In the last part Ben played a major role in the Superbia’s avoiding the pirates. When calamity befell the ship, the captain blamed Ben. When the Holy Spirit caused the captain to fall into a trance, Ben ordered Sly to return the ship to her owners in San Pedro, California. Sly acquiesced.

“Young man, I’m to believe you have saved our ship, and her crew.” He was one of the owners of the Superbia. “I also believe that I have you to thank for the wealth brought to land. We knew nothing about the gold, or the opium used to secure it. Nothing for that now, but we would like to offer you a reward. I’m told your intention is to return to San Francisco?”

“It is,” Ben replied.

“You know you would have a place on the Superbia, chaplaincy, and training to become a Quartermaster, perhaps?”

“Thank you, sir, but I believe God has called me to something else.”

“Ah, yes, a calling.” The man nodded his head as he studied the floor.

“Well, I have a thousand dollars here. It’s yours, along with our undying gratitude.” He reached toward Ben with an envelope of bills.

“Sir, a train ticket to San Francisco, and maybe a little to feed us for a few days, myself and whoever was Shanghaied from there …?”

“Evidence of your calling?” the man said, a smile forming in his face.

Ben smiled back. “Maybe.”

“Two hundred, then. That will get you to Frisco and keep you for a bit. And tickets for wherever those other men wish. Maybe after this, they’d prefer to return to their families.”

“Thank you, Sir. And may God bless you richly.”

“Thank you, son. He has. And I’m very proud to’ve made your acquaintance.”

Ben found himself aboard a BNSF passenger train, a bit wiser for the experience, but grateful for God’s leading, wherever it took him.

+++

From the train station, Ben walked until he hungered, seeking God’s will. Looking up, he saw that he was at a hotel that offered fine cuisine. He didn’t know about fine cuisine, but the aromas were enticing. Feeling no check in his spirit, he entered the restaurant entry of Hotel Carlton. From two to four people occupied every table but one where a single gentleman sat. His attire would ordinarily have steered Ben away, clearly above his pedigree.

“Mind if I join you?” Ben asked. “Name’s Ben Persons.”

“Clay, Clay Alexander.” He indicated a seat with his hand.

“Obliged. Seems to be a popular place to eat.”

“You won’t get poisoned. Might even enjoy the steak. Their mignon is their best, better even than their ribeye, which is the best in town.”

“Mignon, it is then. It’ll be my first steak in, oh … maybe a year,” Ben said after a little thought.

“Now you can break your fast. Dine, sup and sleep. Upon the very naked name of love.”

“One of the literary greats?” Ben asked.

“The Bard, himself. The Two Gentlemen from Verona. A play.”

“The Psalmist, I’m afraid is the limit of my poetic study.”

Clay nodded understanding. “Afraid religious studies were unheralded at The Point.”

“West Point?” Ben asked to Clay’s nod.

“But I see pugilism wasn’t neglected.”

Clay nearly guffawed, controlling himself to a vocalized snort. “They failed to teach the avoidance of dark closets.” He touched at a swollen ear.

“I see, though, that your right knuckles found target sufficient.” Ben noticed Clay’s right hand, the knuckles red and slightly swollen.

“They also failed to recommend avoidance of striking someone on top of his head, a fairly useless and potentially ignominious act.”

“And the knot-headed recipient?”

Again, Clay barely kept from drawing attention to himself.

“Let us say a Mr. Jefferson won’t be ordering filet mignon, or any other cut of beef for a while.

“Allow me to offer you my card, sir. You are the first aside from the printer and myself of the new design.”

Ben accepted the simple business card. “The white knight. Paladin.” Ben did not read aloud the four words on the card. “Paladin, wasn’t he a famous knight? Not one of Arthur’s, though.”

“Charlemagne. Yes, he was.”

A waiter brought two plates of the mignon and baked potato. “I took the liberty, sir,” the waiter said.

“Thank you, Hey Boy. Excellent choice.”

The oriental bowed slightly and backed away.

“A regular here, I take it,” Ben said as he began to force a knife into the thick, round cut of meat but finding the blade plunge clear to the plate with hardly any resistance. With raised eyebrows, Ben exclaimed, “Not the way you get them in Colorado.”

“Especially the 25 cent cuts,” Clay replied, grinning as he lifted his fork to his mouth.

“Especially.”

“This is sour cream,” Clay said, spooning a healthy portion into his opened-up potato. “I think you’ll like it. Heap it in there and stir it a bit.”

“Sour cream?”

Clay smiled and nodded. “Guess men of the cloth don’t dine much, shall I say?”

“Oh, we eat. Beans and chickens don’t stand a chance once we hit town. But then, I’m no more a typical clergyman than you are a fancy gentleman.” Ben dove into his potato, his eyebrows rising in agreement with Clay’s prediction.

Clay raised his own. “Oh, my card. Yes, I am prepared to offer my services.”

“Mr. Paladin,” Ben grew a little more serious. “I have had dealings with men who may have been interested.” He thought of Salinger and Demone. “But please allow me to postulate: some customers are not always right. Truth and justice may lie otherwise.”

Clay paused before answering. “I shall endeavor to keep that in mind, always. If … you allow me to pay for this meal.”

“You may. I feel the kingdom advancing as we speak.”

“I pray so, Mr. Persons. I pray so.”

After leaving the hotel, Ben moseyed toward the district where he thought he had been shanghaied from, hoping to prevent what he could.

+++

Ben found a closed business, where he could see the public houses across the street and a good view of two or three blocks down the street. It was only beginning to turn dusk. He didn’t expect to see anything yet. He dared not fall asleep, though. He did not care to be shanghaied twice. Lighting the street lamps happened a little later than he thought they ought to have been, but not long after that, he saw two policemen ambling up the street, their Billy clubs ready for action.

A man clearly inebriated came out of one of the taverns. The policemen helped him walk two doors down, laughing as they guided him into another tavern.

Ben waited until the policemen were a few doors further on before making his way to the one they’d walked the drunk to. Inside, even though it was dark, Ben saw no sign of the man he’d seen in the street. Presently a very large man appeared from a back room. He looked about the room before walking to the front door where he stood guard.

Ben left, not letting the large man see his face.

Turning opposite the direction the policemen travelled, Ben counted the doors. In the alley behind the tavern, Ben again counted the doors. The one he wanted was locked. By its stiffness, Ben thought it might be barred on the inside. There was no response to his knock.

On the next street over, Ben watched and waited. Presently he saw three men amiably leave a tavern, joking among each other.

“Fellas! Hold up.” Ben ran to them as they looked around to see who’d called.

“You men care to help a fellow human being?”

Two of them reached for their pocketbooks, as if fending off a beggar looking for drink money.

“No. It’s not like that. I saw a man getting shanghaied.”

“We lost a friend that way,” one of them said. “He just went around back to relieve himself. He never came back. No sign anywhere.”

“You could help. He’s at the Ram.”

“Never go there, friend. That’s a mean place,” one of them said.

Ben laid it out – “I’ll keep the bruiser at the door busy while you go directly in and to the right where you’ll see a door on the back wall. He’s in there. Unbar the back door and out you go with him. Bring him back here and I’ll take him off your hands.”

“We’ll do it,” one said just before all four exchanged names.