Wolf Creek (4 page)

“With pleasure, Sam. C’mon, mister, let’s
go.” Deputy Marshal Quint Croy grabbed Huntington’s shoulder and
pulled him from his chair. He marched the gambler across the room
and through the batwings, then planted a boot in his butt and
kicked him into the road.

“You’ve got an hour to get out of town,
tinhorn,” he ordered.

Huntington cursed, pushed himself to his
feet, dusted himself off, and began trudging up Second Street,
toward the AT&SF tracks.

2

“The work’s proceeding quite nicely, isn’t
it, Ben?” Father Sean Flannery remarked. “Much more rapidly than
I’d have expected.”

“It sure is, Father,” Ben answered. He, Joe
Nash, and Father Flannery were heading a crew building a new church
on the site of Edith Pettigrew’s burned down home. Despite having a
contentious relationship, to put it mildly, with the late widow,
Ben had inherited the house when she was murdered, decapitated by
assassins hired by Tsu Chiao, owner of the Red Chamber. Mrs.
Pettigrew had been deeply indebted to Tsu Chiao for opium, and
before her death Ben had saved her from being pressed into service
as one of Tsu Chiao’s prostitutes to work off her debt. However,
several weeks after that Tsu Chiao had her killed. Later that year,
when Father Flannery arrived in Wolf Creek to establish a Roman
Catholic mission, no one was willing to rent or sell him property
where he could hold services. Ben had offered him use of the empty
Pettigrew house, which was subsequently burned down by a
still-unknown arsonist. After everything was settled, Ben deeded
the property to the diocese for the sum of one dollar. Now, in
summer, the last of the ruins had been burned off or hauled away, a
foundation laid, and the framework for a small church, to be named
St. James of the Prairie, was rising. Most of the folks working
there were parishioners of the new church, but some, like Joe Nash
the carpenter, were not. Indeed, while Ben himself often attended
Sunday Mass, mostly to make his son, Danny, happy, he had not yet
decided whether he and his boy would convert to Catholicism and
join the parish. Ben still felt closer to God outdoors, riding his
horse, than in any church.

“We did get far more help than I planned on,
including you, Danny,” Father Sean said. “And even though most of
us don’t have a lot of experience in constructing a building, we
seem to be doing all right under Mr. Nash’s tutelage.”

“My dad’s taught me a lot about drivin’
nails, helpin’ him make repairs around the stable,” Danny said.

“And you’ve done a fine job,” Ben said,
laughing, as he tousled Danny’s hair.

The men working on the church included,
besides Father Sean, Ben, his son Danny, and Joe Nash, store clerk
Robert Gallagher, Deputy Marshal Seamus O’Connor, who like Father
Flannery had emigrated from Ireland, and half-Cherokee cowboy and
guitar player Jimmy Spotted Owl. Frank Kloepfer, the butcher, was
there, but his diabetes limited the amount of work he could do.
Mentally challenged Dickie Dildine was assisting as best he could,
cleaning up scraps and carrying supplies. Danny’s friend, twelve
year old Frank Miller, was there. The final man from the town of
Wolf Creek itself was Antonio Isabella, owner of the restaurant of
the same name. Several of the area ranchers, cowboys, and farmers
and their families had also come into town to lend a hand. Hutch
Higgins was there with his wife Abigail and daughter Sarah, along
with the owner of the Lazy H, John Hartman, and his wife Virginia,
as well as their four children, sons Chris, Tim, and Ethan, and
daughter Emma. Walt Kowalski, his wife Sofia, and brother Chet came
over from their small spread. Crown W vaqueros Victorio Montoya and
his cousin Lucas were there. Two ranchers from Mexico, who had
settled bottomlands further up Wolf Creek, Jorge Estevez and Pablo
Jimenez, along with their wives Luz and Estrella and families, had
shown up before anyone else. They were looking forward to once
again being able to attend Mass in a church of their faith.

Anna Kloepfer, Frank’s wife, Maria Isabella,
Antonio’s, and Katy McBride, owner of the Emerald Isle Saloon, who
was yet another immigrant from Ireland, along with the various
ranchers’ wives and daughters, kept the men in coffee, water, and
food while they labored. They were ably assisted by Stephanie “Ma”
Adams, owner of Ma’s Café, widowed dressmaker Josephine Miller,
young Frank’s mother, and Mary Wakefield, more commonly known
around town as Brandy. Mary worked as a prostitute in Abby Potter’s
“Boarding House”. Father Sean had assisted her when she wanted to
establish a school for the children of Dogleg City’s “soiled
doves”, and she was now returning the favor. She had been hesitant
about approaching the priest to offer her assistance, but he
assured her she would be more than welcome, and anyone who was
offended by her presence could just darn well leave! After all,
many of the so-called “proper” residents of Wolf Creek also
objected to Katy and her saloon, as well as many others, both male
and female, who did not meet their approval.

“We’d probably be movin’ even faster if it
weren’t so doggone hot,” Ben said. “It’s gotta be more than ninety
degrees.”

He pulled the bandanna from around his neck
to wipe sweat from his neck and chest. As usual when the weather
was warm, he was shirtless, as were several of the other men and
boys, including Danny. Even Father Sean had the top two buttons of
his shirt undone. The mores of the time dictated men and women
should cover almost their entire bodies under just about all
circumstances, leaving little flesh exposed. However, Ben was from
Texas, where, often working on isolated ranches or as a Ranger, far
from town, he’d gotten used to working shirtless in the heat,
rather than suffering in a thick woolen shirt soaked with sweat and
sticking to his back. Many of the Mexican laborers in Texas often
worked stripped to the waist, and of course Indians usually wore
nothing but breechclouts, leggings, and moccasins, so seeing men
shirtless there wasn’t all that unusual, except in the larger
cities. Ben’s predilection for going shirtless while working had
already led to several confrontations with the self-appointed
arbiters of Wolf Creek’s morality. However, as he told Father Sean,
softening his language in deference to the young man’s status as a
clergyman, he’d be danged if he’d wear a heavy woolen shirt while
laboring under the blazing Kansas sun. Doctor Logan Munro, who had
served in the fiery tropics of India, supported Ben’s stand. When
asked, the good doctor had declared, in no uncertain words, that
the folks who objected to men shedding their shirts, to avoid heat
stroke, sun poisoning, and possibly even death, could take their
damned Victorian morals and go directly to Hell. Where, he was
pretty certain, Satan made men wear heavy shirts in the flames at
all times.

Seamus O’Connor came up, along with Katy,
who was carrying a bucket of water and a dipper. It was becoming
more obvious every day that the deputy and saloon owner, who both
had kin in the same town in Ireland, were falling in love. They
made quite the handsome couple, he with his red hair and
ginger-hued moustache, she with her raven black hair and deep blue
eyes. At five foot nine, Katy was tall for a female, but the six
foot five in his stocking feet deputy still towered over her. Right
now, Seamus’s outfit looked a bit incongruous, for he had shed his
shirt, but was still wearing the battered top hat he favored.

“Taking a break, me boy?” Father Sean asked
Seamus.

“Just a wee bit of one, Father,” Seamus
answered. “I needed a drink. A man works up a powerful thirst
workin’ in the hot sun like this. I’d prefer a good stout, of
course, but that just wouldn’t be proper when you’re working on a
house of God.”

“We couldn’t keep it cold out here anyway.
Besides, Seamus forgets I promised all of you men free beer this
evening at the Emerald Isle, once we’re done working for the day,”
Katy said. “I’ve got a keg on blocks of ice in my cellar, so it
will be nice and cold. Sarsaparilla for the ladies and children,
also. I’ll serve that on the sidewalk out front, so they needn’t
cause a scandal by going inside a saloon. In the meantime, might I
offer you some water, Father? Or you, Ben? Danny?”

“Ah, Katy me girl, you’re a godsend,” Father
Sean answered. He took a dipperful of water and gulped it down.
“Ben…?”

“Sure, Father. I could use a drink.” Ben
took the dipper from the priest, filled it, and drank the contents
greedily. He handed the dipper to Danny, who also took a drink.

“I’m rather surprised Carole Collier or
Melvin Lohorn haven’t shown up yet, to try and put a stop to our
work,” Father Sean said. “Not to mention Reverend Hyder. After all,
word was going around town they would try to prevent us from
erecting this church.”

“That’s one reason Marshal Gardner gave me
the day off to help you, Father,” Seamus answered. “He felt he
needed to have a man here to head off any trouble if it happened.
By allowing me to work with you, he’s killed two birds with one
stone, so to speak.”

“Yes, but there are so many vindictive folk
in this town,” Katy said. “It’s not just the church, Seamus. Some
don’t like Catholics, some don’t want Irish in town. Then there are
those who don’t want any Polish, like the Kowalski family, around.
I won’t even mention how a lot of people feel about Mexicans, or
Negroes. And worst of all, as far as so many of the women in this
place are concerned, you have me and Brandy helping today. That’s
unforgiveable, in their eyes.”

“All are sinners, but all are welcome in the
eyes of the Lord,” Father Sean remarked.

“In the eyes of the Lord, yes, but not in
the eyes of Bessie May Ferguson, Carole Collier, and their ilk,”
Katy replied.

“Well, perhaps they’ve finally realized
they’re fighting a losing battle,” Ben said.

“I don’t think so. Look.” Seamus pointed
down Washington Street. A large crowd, numbering about forty, was
approaching, with Melvin Lohorn, Richard Wilhite, owner of the
Imperial Hotel, Reverend Dill Hyder of the Mount Pisgah Methodist
Church, Carole Collier, Bessie May Ferguson, and her husband,
Howard, in the lead.

“When they reach here, let me speak with
them,” Father Sean said. “Perhaps they’ll listen to reason. But if
not…” He picked up his shillelagh.

“Take it easy, and just let me handle this,
Father,” Seamus cautioned. “There’s no point in stirring up more
trouble, if we can avoid it. Ah, there’s Waymon Pratt in their
midst. I was wonderin’ if he’d be with them. You would think after
you nearly cracked his skull open last December, Father, he’d have
learned his lesson.”

Work stopped while the laborers drew
together to watch the mob approach. Most of them carried rocks.
When they were about fifteen feet from the building site, Seamus
called out to them.

“Aye, and that’s close enough all of you
be,” he said. “And, by me sainted mother and all that’s holy, the
first one of you throws a rock will rue ever doin’ that. Now, what
brings you down here, as if we didn’t know?”

“That’s right, deputy,” Hyder said. “You do
know. We’re here to stop this Papist church from being built. It’s
a blot on the land, and a blot on our fair town.”

“Reverend Hyder speaks for all of us,”
Lohorn added. “We won’t stand for Irish movin’ in and takin’
over.”

“My family’s not Irish, but we’re part of
this parish,” John Hartman said.

“And so are we,” Sofia Kowalski added.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough. We want no
Irish, nor any Catholics, period, in Wolf Creek,” Lohorn said.

“We haven’t even mentioned this church will
be a temple of Satan. A den of iniquity,” Carole Collier shouted.
“Just look. Half the men working here have no shirts on. It’s
indecent. Immoral. Scandalous.”

“And loose women,” Bessie May added. “It’s
simply shocking, to think a church would allow a woman who owns a
saloon, and one who is, well, as a decent woman, I can’t say it, be
members of its congregation. We must put a stop to this.”

“Mark my words, there will be all sorts of
debauchery going on inside that building, if we allow it to be
completed,” Hyder thundered. “Pagan, Roman rituals. Blood
sacrifices. It must be destroyed. Burned to the ground like the
house before it. Wiped completely from the Earth.”

“Are you sayin’ you started that fire,
Reverend?” Seamus quietly asked.

Hyder nearly choked. “No. Not at all. But
whoever did that was doing the work of God!”

“All right, you’ve all said your piece,”
Seamus said. “This is a free country, when men and women can
worship as they see fit. This church will be built. Now, disperse,
all of you, before I start makin’ arrests.”

“How dare you speak to us like that,” Carole
Collier answered. “You’re not fit to be a representative of the
law. You’re helping build this house of sin. You’re parading around
half-naked. Why, you can’t even pin on your badge.”

Seamus grinned, took his badge out of his
pants pocket, and attached it to his battered top hat.

“Sure and begorrah, who says I can’t? Now,
under the law, I can’t stop you from protesting the building of
this church. That’s your right. However, it’s not your right to
attempt to destroy it, or to hurt anyone here. So, you may stay as
long as you like, but there will be no interference with these
folks.”

“But… but what about the men? Surely we
can’t have decent women exposed to bare male chests?” Carole
insisted.

“There’s no law against a man goin’
shirtless,” Seamus said. “And if it upsets you that much, you don’t
have to look.”

“Deputy, let me handle this,” Father Sean
said. “All you men, gather around. Follow my example. Mrs.
Collier,” he continued, “You may or may not recall from your Old
Testament readings there is a tradition among the Jewish people. To
show grief, or anger, a Jewish male would rend his garments. For
example, if you know your Bible, you know that, when Pilate was
questioning Jesus, the high priest shouted that Jesus had
blasphemed, and tore his garments in his fury. Well, Mrs. Collier,
you and your holier-than-though hypocrisy have angered me to that
point!”