The Whispering Bandit

by Franklin D. Lincoln

Church bells were peeling again, only this time it was a Sunday morning and at nine thirty. They should have been ringing. Townspeople were hustling to get to church. Wagons and buggies were filling the streets as churchgoers from all over the surrounding countryside made their way into town for their day of worship.

  There was still a bit of morning coolness in the air, but it was disappearing fast as the hint of another hot day approached with the rising sun already halfway to its apex in the clear blue sky above.

  Included in the throngs of attendees headed down Gila Bend’s main street toward the little white church at the end of town was Caleb Gant.

  As a souvenir of the previous night’s attack, Caleb now sported a dark bruise high on his cheek, just below his left eye. There was still a bit of swelling and it ached just enough to remind Caleb that it was there

  The two men who had attacked him, the night before, had gotten away but as he had thought, one of the men had taken a bullet from Caleb’s gun. He and Sheriff Gib Randall had found a trail of blood in the alleyway and out behind the town buildings that disappeared somewhere beyond the Chessman and nobody had seen the men. The wounded man was bleeding like a stuck hog. He would need it attended to, but upon rousting Doc Burrows from his sleep it was obvious that his help had not been solicited.

  With the admonishment of Gib Randall, Caleb had ceased pursuit of his attackers and had retired to the Castle Hotel where he took advantage of Michael Avery’s hospitality. The room was the nicest he had ever been in and he had even been provided ice for his bruises and hot water for a bath.

  Now after an early rise and breakfast, he jaunted leisurely down the street. He wore a brown corduroy jacket over a clean white shirt with a black string tie and gray striped pants. He was hatless for he did not feel his worn JB was suitable for church. He was off to church like everyone else that morning. But, unlike everyone else, his motivation for Sunday devotion was not purely religious.

  “Well, hello, there.” He recognized the feminine voice behind him. He halted.

  “Sorry we didn’t get together again yesterday,” Helen Brent said as she stepped up alongside him. She was wearing a light blue gingham dress and wore a large brimmed white hat with the brim bending down in front shading her light skinned face. Caleb slowed his pace letting her get in step. “That business at the bank made a mess out of a perfectly good day.” She continued. Then seeing the bruise beneath his eye, she said. “That still hurt?”

  “Little bit,” Caleb drawled with a smile.

  “You’re not going to tell me you walked into a door are you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Good. Because I heard all about what happened last night.”

  “Oh, what did happen?”

  “Who were those men? And why were they after you?” She ignored his remark.

  They were nearing the church yard that was littered with parked wagon, carriages and horses. They followed the crowd into the little path that led to the church’s front door.

  “I don’t know,” Caleb said. “I was probably mistaken for someone else. I don’t know anyone here.”

  “Why did you tell me that you didn’t know Dave Bishop?”

  Caleb halted and faced her. People were passing them by. His jaw set and there was a grim expression on his face.

  The girl was staring up at him, searching his face for an answer. “Michael Avery said you told him you were a friend of Dave’s.”

  “Maybe I was just mooching a free drink.”

  “He said you didn’t drink.”

  “Seems to me, you and Avery do a lot of talking.”

  “Sometimes,” she said coyly.

  Caleb nodded with a knowing smile. He turned and ushered her through the doorway into church.

  An organ was playing lowly as the congregation filed in and took their seats. Bart Allen and his wife, Virginia were already there and sitting in the front pew off to the left. The prominent rancher nodded to Caleb as he and Helen passed by in front of them, making their way to the center aisle.

  Caleb nodded and smiled at the big man in acknowledgement. He was suddenly aware that the rancher’s wife had been staring at him, but when he nodded in her direction, she quickly lowered her head, turning a bit to the side and averting her eyes.

  What was it about that woman? Caleb thought. Did she know him? Did he know her? His mind quickly raced through his memory bank. Nothing came to mind. He and Helen continued on into the aisle way.

  They found a pew, sparsely filled, two thirds of the way toward the back on the right side of the church. Caleb ushered Helen in and took a seat next to her on the end.

  The little church filled up fast and the appearance of new arrivals dwindled. The congregation began to settle, but soon impatience and restlessness crept in when the pastor failed to show up on time. The organist continued to play filling the void for a full ten minutes before the Reverend Black appeared.

  Caleb bolted straight upward in his seat as the minister appeared. Helen couldn’t help but notice the reaction. She wondered about it.

  The crowd settled as the minister took his place behind the pulpit and greeted them. He apologized for his lateness and began with an opening prayer, asking the congregation to pray with him. Every head bowed, but Caleb’s. His eyes fixed on the man before him. The minister too, had his head raised and eyes open as he recited the words. His steely gaze bore into Caleb’s probing eyes.

  Then as he finished the prayer, he lowered his head and closed his eyes so he could lift them again with the congregation. Again he spoke to his flock announcing his theme for the day and then began to read scripture. This was followed by a couple of hymns and then the reverend settled into his sermon for the day. He spoke of repentance and how one should turn his life around.

  Time and time again, his gaze drifted toward Caleb and then quickly turned away to avoid communicating any sign of recognition.

  The preacher was well into his sermon when a latecomer for church entered through the side door. He was a young man and when he removed his hat, his usually unruly tuft of blond was shiny with bear grease and slicked back.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb saw the young man enter. He was Dirk Bennett. For a moment the young man stood in the aisle way between the door and the pews, gazing about as if looking for someone. His gaze finally settled in Caleb’s direction. An expression of disdain spread over the young man’s round boyish face. Then with a determined stride he circled behind the first section of pews, entered the center aisle way from behind and quickly stepped up close to Caleb and Helen. His face flushed with anger.

  Helen nodded to him with chagrin. She glanced from him to Caleb and back to Dirk again.

  The expression on Dirk’s face said it all. Let me in!

  Caleb only smiled adding to the young man’s annoyance.

  Dirk motioned his demand with his arm. He refrained from using his voice.

  Caleb nodded as if acquiescing, then elbowed Helen, indicating for her to slide over in the pew. She gathered her skirts and moved over.

  Without standing, Caleb merely wiggled his frame and slid over with her, leaving an empty seat on the end of the pew.

  Dirk’s dissatisfaction was obvious. He wanted to sit next to Helen.

  Caleb grinned victoriously, and motioned the young man to take the open seat.

  Dirk grimaced with a set jaw and dropped heavily into the seat. “Good thing we’re in church and we’re not wearing guns,” he whispered with a rasp. “Or I’d kill you right now.”

  “Good thing.” Caleb grinned and turned his attention back to the services. The minister had not missed the altercation.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Caleb thought to himself and almost muttered it under his breath. As he stood in the yard in front of the little church after services, he gazed toward a big oak tree near the street. In its spreading shade a horse stood tied to a low hanging branch. It was a big copper dun. Caleb’s horse.

  When church services had con
cluded, Dirk Bennett had ushered Helen away swiftly. She hardly had a chance to utter a word of goodbye before the young man had her aboard a spring buckboard, and driving quickly away; Helen holding on to her broad hat to keep it from flying free in the breeze.

  Traffic quickly thinned as churchgoers went on their way. Caleb strode over toward the awaiting horse and stroked his neck. “Good to see you again, old son,” he said softly. “How’d you get back here?”

  He looked the animal over. He looked fine. Saddle and bridles were still intact. There was a paper peering out from under the cantle. He retrieved it and unfolded it.

  ‘Thanks for the ride, cowboy,’ it said.

  Caleb thought about it for a moment, then glanced back toward the church’s open doorway. The crowd was mostly gone by now. He grinned to himself, slid the note into his coat pocket and went back into the church.

  The empty church was eerily quiet inside and dark in shadow contrasted to the brilliant sunlight outside, silhouetting Caleb and framing him in the doorway.

  His keen eyes, still adjusting to the change in lighting, probed the shadows inside. The church was completely empty. No one had been left inside. Not even the man he was looking for.

  Then as a movement in the shadows near the front of the church caught his eye. His body stiffened and he bolted upright in anticipation of the ensuing confrontation.

  “I figured you’d be back, Caleb,” A calm, soothingly pleasant voice said as the man known as Reverend Paul Black emerged to stand in the pool of light streaming through the stained glass window off to his right and bathing him in a myriad of colors. He stood waiting.

  Caleb strode forward with steady, calculating steps. His eyes remained steady and wary.

  “I never thought I’d ever see Doc Kittridge without a gun,” Caleb said as he approached to stand in front of the man. They each probed each other’s faces for sign of intent.

  “There isn’t any Doc Kittridge, anymore,” the preacher said, wistfully. “That is, unless you’re here to resurrect him. I assume there’s still a bounty on me. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “No,” Caleb drawled. “I was just passing through. This is a total surprise to me. Besides, if you recall we were both on the same side. Collecting a bounty on you could be the same as turning myself in. As far as resurrecting is concerned, I reckon I’ll just leave that up to the only one who could.”

  “You mean there’s a bounty on you too, Caleb?”

  “I don’t know. It was a range war. I don’t reckon there was any law bounty out. Just personal by the parties involved.”

  “So, are you going to expose me?”

  “Depends on whether there was ever a Reverend Paul Black and if there was, what happened to him?”

  “There was,” Kittridge said. “He tried to get me back on the straight and narrow, but he got caught in the middle of a shootout I was in and caught a stray bullet. I vowed right then and there to never use my gun again, and if I could carry on his work, I would. It seemed like a good way for Doc Kittridge to disappear.”

  “But it didn’t work, did it?” Caleb said.” You’re back in business, I see. I didn’t recognize you when you held me up yesterday. Thanks for bringing my horse back. You can call your goons off. I’m not going to turn you in.”

  “What are you talking about? Held you up? What goons?”

  “The ones you sicced on me last night. Or were you one of them yourself?”

  “That where you got that shiner?” Kittridge said looking at Caleb’s bruised face.

  “Yeah. Your friend didn’t do so well, I heard him yelp when I put a slug in his leg.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong, Caleb. I had nothing to do with any attack.”

  “It had to be you. You’re the only one in town who knew me. The only one who had any reason to come after me. Well, you can just forget it. Now that I have my horse back, I’ll be riding on.”

  Kittridge started to respond, but he was cut short by a feminine voice from the back of the church.” Are you ready, Paul?” The voice said.

  Kittridge looked up and saw the form of a young woman wearing a Stetson, divided, skirt and riding apparel, advancing down the center aisle way toward him. Caleb turned to see the newcomer.

  She looked quizzically at Caleb, having never seen him before.

  “Jeanne, this is Caleb Gant. Mister Gant,” Kittridge said cagily. “This is Jeanne Harding.”

  “Glad to know you ma’am.” Caleb half bowed and smiled. “Seems you missed church.”

  “Oh I don’t go to church with the other good people of Gila Bend,” she said. She emphasized the words ‘good people” acidly.

  “Mister Gant is a stranger in town, Jeanne,” Kittridge said turning attention away from Jeanne Harding’s bitterness. “He’s just passing through. Just stopped off for church. He’s on his way out of town right now.” It was more of a demand for Caleb and Caleb full well understood the meaning.

  “That’s right ma’am,” Caleb nodded. “I’m on my way.” He shot a steely glance back toward the man dressed in minister’s cloth. There was still wariness in his manner and a bit of warning. Caleb turned and walked out into the sunlight.

  “Hey! You! Gant!” Sheriff Gib Randall shouted as he quickened his pace to a half run down the street. His right hand held his flapping holster and sixshooter still against his leg as he moved.

  Caleb Gant pulled the copper dun to a halt in front of Mose Brillick’s Livery.

  “Isn’t that your horse?” Randall asked as he grew near. “Where’d you find him?”

  “Well good morning to you to, Sheriff,” Caleb said, stepping down out of the saddle. “And yes, this is my horse. You’re not the one who found him by any chance, are you?” He said sarcastically.

  “Don’t be such a wise ass,” Randall said. “Just tell me. You didn’t find The Whispering Bandit, did you?”

  “No such luck. Somebody brought my horse back and left him near the church for me to find.” He handed the lawman the note that had been left behind.

  “No one saw who brought the horse back?”

  “I don’t think so. At least there wasn’t anyone else around.”

  Randall looked at the note again. “Sounds like he’s taunting you.”

  “At least laughing at me. One thing is for sure. Whoever this bandit is, it’s someone right here in town that everyone knows and wouldn’t be noticed.” Caleb said.

  “You’re probably right,” Randall agreed. Then thinking of it, he said. The black! Is it still here?” He rushed toward the livery open door.

  “I had the same thought,” said starting to follow, but Randall was quick and back in a short moment.

  “Yeah. He’s still here. The boy’s in there rubbing him down right now,” Randall said over his shoulder.

  Caleb was standing in the open doorway. He could see Mose in his back tack room working on some harness trappings.

  “Then the bandit has another horse or he doesn’t plan on needing one soon, Caleb mused.

  “Well that shouldn’t concern you any,” Randall said. “Now that you’ve got your horse, I expect you’ll be on your way. out of town, right soon.” It was more than a suggestion. It was a demand.

  Seemed like everyone was in a hurry for Caleb Gant to move on.

  “Mose!” Randall called to over Caleb’s shoulder to the old man in back. “Don’t feed the black too well for a spell until he’s ready to run again. “I’ll be back when he’s ready.”

  “What have you got in mind, Sheriff?” Caleb asked.

  “Nothing to concern you,” Randall snapped. “You’re on your way out of town. Remember?” With that he turned and strode on down the street back toward his office.

  “Don’t mind him, none, son,” Old Mose said as he came out to stand beside Caleb. “He’s a good man and a good sheriff. He’s not too happy these days with Angie Allen marrying Dave Bishop. Wonder what he’s got in mind for the black.”

  “Angie Allen? Oh, I didn
’t know about that,” Caleb said with a touch of sorrow for the young lawman. He too was wondering about the bandit’s horse.

  “It was a big blow to him,” Mose said. “Especially when everybody thought Bishop was going to tie up with the Harding girl.”

  “Jeanne Harding?”

  “Yeah. You met her, did you?”

  “Briefly. At church.”

  “I didn’t think she went to church anymore,” Mose said. “She’s stayed shuck free of most folk since her pa was killed. Blamed everyone for that. Especially Gib Randall and Dave Bishop. Guess that’s what broke that romance up.”

  “Oh. How was that?”

  “Old Jed Harding lost half of the Bar H to Bishop in a card game at The Chessman. Jed got mad and tried to kill Bishop. The sheriff stopped him. Permanently.”

  “Half of the Bar H?”

  “Yeah. The bank held a mortgage for half the value of the ranch. Now Bishop has the southern half of the ranch, leaving Jeanne caught in the middle of Bishop to the south and Bart Allen to the north. They both want what she has.

  “I have to admire her spunk,” Mose continued. “She’s hanging on best she can with the mortgage still attached to what she’s got left. She’s having a tough time of it. She says she’s been losing cattle and she blames Bart Allen for it, but I don’t believe it. Jeanne’s sour on life now. She’s not friendly to anyone anymore. Keeps to herself and doesn’t mingle in public. If she had just married Dave, she would’ve been all right, but she couldn’t accept Bishop after what happened to old Jed. That’s when Dave took up with Angie Allen. Now that they are all one big happy family, it’s only a matter of time before they take over the rest of the Bar H.”

  “Seems to me this girl has a friend with your local parson,” Caleb mused. “That’s where I met her. After church, I mean. She hadn’t come for services. Looked like she just came to see him.

  “Reverend Black? He’s a nice fella. Besides, he came here after what happened to Jeanne’s dad.”

  “Speaking of the devil,” Caleb said. “Here they come in that buggy.”

  Down the street, a two passenger buggy, pulled by a big gray dray approached. The reverend was driving and Jeanne Harding sat pressed close to him. The man in black eyed Caleb coldly as the carriage rolled by.

  Caleb stood watching them pass.

  From farther down the street, a horseman guided his roan horse at a slow semi gallop, hurrying into the heart of town. As he neared the rolling buggy, he yanked hard on the reins, pulling his mount up sharply and sliding to a halt; kicking up a plume of dust in the middle of the street. The rider was Hal Beecham.

  The parson pulled hard on the reins. The carriage rolled to a halt.

  A hurried excited conversation seemed to ensue with arms waving, in exposition.

  “Wonder what that’s all about,” Old Mose mused.

  “I wonder too,” Caleb agreed, watching Beecham pull his roan aside leaving a space for the Reverend to swing the big gray wide, turning the buggy around and heading back down the street toward the little church from where they had just come. Beecham pulled his roan up alongside and accompanied them.

  A few minutes later, they returned. Only, this time, Jeanne Harding was not with them. The reverend or Doc Kittridge, as Caleb knew him, was alone in the buggy, driving. Hal Beecham was still riding alongside. They seemed to be in a big hurry as they headed out of town. Kittridge cast only a fleeting glance at Caleb and Mose as they passed by and disappeared at the end of the street. Dust was kicking up higher as they quickened their pace.

  ****

  Chapter Eight