Abrupt knocking at the door of the jail had my feet falling to the floor and my eyes opening in startlement. Blinking I looked out the window of the jail cell only to see that it wasn’t yet dawn.
Getting to my feet I made my way out of the cell bay and to the door of the jail and opened it partially. An older man with hair graying at the temples stood waiting in the dim light outside.
I opened the door all the way and took my hand off my gun, “Can I help you?” I asked not overly enthused about having been awakened so early.
The man before me looked me up and down and then asked me a question that I would never have expected at this hour of the morning, “How do you feel about indians?”
Blinking I regarded the man with new awareness and cautiously I asked, “How should I think of them?”
“As your equal.” The man said without hesitation.
It was a new thing for me, but I was willing to turn over a new leaf, “Okay, I’ll agree to that. Now can you explain what any of this has to do with waking me up?”
The man’s face was suddenly very tired looking and glancing away I saw his features starkly outlined in profile against the early gray light of dawn. He spoke, “Last night at the edge of the town a sacrifice was performed. A satanic sacrifice. An indian child is dead.”
The man’s words impacted me strongly and I stepped out of the jail not bothering to get my hat and asked, “Which way?”
The man pointed and I took off in that direction with the older man close behind.
*****
I saw the form lying still on the ground. A few candles arrayed in the sand around the body still fluttered weakly against the morning breeze.
As I drew closer I noticed lines drawn in the sand around the body. Strangely there were no footprints leading to the actual body. There were no footprints of any kind at all. It was as if the surrounding sand had been wiped smooth like warm butter giving way to the passage of a knife.
I was way out of my league here as I knew nothing of the symbolism involved in the sacrifice, but to tell it simple I just didn’t care. I kicked through the lines to kneel down by the body of a boy of about ten or so.
The boy was cut up all over, but most notably his heart had been removed. For all the damage done there was no blood on the sand. It was almost as if all the blood had been sucked dry from his body before he’d been cut up.
Staring hard at the boy I tried to understand why anybody would do something like this. Looking around I noticed that we were not too far from the church. In fact the way the body had been laid out was as if positioned in opposition to the church.
I glanced to the man that that knelt in the sand across the boy from me, “You the pastor?”
He nodded still looking at the boy.
“Why would someone do this?” I asked helplessly, even though I’d seen far worse sights in my life then the sight of this destroyed young life.
The Pastor looked to me, “You have the look of a man who’s come through war. Have you?”
I nodded.
“Then you can understand there is no explanation of why something like this should ever happen. This boy is a casualty of war. A war not fought with guns, but one that goes on the same between good and evil.”
I shook my head as anger burned brightly, “Reverend I don’t know what kind of war you speak of, but this I can tell you, whoever did this is going to pay!”
I stood up to go, but the Pastor caught my hand, “This isn’t a war won with a pistol Marshal!”
I pulled my hand free, “It’s the only way I know how so it will just have to do!”
I stalked off to do what I wasn’t sure. I heard him call out behind me, “Marshal I’m glad to see you’re a man that cares. I will be praying for you.”
I shut his words out as I stormed off to where I had last seen the old indian the night before. It was getting more on toward daylight when I reached the spot.
“All right where are you at? Come out now!”
I looked around, but saw nothing. That is almost nothing. As I turned about my eyes connected with the wide-open eyes of a woman busy at work kneading dough. We stared at each other awkwardly through the glass window of the house for a moment.
I raised my hand awkwardly to her and hurried on down the street with the sure knowledge that she thought I was crazy. Eventually I ran out of boardwalk and when I did there he was before me.
Pointing a finger at him I accused, “Did your people do this?”
He looked at me askance, “When you came upon me, who was shooting at whom?”
I combed my shaking fingers through my hair, “A woman that doesn’t exist, exotic snakes, dire warnings of gateways of evil and now child sacrifice! I don’t understand any of this! What does God want from me? I left off serving Him years ago!”
“And yet He is near. You can find the end that you’ve sought for years in this town if you want to Taran or a beginning to something far grander.”
“What do you mean?” I barked out in anger, as I turned to face him.
His face was serious as he said, “Taran if you approach the job you have to do in this town with just yourself for backup you will not survive. I suggest you learn to deal with the past that haunts you yet and face the future with renewed faith and an attitude of prayer.”
“Why?”
“Because your Heavenly Father would rather have the Taran of old than this embittered shell of a man that you’ve let yourself become.”
I turned away and pressed my face into the rough timbered edge of a porch awning post. I heard the indian…… angel…… whatever he was come close.
His hand squeezed warmly at my shoulder, “Newness of purpose is to be found in this desert of your life. Don’t let this invitation go by. It may well be your last.”
I nodded in full awareness of that. I turned but the angel was already gone.
I needed to get out of here, at least away from the town for a bit.
*****
I went to the stable yard. The stable owner, a young man that I knew went by the name of Nathan, came to attention at my approach.
“I need a horse for a couple of hours.”
“No problem sir. I’ve got just the one and I’ll be back with him in half a second.”
True to his word he led an Appaloosa gelding that impressed free of the stable barn, only a few short minutes later.
Mounting up I said, “Collect whatever I owe you from one of the Town Council members.”
The young man waved my words aside, “Don’t worry about it. That ain’t my horse. He’s the old Marshal’s horse and as the Marshal had no will I figure it makes sense enough for you to have the free use of him being as you are the new Marshal. All I’ll charge for is the price of feed.”
“Thank you.” I said oddly touched by the young man’s generosity. It wasn’t often that one came across one of his age that wasn’t out to make a buck.
I pulled the Appaloosa into the street and let it go in an energized cantor towards the open desert beyond.
*****
It was like a breath of fresh air to be free of the stigma that the town had become to me in two short days. I stopped the horse.
I looked about the scene of calm tranquility. There was peace to be felt all around, but in me there was none. I got down off the horse and tied it off to a shrub and walked on for a ways.
Folding my hands together I bowed my head and waited for words to come, but none came. There was so much to say, but no fit way of expressing it. Finally in desperation I said, “I’m sorry! I’ve made a mess of my life. I thought I was justified to live outside of the law after what happened, but I’m not. Can you forgive me Jesus?”
“Always.”
I sank to my knees in relief and rested there in the peace that followed. Looking up I asked, “Can you help me clean up this town?”
“Yes.”
I looked around, but saw no one. I’d asked a question and gotten an answer. I was no closer to solving the boy’s murder perhaps, but I’d have to take it on faith that help would come.
Getting up I moved back to my horse and swung into the saddle. I caught a hint of movement off to my right and my eyes focused in on a solitary wolf standing there.
The wolf noticing my attention turned and loped away out of view. Following a hunch I chased after the wolf.
When I gained the ridge I saw the streaking form of the wolf headed out across a small valley. I kicked the Appaloosa forward until its hooves thundered in an echo of how fast it could run.
By all accounts the old Marshal hadn’t been too bright of an individual, but he’d had good taste when it came down to horses. I rode through a thicket all the while looking for the wolf.
I’d lost sight of him for a while now and I was beginning to despair of seeing him again, when he casually appeared on a promontory point not too far from me. I picked up speed and incredibly the wolf didn’t move off as if sensing that I was of no threat to him.
As I neared him he turned his intense probing eyes to look out over the land to the other side of the promontory point. Reaching the crest of the ridge I did too.
The first thing I saw were the buzzards congregating in the distance. That was enough of a lead for me.
I looked about for the wolf, but he was gone. I eased my horse forward with reluctance to a scene that no doubt held more violence spread out upon the sand. Remembering the details of the boy’s carved up body my pace quickened as my anger took over once more.
Within minutes I was slowing to a fast trot as gun in hand I rode in and among the remains of what must surely have been an entire tribe of indians. They lay scattered about on the ground as if running from something.
There were burn marks on the ground as if from lightning strikes. Some of the bodies were literally blown apart. What had wrecked such carnage as this?
The scene before me reminded me of the Civil War back in the East. Getting down I walked toward a man who I thought I still saw breathing.
Reaching him I saw that he was still alive. Grasping his shoulder I watched his eyes flicker and hoping he knew English I asked, “Did white men do this?”
He shook his head no almost imperceptibly. He tried to speak, but his voice was beyond the ability to form words because of dryness.
Rushing to my horse I grabbed the canteen hung on the saddle and hurried back. Putting it to his lips I let the man drink for a moment.
He half choked on the flow of water and I pulled the canteen back quickly. He nodded and muttered out, “Kind of you for a white man.”
“Who did this?” I asked pressing the man to talk, as I didn’t think he had much longer.
His eyes opened, but what he saw was somewhere else in time, “We thought it was the skin walkers. We are always cautious of them, but you whites have them walk among you all the time! So foolish, but it wasn’t them. It was the white hairs. They have not hunted us for long time. They kill us now because we know the secrets of the wind. They do not like us for they know we the people are not deceived! They fear we tell you white people secrets, but you are so blind!” The man rasped out in exasperation.
“What is a skin walker?”
“A very old being from before the great flood that wiped the world away. I speak to the first flood and not to the one you call Noah.”
I stared at the man blankly. It was obvious to me that this indian had a firmer grasp on matters of theology than I did. I didn’t have a clue as to what he spoke of.
“They are serpent like.”
“Come again?” I breathed out not sure I’d heard what he’d said correctly.
“They can look like you and me, but spill a little blood and see what happens!” The man rasped out in a dry chuckle that looked like it hurt.
“The ones that did this to you, did they move about in an object that looks like a glowing orb of light?”
The man’s eyes opened and for the first time he seemed to actually be seeing me, “You saw them?”
“I saw the vessel I speak of once. Actually I saw two vessels, but they were different somehow.”
“There are three kinds I know of. One very small and childlike, ones that are giants with white hair, and then the ones that are fiery spirits of flame. The fiery ones are good. They help us or else we would all surely be dead long since.”
“Who do they work for?”
“The Great Spirit.”
I nodded, as I accepted how that fit in with what I knew.
The man was looking at me strangely. Reaching up weakly he poked at my chest, “You are not of this place. Where do you come from?”
Why did this indian want to know this?
“My folks are from back East, back in Tennessee.”
The man shook his head, “No, you are one of the Star People.”
“Star People?”
“Long ago people of every nation were taken as slaves into the heavens. Some of them returned. You are one of them. You will kill these white hairs that do this to my people?”
“I’ll try.”
“It is enough. They are the enemy of all men regardless of color or nation. In this war we are unified.” That said the man died in my arms.
He’d left me with more questions than answers. Just how much of what the man had said was to be believed as fact or disregarded as the ravings of a man near death?
Looking around at the scorched burn marks and blown apart bodies I went with the former option on almost every issue except for the Star People thing. I came from Tennessee and that was that.
Standing up I took stock of the situation. Some entity called a white hair, an admittedly evil entity, had made piecemeal of this tribe and then not satisfied they’d taken a boy and barbarically sacrificed him in front of the church in town.
This war wasn’t reserved on indians only. It was a war on humans in general.
Why not just blow the town up like they had this tribe?
I thought about it and then I realized something. These beings were evil and their offensive action against the town had been a satanic rooted one and one targeted against the church primarily and those who attended it.
Truly this was a battle between God’s people and these beings of evil. How had I lived without any knowledge of wars such as this one for so long? The dead man had said as much in concern to the ignorance of whites.
Looking at the burn marks that must constitute the power of the enemy’s guns also confirmed how they had dropped the boy’s body off without leaving any tracks. Their ships floated over the ground and it would’ve been a thing of ease to set up the sacrifice spot in such a way as to stroke the suspicious fears of those prone to being superstitious.
Truly this was a battle that would require more than just the physical could offer. I turned and headed back to my horse. I mounted up and rode off a ways.
I was bothered by something. Were the people behind me, so seemingly more aware of what was going on, in a better place right now or were they in hell?
“There is only one way to God, Taran.”
I turned to the side and saw the old indian. It was a hard thing that he insinuated.
“You’re one of the good guys aren’t you? Why didn’t you stop this? You must have the ability? Not only that, but you also have the ability to make them believe!”
He shook his head no, “Not so Taran. Humans have a free will to choose. Simply knowing a lot and not acting on it gets no one anywhere of consequence. As to stopping the bloodshed all I have to say is that this is not our world. This world belongs to the fallen one and we but do the will of our Master in heaven as we are assigned.”
“That’s your response to this wholesale slaughter!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, Taran, but for you it is different. You are human. Behind you lay members of your fellow kind, unjustly slain, now what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to hunt these white hairs down is what!”
“No, they will come to you. Pray that we are able to come to your aid.”
“What? You’re saying these people died because someone wasn’t praying for them?”
“Many battles are lost in the spirit realm before you see the results played out into the physical realm. It is good to pray Taran. And not just for yourself, but for others and there are many others, both here and elsewhere.”
He started to fade, but catching on to the last part I exclaimed in question, “He was right about me! Tell me what you know!” But he was already gone and I stared futilely into the empty space where he had just been.
*****
Riding into town I stopped as I was hailed by Thaddeus, “Find the killers Marshal?”
“Not yet.” I said noncommittally.
“Well that’s all right. He was just an indian boy anyway.”
I rode on trying to hide how much his words had irked me. What had changed in me?
I, who a week ago wouldn’t have cared one way or the other, but now I found myself wanting to smash his teeth out and then give him a kick to the ribs for good measure.
I dismounted at the livery and Nathan was back out almost immediately, “How did he do for you Marshal?”
“Really well. Thanks again for the use of him.”
Nathan had started to lead the Appaloosa away when I asked, “Do you go to the church in this town?”
“Sure do Marshal.”
Nodding I asked, “Is the next get-together going to be, Sunday?”
“Actually Pastor is holding a prayer meeting right now. I’d already be there, but I knew you would be back so I waited. You’re welcome to come if you want.”
Nodding I helped him unsaddle the Appaloosa and then together we headed for the church.