One Man's Calling : One Man's Calling, Part A by Wayne Fowler |
In the last part Arville, Livvy and Jones felt obliged to allow a Ute Indian band to take Ben to their village for healing. Ben preached Christ to them, converting the entire tribe. On the first sunny day of spring, Ben spoke to his friend Silver Hawk about returning to his people. The winter, though difficult, was endurable. “We will take you to Uncompahgre. Chief Ouray and his wife travel there soon to work with some warring young men who have taken offense at whites. Too many whites slaughter deer only for the hind quarters. Since your ranchers have brought cattle to the valleys, there is enough to eat, but not enough to waste.” Ben nodded agreement and assent. +++ The roads to Silverton and then on to Creede were arduous but tolerable for Ben. Word of his return preceding him. Ben was greeted as a returning legend, a hero’s welcome his reception. Young baby Benjamin, placed in his arms by a grateful Livvy, brought streaming tears to Ben’s eyes. He was too choked to speak. Ecstatic for his return, those who knew and loved him were saddened by his obvious aging and the evidence of his weakened condition. Though healed of his injuries, he had not regained his vigor. After they carefully tucked and wrapped Ben into Ralph’s rocker, Livvy, William and the Tolsens quieted, waiting Ben’s story. “I feel,” Ben began solemnly, “I have served my calling,” he declared. He went on to briefly described tribal life and the Utes’ conversions. Everyone was wary of second guessing him, of contradicting him. “Who were they to say whether he’d fulfilled his mission?” they all questioned. Livvy wondered to herself, troubled with the notion that she might have been the cause of his end. She, as did the others, doubted that so great a servant, and so grand a charge could so lightly be satisfied. Salinger lived, and a world of evil lurked about at every turn. And Ben, though clearly exhausted, was yet a young man with decades of life ahead. Glad that their friend would no longer face the dangers of confronting evil, still, they were somewhat dismayed. Ben settled to an open-mouth sleep; his friends nervously anxious for him. +++ Demone Lovelace saw Ben enter town, himself drawn to the street, by an irresistible tugging whenever sensing Ben’s presence. Ben woke with a start, he struggled to gain his balance. “Leave me be.” His rebuke pained Livvy, who jumped away as if stung. “I, I’m sorry, Livvy, honey.” Ben spoke to her as if an elder to a child, a grown child. “There’s someone outside that I need to see.” Livvy sprang to the window. “No, Ben. I don’t like that man. I’ve seen him. He’s evil.” “I know, Livvy. I know.” Awkwardly, his disobedient legs forced to carry him to the door, he struggled with the door’s catch that so easily released for everyone else. Finally outside, he saw Demone shifting his balance, one foot to another as he settled into a gunfighter’s stance. With each arduous step, Ben straightened, arching his back, spreading his shoulders until the last step brought him face to face with anticipated destiny. “Where’s your gun?” Demone asked. “Here. Have mine. I’ll take it from you and still kill you.” Demone drew and extended the handgun, pressing it into Ben’s unflinching chest. At last Ben rose to his full height. Though an inch shorter than Demone, Demone felt dwarfed as his eyes truly peered into Ben’s. Locked by Ben’s piercing gaze, Demone froze in place, not a muscle moving. After a moment, Demone gasped a breath as if surfacing from water’s depth. Still his eyes remained riveted. Suddenly his body began a tremor, head to foot. At first a modest hum, he began to shake as if in a convulsion. The gun dropped from his hand, his entire being save his eyes in a spasm. Ultimatelly, Ben blinked, releasing his mental grip of Demone. Demone slumped to the ground onto his knees, his arms hanging paralyzed with exhaustion, the back of his hands in the road’s dirt. Demone's chin bounced, finally settling on his chest. Almost as if levitated, Demone then rose to his feet, leaving his gun where it lay. With an unnatural awkwardness he bolted and ran away from Ben. Silently Livvy stared at Ben in reverential awe as he lumbered his way back into the house where he resumed his rest in the offered chair. Demone never returned for his gun, but found himself back in Denver, an alcoholic ever since his confrontation with Ben. +++ “Hello, Son.” JD, the sheriff, greeted Ben, wanting to bear hug him, but afraid to injure the frail man. “I’ve wanted to see you since you got back.” JD, seeing Ben’s state of health, hoped he wouldn’t expect his job back considering his obvious health issue, as well as the fact that Frank was working out quite well. “JD, I’m sorry I didn’t get around sooner. You deserve a quicker visit. I …” “Nah. Don’t you concern yourself that way. I know you have to get well. How are you doin’?” It was merely the polite thing to ask, Ben’s ill state plain to see. “Coming along fine, JD. I’m fine. But I heard you had someone in jail. Si Palmer.” “I do. I do. And you’re just the person he needs to see, too. The boy needs to leave the whiskey alone, beer too, I had any say in it. But whiskey puts him the jail ‘bout every time. Makes him want to fight.” JD tipped his head, looking through his brows. “And between you, me, and the stump, he ain’t no fighter.” “He’s the older brother of one of my students, and …” “Students?” JD ejaculated. “You school teaching?” “Just started part time. Mrs. Parnel asked me to help her with the older ones with the mathematics. That’s not exactly her strong suit. And I’ll substitute whenever she accompanies her husband on his circuit, or missionary work.” Amy Parnel was the preacher’s wife and the city school teacher. Joshua Parnel, Creede’s second preacher, had congregations in two other nearby towns, and traveled to other mining camps and communities as he could. He was ecstatic whenever he could find an Indian village that would let him preach. “I can’t travel to the other churches, towns, but I’ll fill in for Pastor Parnel here in Creede when he’s gone away.” “Seems right fittin’,” JD replied. He'd known, of course, about both the substitute preaching and about the school teaching, but felt not to undermine Ben’s positive news. “Anyway, Vance, Si’s little brother knew I’d deputied in the past and asked if I’d visit.” “And well you should, Ben, well you should. I was just going home to supper. You wanna join me?” “Nah. Thank you, though. I’ll just go on to the jail.” With that they parted, JD full of pity … and concern. His pledge of sobriety was yet to be proven, his future wide open before him, but Si, shortly after release, headed for Denver where he would enlist in the United States Army. A career soldier, he would be a First Sergeant for General Black Jack Pershing in the War-To-End-All-Wars. At the battle of Catigny he urging the troops on to heroics. Si forever credited Ben Persons for his life’s turn-around. To Ben, it was just another day well-spent. Still suffering from occasional seizures and episodes of listlessness, Ben adopted the jail as a regular ministry, visiting prisoners as often as his waning strength allowed. On one such visit he learned of Mason Salinger’s return to the region. “What’re you in here for?” Ben asked after making a young man’s acquaintance. “Opium,” the man replied. “Sheriff said I was drunk, but I wasn’t. Opium. No law against it, either. I wasn’t drunk in public and I shouldn’t be here.” “I’ve heard of it being on both coasts, but where’d you get opium around here?” Ben asked. The young man at first didn’t respond, at least until Ben positioned himself to gaze more fully into the man’s face. “Mason Salinger,” he blurted as soon as making eye contact. “Short, fat, round man. Not much over five foot tall? Wears his pistol in front over his belly?” Ben asked. “No. He ain’t fat. He’s slim as I am. And he didn’t have a gun that I saw. Had three bodyguards, though.” Ben learned that it was common knowledge up in Grand Junction that after the trouble in Ophir, Salinger had taken the train to San Francisco, boarding the Denver and Rio Grande Line to the Central Pacific Line. Unknown to Ben, a year later he returned with enough product, and the contacts and contracts for enough more to kingpin Colorado, to virtually own it. JD’s jailhouse prisoner knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who knew that Salinger had San Francisco underworld backing to support the venture. A wagonload was being stored in an abandoned mine near Mesa, just waiting for his army of peddlers that would arrive by train from the east. The jail inmate had seen Salinger, himself, at Mesa. Though he didn’t tell Ben, Salinger turned him down for work based on his being a user. Ben left the jail in a haze, his calling awakening, wreaking confusion to his slumbering soul. +++ “To him who knoweth to do good, but doeth it not …” Ben was reading his text to the congregation on the second Sunday after learning about Salinger’s opium scheme. His stopping gave concern to the group that he was about to have one of his episodes. The ones that knew and loved him best leaned forward, ready to leap from their seats. “To him who knoweth to do good, but doeth it not, to him it is sin.” Ben completed his sermon to the knowing concerns of his friends. +++ “I have to,” Ben said to those gathered at the Tolsens’s that afternoon. Ben’s custom had become to take Sunday dinner at their place. On this occasion they were joined by William and Livvy, who was pregnant with her second child. JD and Jones arrived just before the meal was finished. “JD,” Ben said as he hobbled down the steps, “I can’t stop Jones from tagging along. Truth is, I’ve come to depend on him some.” Jones smiled. “But I don’t know what’s going to happen. Or how I’m going to handle it. I just know that lawmen have to do things a certain way, and, well, that may not be the way I’m called to do it.” Chagrinned, JD understood. “Guess you’re gonna say I need to trust God more, huh?” Ben smiled. “Thank you, though. I appreciate your support more than you’ll ever know. No Sir, tomorrow’s northbound, we’ll be on it.” About to board the train that next day, Ben was surprised on the loading deck by the Reverend James Coley, the former outlaw named Thomas Coleman, arriving from California. Ben hadn’t seen him since the American Basin hunting camp. “Ben Persons!” James exclaimed. “I wouldn’t’ve recognized you but for those eyes. Where’s your meat? You swear off eating? How’d you know to meet me?” “Actually, I’m boarding,” Ben replied. “Booo-ard!” the conductor yelled, ready to lift the step stool. “Booo-ard!” He looked at Ben, knowing him to be a passenger. “Then throw mine back on,” James yelled. “Let’s go.” Jones helped with James’ suitcase. “I heard it two weeks ago Sunday. It woke me up. To him who knoweth …” “To do good,” Ben interjected. “Plain as day. Showed exactly which train and what day. And here we are.” James’ smile disappeared. Whispering, he added, “He also told me to pack my gun.” Ben shared what he knew, filling James in with relevant events and what God had shown him about Salinger’s future plan for Colorado. “The eastern hoodlums, and all the ne’er-do-wells from the mining towns, his poison in every town across Colorado, and then he’ll swarm into Denver. The police department won’t have a chance. Salinger’s evil will destroy people faster than you and I and every preacher in the state can save. I have to go to Mesa and stop it there. Now.” “We have to,” James corrected. Across the aisle, Jones nodded to himself in agreement. Inching to the window, Jones made room for a fellow passenger, a man entering the car from the one further behind them, a man that the other passengers were glad hadn’t chosen to attempt to sit beside them, afraid of his ugliness. “Billy?” Ben nearly shouted. “Billy?” Ben was astonished. Billy, Salinger’s cleaning boy, now bespectacled, merely smiled, introducing himself to James and Jones.
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Wayne Fowler
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