A Duel In Dudleyville - Preacher is Dead

By Thomas 'DOC' Savage

Preacher is dead? No! Can't be! Can it? This was supposed to be a simple capture. Just go up to Dudleyville and pick up a bandit who was so stupid he didn't even cover his face when he committed a robbery. Just ride up there, gather the bad guy, bring him back to Tucson, and collect the bounty. Simple, right?
Funny how things seldom turn out the way we plan. That simple bounty left preacher fighting for his life - with an angel watching over him. To collect this bounty, he would earn every penny. And lose more than he would ever know.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Hulsey Books
• Release date: Jan 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224740543

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

As the morning sun just cleared the tops of the distant Rincon Mountains, a man stepped out of a snug cabin of stone. The cabin was in a hidden box canyon off the much larger Sabino Canyon. The man was unremarkable. Not tall or short, not hefty or thin. Just a man. Long, black hair was caught up at the back of his neck with a leather thong. His face wore a short black beard.

People who knew him called him Preacher, but most weren’t sure if that was his name or his vocation. At his side strode a huge Russian Wolf Hound, all of one-hundred-thirty pounds and easily capable of bringing down a full-grown timber wolf. In a corral near the cabin stood a dun colored mustang that nickered a greeting as the man appeared.

Another man busied himself at a fire, kindled in an outdoor stove built of stone blocks like the cabin. This man moved with a strange hopping movement. His legs were misshapen due to an injury suffered during that miserable war that had nearly torn the country apart. His name was Budge. He had another, longer name, but he had nearly forgotten what it was.

Budge was devoted to the man dressed in black, since that man had rescued him from his former miserable life as Tucson’s ‘town drunk’. These four- two men, one dog, and one mustang - formed a family as sure and faithful as any that had ever existed.

Mornin’, Preacher, Budge said as he poured a cup of strong, black coffee for his good friend.

Mornin’, Budge. Looks like it’s gonna be a hot one again today.

Yessir, Budge replied, but that’s summer in Arizona Territory, ain’t it?

That’s sure ‘nuff right, the man in black answered as he took a seat at a table under a ramada roofed with saguaro ribs. He took a healthy draw from his coffee.

Preacher had never for a moment regretted going out of his way to make a friend of this strange little man who everyone else had written off as useless. The man could cook with the best of them, and oh my, but he made good coffee. And that was a talent Preacher had never possessed.

While Budge busied himself getting breakfast ready, Preacher took his custom made .36 caliber pistol apart. He then carefully cleaned and oiled each piece before returning it to his holster. By the time he was finished with that daily chore, Budge had set a steaming plate of eggs, bacon, and biscuits smothered with thick, white gravy, in front of Preacher and a similar plate for himself.

Preacher dug into his food and with the first bite, tried to speak around the mouthful of food. He had to swallow before he could get the words out.

Dang me if I ain’t a fool for all the years I had to eat my own cooking, Budge. I ain’t payin’ you nearly enough!

Ya ain’t payin’ me nothing, and ya know it. And anyhow, I’d never accept nothin’ from ya. Ya know you saved me and turned me around. It’s me what oughta be payin’ you!

Well, who’s payin’ who don’t matter none, I guess. Fact is, I’m getting the best of this bargain, fer sure.

I could argue with that, but I won’t. Where ya off to t’day?

Preacher scraped the last of his breakfast up with the corner of a biscuit before answering. I gotta ride up to Dudleyville. There’s a bounty up there just waiting to be took.

That’s up in the Mogollon* country, ain’t it? Budge answered. I reckon it oughta be a mite cooler up there, huh?

Yeah, a bit. But I don’t reckon to be up there all that long. Just long enough to gather this owlhoot and drag ‘im back to the Marshall. A day or so is all it should be.

As he spoke, Preacher had no idea just what was waiting for him, up there in the sleepy, little town of Dudleyville.

*(mow-go-yon’)

*   *   *   *   *

If he had requested it personally, Preacher couldn’t have asked for a better day to travel. A soft, down-slope breeze flowed from the mountains on his right. A breeze that carried just a hint of coolness to keep the heat of the day at bay.

Nature itself seemed to be in agreement as the desert was putting on a show. Dozens of ancient yucca plants were raising tall spears with hundreds of brilliant, white blossoms. Stick like ocotillos topped each thorny branch with a single flame-bright flower as well.

The soft clop of Jim’s hoofbeats didn’t hide the scurry of quail that darted away from his approach or a fierce looking roadrunner that raced past with a small lizard gripped tightly in its beak.

It was a day for a man to just rejoice in being alive.

CHAPTER TWO

As Preacher left the canyon and headed north the sky was a huge, blue bowl overhead. A blue so brilliant it defied description. A lone, small white cloud hovered near the Finger Rock atop the Catalina Mountains. A pair of vultures drifted lazily off to the west, and a dust devil skipped across the desert floor before coming apart and vanishing.

Jim, Preacher’s long-legged and deep-chested mustang, loped along easily. He had been relaxing in the corral for the last several days and was eager to run. Dog, the huge Wolfhound, trotted alongside. Together, the three were making their way north to Dudleyville, a small logging town on the edge of the white Mountains.

In Dudleyville, Preacher intended to collect an outlaw by the name of Frank Gibbons. There was a three-hundred-dollar bounty on Gibbons’ head. He was wanted for slicing up a prostitute in Phoenix before running to the mountains to hide. It should be a simple matter to ride up there, collar Gibbons, and deliver him to the Territorial Marshall. Then Preacher planned on taking the hot summer months off.

Funny how those plans so seldom work out.

*   *   *   *   *

Up ahead in Dudleyville, Frank Gibbons was presently sound asleep, tipped back in a chair against the wall of Dudleyville’s biggest – and only – saloon. He had spent the last couple days drinking with his father, Big Frank, and two of his four brothers.

Big Frank had ridden into town with his five sons about three weeks ago and had basically taken over the saloon. Washington Scott, the saloon’s rightful owner, had at first objected to Big Frank taking over. But a .44 slug through the meaty part of his left thigh had convinced him it would be in his best interest to allow Big Frank and his boys to have their way.

So, father and three sons sat around a table in the saloon they had commandeered, steadily drinking up all the whiskey they could hold. That was proving to be a very large amount of Washington Scott’s inventory. The other two sons were currently up the stairs, keeping the bar girls busy.

The whole scene might have been serene had not young Frank neglected to mention to his father about the bounty presently on his head. Big Frank might have put a couple bullets in his reckless son, had the truth been known. But, as they say, ignorance is bliss. And young Frank was about as ignorant as they come. So, he had kept that little bit of news to himself.

*   *   *   *   *

Preacher rode into town just as the sun was setting. He found that the stable at the edge of town had several large stalls available. He put Jim in one before removing his saddle and giving him a good rubdown with a curry brush. He then poured some cracked corn into the manger and told Dog to stay with Jim. Then Preacher went looking for lodging for himself.

He found Mary Beth Cummins’ rooming house not far from the stable. Mary Beth was just putting supper on the table for the three loggers who roomed with her. She was only too willing to have the handsome man in black join them for dinner, and yes, she had a room available as well. Preacher found the food simple and good. And he found the room to be the same. It was a small space with a straw tick bed and a basin and ewer.

Preacher kicked off his boots and shirt and washed up as well as he could in the basin. If there was one thing he hated, it was not being clean.

After washing up, he stretched out on the bed, intending to locate the outlaw in the morning and immediately haul him back to Phoenix. As he dozed, he had no idea how wrong that plan was going to go.

*   *   *   *   *

Morning came early in the big woods. Preacher sat down to breakfast in Miss Mary Beth’s dining room. The three loggers were already busy attacking their meals. Mary Beth set a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her handsome, new roomer. Upon sampling them, Preacher found neither food nor drink anywhere near as good as what Budge produced. But the food was fuel for the body, so he finished it off before rising to thank his hostess.

Stepping out onto the covered porch, he took a minute to look the town over. It was like a hundred others he’d been in. There were a few buildings of log construction. Preacher figured these to be some of the original buildings when the town was established. Others were faced with rough-sawn planks and most lacked paint.

There was a single building of brick. Obviously, this was the town’s bank. Where the money was, there would be methods in place to protect it. A single, rutted street divided the town, with narrow alleys striking off between most of the buildings. A raised boardwalk was in front of each building, but one would have to step down from the boardwalk and cross the dirt alley before stepping back up on the boards at the next building.

Tall, second-growth pines surrounded the town on all sides. The air was sweet with the smell of fresh cut wood.