were trembling as he began to fumble in the pocket of his coat.
“Well, well, what we got here?” the outlaw drawled, as he grabbed up Randall’s bible and began waving it over his head. “Lookee here, boys. We got ourselves a preacher man.”
Randall’s first impression of the outlaw was of filth—from the brown crust on his knuckles to the stains on the outlaw’s clothes. His second impression was the stench. His nostrils flared. Had the man ever bathed?
The outlaw stared at Randall over the top of his mask and then tossed the bible aside and held out the bag.
“Gimmee your valuables,” he growled. “And be quick about it.”
“Take it and be gone,” Randall said, as he dropped his wallet and pocket watch into the bag. Then he took out his handkerchief and covered his nose, trying hard not to gag from the outlaw’s breath.
The outlaw wagged his gun under Randall’s nose. “What’s ’a matter mister? Ain’t you never smelled a real man a’fore?”
Fear disappeared as a wave of disdain reconstructed Randall’s expression. “Oh, is that what you are?”
The man spit in Randall’s face.
They were gone as abruptly as they’d arrived. Outside, the outlaws mounted up and rode off into the setting sun as Randall threw up in the aisle. While it was some consolation that he’d saved the bulk of his money, at that moment, he would have traded it all for a bath.
The next day, they finally rolled into Feeney. It was to be the first place on his missionary journey where he would preach the word of God. His anticipation of the upcoming event had helped him get past the trauma of yesterday’s robbery. Here was where his new life was destined to begin.
He stepped off the train with his head held high, the bible in one hand and his bag in the other. He walked with purpose across the platform and into the street. Seconds later, the distinct odor of manure drifted up his nostrils. He looked down and groaned. He was standing in shit—horse to be exact.
“Reverend Howe?”
Randall forced a smile and looked up, finding himself eye to eye with, quite possibly, the tallest, homeliest woman he’d ever seen. She was wearing a pair of men’s pants, as well as a man’s shirt and jacket. Her brown, shoulder-length hair was pulled away from her face, and tied at the back of her neck, elongating her features even more. The wide-brimmed hat she wore low on her forehead shaded her eyes, as well as most of her face—and still she squinted; more from habit than any nearby glare. By his best guess, she was in her late thirties. Put off by her appearance, as well as her manly attire, it was all he could do not to stare.
“Yes, I’m Reverend Howe.”
“Welcome to Feeney.”
She extended her hand to him as one man would have to another. There was something commanding about her presence. He took it without hesitation.
“Name’s Mehitable Doone. I own the biggest spread in these parts. You’ll be stayin’ at my house until you’re ready to leave.”
Randall beamed. At last a semblance of normalcy had returned to his life. He tipped his hat.
“I appreciate your kindness… and that of your husband,” he said.
“Ain’t got one,” Mehitable announced, and yanked his bag from his hand. “Follow me. I’ll show you the church on the way out of town.”
Stunned that he’d allowed a woman to carry his bag, he began to run along behind, trying to catch up and rectify his social faux pas.
“Uh, I say, Mrs… uh, Miss…”
“Hellsfire, preacher. Just call me Hetty, ever’one does.”
He flushed. “Well then, Hetty… about the church.”
She pointed off to her left. “There it be.”
He looked. His steps slowed and then he stopped.
“Where?” he asked.
“There,” she said, pointing to a vacant space between a saloon and a livery stable. “We’ll be settin’ up some benches.”
“You mean I’m to speak without… uh… you mean there isn’t a real…”
Mehitable snorted. “Oh hell no, there ain’t no church. The town ain’t but five years old.” Then she added. “But everyone is fired up about your comin’ and all. You’ll probably draw a good crowd.”
Randall took a deep breath, reminding himself that of course things would be different out here. It wasn’t that he minded preaching outdoors, in fact, now that he thought about it, it seemed fitting. He would be like Moses who’d wandered in the wilderness before bringing his children to God. And the mention of a crowd didn’t hurt. Randall liked to preach