In the last part Ben preached against the evil one. He began convincing townsmen to form a militia. This part begins with Ben discussing a militia with Billy Moore.

^^^^^^^^^^

“Billy, in San Francisco the police were the same as the gangs. Maybe a few good ones, but you never knew who. And I can’t say much better of Chicago. But in San Francisco, twice the community formed vigilance committees,” Ben said.

“Sounds like vigilantes to me.”

“Yeah, maybe, but they worked pre-emptively, preventively, as well as going after known criminals.”

“Working in force, you could call it a militia, might go over better with some, especially around here where some might feel intimidated. You know, the reasons behind many of them choosing Alaska to live.”

Ben understood all too well.

“A militia, then,” Ben agreed. “We ought to talk it up among the shop owners and regular residents, the ones we know wouldn’t misuse power.”

Billy agreed. “The beauty of an organized militia is order, regimentation, and responsibility. Everyone is responsible to someone else.”

Before long, the idea was sold and up and down the inside passage. There were soon 101 members, all sworn to an honor code.

There was to be a meeting of all 101 in Juneau in two weeks’ time. It would be the first mass meeting. Leadership, which did not include Ben, since he deliberately withdrew his name from consideration, wanted everyone in agreement that the spring’s miners were to be given license, letting petty infractions go. The Committee’s focus was to be on deliberate, organized crime, namely, Soapy Smith and his gang.

Ben felt compelled to attend since he was one of the committee’s main recruiters. In Juneau, they met on a three-masted barque. The leadership felt that no building in town would be safe from Soapy’s men. Ben and one other stood guard at the head of the dock.

It was going on full dark. Some among of the approaching horde of men carried torches.

Ben moved from his leaning post at the side of the dock to its center. Ben’s partner stayed in the shadows. He said later that he hadn’t figured on a mass charge, just maybe one or two who wanted to eavesdrop.

“Stand fast!” Ben yelled.

“You’d best clear aside,” Soapy Smith said.

“Won’t be doing that, Soapy.”

“That you, Preacher? Maybe you better serve on your knees, praying to your God.”

A roar of laughter moved Soapy forward. “I see you’re sportin’ a sidearm. You supposed to be doin’ that, Preacher?”

“Tonight, I’m a road guard. And you are on my road.”

Soapy Smith puffed himself to his full intimidating stature, a stature that very few had ever faced for very long.

Ben loosed the leather strap that secured his Peacemaker Colt 45, the gun he chose among the many offered.

“STAND ASIDE, BOY!”

Soapy’s entire flock backed off a step at the force of his command.

Ben’s partner had his gun out, but was unlikely to hit the sky even if he was to find the courage to fire it. He remained in the shadows.

“You won’t be passing me on this dock, Soapy.” Ben rested his hand on the butt of the gun.

“Hear him, boys? Preacher says we aren’t invited on his dock!”

“I just said you, Soapy.”

Soapy, for the first time in memory, balked. He looked around behind him at the gang that had back-stepped, now three paces to his rear.

“Why you…” Soapy drew his pistol and snapped off three quick shots.

Ben stood firm.

As Soapy leveled and took more careful aim, Ben drew his Colt and fired once, crumpling Soapy to the ground. One of his gang members inched his way toward Soapy, finally declaring him dead. The murmuring among the crowd of ruffians was intense. Ben could feel the dock shaking with his partner’s trembling.

Ben continued to hold his ground. He felt himself blocking the path of the gang.

Those in front now knew his aim, and also knew the shell count that remained in his gun. Those who could see Ben sensed something more than a man.

“Back out, boys,” became the chant from those before Ben, repeated by those who couldn’t even see him.

Once they were completely out of sight, Ben motioned for his partner to come out, weakly waving to him with his gun hand. “Help me to the ship. I’m hit.”

By the time they reached the ship, Ben was nearly unconscious. Two more guards that were posted at the ramp helped him into a lit room and onto a table.

“You’re hurt bad,” the man who examined him said. “We need to get you to a doctor!”

“Just get me to Beth, my wife.” Ben passed out.

Billy, seeing the wound and knowing that the bullet had probably hit a vital organ, organized Ben’s return to Skagway.

Ben’s partner claimed to have been the one to kill Soapy Smith, though he declined to show his gun to anyone.

+++

Beth knew the moment that Ben had been injured. She fell to her knees and begged God to bring him home to her.