Preacher's Justice by William W. Johnstone Page B

He preached like a born-again, water-baptized, true believer in the Lord Almighty.
    â€œThe Indians didn’t understand what I was saying,” Preacher said, “but they listened anyway, and I continued to preach all through the night.
    â€œCome the next morning, I was still preaching, amazed that I still had the strength to do it.”
    â€œWhat were you preaching about?” Emma asked.
    â€œTo tell the truth, I almost didn’t even know what I was saying myself, but I kept on talking, kept on preaching.
    â€œI preached all through the rest of that morning without stopping. The people of the village, men, women, and children, gathered around to listen, although they didn’t have the slightest idea what I was saying.
    â€œFinally, the elders of the village held a council where they decided I was crazy. And maybe I was.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, maybe you were? Do you think you were crazy?” Cynthia asked.
    Preacher chuckled. “Well, I might have been a little crazy at the time. I don’t know,” he admitted. “But here’s the thing. The Indians think that anyone who is crazy is touched by the Great Spirit. They’re afraid to do any harm to him, because they don’t want to offend the Great Spirit.
    â€œSo, the next thing you know, a couple of the old chiefs came over to me and untied me. And let me tell you, they didn’t do it a moment too soon, because by then my mouth was parched and sore, and my vision was so blurred I could barely see. I don’t think I could’ve lasted more than another five or ten minutes.”
    â€œAnd they just let you go?” Emma asked.
    Preacher nodded. “Yes,” he said.
    â€œOh, what a wonderful story!” Cynthia said.
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    The brothers Rance and Leon, scions of Angus Culpepper, owner of Culpepper Stage and Freight Lines, were making the trip to St. Louis on the same boat. Because they, like Emma Purdy and Cynthia Cain, were occupying first-class accommodations, they considered the two young ladies to be their exclusive property by right of social position.
    Rance and Leon stood for a while at the rail, smoking their pipes and looking toward the flora and fauna of the riverbank as it slid past the boat. While there, they couldn’t help but overhear the story Preacher told the two young women. Now, walking toward the stern of the boat, they were engaged in a private discussion about the man called Preacher.
    â€œWhat a lout,” Leon said. “No doubt, this is the longest conversation that creature has ever had with any woman who wasn’t a whore.”
    â€œProbably even including his own mother,” Rance replied.
    â€œDo you mean he hasn’t had a long conversation with her? Or do you mean that she is a whore?” Leon asked.
    â€œHe hasn’t had a long conversation with her,” Rance replied. Then he added, “And she probably is a whore.”
    Leon and Rance both laughed, though their laugh was brittle, like the shattering of crystal.
    â€œYou have to admit, that was some story he told,” Leon said. “Do you believe it was true?”
    â€œNo. Mountain men are know to be great storytellers. And liars.”
    â€œHe had the ladies hanging on every word.”
    â€œYes, unfortunately, he did,” Rance said. “But it is obviously a story of self-aggrandizement, designed to make himself a hero in their eyes.”
    â€œWhat I don’t understand is why Miss Purdy and Miss Cain would allow him to talk to them in the first place,” Leon added. “He is traveling steerage, and one wonders where he even got the money for that.”
    â€œHe is taking advantage of their innocence,” Rance answered. “And I am personally offended by that.”
    â€œMountain men are barely civilized; they spend months at a time with no company other than bears,” Leon said.
    â€œAnd no doubt, the bears find the presence of such men