Dry Bones: Civil War Soldier to Wild West Preacher One ManaEUR(tm)s Journey from Pain to Purpose

By L. Dan Collard

As Civil War soldier, John Austin is thrown into a rat-filled prison; he's sure his life is over. Everything and everyone he once loved and held dear was gone. How could he know God's amazing plan for his life was just beginning? From battlefield hero to Wild West preacher, John's journey takes him from the embattled East Coast to a small, panhandle Texas town in desperate need of hope. Along the way, he encounters a diverse group of people God placed in his path to get John to where he needed to be and keep him from giving up. Upon arriving in Dry Bones, Texas, he finds the only church burned and abandoned. The former pastor had disappeared without a trace and so has the town's faith in God. The battle he now faces to rebuild the church and become the new pastor will be unlike anything he ever experienced in a military uniform. The battle in Dry Bones is a war against good and evil, and it may cost John Austin his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798885404341

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Dry Bones

Civil War Soldier to Wild West Preacher One ManaEUR(tm)s Journey from Pain to Purpose

L. Dan Collard

ISBN 979-8-88540-433-4 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88540-434-1 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by L. Dan Collard

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgement

A Note from the Author

Prologue

Libby Prison

Decker

Dark Days

Charlie Easton

Sky Pilot

A Storm Is Coming

A New Creation

Never Saw It Coming

Men of War

The Past Comes Calling

Father Figure

Lost Men

Open Doors

Free Indeed

Where's Levi?

No One Sleeps

Nothing Will Ever Be the Same

The Ride Home

About the Author

To my grandmother Wanda for believing God had a plan for my life.

To my grandfather Stoy Earl for passing your love of Westerns onto me.

To my grandmother Nanny, a real-life Rosie the Riveter who welded my go-cart whenever I broke it and taught me the importance at an early age of knowing the Bible.

To those who have ever answered the call of God with selfless abandonment to pursue a greater good.

To those who have carried the mantle and burden of a pastor.

To those who have worn a badge and committed their lives to the service and protection of others.

To those who have donned the uniform of the American soldier.

To Kentucky State Trooper Jim Mudd for investing in a young man who needed direction in his life. I'll never forget you.

To my great grandfather Pastor John Austin Collard. I look forward to meeting you in heaven. What a day that will be.

Acknowledgement

Special thanks to my beloved wife of nearly thirty years, Sherry Lane.

None of this would be possible without your continued support and encouragement. Thanks for believing in me when I didn't believe in myself. To my beautiful and amazing daughters, Kaelin and Leea, thanks for tolerating years of your father watching countless Western television shows and movies. Sorry for the thousands of movie quotes and lines throughout your lives—not really.

Kyle Sheppard, thank you for excellence in editing and correcting my many mistakes.

Vicki Blair, I am humbled at the countless hours you spent pouring over this book, guiding me along the way. I could not, and more than likely would not, have done this without you. Thank you for pushing me to get it done.

A Note from the Author

From 1865 to 1895, romanticized stories of events happening across the American frontier in cities named Tombstone, Deadwood, and Dodge City spread like wildfire due to the popularity of dime store novels and folklore. The Wild West, as it was aptly referred to, will live forever in the annals of our nation's history as outlaws such as Jesse James, Tom Horn, and Billy the Kid were pursued by legendary law men like Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, and Bass Reeves. From train robbers and bank robbers to famous gamblers and heroic gunfights, countless movies have been made, books have been written, and television shows watched regarding the people, places, and happenings of the West. One story that seems to be forgotten or at the least widely unknown is that of the pastor or preacher during this period of American history. What was it like to be a minister in an often-lawless and reckless town of the Wild West? Who were these men? Did they have run-ins with outlaws? What kinds of battles did they face as they stood for God? What's their story? Sadly, much of it remains unknown. This book is inspired by a picture of my great grandfather, Rev. John Austin Collard baptizing people on a winter's day in what appears to be a cold muddy creek surrounded by some rough-looking men. The main characters in the book are fictional; however, many of the places and events are factual. I hope you enjoy Dry Bones and the journey of imagining what it could have been like to be an American pastor in the Wild West.

Prologue

The Civil War was finally over, yet a different type of battle was raging in the small Texas panhandle town of Dry Bones, a battle for faith, family, and freedom. While other Texas towns experienced growth and moderate prosperity, Dry Bones struggled just to survive. Like most typical western towns of the day, Dry Bones had a small hotel, a bank, a general store, a livery, and other businesses, including a saloon. Sadly, nothing seemed as busy as the jail. At any given time, the Dry Bones jail was filled with drunken cowboys, outlaws, and petty thieves, along with an occasional town native unable to pay his taxes. One thing in particular stood out from everything else, however; it wasn't the lack in commerce or overall activity, but the burnt church just outside of town a person couldn't help but notice. This once-powerful symbol of love and faith had become nothing more than the charred remains of a better day slowly fading into the hot Texas dust. It had been years since a word from the Bible had been preached in Dry Bones. The only thing in shorter supply than rain was hope, and neither seemed to be on the way.

He asked me, Son of man can these bones live? I said, Sovereign Lord, you alone know.

—Ezekiel 37:3

1

Libby Prison

A brother is born for adversity.

—Proverbs 17:17

You're gonna like it here, Lieutenant. I bet you'll make all kinda new friends, the transport guard driving shouted at their special prisoner as the creaking wagon jolted back and forth along the bumpy dirt road.

They say it's a real nice place. Just like home even, the second guard said, turning around, laughing at the lone shackled soldier they held in custody in the rickety wooden mobile jail cell.

John can see the large ominous prison approaching in the distance through the rusty metal bars of the transport window. He's heard of the infamous detention facility's many horror stories, and this was the last place he ever expected to be. On a distant battlefield somewhere, dying, a hero's death seemed likely, but never in prison. Located in Richmond, Virginia, Libby Prison was a former food warehouse now used specifically to house Union officers taken as prisoners of war. The large rectangular brick building was several stories high and hundreds of feet long housing more than one thousand prisoners. Dozens of barred windows allowed those held captive a daily reminder of the freedoms they once enjoyed. Life at Libby was legendary for being extremely brutal and often short-lived. Overcrowding, disease, a lack of food and basic essentials, not to mention prison guards who'd kill anyone found breaking a perceived rule made things unbearable.

John could only wonder how long he would stay alive incarcerated here. One Confederate soldier amongst hundreds of Union federals, the odds of living were not in his favor. The hatred Union prisoners undoubtedly would harbor for John could only be matched by Confederate guards working at Libby, certain to view him as a traitor. The battle to stay alive would be unlike anything he had ever faced before.

Let's go, Lieutenant, one of the guards assigned to John unlocked the transport wagon's door, summoning for him to step out. "They're gonna love you here, sir—you know bein' a murderer an all." As John's boots sank deep in the soupy mud, the transport guard spat in his face.

Well, well, well. What do we have here, boys? A large and daunting Confederate guard stationed at the prison entrance approached the highly anticipated prisoner. A noticeable scar running across his right cheek to the corner of his jaw served as evidence of the battles he had encountered himself. Ohhh, that's right, we heard you was comin.' The turncoat who kills his own. I promise you, I'm gonna make your life miserable. Know who does the killin' round here, turncoat? I do. His face was inches from John's, making it clear who was in control at Libby. The scoffing interrogator took a moment to rummage through John's pockets, finding a small, bright pink hair ribbon. Well now, look at this. As the commanding officer held the ribbon up, the transport guards began to whistle catcalls.

Looking back at John, he said, I'm sure she's done got herself another man by now. Bet he's taking real good care of her too, Lieutenant.

The Libby staff laughed and heckled John, enjoying the torment he's receiving, especially since he once was a senior officer. Tell ya' what, Austin. Maybe one of the boys here could take it back to her? Or maybe I outta make you wear it? The behemoth smiled, exposing his yellow and missing teeth as he placed the pink ribbon against John's head.

Put it back, John said calmly, looking directly at his antagonistic nemesis.

You don't give the orders no more, boy. You take 'em from me, understand? He backhanded John across his face, knocking him to the ground. Tossing the ribbon to one of the transport guards, the brute grabbed John by his neck and pulled him back to his feet. Welcome home, Austin. I got a special place reserved just for you. Several of the Libby staff dragged John by his chains through the mud and into the prison.

A thick, rusty metal door slammed shut behind John as a small plate of beans was tossed through the bars, landing upon him and then falling to the floor. John wasn't a tall man, but the cell was so small he's unable to lie down, forcing him to stand or sit with his knees lifted to his chest. Even the transport wagon offered more room. There is little if any light, and the only sound other than the squeaking of rats is an occasional moan from the other prisoners in solitary. After going for what seemed an eternity without food, water, or light, John was becoming disoriented and struggled to keep track of what day it was and where he was. His only hope was that before long, he would be reunited with his family, and he prayed it would come soon. While crouched in the absolute darkness of his cell, John unexpectedly heard another man's voice across from him a few feet away. At first, he wasn't sure if his imagination was simply playing tricks on him.

What's your name, soldier? the unseen man adjacent to him asked.

John. Yours?

The name's Morgan, the stranger replied. You a God-fearing man, soldier John? It seemed like a strange question to ask so soon after introductions, but John answered anyway.

Have been all my life.

Now you see, Johnny, that could be a problem. You won't find God in here because you're in hell, my friend. Not the gates neither, the very pits. Welcome. John realized outside the prison walls this man would have wanted to kill him, but at least there was someone else to talk to for a while, that is until he found out who John was and why he was there. Over the next few weeks, John and Morgan developed a tight bond and camaraderie, all the while sitting in a colorless abyss enveloped by the torrid and unending smell of decay and defecation. The men used their time to discuss the great mysteries of life to keep themselves mentally sharp while sharing an occasional piece of stale cornbread or sweet potato thrown at them by the guards. Morgan spoke of his obsession with Aztec gold and hidden treasures of pirate lore while John shared his fascination regarding the railroad and engineering needed for the locomotive to work. Each man also attempted to convince the other of why their state was superior along with the many benefits of living there. They reminisced of catching rainbow trout in Maine and hunting turkey in Kentucky to the smell of honeysuckle in the spring. John never mentioned that his wife and child were in heaven during their numerous jail cell confessions and conversations. In the hours they spent recollecting, neither soldier asked the other about military rank, what battlefields they had fought on, or for whom. Morgan hasn't the slightest inclination he's talking and laughing with his sworn enemy, but in the stockade, it doesn't matter. There was a fellowship to be found in their suffering, and each man respected the other. The two most unlikely of friends continued to speak of things that brought them peace and perhaps a glimmer of hope, which both needed now more than ever.

Why are you down here anyway? John's curiosity had finally gotten the better of him after the first two weeks had passed.

Well, Johnny, I'll tell ya, it's like this. Apparently, breaking out is frowned upon in this establishment, Morgan replied as if surprised just as several guards unexpectedly stormed in.

Let's go, Daniels. Think you can behave this time? a guard asked Morgan while opening his cell door.

Boys, ya know I been thinkin' 'bout it, and I'm surely gonna try. Wanna shake hands?

Morgan's sarcastic reply earned him a few boot stomps to his head and one to his chest for good measure. John watched silently as the guards dragged Morgan out by his arms before slamming the metal door once again, and darkness returned. As he's released back into the general population of Libby prison, Morgan received a hero's welcome from many of his fellow inmates and officers, cheering his triumphant return. Several men scurried to find something for him to eat and some water to drink as others make sure his bunk is prepared.

Unsure how long he's been in solitary confinement and wondering if this is the place he will die, John's only consolation is the memories of his wife and his continual prayers to God. Days later, the distinct sound of the metal door being unlocked again awakened John late one night…or was it morning?

"Turncoat, it's time. There's some people who'd really like to meet you, sir. You don't wanna be rude and keep 'em waitin' now, do ya?" the guards shouted as they grabbed John, jerking him from his cell. Squinting his eyes, it's the first time John saw any bright light since the day he arrived. At first, he's certain he's being taken to the gallows for hanging, but soon, he realized some things could be far worse than death. His atrophied legs are barely strong enough to hold his weakened body as he's brought into the large open hall to be made a public spectacle. John was pushed to the center of the room while hundreds of Union prisoners stopped what they're doing to watch the scene unfold, wondering what's happening and who this is.

"Listen up, Yankee dogs. You're in the presence of greatness today, so show some respect. This here's John, but you boys can call him Lt. Johnny Reb. He's kilt many a bad egg like you, far too many to count. In fact, he likes killin' so much when none a you yanks were around, why hell, boys, he went ahead and killed some of his own. So you, fellas, make him feel real welcome here at Libby. You might sleep with one eye open, though. He just might try to kill again, the guard spoke, doing his best to cause trouble for John. Before leaving, the guards shoved a weakened John to the floor where seething inmates instantly begin to stomp, punch, kick, and spit on him while shouts of Kill him" rang out across the room.

That's enough. I said that's enough, a loud, deep, booming voice silenced the shouts and stopped the beating as John's attackers stepped back, obeying their orders. This man is an officer and will be treated as such. Do I make myself clear? Morgan's word was one of authority, and everyone knew well not to go against him or question his decisions. "Get him up and put him in the rack next