In the last part, Ben accepted the gratitude of Superbia’s owners and then returned to San Francisco. He shared a meal with Clay Alexander, who turned out to be Paladin. Ben enlisted the help of three men in aid of one being shanghaied.

Ben didn’t know whether the men that his three friends helped liberate had been drugged, knocked unconscious, or were yet suffering the effects of their drink. Whatever the case, the three valiant rescuers managed to get not just the one drunken man that Ben knew of, but another bound in the same room, as well. The largest of the three firemen carried the smaller of the two. The other two firemen carried the second, about-to-be-shanghaied, man to where Ben waited. The four of them took the two to the nearest church where Ben vouched to stay with them until they’d sobered enough to be on their own.

Parting, Ben suggested they not broadcast their adventure, since the police seemed to be involved on the wrong side.

For the next several days, Ben made quiet inquiries about police activities around the city. Street preaching on occasion, his hat out for donations, and witnessing as the Holy Spirit led, Ben felt led to pursue the city’s corruption. He found himself again at the Hotel Carlton.

“Well, hello, my friend Ben.” Clay Alexander greeted Ben when he found him at his own favorite table. “Are you ready for another of the Carlton’s steaks?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy it. I’m afraid I can’t afford to reciprocate, and I wouldn’t impose on your generosity. No, I made sure to eat before getting here to ensure against temptation. This coffee will do.”

“They grind and mix a variety of beans themselves. Best in the West.” Clay sat in his customary seat that Ben had kindly left for him.

“No, I don’t need a steak, but I would like some information. Are you versed on the workings of the San Francisco government, specifically with respect to the Police Department?”

Clay frowned, looking around. After a moment’s pause, he leaned in somewhat. “Ben, are you familiar with the proverb: Don’t crap where you eat? Or, don’t foul your own nest?”

Ben nodded.

“My friend, there are worse things than being shanghaied.”

“Some things ought not be.”

“So, you think a new broom can sweep clean?”

Ben replied, “To really clean the steps, you need to start at the top. But I’m willing to pick up what makes men trip, stumble, and fall.”

“A trash collector,” Clay quipped.

“Or a street sweeper, if you must.”

“Look, I know of a man, a lawyer, Henry Halleck. He represented Juana Briones. She just goes by Juana now that she divorced her no good husband. Anyway, Halleck can tell you all you want to know, and then some about this town.

“But Ben … don’t be the fool who charges in where giants go to die.”

Ben finished his cooled coffee, rose, and thanked Clay as he left.

+++

 “Ben Persons, do come in. I’m honored beyond measure.”

“Sir?” Ben looked at the attorney, Mr. Henry Halleck askew.

“Clay. He told me of your meeting. And rather, I’m afraid, a bit more than he divulged to yourself.”

Ben furrowed his brow.

“Yes. Have a seat. No, on second thought, do you have another engagement this afternoon?” It was just after one. Hearing that he had not, Halleck stood. “Then let’s hire a cab and be off.”

“Off, sir?”

“Henry. Call me Henry. Yes, I understand you’re interested in the goings-on of our fine city.”

Ben nodded once.

“Well, none better to hear it from than Juana, formerly Juana Brionse. She’s getting on up there and I happen to have an updated will that requires her signature. You don’t mind serving as witness, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then let’s be off. And on the way I’ll tell you a story you may find of interest.”

Once having given the carriage driver the address, Ben and Henry settled in for a harrowing ride.

“How does he keep the horses calm in these conditions?” Ben asked. “The hills, the stops at the top, the trolley noise. He must wear out the brake regularly.”

Henry laughed. “Ben,” he began. “You never heard of our friend Clay, or Paladin, before coming here, to Frisco?”

“No sir, Henry. Should I have?”

“Well, let’s just say that you might’ve. Let me mention a couple names that Clay told me: Mason Salinger and Sheriff Watson.”

Ben’s eyes grew wide.

Henry chuckled. “I thought so.” He chuckled again. “You, of course know Clay’s business?” Seeing Ben nod, Henry continued. “Seems your Mason Salinger had aught against you. A thousand dollars’ worth of aught. But by the time our friend arrived in Creede, Salinger was already run out of town by you and Sheriff Watson.”

Before Ben could say anything, intending to ask why Clay didn’t pursue the matter, since he’d already been paid, Henry raised his hand.

“Two things: one, Salinger didn’t, you might say, leave a forwarding address. And two: it didn’t take long for Clay to figure out your role in town. Let’s say he was impressed. And three: well not actually three, but …

“Well, after some time, Clay read a newspaper account … he reads several newspapers … that a Los Angeles preacher took a leave of absence to go to Colorado. It seems someone told someone who told someone who told a reporter that both Salinger and you were dead, killed in a cave-in.”

Henry looked squarely at Ben.

Ben sighed, exhaling deeply, then nodded at Henry.

“Well? Are you both dead?” His face hid a chuckle.

“Everyone thought I was dead. Salinger certainly was, is. I let it lie when I found out and moved to Chicago for a spell.”

“Just in time to arrive in San Francisco and get yourself shanghaied.” Henry continued his gaze, a grin on his face.

Ben returned the grin.

“You, Mr. Persons, are living some life.”

“I am that,” Ben agreed. “One day at a time.”

+++

“A land grant of 4400 hundred acres, I owned. Lived at the Presidio when it was Spain. Later I owned the first house between the Presidio and Mission Delores.”

Juana was a little slow in her delivery, but clear and strong, despite obvious weakening with age.

“I gave some land to the city for a park, a big park. And I lost some of it, but not all, like most everyone else. Yerba Buena they called the place first. Named it after the herbs that grew wild. I used it for healing, healing mint tea.”

Juana studied Ben’s eyes. “You know something of healing. I see it.”

Ben offered her eyes of compassion.

“Then it was San Francisco. After St Francis de Asis. Twenty-one white residents when I built my house. Of course, that didn’t count me.” Juana laughed. “I could have bought them all, but they didn’t count me.” Juana merely smiled. “That didn’t matter. It didn’t change who I was. Now there’s 300,000, depending on where you stop counting.”

“Henry told me you are a doctor,” Ben said.

Juana didn’t contradict. “Scurvy, babies, broken bones, the like.” Juana gave a dismissive wave.

“Your healing work?” Juana asked, her eyes piercing Ben’s.

“The Lord has worked through me from time-to-time.”

Juana nodded, understanding. “You have a calling. I can see it. Not your calling, I cannot see. I see you in your calling. You have suffered, but gladly. You do not let dirty feet walk through your mind.”

Turning to Henry, Juana said, “You tell how the rocks roll around here. Tell him the truth. He dón need no ancient history lesson. Just what God needs him to know.”

Henry, who’d been a silent party to Ben and Juana’s conversation, nodded.

They bade their good-byes and left.

Ben learned that Juana had passed on not too many days after their meeting.