Massacre at Powder River by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2011-12-22T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

In jail that night, Clem’s sleep, what little there was, was filled with dreams.

His feet were dangling over the back of the wagon as his ma and pa drove down to the Current River for the all day preaching. All of the neighbors were gathered there, sitting on blankets listening to a traveling preacher as he walked back and forth in front of them, preaching about the fires of hell and stabbing his finger into the air to emphasize his points. Then it came time for the baptism and dozens lined up to go down to the water.

“No, I ain’t goin’ to go down to the crick and let you dunk me in the water.”

“You have to be baptized if you want to be saved,” the preacher said.

“I don’t want to be saved.”

“But you must. You must give your soul to the Lord.”

“I ain’t a-goin’ to do it.”

“Then you will burn in hell!” the good reverend said, pointing a long, thin, bony finger at Clem.

Clem shouted out loud, and waking with a start, sat straight up on the cot.

“Are you all right in there?” the deputy called back.

“What time is it?”

“It’s one-thirty.”

“I’ve got nine and a half hours left,” Clem said.

The deputy came to the jail cell and looked in. There had been two other prisoners in jail when they brought Clem in, but both were in for being drunk and disturbing the peace only, so Marshal Drew let them go. He didn’t want any other prisoners around while he was holding Clem.

“You want something? A cup of coffee, maybe?” the deputy asked.

“Coffee? What about whiskey? You got ’ny whiskey?”

“Sorry. I can’t give you any whiskey. Coffee will have to do.”

“All right, give me a cup of coffee then.”

The deputy walked back to the front of the jail, poured a cup of coffee from the blue metal pot that set on top of the pot-bellied stove, then brought it back to Clem.

“Thanks,” Clem said.

“Do you want something to read? I’ve got a couple of books here.”

“I ain’t never learnt how to read,” Clem said.

“All right,” the deputy said. “If you want any more coffee, just let me know.”

“Hey, Deputy,” Clem called.

The deputy turned.

“Can you read?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever read anything about hell?”

“Yes, I’ve read about it.”

“Do you think it’s real?

“Yes, I believe it’s real.”

“I’m goin’ there, aren’t I? I’m goin’ to hell.”

“You probably are.”

“Well I don’t care,” Clem said with forced bravado. “I’ve got lots of friends there. We’ll have us a grand time.”

As the deputy went back to the desk out front, Clem returned to sit on the cot. He thought of Sam Logan and his other friends in the Yellow Kerchief Gang. He wondered if any of them would show up for his hanging. He wished they would. He wouldn’t give them away or anything. He would just like to see one friendly face in the crowd.

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