The Whippoorwill Trilogy - Sharon Sala Page 0,70

a while. All in all, it wasn’t such a bad way to start a new day.

A Preacher By Any Other Name

“Good bread. Good meat. Praise the Lord. Time to eat. Amen.”

The sanctimonious expression on Parson Sutter’s face disappeared as he lifted his head, gauging his partner’s attention span before aiming for the skillet of fry bread.

Henry Wainwright looked back over the campfire with a warning glance. The last thirty-three years of his existence had been spent with Elmer Sutter. And at each meal, no matter where or what condition they were in, Parson said grace before he ate.

Henry reached for the aforementioned bread just ahead of his partner’s fist, thanking his lucky stars that he got a goodly portion on his plate before Parson got to it. Parson Sutter had an appetite bigger than his feet. And while he was a good man to have at your back in a fight, he was hell to feed behind.

The evening sun was at their backs as they crouched before the campfire. The concoction in the cast iron pot hanging over the flames bubbled slowly from the heat. A day-old jackrabbit, wild onions, and a bit of sage added for flavor, composed the contents of the pot. It was the rabbit’s last dance.

Parson lifted a ladle, dripping with stew. “How ’bout another round, Henry?”

Henry nodded. “Don’t mind if I do.”

He offered his plate as Parson poured an extra-full ladle of rabbit stew onto the battered tin. Overflowing droplets fell into the fire with a hiss, bringing a familiar frown to Parson’s brow.

“Waste not, want not,” Parson said, and ladled his own helping more carefully.

Henry shook his head as he ate, chewing on one side of his jaw while talking out of the other. It was the same dinner conversation they’d had for the last thirty-three years, but it suited the two old trappers just fine.

“Do you hafta preach at every dang meal?” Henry muttered, sopping at his stew with what was left of his bread.

“A godly man is a decent man,” Parson said, then belched and farted at the same time to prove he was also on the same plane as his buddy, Henry.

Henry nodded. “Yeah, and a decent man would ’a died out here long ago and you know it.”

Parson shook his head in disgust at his partner’s lack of reverence. He leaned against the tree at his back, smoothed a hand over his long gray hair and then did the same for his beard.

“When I die—”

Henry spit into the fire and then interrupted. “Hells bells, Elmer, as if I ain’t already heard this a thousand times. When you die, you want proper words spoke over your body a’fore you’re planted in the ground. Not by just anyone, but by a real man of the cloth. Right?”

Parson’s expression brightened. “By a real preacher! Not some old coot who got religion after the shit was scared out of him. I’m talking about the real thing. That’s what I want.”

“And ain’t I been telling you ever night for thirty-odd years that I’d find you one?” He waited until Parson nodded. Satisfied that he had his attention, he finished off the conversation and the last of his bread at the same time. “Well, I ain’t had no reason to change my mind. If I said I’ll do it, then I’ll do it.”

Having said his piece, Henry glared at the rapt expression on his partner’s face. Parson was like a gnat buzzing on a sore. When he got to talking religion, he didn’t know when to stop.

Parson gave Henry a long, hard look. “You promise?”

The conversation had taken a change from the norm and it startled Henry enough that he answered without rancor. “Well shore I promise. I’m your partner ain’t I? If you can’t trust your partner, who the hell can you trust?”

“Then that’s that,” Parson mumbled.

Henry frowned as he scratched at his privates out of habit. Except for that time last year when they’d gotten stranded in Lizard Flats and he’d visited the White Dove Saloon, it had been years since he’d used them for anything other than relieving himself, but it still felt manly to shift them from side to side now and then.

“What’s the big deal, Parson? You act like you’re about to cross over any minute, gettin’ all serious like that on me, and all.”

“You never know when your time is coming,” Parson said. Then he shook his head and tilted it sideways before he belched. There was too much sage