness ordered.
“Go where?” the boatman asked.
“Downriver,” Caviness replied. “As fast as you can make this thing go.”
“Wait!” Epson shouted.
“Wait for what?”
“The bank. You haven’t given them enough time to bring the money to you.”
Caviness laughed an evil laugh. “They ain’t goin’ to bring me no money,” he said. “You done told me that yourself.”
At that moment, a carriage arrived at the river’s edge, its team pulling it at a gallop. Three men got out of the carriage. Caviness didn’t recognize two of them, but he did recognize the third. It was Preacher. Damn, the son of a bitch did get away last night.
“Hurry up! Let’s go!” Caviness shouted to the boatman. Seeing Preacher this close put Caviness on edge. “Come on, let’s get out of here!”
The boatman cast off, then opened the throttle. The paddles slapped at the water, and the little boat moved quickly out into the stream.
As the space between the boat and the river’s edge widened, Caviness began feeling more and more secure. He was going to get away after all. He felt emboldened.
“Hey, Preacher!” Caviness called out to him in a challenging tone of voice. “What are you going to do now, huh?” He laughed wickedly. “Are you going to keep chasing me?”
“Until I catch you,” Preacher answered.
“Yeah, well, you better give it up. You’re getting too many people killed,” Caviness said. “Your woman in St. Louis, them two back in Ohio, the ones here. I kilt them all, but you’re to blame for it, Preacher. You’re the blame ’cause you’re chasin’ me, and as long as you keep comin’ after me, the more killin’ I’m going to do.”
“Did you hear that, Chief?” Coleman asked. “That man just admitted to being the murderer we’ve been looking for.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“Well, what are we going to do about it? He’s getting away.”
“There’s nothing we can do, right now,” Dolan said.
By now the boat was mid-river and making its way downstream. With the brisk current and full power, the little boat was moving much faster than a horse could gallop.
Suddenly, the three men saw a flash of smoke, then heard a pop. Epson fell into the water.
“Holy shit! He just killed Epson!” Coleman said as the crowd gasped at the horror of what they had just seen.
Glancing back toward the carriage, Preacher saw that there was a rifle in the carriage boot. He walked over to it, picked it up, and examined it for a moment. Then he began loading it. Glancing back toward the carriage, the chief constable saw Preacher with the rifle.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I don’t intend to just stand by and let him get away from me this time,” Preacher said as he reached for the powder horn and pouch of balls.
“Are you joking? He’s already out of range. By the time you get that rifle loaded, he’ll be well out of range.”
“Maybe,” Preacher said as he poured powder into the rifle. “But I aim to try.”
Out on the boat, which was now some distance from shore, Caviness stood on top of the cabin, looking back toward the landing. The figures were growing smaller as the distance widened, and Caviness laughed.
“I beat you, you son of a bitch!” he shouted. “I beat you!”
That was when he saw Preacher come down to the water’s edge, kneel, and aim a rifle at him.
“Ha! What do you think you are doing?” Caviness shouted. “Why, you ignorant bastard! You are so far... ”
Caviness saw a flash of light and a puff of smoke. He saw Preacher rock back from the recoil.
“ . . . out of range . . . unnh!”
Caviness felt a hammerlike blow, as if he had been kicked by a mule. It knocked him back a step and he put his hand up to his chest, then watched in horror and disbelief as his cupped palm filled with blood.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Caviness said just as the world around him began to fade. He pitched forward into the river and floated, facedown very still.
The Rocky Mountains
When Preacher reached the top of the summit, he stood there for a moment. Gazing down on the vista, he saw an endless slope of mottled treetops—from various shades of green, to golden aspen, to crimson. Across a rolling basin, there was a wall of red rock, broken along its face into points, ledges, cliffs, and escarpments.
An early fall snow had already crowned Eagle’s Beak, and once again, Preacher saw feathery tendrils of snow streaming out from it. The crystals glistened in the sun, forming a prism of color that crowned the beauty of the scene.
How different this was from Philadelphia, St. Louis, or even Kansas City. There, amidst the buildings and the clatter of traffic and the crowd of people, he had been totally out of his element. Even while visiting his family—though he was pleased to see them after so many years, and happy that his brother and sisters were doing well—he had felt a nagging discontent, a need to get back where he belonged.
Overhead, an eagle soared, and just before him, Preacher could hear the sound of a babbling creek. He got a whiff of the sweet smell of pine and caught the musk of distant forest animals.
“What do you think, Dog?” he asked the animal who had been keeping pace with him as they traveled higher and higher into the mountains. “Are you happy to be home?”
Dog looked up at him.
“I almost left you with Cara, you know. She begged me to. But I figure, with that restaurant I bought her, she doesn’t need a dog around. Besides, I missed you,” he said. “Why, if I didn’t have you to talk to, folks would think I’m talking to myself.”
The mountain man laughed loudly at his own joke, his laughter echoing back from the woods.