The Preacher
by Al Matlock
The sounds of thunder rolling down the canyon hid the sound of the shot. Lighting pierced the dark black ominous clouds, outlining a lone solitary figure of a saddled horse standing as if holding a vigil for some obscure reason, while the rain continued coming down in sheets.
The storm had raged for two hours and a deluge of water filled the stream bed that roared into life. The lighting continued to light the night sky illuminating the steep rocky slope lined with blackjack oak and a black object appearing to be a man's body, unmoving and without life.
The body was that of a man whose face had been battered and bloodied, his hand moved across his forehead, a signal that he was alive.
The trail was a rough fifty feet from where the man was laying. The man called "Preacher" rolled onto his side and began to pull himself ever so slowly up the steep embankment to the trail he had been riding. A hidden rifleman had blown him off his horse and left him for dead.
As I lay among the mud and rocks my head felt as though it was going to explode. My brain was addled, but I had to get my horse, if I was going to survive.
The bullet parted my hair on the left side of my skull, just about where I normally part it. Had it been a quarter of an inch lower I would not be worrying about getting to my horse. I was sure 'Water-Maker' would be waiting for me.
The slow tough pull back up to the trail was an arduous one. I forced my hands to dig into the mud and rock and leverage to the next hand full of mud. My body was so weak I rested often.
Willing myself, I continued the long climb to the trail. Tumbling down the slope had bruised and bloodied my face but no bones appeared to be broken. My head continued pounding and my body ached from bouncing off young blackjack trees and rocks as I rolled down the hill.
Finally with the last of my strength I reached the trail. Water-Maker came close nuzzling my shoulder as if to say, "where you been and why did it take you so long?" I just laid in the trail for several long minutes, gathering strength. Finally grabbing the stirrup I pulled myself to stand beside the tall black stallion.
Summoning my strength I tried to put my foot in the stirrup. After several attempts my boot found the stirrup and I pulled my body into the saddle. Water-Maker was glad to see me but no more than I to see him. I reassured him, rubbing him on the neck, "I'm okay! That was a close call. We have to find some shelter." Exhausted and almost done, I urged the big horse on down the trail, looking for some kind of shelter.
The storm continued to rage; blinding rain continued its downpour. Slumped over my saddle horn, I wasn't seeing very clear, what with the rain and it getting dark, but there appeared to be a grove of blackjack trees off to the left.
Barely conscious for the past half hour, I gave Water-Maker his head. He took charge and continued into the grove of trees nestled against the side of a bluff.
The slap of a pine branch against the side of my head brought me back to consciousness. The chills began as my tired and beat-up body tried to hold on to its last little bit of heat.
The entrance of a cave loomed up in front of us. Once again Water-Maker had saved my bacon. Grabbing the saddle horn with my hands and arms I let my body just slide off, almost sinking to the ground, I stumbled and came up against the cave wall.
The cave had been used by another traveler far a long period of time. There was fire sign on the roof and dry wood was stacked inside the cave, which was something most of us that travel the trail appreciate and would return the favor for the next traveler.
After I finally got the saddle and gear off, I got a healthy fire going. Coffee was my next order of business. A small stream, just a few feet from the cave entrance filled my coffee pot. My clothes were so wet I just peeled them off and laid them out to dry.
Darkness had set in by the time that was done, and so was I. I bathed my wounds, as best I could, downed a cup of coffee and felt better, but my body moaned for rest. Water-Maker was not far away, standing guard over me, like a sentinel.
Wrapping my blanket around my aching body I stretched out on my ground sheet and drifted off.
Sleep came easy but was not peaceful. My mind fell off the cliff of reality into a night of horror. Two men raped and murdered my wife, Sarah Jane, and burned our cabin around her.
My horrible nightmare was one of terrible pain and sorrow. The memory of Sarah's death brought back the sound of my own screams for her. She was my life and everything revolved around her and the baby that was alive in her.
The pain lanced through my head as my mind flashed back to the horrors of that day. I had been hunting and was almost home when I sensed something was wrong. The sound of the shot came as the slug tore into me, high in my upper back, knocking me from my horse just in sight of the cabin.
The smell of wood smoke was heavy in my nostrils, I could hardly breathe. I opened my eyes to see our cabin's roof collapse on top of Sarah. The horror paralyzed my mind. I could hear moaning that turned to screams of despair once again reality dropped off into oblivion.
Darkness had covered everything by the time I regained consciousness, moving brought terrible pain. The slug had entered high on my left shoulder, passing through from back to front. Struggling to set up, my clothes was caked with dried blood.
The bleeding had eventually stopped but I had lost a lot of blood and my arm was totally useless. Willing my body into action, I rose onto my right elbow. Although I could see the remains of our cabin, I could not bring myself to accept the fact that Sarah was inside.
The sound of a lonesome cry echoed down our valley. The anguish and sorrow of emotions swept through my mind, I knew that she was lost to me forever.
The smell of smoke brought me back to my present reality, a corner of my blanket had edged into the coals and was beginning to smolder. Pain brought me fully awake when I moved abruptly and my sore muscles cried out from the bruising, jarring, scratches and cuts on my body from the hard fall last night.
Someone has said that nightmares seem to come back when a person is tired and exhausted. My nightmare comes every time I lay down to sleep. I wondered if it would ever end.
Outside of having a cut on my scalp, a headache, sole muscles, and my old back wound from two years ago, I felt okay.
The rain had stopped sometime during the night and the morning-rays of the sun were snaking down the little canyon warming up the chill that always accompanies the darkness in the northeastern hill country of Indian Territory.
Water Maker was feeding on grass just outside the cave entrance and the bright morning sun was getting warm. A cup of coffee and a biscuit would make me feel a whole lot better.
Coffee boiled over fire is so strong its aroma can almost pick a man up and carry him and some might say even resurrect a dead body, well almost.
After my second cup of coffee and hardtack biscuit, I thought about my next move. The rain had washed out all tracks, so that was not a consideration.
This was the second time I was shot from my saddle and lived, I had better be more careful. Almost three weeks ago I started on this trail, trying to catch up to two worthless vermin that murdered an old man and woman for a few dollars.
Luther and Ruth had been our friends when Sarah was alive, and I was pasturing their little church. Their friendship and comfort meant a lot to me when Sarah was killed. I was a Preacher, but had not always followed the 'turn the other cheek' commandment.
Blood was sure to flow and nothing was going to get in the way of justice for my friends. The killers knew I was coming and now thought me dead so maybe they would get careless, let their guard down and spend too long in the wrong place. I'll be there to wake them.
The only settlement of any size would be Tahlequah, about twenty-five miles to the south. I was no stranger to Tahlequah. I tracked the Waters brothers to Tahlequah and with the help of Jim Tenkiller and Zach Watts, Sarah's killers met the end they deserved.
Tahlequah was said to be the new Echota of the Cherokees. It was a thriving community since the whole nation had arrived four years ago. It seemed to be a good place to catch up to the Hatcher brothers. A visit with Jim and Zach, after the Hatchers were taken care of, would be good.
Working up a sweat felt good. My muscles screamed for a bit but loosened up. After stacking up another wood supply and washing the last bite of biscuit down with some coffee, I felt better than I had a right to. The sun was a good two hours risen when I saddled up and turned my back on the cave.
Glancing over my shoulder, I thanked the good Lord for His watch care and the last traveler for his help. Water-Maker was anxious to get on with the trip and set a mile eating trot that was as smooth as a rocking chair, well almost!
The sun was overhead and its rays were warm and felt good on my back. The trail wound down through the scrub oaks, maples and sycamore trees. Small streams cut across the trail like snakes winding themselves down the hollow over and abundance of rock.
Slowing Water-Maker to a walk I enjoyed the tranquility of the forest and the birds making their music and squirrels chattering and fussing because of the intrusion upon their domain.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of hammering and cursing between two men. I stopped Water-Maker in under a huge maple and remained quite just to make sure I wasn't interfering in bad business.
Their wagon was low on the right rear, appeared the wheel had come off and they were attempting to put in back on, but they had a load of small barrows and it looked heavy. 
I nudged my horse into the road and gave out with a loud "hello!" Good people have been shot because they didn't introduce themselves before entering a camp. Dirt had been dug from beneath the wheel and they had a timber as leverage but not enough weight to lift the axle high enough. The weariness showed on their faces and a little bit of fear showed around the edges.
One had a felt hat in hand about to throw it on the wet ground until I showed up.
"Looks like you could use another body to weight that timber or maybe unload some of those barrows."
"We were just about ready to give up. Axle needs to be raised another foot, and those barrows stay on the wagon!" Felt hat commented.