Death's Horse Throws A Shoe

Part 10

Reverend Enos Black was praying when the wave hit him. It was evil, pure and unfiltered. It smashed into him like a train and left him sprawling on the floor of the tiny, one-roomed church. Black was glad that he had been on his knees at the time or the fall might have hurt him. He sat up and wiped at the wetness on his upper lip. His nose was bleeding. Black retrieved a kerchief from his pocket and cleaned up the blood. Back on his knees, he began to pray again. He asked for God's forgiveness, for guidance on what he must do and the strength to do it. There was no response and Black did not expect one that instant, but he had always found the guidance he needed if he knew where to look.

The preacher stood and stared at the cross on the wall. He must continue on his way. Black had been going West, preaching as he went, trying to save as many souls as he could. It was not an easy course. The people of these lands were hard and set in their ways. They seemed to live on an excess of toil, liquor, and tobacco. It made his mission a hard one, rife with danger, but he could usually see when their patience was near its end. It was about planting the seed and letting it grow on its own. Black may never see again those he had touched and helped to convert, and he was content with knowing it was God's will.

The reverend would continue in the direction he had been going, making sure to keep an eye out for the signs. They were always there. Black looked away from the cross and pocketed the bloody handkerchief. He picked up his worn Bible from the front pew. Clouds of dust rose from the wooden seat. The entire church was covered in a thick layer of the stuff. It had been clearly abandoned for quite some time. Black lamented that a house of God would go unused, but appreciated the peace of the empty building. It felt like being alone with the Father. The silence was profound. Relaxing.

Black exited the church and found three men waiting for him. The reverend put his hat on his head and walked over to his old, gray donkey. The men watched him as he opened a saddle bag and placed his Bible gently inside. He turned to the men.

"Well brothers, what can I do for you? Have you come to hear the Good Word?" he asked pleasantly.

The leader spat a wad of chew at the preacher's feet. "We come for your hide, church man."

In unison, the three lifted their rifles and pointed them at Black. The preacher's movement was fast. He drew his pistol and shot all three before they could pull their triggers. They hit the ground motionless and Black stared at them from behind his smoking barrel. Fools. He offered them eternal salvation and they wanted to kill him.

He stowed his weapon and kicked the body of leader onto his back. He recognized the man. Some months back a couple of boys took offense to being called sinners while they were carousing and carrying on. They would not leave well enough alone and tried to shoot him in the back. He was obliged to send them to the Lord. The dead man had been there but had dropped his weapon. Black would not shoot an unarmed man, so he left. They must have tracked him all that time and finally caught up when he rested in the church.

"Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord," Black quoted to the empty air.

Reverend Black found a shovel and dug three shallow graves and tossed the bodies in. He prayed over them and gave them their last rights. After covering the corpses with the loose dirt, he tamped it down with the shovel. Killing always made him morose. He fought back the intense wave of emotion and made his way back into the church. More forgiveness would need to be asked for and proper atonement to be paid before he was back on his way on his mission.