Part 59 (1/2)

They made their way through the tents and wagons until they reached the McAdam camp- site. The fire was low and the children asleep in their blankets beside the wheels. The oxen had been led to a second meadow where they grazed with other cattle. Beth stoked up the fire.

'Will you join me for tea, Parson? I always drink a cup before sleeping.'

'Thank you,' he answered, sitting cross-legged by the fire. She boiled some water, added herbs and sugar and poured the mixture into two pottery mugs.

'You come far?' she asked, as they drank.

'Very far. I heard G.o.d calling me, and I answered. But what of you? Where are you bound?'

'I'll be staying in the valley. I am going to lease some land from Meneer Scayse - start a farm. I have some seed corn and other such.'

'Hard work for a woman alone.'

'I won't be alone long, Parson. It's not my way.'

'No, I can see that,' he answered without embarra.s.sment. 'By the way, where did such a charming young mother learn the rudiments of the left hook? It was a splendid blow with all your weight behind it.'

'My husband Scan was a fist-fighter. He taught me that - and much more.'

'He was a lucky man, Beth.'

'He's dead, Parson.'

'Many men live a long lifetime and never meet a woman like you. They, I think, are the unlucky ones. And now I must bid you good night.' He rose and bowed.

'You come again, Parson. You're always welcome.'

'That is nice to know. I hope we will see you in our new church.'

'Only if you have songs. I like to sing.'

'We will have songs just for you,' he told her, and walked away into the shadows.

For a while Beth sat quietly by the dying fire. The Parson was a strong man, and extraordinarily handsome with that fine red hair and easy smile. But there was something about him that disturbed her and she thought about it, trying to pin down her unease.

Physically she found him attractive, but there was about him a tightness, a tension that left her wary. Her thoughts strayed to Jon Shannow. Similar men, and yet not so. Like thunder and lightning. Both were companion to inner storms. But Shannow was aware of his own dark side. She was not sure about the Parson.

Beth stripped off her long woollen skirt and her white blouse and washed in cold water.

Then she slipped into a full-length bed-gown and settled down into her blankets. Her hand moved under the pillow, curling round the walnut b.u.t.t of her pistol.

And she slept.

During the night there were two killings and a woman was raped behind a gambling-house in the east section. Shannow sat silently in the corner of the Long Bar drinking a Baker's and listening to the tales. It seemed the Parson had killed one man who was attacking a woman but the other shooting was a mystery, save for the fact that the dead man had won a large amount of coin playing Carnat at a gambling house run by a man named Webber.

Shannow had seen it all before: crooked gamblers, thieves and robbers congregating in a community that had no law. When would the upright citizens ever learn, he wondered?

There were around two thousand people in Pilgrim's Valley, and no more than a hundred villains. Yet the brigands swaggered around the town and the good people stepped aside for them. He stared sourly into the dark depths of the drink before him, and knew that he was tempted to cut away the disease afflicting the community; to storm the bastions of the UnG.o.dly and root out the evil. Yet he would not.

I no longer lance boils - that's what he had told Boris Haimut. And it was true. A man could take only so much of rejection and the contempt of his fellows. It always began with fine words and promises. 'Help us, Mr Shannow.' 'We need you, Mr Shannow.' 'Good work, Mr Shannow.' 'That will show them, sir.' And then ... 'But do you have to be so violent, Mr Shannow?' 'Is the bloodshed necessary?' 'When will you be moving on?'

But no more. If the town was diseased it was a problem for those who lived here, who wanted to work here, raise children in the valley. It was for them now to put their house in order.

He had said as much to the merchants Brisley and Fenner who had waited for him that morning. Brisley, fat and gregarious, had extolled the virtues of the community, blaming its ills on men like Scayse and Webber.

'No better than brigands, sir, I a.s.sure you. Scayse's men are arrogant and ill-mannered.

And as for Webber, the man is a thief and a killer. Four times in the last month, men who have won large amounts of money have been slain close to his establishment. And he killed two others in gun battles over alleged cheating. It is insufferable, sir.'

'Then do something about it,' advised Shannow.

'That's what we are doing,' put in Fenner, a dark-eyed young man of slender build. 'We have come to you.'

'You do not need me. Get together twenty men. Go to Webber. Close him down. Order him from the community.'

'His men are thugs and villains,' said Brisley, wiping the sweat from his face. 'They thrive on violence. We are merchants.'

'You have guns,' said Shannow simply. 'Even a merchant can pull a trigger.'

'With respect, sir,' Fenner interposed, 'it takes a certain kind of man to be able to kill a human being in cold blood.

Now I don't know if killing will be necessary. I hope not. But surely a man with your reputation would find it more easy to stamp his authority on the villains?'

'In cold blood, Meneer?' responded Shannow. 'I do not consider it in those terms. I am not a wanton slayer, nor am I a kind of respectable brigand. Mostly the men I have killed have died in the act of trying to kill me. The rest have been in the process of wilfully attacking others. However, such points are meaningless in the current circ.u.mstances. I have no wish to give birth again to seven devils.'

'You have me at a loss, sir,' said Fenner.

'Read your Bible, Meneer. Now leave me in peace.'

Shannow finished his drink and returned to his room. For a while he sat thinking about the problems posed by the Wall, but Beth McAdam's face kept appearing before his mind's eye.

'You are a fool, Shannow,' he told himself. Loving Donna Taybard had been a mistake, and one he had come to regret. But it was folly of the worst kind to allow another woman to enter his heart.

He forced her from his mind and took up his Bible, leafing through to the Gospel of Matthew.

''When an evil spirit goes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ”I will return to the house I left.” When it arrives it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that man is worse than the first'

How often had the Jerusalem Man seen the truth of that? In Allion, Cantastay, Berkalin, and a score of other settlements. The brigands had fled before him - or been buried because of him. Then he had ridden on and the evil had returned. Daniel Cade had visited Allion two weeks after Shannow left, and the town had been ruined by his attack.

It would not happen here, he decided.

In Pilgrim's Valley the Jerusalem Man was merely an observer.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

The pistol compet.i.tion had left Shannow short of sh.e.l.ls for his h.e.l.lborn pistols. There were twenty-fhree left, including the ten in the cylinders of his guns. Pilgrim's Valley boasted one gunsmith and Shannow made his way to the man's small shop in the eastern section. It was a narrow building, lit by lanterns, the wall behind the service area filled with weapons of every kind from flintlock pistols to percussion rifles, flared-barrelled blunderbusses alongside sleek gravity-fed weapons with walnut stocks. But there were no pistols like Shannow's.