Cowboys, Preachers And Ladies Of The Night

By Andy Wilkinson

At the turn of the 20th century a young preacher, Thomas McCade, lost his faith. Years later, led by dreams and visions, he found himself on an unintended mission from God. His appointed task was to save a hopeless Georgia farm town, its church, orphanage and citizens from a ruthless tyrant and his hired guns. His mission was complicated when he falls for a saloon girl.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andy Wilkinson
• Release date: Jul 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465935311

Andy Wilkinson

Andy Wilkinson is a home improvement contractor. He has degrees in electronics and theology.

Book preview

Cowboys, Preachers And Ladies Of The Night

by Andy Wilkinson

A SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright 2011 by Andy Wilkinson

1

The tall, thin, man stood in the center of the dirt road, blocking access to the church, mocking Thomas McCade, as he had done before. McCade could feel the presence of evil in the air as he closed the distance between them. This would be his last chance to free the town and its church and he could not fail this time, as he had in the past. He felt alone and smothered under the burden, but there was no one else for this terrible task. This mission was his.

The sawed-off shotgun in McCade’s right hand seemed to weigh a hundred pounds, and his arms hung heavy and wooden. But he continued moving forward, closer, almost close enough to reach out and touch the thin man. He needed to fire the gun now and end this thing, but he couldn’t lift the weapon; his arms lay dead at his side.

God, help me, he whispered. God don’t let me fail this time, please God, don’t let it happen again.

Now the dark man produced an ax and lifted it with both hands over his right shoulder, a large heavy, double bladed ax, more weapon than tool. Higher and higher it rose above McCade’s head.

Oh, God, McCade thought, where did that come from.

The ax hovered over his head then began its decent, slowly, the motion almost surreal, faster now, faster, faster. McCade couldn’t move; his body refused to cooperate. This is it, he thought, I’m going to die right here on this dirt road in my final act of failure. Down, down the ax was—

McCade sat up hard in his sleeping bag, gasping for breath as sweat rolled down his face. Jesus . . . he whispered. Dear Jesus.

The air was crisp for May in Georgia, and McCade’s damp skin was clammy and chilled. He pulled the sleeping bag tight around his face and breathed the name again, Jesus.

In the moonlight, shadows beneath the pines were deep and ominous on the forest floor, and he reminded himself that things are never really as bad as they seem at night. In the light of day, this too, would seem simple and harmless, even funny.

He took the wallet from his inside coat pocket, and opened it, kissed Sarah’s picture, folded the wallet and stuck it back into his coat. Shivering in his sleeping bag, he reached for his Bible and clutched the Holy Book to his heart, hoping morning would not wait much longer.

2

In the golden light of dawn, Thomas McCade stopped his horse at the foot of the Cotton River Bridge and stared at the town in front of him, taking it all in. It was all there: the bank, the smartly painted stores, a red brick schoolhouse, and standing off by itself a church, weather beaten and run down from lack of attention. A slight wave of goose bumps danced on his arms, then subsided. This little town was exactly as it had appeared to him in the dreams and visions.

Dear God, he whispered, it is real. What else could be real from those images, that brought me so many sleepless nights, he thought. He sat on his horse for several minutes looking out over Cotton in disbelief, hoping it was an illusion, maybe a mirage born of stress and an overactive imagination.

But, he knew it was no illusion. The town was real. The dreams and visions and the mission they had sent him on were real. Taking in the panoramic view made him feel small, inadequate and unprepared. He decided to go back to his campsite upstream on the river, gather his strength, meditate and pray for a day, maybe even two or three, then return with confidence and resolve. For the first time he recognized the scope and importance of the job at hand. But why me, he thought, what can I offer this town, these people?

I sure hope the Lord knows what he’s doing, he said, and turned his horse back to the north and rode away.

3

McCade reclined on the river bank, taking in the scenery of this untouched corner of God’s magnificent Earth: the rolling hills in the distance, the pines and oaks outlining the river; a river pure and clean, not yet damaged by the hands of meddling humans.

Studying the Bible in a setting such as this gave him the comfort that was not easy to come by these days. With the uncertainty of his holy quest, and the relentless disturbing dreams and visions, even the slightest measure of tranquility was welcome.

He