The Scream of Silence

Now, I have the pleasure/honour/task to start this story off. So here goes:

Once again Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were riding hell bent for leather across the Plains.

“Come on Heyes, we gotta keep goin'!”

“I know Kid, but if we kill our horses it won’t help the situation. We gotta stop soon or we risk the horses breaking their legs or our necks.”

“It’s not our necks I’m worried about at the moment!”

“No need to remind me. But we cannot ride through the night. Gotta start looking for a campsite soon.”

Earlier this day, they had enjoyed lazing in the sunshine on the porch of their hotel after a satisfying breakfast. Heyes had acquired the latest newspaper and regaled Kid with the happenings in this remote area of Colorado, when an article on the second page caught his attention. He sat up, read it again and shoved the offending paper at his partner.

“Kid, they caught Preacher and are going to put him on trial for murder day after tomorrow.”

“He always knew this could happen. Remember what business he took up after leavin' the gang?”

“I know. But he didn’t do this. Read it.”

And with this, the brown-haired former outlaw got up from his chair and started pacing along the porch while his dark-blond friend quickly read the bad news.

Fifteen minutes later, the partners were on their way towards the town where Preacher was awaiting trial for an undeserved murder charge.
They covered a lot of distance this day, not saying much, but worrying how to save their friend. Finally they had to stop. The horses needed a rest and it was getting too dark to continue riding. Camp was set up quickly, the horses being taken care of, and once they had a small fire going to cook their beans, Heyes started talking.

“Kid, you know we cannot testify at Preacher’s trial, so we need to prove his innocence before.”

“I’m all for it, Heyes. Can’t rely on Wheat to catch the real killer again.”

“Don’t remind me. But I think I figured a way to do it without a risk.”

“Uh huh?” was Kid’s only comment while testing the beans.

“We should get there before the trial starts. Then we go and talk to the doc. If that girl was strangled, the killer must have used both hands. We tell the doc about Preacher’s accident and ask him to check if he could have done it with his stiff thumb.”

“You wanna tell them about the accident?” came the reply under arched eyebrows.

“Not that it happened when a posse shot his horse under him after a train robbery, but we could say we lived in his parish and he had a bad fall off his horse which left him with a damaged thumb that cannot grip anything. We wouldn’t even be lying. The doc can check Preacher’s hand and we’ll all be out of there.”

She let out a sob; she couldn't help it.  The Preacher stood still, head cocked, listening.  Then he spoke.   "You know the Lord says that we look not only to our own burdens, but to those of others.  Sounds like you got one."

She held her breath and wondered - was it safe to let him know she was there?  How man drunks quoted the bible?  She took a deep breath, offered a silent prayer, and crawled from her hiding place in the straw. 

The Preacher saw a dark silhouette emerge from one of the stalls and materialize into a young woman.  Her dark hair was matted, her simple dress torn, and there was blood about her lip. 

"Ma'am, you look like you're in a hard way.  I ain't gonna hurt you.  I don't believe in hurting women.  And believe it or not, I used to be a preacher. 

Her eyes widened in surprise at his unlikely confession.

This man, with his less than tidy appearance and his less than perfect speech, was once a man of the cloth?

She shook her head. She knew better than to make rash judgments about people because more often than not, most people were not what they seemed on the outside. The West changed people and gave new chances to those who wanted a new beginning if they were willing to work for it. She knew that.

Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to calm down and trust this man. If he truly had wanted to hurt her he would have already done so. 

Besides, she reasoned with herself, if not a man of God then who can I trust?  It came to her then, the lesson that she learned many years earlier iin church, God sends angels among us in many disguises. Who was to say that drunks and derelicts were not among them?