Gunsmokes sworn apponent

  
The cold Nevada dawn woke Gunsmoke Smith with a start. In one move he was out of his bed role and fingering his Colt 45. His cold black eyes swept across the alpaca strewn desert, and although he saw he was alone, he could not relax for a minute. A long journey was coming to an end, the trail lead to the old mining town of Eureka and death was about to knock on its door, and he felt the tenseness in his whip-like body.

 He sat crouched over the wood stick fire, gripping a cup of coffee in his sinued hands, waiting for the sun to bridge the Shell Creek mountain range when he heard the distant echo of a rifle shot. Kicking the fire wood asunder he saddled up and made off down the trail.

The sun hovered like a red fire ball on the rim of the mountain range as Gunsmoke started on the long ride to Eureka. Gunsmoke rode upright, in his relentless way, oblivious to its power. He spotted a rider-less horse in the distance, and spurred his bronco to a faster pace, sensing trouble ahead.

 Gunsmoke caught the muzzle of the horse and hitched the rein around the horn of his saddle. Searching out the surrounding desert he saw the vultures circling up ahead, below them he saw a bundled heap, shimmering in the heat haze of the desert.

As he approached the body he heard the cry of a baby, and his hard body stiffened as he saw it cradled in the arms of a dead woman! ‘Hell’, he thought, as a black anger overcame him at the sight of a wasted human being, and despair at the plight of the baby as he realised his ignorance of their needs!

‘He’s not long for this life in this heat’, he thought, ‘Its still a days ride to Eureka’.

Gunsmoke used to the hard trials of life was unprepared for this kind of responsibility, ‘Hell its woman's work’, he thought bitterly.

 Gunsmoke rode into Eureka as the desert sun was dipping below the  distant mountain range, and his little cavalcade of death cast a long shadow up the main drag. The woman’s body hung forlornly across the horse’s saddle, her arms swinging as if in supplication, but her praying days were over! The baby lay in Gunsmoke’s saddlebag, it was strangely quiet as if exhausted by its trial in this world and was waiting to give its spirit up to the Great Chief in the Sky !

Gunsmoke stepped into the light of the Hardware store, his tall sparse figure outlined in the frame of the door. At the sight of the baby in his saddlebag the storekeeper’s wife gave out a cry of horror. ‘It’s the half breed baby’, she exclaimed, and ran over to pick it up, but the limp body told her that all life had gone, ‘Oh, no’.

The odd sound in her voice sent a primordial shiver down Gunsmoke's back, he sensed he was touching evil! He stepped aside.

‘Who’s the girl’, he asked through gritted teeth, indicating the body hanging across the saddle, ‘I found them on the trail’.

The shaft of light from the open door caught the dead woman’s face, and for one moment it seemed to come alive, and the mouth made a silent plea for retribution.

The storekeeper's wife stood transfixed, suddenly the air was still and the chill of the desert night surrounded them as she exclaimed in terrified whisper ‘ It's the Preacher's squaw!’

She looked back to the store door and afterwards she swore that a black raven was silhouetted in it’s frame as desert lightening light the grisly scene!

The lonely cortege made its way up to the deserted burial ground, the plane wooden coffins added to the air of desolation that surrounded the burial party, made up of the storekeeper’s wife, and Gunsmoke Smith. The small town of  Eureka seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting for evil retribution!

As they turned into the graveyard Gunsmoke saw the Preacherman, his old apponent,  standing under the shade of an Alpaca tree, his bent figure ominously threatening. The noonday was silent apart from the snorting of the old horse drawing the hearse to the graveside.

The Preacherman's evil eyes took in the cortage, resting on the coffin he spit into the dust. 'She had it coming' he growled. 

Gunsmoke tensed, there was a tear in in his heart when he realised the evil of that man before him. There must be retribution, and his hand tensed over his colt 45!   

The Preacherman sensing action slid his  long coat aside to reveal the glint of a peacemaker in a low slung holster, and suddenly the bent figure was upright and a breath of wind swept  the hair away from his face revealing the prescience evil of his spirit. 

The wind shifted and black clouds rolled up from the mountains and a murmuring sound moved amongst the ancient gravestones, picking up dead leaves and swirling them about and a voice echoed over the grave.

‘Beware the ancient warrior spirit, you have sacrificed the life of a young brave’.

Suddenly it was as if there were three forms present in the graveyard and the smell of death pervaded the air.

The storekeeper’s wife spoke of a strange arrow  that moved with lightening speed and yet seemed stationary as the Preacherman reached and held it and with distain broke it in two. Gunsmoke Smith stepped forward out of a swirling cloud, and in a deadly whisper said, ‘I know you Preacherman, now is your Time’.

The Preacherman turned and without moving his peacekeeper was barking out its message of death. But Gunsmoke was no longer visible. A black raven dived down towards the Preacherman and as he swung his arms up in surprise Gunsmoke appeared as if from nowhere and delivered his bullets of death into the preachers body, ‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord’.

Gunsmoke stared down into the grave of the two bodies, his heart full of misgiving, for the first time he felt a faint tug of guilt at his death dealing ways – was all this necessary! But he knew he was not done with the Preacherman! He turned on his heel and strode back to the town. A black raven circled above before winging away to the high mountains that was it’s home.