The Gospel According to Colt Read online

  Blinking back the tears, Lew asked, “Did . . . did you report . . . this to Sheriff Johnson?”

  “I sure did. I left right then and rode into town. The Sheriff and his deputy, a new feller called Smith, rode out here and did some lookin' around. It was them and me that buried your kin, Lew.”

  “I thank ya for doing that, but we ain't been hit like what you just told me since the war. Why would anyone attack my home, rape my wife and girls, then kill all of them? I know of no enemies who would do such a thing.”

  “Johnson said twenty men escaped from the federal prison just north of here, near Jefferson City. He said it happened just a few nights before our places were attacked. He seemed to think it was convicts that did the job. I don't know who the men were, but they hit your place and mine like a partisan unit would do in the war.” Matt poured more whiskey into his glass.

  Once the bottle was on the table, Lew filled his glass and said, “I usually don't drink, but have a medical reason to drink now. I am filled with both anger and hate of the likes I've never felt before. Now, tell me all you know about the men who killed my family.” He then gulped ab out half of his strong amber drink and Matt saw his hands were shaking violently as he raised the glass.

  “I know they ransacked your place and took all the food, whiskey and valuables you had. That wounded feller, Oaks, told me that much. They needed horses, food and guns if they were going to make it to Mexico and freedom. Oaks admitted he was with the men who broke out of jail and has turned state's evidence to protect his mangy hide.”

  “Why would he turn on his friends? That makes no sense to me.”

  “The Federal Marshal promised to reduce the current sentence he is serving, twenty years, to time already served, and not prosecute him for the prison break. All he has to do is tell all he knows in a courtroom.”

  “And, he'll go absolutely free?”

  “That's what Sheriff Johnson told me, as free as a bird.”

  Slamming his balled fist on the table top, Lew yelled, “He is one of the bastards that killed my family. The government may forgive him, but I, Lewis Stuart, have forgiven no one.”

  “So, what now?” Matt asked.

  “I really don't know.” Lew's mood shifted quickly from deep anger to confusion. He had no idea what to do or even what his options were.

  “Well, you can stay or sell the place for what you can get. I think it would be hard on you to live there again with your family buried out back.”

  “If I can get some kerosene from you, I'll pour it on my dead cows and clear the air around the place. They're too gamy to ignore, so maybe I can burn the smell away. I need some time to think and consider what to do next. I'm all, I'm all, well, torn up inside and I . . . I hurt.” Lew said and then wiped the tears from his eyes. He knocked back the remainder of his drink and refilled the glass.

  “You can stay here if you want.”

  “No, I'll put up a canvas lean-to at my place, so I can talk to my kin when the urge hits. I'm not sure if I want to rebuild, sell, or what, yet. I know me and the Lord will have us a long talk this evenin' after supper.” Standing, Lew extended his hand and added, “I'm going to ride into Rolla and see if Johnson has any information about the men who did this. The more I know, the more I'll be able to accept the reason for the killing of my family, but it doesn't mean I will ever forgive the killers.”

  “The Bible says vengeance is God's.”

  “I know what the good Book says. Though the Bible tells me clearly to love my enemies, I . . . I just can't do it, not in this case. I keep remembering an 'eye for an eye and a toot h for a tooth.'” He threw back the rest of his drink, picked up the whiskey bottle and refilled his glass. He sat back down in his chair.

  “You keep drinking like you are now and you'll turn into a drunk. Don't let their deaths ruin ya as a man, Lew.”

  “Maybe, just maybe, right now, I don't give a damn. Eight people, all of them an important part of my life, are dead . They are dead ! Killed by men who aren't worth a tinkers damn! My family was butchered, Matt, my whole family is gone! Oh, they're all dead.” Lew dropped his head to his hands and began to wee p violently, his body shuddering and quivering.

  Lucy started to near, but Matt shook his head and she left the room.

  Two hours later, Lew sat in an old wooden chair next to Sheriff Johnson, who was sitting at his desk. Johnson was a middle-aged man, with more white hair than auburn, neatly shaven, hair worn short and bad teeth. He was pushing six feet tall, but stopped growing with a half inch still to go. He was polite and good natured, but pure hell on criminals. He ran a tight jail, was fair to all prisoners, and the food he fed his guests was the exact same food he ate, from the Blue Goose Cafe.

  Spitting a long brown string of chocolate-brown tobacco juice into the spittoon, he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand and said, “I can give ya the names, as well as descriptions, of those that escaped from the prison, but we have no idea who really killed your family. I ain't even sure how many men attacked your place. Also, none have been spotted since the killings on your farm. It's our guess they've left this area and scattered. Now Oaks is at the Doc's, iffen he'll let you talk with the man. He knows more than he's told us, of that I'm sure of. I ain't sayin' he will, but he might tell ya some things he ain't told us. But, I have to warn you, Lew, don't take the law into your own hands.”

  “Thanks, Brad, and I'll drop by there this afternoon and speak with the man. I appreciate you giving me this list of the escapees. I'll not break the law, but I hurt so much inside.”

  “Look, I know you're a preacher man, but don't do something stupid like riding after those men. Ain't a one on the list that ain't a killer or a hell of a lot meaner than you. I suggest you turn the other cheek and let us professionals handle the death of your family.”

  “I'm not a violent person. Well, I've not been in years, not since the war anyway. In the war it was kill or be killed, so most of us discovered we had a mean side.”

  “Stick to your preaching, which I'm sure will give you a longer life. Oh, there is a three thousand dollar reward for each of those men, so if I get any information about one of them getting caught or killed, I'll let you know. Most of them will be killed by lawmen like me, or bounty hunters, while others may actually live the rest of their lives free. In any case, I'll get a telegram if anything happens to any one of them. I promise, I'll let you know each time one of these bastards is caught.”

  “Thanks, and I guess I need to go by the general store on the way home and pick up some things. I don't have much, since I was burned out.” Lew said and then thought, And get a gallon of whiskey. I won't be able to sleep if I don't get drunk. This will be my last drink too, because I am about broke. I think I have about three dollars left to my name, unless I sell the place.

  “No, I guess you don't, but it's a damned shame what happened to your family, and I pray the guilty ones pay for their crime spree.”

  “Oh, I'm sure the good Lord will punish those men in due time. It hurts me though, because I left here such a happy man and now I'm broken in heart and spirit. I've lost everything that made me a content man of God.”

  As Lew walked to the door, the sheriff walked with him. As they shook hands, the older man said, “If I can help you in any way, and I mean this, just let me know.”

  “I'll make out, because the Lord always provides, or so the good Book promises, and he has since I was a little button. I'll see you later.”

  Leaving the Sheriff's office, Lew discovered at the bank his place was initially worth a little over ten thousand dollars, but since the house and barn were gone, the land alone was worth only half of that. The banker told him he had a buyer and was authorized to purchase the place right then. The railroad was coming to Rolla, and all land near the proposed tracks was being picked up as fast as it was offered. From what he knew, the banker said the rails would be laid right down the center of his old farm. The banker tried to get Lew t o hang onto the land lo
nger, because he'd get more for it if he held out a few weeks. He shook his head and then signed the deed. He left the bank with five thousand and thirty-five dollars, after he closed his savings account.

  He left the bank and walked to the saloon.

  A saloon was more than a drinking place, it was also a place where business was conducted and a good meal could be had at a reasonable price. When he entered, only three men were at the bar, cowboys, and they quickly moved to table near the far wall to avoid one of his sermons on the evils of alcohol. Lew had been something of a pest in the past, coming in and cond emning those having a little Ole Be Joyful after a hard day at work.

  Bellying up to the bar, Lew said, “Give me a double rye and a beer chaser.”

  Frank the portly bartender asked, “Say what? Is this some kind of joke?”

  Slapping the top of the bar with the flat of his hand, Lew said, “I want a double rye with a beer chaser.”

  Frank poured the drinks and said, “That'll be two bits.”

  He placed a q uarter on the bar. Picking the whiskey up with his right hand, he turned to the men at the table, nodded, raised his drink and then knocked it back. He coughed, took a sip of his beer and said, “Sell me a quart, Frank.”

  “Same kind of whiskey? That's good stuff yer drinkin' and it's two d ollars a quart.”

  “Yep, same stuff. I got the money.”

  Frank placed the bottle on the bar and then said, “Lew, it's none of my business, but I'm sorry about what happened to your family. You and me don't always see eye to eye on things, only I had nothing except respect for you and yours.”

  “Well, apparently, some sumbitches had no respect at all for my family and even raped my baby girls.” The grief he'd held all morning exploded. He threw his glass against the wall, where it shattered, and he screamed, “They've pissed me off, Frank! Why did they hurt my family? My wife would have given them the last bite of food in our house, only they had to rape her and kill her too. I swear standing here, in front of you and God, I will kill every one of those bastards and I'll not stop until all of them are dead!” Then glancing up, he yelled, “Do you hear me, Lord?”

  The three cowboys made their ways out the batwing doors slowly, and then ran for their horses.

  Frank was a bartender and he'd seen all kinds of men in his years behind a bar. He realized Lew was just letting his grief out, so he said, “Let me pour you another drink, and this one is on the house.”

  “I need a drink. I need a bunch of drinks and then maybe I'll stop hearing my children calling for help as they die. I know they called my name, but I wasn't there to help them. I was doin' the Lord's work. While I was working for Him, he let my family be butchered! Why? God, I feel like I'm going to lose my damned mind!”

  “You are the preacher, my friend, not me, and you have the answers.”

  “Was, you mean, not are. Me and God ain't exactly on speaking terms right now. I don't need a God that will take all I love from me in the blink of an eye. What kind of God would do that to a man?” He gulped his drink down and held the empty glass out for another.

  “Look what God did to Job. He took everything from him, didn't He?” Frank refilled the glass.

  Giving an insane laugh, Lew waited until he sobered and then said, “Frank you surprise me, because you do know the good Book. Here all I thought you knew was booze and soiled doves.”

  A nervous laugh was heard and then Frank said, “Go easy on the whiskey, or you'll get roostered. Now, you're a grown man, so I'll not warn you again.”

  “No, this is my last drink. I have to visit Doc Myers and see one of his patients.”

  “Again, this is none of my business, but I like you and always have. Why the cursing and drinking now? Is it becaus e you lost your family?”

  “You're absolutely right.”

  “About what?”

  “It's none of your damned business.” Throwing his drink back and then gulping the rest of his beer, he placed two dollars on the bar top. Giving a half drunken grin he picked up the bottle. As he walked, he placed the bottle in an inside pocket of his duster, next to the sharp butcher’s knife. His wife had sewed the extra pocket to allow him to cover his Bible on trips. Just the thought made his eyes water.

  When he entered the doctor's office, Myers looked up and asked, “How may I help you, Reverend?”

  “I understand you have a patient by the name of Oaks here? I suspect he'll hang, so I wish to offer him eternal salvation. If I can get him to accept the Lord before he dies, I've done something worthwhile on earth, doctor.”

  “Well, I don't know, because he was part of those men who killed your family. How can you tell me you want to deliver him from sin, when you know he's the man who helped kill your kin?”

  “Have I ever lied to you before, my friend? Yes, it pains me that my family is gone, but nothing I can do now will ever bring them back. I can accept that, Doc, so give me just a few minutes with the man. If he's not interested, I'll leave, but I assure you, my visit will leave him a changed man.”

  “I guess you can have a few minutes with him. By the way, I smell the alcohol on you, but I'll not say a word. You are having some difficult times right now.”

  “Yes, I've backslid a ways and taken a few drinks, but I like to think of them as for medical reasons and not due to Satan. If my family were still at my side, I'd not have had a drop. I'll drink just for a day or two, so I can sleep and adj ust to being alone. It's hard, very hard.”

  “Come with me and I'll show you to Oaks.” the docto r said as he moved down the hallway. Lew stuck his hand in his coat pocket, to make sure the long and sharp butchers knife was resting beside the quart of whiskey. Satisfied it was there, he staggered down the hall behind Doctor Myers, wearing a weak smile.

  Chapter 2

  ALMOST two hundred miles away in Sprin gfield, Missouri, Hillman Davis, or Dutch to his friends, sat at a table in the Dirty Dog Saloon, sipping rye whiskey. Money he had, and then a quick bank robbery in Lebanon, Missouri, insured he had even more. He was a low cost man, his only vices being good whiskey and expensive cigars. He was an average sized man, lean, with black hair and green eyes. While in his forties, Dutch looked at least twenty years older, due to completing some long prison sentences and his love for strong drink.

  Dutch looked up from his cards and said, “I'll see your ten dollars and bump you another ten.”

  “I'm out.” Bill Crews said. Bill was Dutch's lieutenant and gopher. He was slightly plump, reddish-brown hair, with brown eyes, and like his boss, he looked older than he was.

  “I'll see what you have.” John Hale said as the flipped a golden eagle to the pot. Hale was a self-proclaimed bad-ass, but was really just a lot of blow. He talked big enough, was a fair shot, and could draw quickly, but lacked the guts to walk his talk. He was short, just two inches over five feet, blond hair and shaggy beard. His pale blue eyes looked dead most of the time.

  “Call.” said T homas Jones as he added his ten in greenbacks.

  Dutch threw down three aces and two kings. He smiled and, as he raked the pot toward him, the men who'd played until the end were cursing. Raising his hand, Dutch called out, “Barkeeper, three more bottles of that fine Cain-tucky whiskey, please.”

  Crews said, “I know this ain't the place to bring this up, but we need to be movin'. This is our second night here and you know dodgers have to be out on us. I don't think there would be nearly as much stink about us breakin' out, iffen Dillion hadn't raped and killed that dirt farmer's wife and her passel of kids. That's given me a nervous feelin' ever sin ce I hear'd tell of it.”

  Laughing and then quieting down, Dutch asked, “Ya scared some share cropper is gonna walk in here and start killin' us? It won't happen, but you're right, we need to be movin'. I want all of us to get to our rooms and get some sleep, because we'll leave at first light.”

  “What 'bout the money I lost tonight?” John asked.

  “What about it?”

  “I'd h
oped to win some of it back.”

  “Another night, because Bill's right. Could be a posse on our asses right now and we're sittin' here like fools. When the bartender brings the whiskey, one bottle is yours, John, but be able to ride in the morning.”

  “I'll ride, no matter how much I drink.”

  The men quickly broke up and began moving to their rooms. As they moved to the lobby, Dutch said, “Bill, I want to speak with you for a few minutes in my room, before you go to bed.”

  “Uh, sure, boss.” he repl ied, and began following the man down the hallway to their rooms.

  They entered his room and Dutch said, “Have a seat at the table. Bill, I've known you for years. I think we first met when Jesse James introduced us back in '63. Look, we're moving with too many men and they'll get caught over time. I'm thinking of leavin' the group and only plan to take two other men with me, you and Samuel Brewer. Brewer keeps his cool, is usually a quiet man in public, but deadly in a gun fight.”

  “That makes sense. I don't like the way John keeps flashing his money. Sooner or later some copper will nab him and ask a lot of questions. Only, when do you plan on leavin'?”

  “In the next hour. I talked to Brewer and he's ready to leave. If you want to go, then meet us down by the livery stables in an hour. We plan to move on to the open plains a bit and mayhap move up around Omaha for a while. There's big money to be made there and I don't see no reason we can't make some too.”