Preacher Got Spooked - Haunted Mesa

By Thomas 'DOC' Savage

When Preacher left his snug, stone cabin nestled at the base of the rugged Santa Catalina Mountains, he had no idea of what lay ahead.  He was headed to the Santa Cruz Mountains to pick up an easy bounty.  He didn't know that he was about to meet a new and life-long friend, or that he would end up being pursued by a gang of outlaws, or that he would accidentally provoke an ancient curse.

But then, in the life of a successful bounty hunter, nothing ever comes easy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Hulsey Books
• Release date: Mar 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224528653

Thomas 'DOC' Savage

Thomas Savage is a non-denominational minister who has pastored churches in Florida, New York and Arizona. He writes Christian-themed adventure stories in his 'spare time'. Before entering the ministry he worked at a wide variety of occupations, from short-order cook to factory worker to hunting and fishing guide. This wealth of experience allows him to create stories that are fast-paced and exciting, and characters that are believable and identifiable. The vast majority of those stories are family friendly, (except for 'One Man's Odyssey', which deals with adult themes). The plots are all new and unique. He currently lives in Tucson, Arizona with his wife and their four-legged 'grand puppies'. He is the Pastor of Amphitheater Bible Church, the "Friendliest Church in Tucson"

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HAUNTED MESA

(PREACHER GOT SPOOKED)

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THOMAS ‘DOC’ SAVAGE

Table of Contents

Title Page

Preacher Got Spooked - Haunted Mesa

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Copyright © 2024 by Thomas Savage

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above-mentioned publisher of this book, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copy written materials.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

This book may contain views, premises, depictions, and statements by the author that are not necessarily shared or endorsed by J.C. Hulsey Books

For information contact: [e-mail]

Edited by Cindy Heaton

Cover Art by Michael Thomas

Cover Design by J.C. Hulsey Books

Published by J.C. Hulsey Books

April 2024

10987654321

CHAPTER ONE

There are men you can meet, converse with, and five minutes later not be able to tell what they looked like. Such a man was leaning against a gate post leading to the Lazy V Ranch. He was neither tall nor short. Neither fat nor thin. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a broad-brimmed, black hat pulled low over his eyes.

The focus of his attention was yet a mile away. A two-horse team was pulling a buckboard wagon at a rapid pace. Dust from its passing rose high in the still air. Seated on the wagon were two men the leaning man was waiting for. He meant to kill them both.

The western sun was sinking toward distant mountains. The wagon approached from the East. The setting sun cast the waiting man and the gate post he leaned on in shadow. He would be nearly invisible to those in the wagon until they were almost upon him. By then, they would be dead.

Ten hours earlier, the waiting man had arrived at his own small compound in a box canyon off Sabino Canyon near Tucson in Arizona Territory. There he had found his good friend lying pistol whipped under a ramada in front of his stone cabin.

The friend’s name was Budge. Budge had once been the town drunk in Tucson. He had been ridiculed and mistreated by the townsfolk. But the waiting man had seen something in Budge that was worth saving. The waiting man had taken Budge into his own cabin, cleaned him up, and given him a home.

Budge had been injured in that damnable war when a heavy caisson rolled over his legs, shattering both femurs. Army doctors were not able to adequately set the shattered bones, so they gave him a pair of crutches and turned him loose.

Rotgut whiskey was the only thing Budge could find to help relieve the pain from his misshapen legs. But he usually couldn’t afford to buy it unless someone took pity on him and gave him some coins. He had drifted as far as Tucson, and that’s where his new friend had found him and taken him into his home. There, Budge had turned out to be a first class cook.

His friend’s name was Preacher. Most folks didn’t know if that was his name or his vocation but were too afraid to ask. Preacher was a bounty hunter. He wore black clothing and a trim black beard. On his hip he wore an unusual pistol: a handmade Belgian .36 caliber cap and ball revolver. It was unusual, since most men preferred the modern Colt or Remington in either .45 or .44 caliber. Preacher’s .36 didn’t have the sheer knockdown power of the newer guns, but it was lighter and far more accurate. And in Preacher’s hands it was wicked fast!

That’s the man who was waiting for the approaching wagon. He had arrived home this morning to find Budge beaten and his stone cabin ransacked. Budge identified the men who had beaten him and said the men were looking for the gold it was rumored that Preacher kept hidden in his cabin. That particular rumor was true, but it wasn’t likely anyone was going to find it. It was hidden well.

Preacher tended to Budge’s injuries and helped him to his own bed in his apartment behind Preacher’s cabin. Then he set out to find the assailants.

A bartender at the Occidental Hotel in Tucson was only too glad to accept Preacher’s money in exchange for information. Yes, he knew the two men in question. Yes, he had seen them just today. They had taken a wagon down to Tubac to pick up some furniture and were supposed to be back at the Lazy V by sundown.

So that’s where Preacher went, and that’s where he was now waiting as the wagon drew near. As the driver swung the wagon to make the turn into the open gate, Preacher stepped in front of the horses, startling them and forcing them to stop.

When Preacher separated himself from the shadow of the gate post, his sudden appearance also startled the two men who were dozing on the swaying wagon seat. Both men jumped to their feet and grabbed at their guns. Before they could pull them, they saw Preacher’s deadly .36 was already pointed at them.

Their hearts clenched in their chests as they recognized the man they had tried to rob. One of them, the driver who still held the reins in his left hand, opened his mouth to speak.

Now looka here, mister. That there was a mistake is what that was. We just got the wrong house...

You sure did, Preacher said as he pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the driver in the mouth, knocking out teeth and knocking the driver over the back-board to land among the furniture they were hauling.

The other guy raised his hands in surrender. Wait a minute now, ya hear? he said. It wasn’t me what knocked that crip about. That was Hank there, and you already kilt him! So, you got no truck with me.

’Course not, Preacher answered quietly. You’re just an innocent bystander, huh?

Yes! Yes! That’s right. I didn’t do nothing! So, we’re good, right?

Wrong! You beat my friend! You trashed my home! But I’ll tell you what. I’ll put my pistol away and let you draw first. And with that, Preacher slid his gun back into his holster.

No, sir, the guy said. I heard about you and how fast you are. No way I’m gonna draw against you! No sir!

But even as he spoke, he dropped his hand to the butt of his Remington. In a sudden move, he yanked at the pistol and got it out of the holster, but then dropped it to the floor of the wagon.

Preacher just looked at him, his hands still relaxed at his side. That’s alright. Just pick it up and put it back in the holster and try again.

Now embarrassed as well as scared, the man bent over to retrieve his pistol. A smart man would have come up shooting. But this guy didn’t have much that could be called ‘smart.’ So, he lifted his pistol with two fingers and let it slide back into his holster.

Alright, now try it again, Preacher said, still in a calm voice.

The cowhand wrapped his fingers around the walnut handle of his Remington and pulled it again. He cocked it and started to swing it at the man in black standing calmly in front of him. Before he got it halfway to his target, Preacher drew and drilled him through the heart.

He fell back to join his friend among the furniture.

Preacher calmly disassembled his pistol, removed the cylinder with two spent rounds, and replaced it with another that was fully loaded. He dropped the spent one in his pocket and slapped the wagon team to send them hurrying down the lane to the ranch. He swung aboard his mustang and headed for his own home.

CHAPTER TWO

Ared-tailed hawk floated effortlessly on a rising current of hot air as desert winds hit the sheer granite cliffs that bordered Sabino Canyon. Far out on the valley floor, a dust devil swayed among the saguaro cactus and sagebrush. As quickly as the dust devil arose, it died, leaving a column of dust hanging motionless below scattered clouds.

From his perch atop a ramada, a mockingbird sang its complicated serenade to the morning.

A man all dressed in black emerged from a stone cabin to find a small man wearing a bandage around his head busying himself at the wood cookstove next to the ramada.

Morning, Preacher, the bandaged man called. Coffee’s on. Come and get it. Biscuits are almost ready.

What are you doing out of bed, Budge? You need to be getting your rest after the way you were beaten.

Aw, shoot, Preacher. I’m alright. Just got a bump on my head, is all. Don’t hardly even hurt! I’d just as soon be up and about. C’mon and get this coffee while it’s hot.

Preacher took a seat at the table crafted from mesquite limbs and sipped from the steaming mug of coffee. His stomach rumbled in anticipation of the breakfast he was about to have.

It had become well-known in the area that Budge was a great cook. He made the best coffee and the lightest, fluffiest biscuits anywhere. Many restaurants and ranches had tried to recruit him. But he was fiercely loyal to Preacher.