Preacher's Justice by William W. Johnstone

café patrons said quickly. “Them three others all come for him.”
    â€œThat’s the truth of it, Paul,” Jeb said. “We was all witnesses.”
    The sheriff stood there for a moment, then looked at Preacher. “Do you know why he come for you?”
    â€œI killed that one’s brother,” Preacher replied, pointing to Luke.
    â€œWhere’d you do that?”
    â€œAt Rendezvous, out in the Rockies.”
    â€œAt Rendezvous, you say?”
    Preacher nodded.
    â€œTrappers is normally pretty straight about things. If you killed him at Rendezvous and they let you go, you was probably in the right,” the sheriff said. “Besides which, ain’t no concern of mine what happened out there. And if all these folks say you was in the right here, I don’t plan to do nothin’ about this either.”
    â€œThanks,” Preacher said.
    â€œI’d appreciate it, though, if you’d put the gun away.”
    Preacher stared at his pistol for a moment, then stuck it back in his belt.
    The sheriff looked at Aunt Molly. “I’ll get the undertaker down here to pull the body off your front porch,” he said.
    Aunt Molly chuckled. “No hurry,” she said. “Long as he’s out there, folks will come have a look. And when they do, why, they’ll just naturally want to come in and have dinner.”
    The others laughed.
    â€œLord, I hope not, Aunt Molly,” the sheriff said. “Else you’ll be draggin’ anyone that gets shot down here.”
    More laughter as the sheriff left the café.
    â€œI’m sorry about the table,” Preacher said to Aunt Molly after the sheriff was gone. “If you tell me how much it is, I’ll pay to have another one built for you.”
    â€œI reckon a dollar will pay for your food and fix the table,” Aunt Polly said.
    Preacher pulled out a silver dollar and handed it to her, then reached for the plate of ribs.
    â€œThanks,” he said. “This looks good.”

SEVEN
    On board the riverboat Nathanial Pyron
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    At first, Caviness thought that the interest people were paying him was because of morbid curiosity over the fact that he was obviously missing an ear. But the second day into the trip, he was standing at the railing when the captain and two deckhands approached him.
    â€œMister, you want to tell us how you lost that ear?” the boat captain asked.
    Caviness put his hand to the wound on the side of his face.
    â€œWhat business is it of yours how I lost it?” he asked.
    â€œWell, you see, the thing is, some of our passengers are down from St. Louis. And according to them, there was a young woman murdered up there recently. But it turns out, she had a dog who defended her. The dog bit the ear off her attacker.”
    â€œYeah, well, I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Caviness said. “I got this ear bit off by a bear.”
    â€œThat may be,” the captain said. “But I intend to put you in irons now until we get to Cape Girardeau. There, I’ll turn you over to the constable, and he can take you back up to St. Louis until you get all this worked out.”
    As the men started toward him, Caviness hesitated only for a moment. Then he climbed onto the rail and leaped down into the Mississippi River.
    â€œThe son of a bitch is getting away!” one of the deckhands shouted, and he and the other two ran to the railing. Looking down into the river, they could see only the roiling water, but no sign of the man without an ear.
    â€œWhere is he? Where did he go?”
    â€œI think we can forget about him, boys,” the captain said. “The currents and eddies are so strong right through here that it’s damn near impossible to swim. More’n likely he’s drowned already.”
    â€œYeah, well, that’s good enough for him,” the first deckhand said.
    â€œIf he’s the one that done the