Parson Sam Blane in HOPE (Episode 2)

IV.

The tall stranger with eyes as dark as midnight stood motionless. He did not speak.

Deputy Mitchell felt his face flush red. The stranger was deliberately ignoring him.

Slowly, the tall stranger lifted his gaze.

Deputy Mitchell felt the stranger’s steady intent look as if an icicle had pierced his heart. He had never seen eyes so black, so completely devoid of emotion, so very cold.

Then without a word the stranger turned his back. After a calculated pause, he took a step toward the entrance of the saloon.

Deputy Mitchell felt an explosion of rage within him. He raced forward and grabbed the stranger’s arm to swing him around.

The instant his hand touched the stranger, the stranger whirled and drew his pistol in a flicker. The cocked weapon came to rest one inch from the bridge of the deputy’s nose.

Deputy Mitchell had no time to react. He stood staring into the black hole of death of the stranger’s gun.

The stranger allowed ample time for the deputy’s heart to hiccup and for the deputy to realize that, on any other occasion, the error would have been fatal.
“Lose the gun belt.”

Deputy Mitchell took a cautious breath. He reached down, unbuckled his gun belt, and let it fall to the ground.

“Now, take the badge off your chest and drop it on the ground.”

Deputy Mitchell felt his jaw tremble. His gaze again fell upon the barrel of the stranger’s gun. He unpinned his badge and dropped it to the ground.

“Now, step back. Turn and walk slowly. Tell Marshal Hickok I want to talk to him.”

V.

Riley burst into the Marshal’s office. “Mitchell’s in trouble!”

Hickok, who was seated at his desk, sprang to his feet. Riley turned and began running toward the Alamo Saloon. Hickok ran right behind him.

Halfway to the saloon, they spied Deputy Mitchell walking toward them. Both men stopped. Deputy Mitchell glanced at the two men and then he lowered his head.

Riley exclaimed, “Are you alright, son?”

Without looking up, Deputy Mitchell said, “Yes, I’m alright.”

Hickok immediately saw that the deputy was wearing neither his badge nor his gun. He pressed his lips together and drew a breath in through his nose.

“What happened?” Riley asked.

“I’ve never seen a man draw so fast.”

After a long silence, Hickok said, “Well, where’s he at? The saloon?”

Deputy Mitchell nodded.

“Come on. Let’s go get your gun and your badge. Riley, you go back to your shop.”

Hickok led the way and the deputy followed. After a few steps, Hickok turned. “Son, if anything ever happened to you I would blame myself. If you thought this fella was trouble, why didn’t you come and get me?”

“I thought I could handle it myself. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“I hope you don’t believe that. I don’t. It’s your pride, son, that makes you reckless. After you collect your badge, hand it over to me. You’re suspended. Wait a week. Then come in and we’ll talk. If your attitude has changed, you can have your badge back. Understand?”

Deputy Mitchell nodded.

Hickok pointed to the badge on his chest. “This badge, son, is not about the rule of Mitchell. It’s about the rule of law. It does not serve us. We serve it.”

Deputy Mitchell continued to hang his head.

“Now, who is this fella?”

“I don’t know. He rode in earlier. Never seen him before.”

They walked to the spot where Deputy Mitchell’s badge and gun lay on the ground. Deputy Mitchell hesitated.

“Well, pick them up.”

Deputy Mitchell picked up his gun belt and strapped it on. After he picked up his badge, he held it out and Hickok took it.

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

“Yes, come in. You may have to point him out to me. But I doubt it.”

When the two entered the saloon, the buzz in the room fell to a hush. The tall stranger who sat in the back corner did not look up.

Glimpsing the faces of the usual crowd, Hickok followed the men’s guarded glances to the back corner.

“Stay behind me, son.”

Deputy Mitchell followed Hickok to the back corner of the saloon. The tall stranger looked up when Hickok and the deputy reached the table.

“Marshal Hickok. Right?”

Hickok immediately noticed two things. First, were those eyes as dark as midnight. Second, both hands were under the table. Was the stranger holding a gun aimed at his heart?

“Yes, I’m Hickok. You assaulted my deputy with a deadly weapon.”

“I was the one assaulted, Marshal. I plead self-defense. Several people in here saw the incident. Under oath, they would have to testify to that.”

Hickok heard the ring of truth in the stranger’s words. “What are you? Some kind of lawyer?”

“I’m no lawyer, Marshal. But, like you, I know something about the law.” As the stranger said the words, he brought his hands above the table. They were empty. Casually, he lifted his glass and sipped whiskey.

Hickok felt his stomach muscles relax a bit.

“May I ask you to join me, Marshal. I have business to discuss.”

“Business? What kind of business?”

With a leg under the table, the stranger pushed out a chair for Hickok. “You can sit down, too, Deputy. I have nothing against you.”

One side of Hickok’s mouth tightened. He glanced at Deputy Mitchell and nodded. Both men sat down.

“Who are you and what kind of business are you talking about?

“First, Marshal, can I offer you a drink?”

“No thanks. Let’s get to it.”

“Alright, Marshal, but this may take a while. Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”

The stranger glanced up. Hickok’s expression had not changed.

“Okay, Marshal. My name is Abe Jackson.” As he said the name, he pressed his index finger vertically to his lips. Then he reached up with his left hand and pulled the vest away from his heart.

Hickok was staring straight at a Texas Ranger badge.

Hickok blinked. Then he nodded. “That explains a lot.”

“Like I said, Marshal. I have business to discuss. You see—”

Hickok held up his hand. “I think I’ll take that drink now.”

VI.

Parson Sam Blane pushed away from the small desk in his room. Cupping his hand above the chimney globe on the oil lamp, he blew out the flame. Already it was morning.

He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids. He had spent most of the night in study and prayer. Then he had returned to writing: polishing old sermons, developing new ones, and finally he had had time to work on his manuscript.

Several members of the Abilene congregation had asked him to write an exposition on St. Luke’s Gospel, and he had been happy to oblige.

Ironically, Abilene itself had been named for a verse in the Gospel of St. Luke. The story goes that in 1860 the people of the Kansas territory foresaw the coming of statehood. About then in Dickinson County where Abilene is located, a contest developed over the selection of a county seat.

A man by the name of C.H. Thompson laid out a town site on his land east of Mud Creek. He hastily constructed several log houses to give the appearance of a town. He then asked his neighbor, Tim Hersey, to give the new town a name.

Mr. Hersey referred the matter to his wife. Mrs. Hersey found a reference in Luke 3:1 that speaks of the “tetrarch of Abilene.” She decided that “Abilene,” which means “city of the plains,” would be appropriate, and so the town was named.

Over the years of traveling from town to town, Blane had made Abilene the hub of his activities. He received his mail at the town’s post office and he kept a room at the Merchant’s Hotel.

Now, at the beginning of a six-month sabbatical, Blane was grateful for the opportunity to engage in concentrated study. The hiatus would also afford him time to recuperate from the rigors of constant travel. Finally, he hoped to gain a fresh outlook on his service to the Lord.

Blane stepped to the bed and sat down. He kicked off his boots and lay back. He had spent the entire night awake and he needed a few hours of sleep. After his nap, he planned to spend the afternoon at the site where a new church building was under construction. He enjoyed visiting with the other congregation members who were helping to build the church. Also, he found the physical exercise of construction labor invigorating.

Before long, Blane was dreaming. He stood on the edge of a cliff. Suddenly, the rock crumbled beneath his feet, and he fell straight down. Tumbling, tumbling. His fear vanished when the speed of his fall began to decrease. He was able to lift his head and soar horizontally above the valley floor.

He landed gently on his feet in a meadow. He heard the birds’ staccato warbles and he smelled the scent of pine trees. He turned and saw his wife, Sarah. She wore a shimmering white dress and her hair flowed in the wind.

They sat together in the plush green grass. She played her guitar and sang for him. Suddenly, her guitar turned into a baby wrapped warmly in a soft blanket.

“Shh,” she said to the crying child, and the infant became calm. Sarah extended her arms, holding the baby out for Blane to take into his embrace.

He reached for the child but Sarah and the child drew away. He stepped forward, but again the two drew away. He began to run toward them. But they quickly withdrew until at last they disappeared.

He called but they did not answer. He sat down and began to weep. He wept as he had when he was a very young child, holding nothing back, crying uncontrollably. A sharp tapping noise caused him to turn his head. For a moment, he was outside himself, seeing and hearing himself weep. The tapping noise grew louder and more insistent. Again he turned. He turned. He turned. And then he was half awake.

A series of sharp knocks came at the door to his room.

For a moment, he could not determine where he was. The knocks came again. He turned and looked. Then, not knowing whether or not someone was there, he said, “It’s open.”

Deputy Mitchell opened the door and stuck his head in. “Parson Blane?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Marshal Hickok sent me to fetch you. There’s something important you must hear.”

“What is it?”

“It’s best you come with me. I’ll wait for you.”

“Okay, let me get my boots on and splash some water on my face.”

VII.

When Blane and Deputy Mitchell entered the Alamo Saloon, Deputy Mitchell said, “Follow me. They’re over here.”

Blane saw Hickok and another man sitting at a table in the back corner of the saloon. When Blane and Deputy Mitchell reached the table, Hickok said, “Hello Parson. Sit down. I want you to hear what this man has to say.”

As Blane sat down, Hickok said, “Parson, this is Abe Jackson.” Hickok lowered his voice. “He’s a Texas Ranger.”

“Parson,” Jackson said, “you ever hear of Frank Stayton?”

“Frank Stayton? No. Like most everybody, I’ve heard of Gil Stayton, a professional gunfighter. But I’ve never heard of Frank Stayton.”

“Gil is one of Frank Stayton’s sons. You remember the man you turned over to Marshal Hickok last summer?”

“How could I forget? Wade Caldwell.”

“You also killed his brother, Clem, in self-defense.”

“That’s right, Mr. Jackson. But when it happened I didn’t know Wade and Clem were brothers.”

“Well, Wade and Clem were brothers by blood. But they were raised by Frank Stayton. Like Wade and Clem, most of the Staytons are wanted by the law. Dead or alive.

“You want a drink, Parson? I want to lay this out from the beginning.”

Blane settled back in the chair. “I could stand a good cup of coffee.”

Deputy Mitchell said, “I’ll get you one.”

Jackson drew in a breath. “What I’m about to tell you, Parson, I want you to keep to yourself as much as possible. My intention is to bring the Staytons to justice, and I don’t want anyone tipping them off. If word gets around about this, my job will be a lot harder. Understand?”

Blane glanced down and then back at Jackson. “Okay.”

“You see, Wade and Clem were raised by Frank Stayton from the time the two boys were infants.” Jackson took a sip of whiskey. “Old man Stayton took the boys in after his sister, Bessie Caldwell, died. Tom Caldwell, Bessie’s husband, had been killed earlier in a bar fight in El Paso.”

Jackson finished off the whiskey in his glass. “To Frank Stayton, Wade and Clem were his sons, just like the rest of his sons.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I’m afraid you’re in a lot of trouble, Parson. You killed Clem and brought Wade in and he was hanged. The Staytons will be out for revenge. They won’t stop until they hunt you down and kill you.”

“But you said it yourself, Mr. Jackson. I acted in self-defense.”

“To Frank Stayton and his sons, that doesn’t matter. You’re responsible for the deaths of Wade and Clem. A few years back, Toby Stayton was run over by a wagon and died. It was purely an accident. But within a month, the driver of the wagon was found with his throat slit. That’s the way the Staytons operate. They won’t rest until you’re dead.”

“But that’s ridiculous!”

“And here’s the bad news.”

“You mean that’s not bad enough?”

“I’m afraid not, Parson. The bad news is that Frank Stayton had twelve sons!”

Blane closed his eyes and shook his head. “Are you telling me there are twelve brothers who are out to kill me?”

“Wade, Clem and Toby are dead. That would have made nine brothers plus Frank himself. But less than a week ago, a bounty hunter, named Royce Lee, turned over the corpse of Al Stayton, one of the middle sons, to the Marshal in Fort Worth. That probably means the Staytons are traveling north.

“It’s a stretch to imagine Royce Lee could have picked off Al Stayton if Al was riding with the entire clan. I’m guessing Al was alone. It could be that Frank Stayton is leading only part of the family and plans to join up south of here with the sons who sometimes ride alone.

“One thing’s for sure. Sooner or later they’ll show up. As warped as it is, it’s like a code of ethics with them: An eye for an eye and all of that. When they come, they’ll want blood.”

“But why now? Wade was hanged almost eight months ago.”

“My guess is they were waiting for the weather to break.”

Deputy Mitchell returned to the table and placed a cup of coffee in front of Blane.

Blane looked down at the rising steam from the black liquid. “Thanks.”

Hickok glanced at Jackson, “You know, of course, you’re out of your jurisdiction.”

Jackson lifted the whiskey glass to his lips and realized the glass was empty. He set it back on the table. “I’m perfectly happy, Marshal, to turn any of the Staytons I run across over to you. If we happen to capture a few, we can extradite them. These men have committed enough crimes in Texas to hang a hundred men. But I doubt that will happen.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they won’t give up without a fight. Besides, Marshal, before it’s over, you may be glad I’m here. You’ll need all the help you can get when they show up.”

Hickok gulped down the last of his whiskey. “But you’re only one man. How are you going to round up all these Staytons?”

“I can’t guarantee anything, Marshal. That’s why I’m warning you and the Parson. But I’ve been after these men a long time. Now I have precisely what I’ve needed all along.”

“What’s that?”

Jackson looked at Blane. “Bait.”

Blane glanced down. His coffee was getting cold. “So I’m the cheese in the trap.”

“Can you handle that gun you’re wearing, Parson?”

“I’m fair.”

“I’d advise you to get a lot better in a hurry. They’re after you, Parson. They may come at you one or two at a time, or they may come at you all at once. But on that day, you better be in good standing with your Lord.”

TO BE CONTINUED