chest at the far end of the room. Flipping it open, he lifted clear a gun-belt.
'The weapons of the Thundermaker.' Broome stood and walked across to stand beside the Preacher.
'They look as they always did.'
'Aye. Sometimes at night I sit here and clean them. It helps to remind me of what once I was. And what, God willing, I will never become again.'
*
'You're not listening to a word I say,' said Else Broome, stalking back into the living-room.
'What's that, my love?'
'What is the matter with you? I was asking if you would stand Oath for that McAdam woman.'
'Of course. Beth is an old friend.'
'Pah! She's a trouble-maker, and we'd all be better off if she were sent from the Valley.'
'In which way does she cause trouble, my dear?'
'Are you soft in the head?' she stormed. 'She shot at men hunting Wolvers. She speaks against the Deacon, and even her own son says she's been seduced by Satan. The woman is a disgrace.'
'She's a good Christian woman, Else. Just like you.'
'I take that as an insult,' snapped Else Broome, her multiple chins quivering. 'You have a store to run, and I don't think people will take it kindly if you are seen to support a woman of her kind. You'll lose business to Ezra Feard, you'll see. And I don't see why it should be you who gives Oath for her. Let her find someone else who doesn't mind being a laughing-stock.'
Broome turned his attention back to the fire.
'And another thing . . .' began Else Broome.
But her husband was not listening. He was thinking of five dead raiders on the road, and the tortured spirit of the man who had killed them.
CHAPTER FOUR
The world does not need more charismatic men. It does not need more intellectual men. No, and it does not need more caring men. What it cries out for is more holy men.
The Wisdom of the Deacon Chapter ii
* * *
Seth Wheeler pulled the blanket up tight around his ears and settled his head against his saddle. The night air was cold and it had been two years since he had slept out in the open. The blanket was thin; either that or I'm getting old, he thought. No, it's the damn blanket. Sitting up, Seth held the blanket close to him as he moved to the fire. It was burning low now, just a tiny flicker of flame above the coals. There were four sticks left, and these would normally have been left for the morning. Casting a nervous glance at his four sleeping comrades, he added the wood to the fire. It blazed instantly to life and Seth shivered as the warmth touched him. God, he'd almost forgotten just how good it felt to be warm.
There were no clouds in the night sky, and a ground frost was sprinkling the grass with specks of silvered white. The wind gusted, scattering ash across Seth's boots. He stared down at the sticks. Why did they have to burn so damned fast?
This high in the mountains there was little dead wood, and his men had gathered what there was close by.
Seth had two choices: return to his cold bed-roll, or gather more wood. Rising with a softly whispered curse, he stepped across one sleeping body and walked to the thin line of trees.
It had been a long ride in search of the killer. They had found his tracks soon enough, and followed him up into the mountains. But the pursuers had lost his trail twice after that and four fruitless days had followed. Then they'd picked up the wrong trail and come upon an old man and a mule. Strange old coot, thought Seth. Odd eyes, looked as if they could see right through you.
'We're hunting a man,' Seth had told him. 'We're Crusaders from Purity.'
'I know that,' the oldster had replied. 'Spent the night in a cave yonder with the man you're looking for.'
'Which way was he heading?'
'North. Into the wild lands.'
'We'll find him,' said Seth.
'Hope you don't, son. Strikes me you're good men. Shame to see such men die.'
'Is he a friend of yours, this man?' asked Seth. The old man shook his head.
'He only met me last night. But I'd say I like him. You best be careful, Crusader. Men like him
'The weapons of the Thundermaker.' Broome stood and walked across to stand beside the Preacher.
'They look as they always did.'
'Aye. Sometimes at night I sit here and clean them. It helps to remind me of what once I was. And what, God willing, I will never become again.'
*
'You're not listening to a word I say,' said Else Broome, stalking back into the living-room.
'What's that, my love?'
'What is the matter with you? I was asking if you would stand Oath for that McAdam woman.'
'Of course. Beth is an old friend.'
'Pah! She's a trouble-maker, and we'd all be better off if she were sent from the Valley.'
'In which way does she cause trouble, my dear?'
'Are you soft in the head?' she stormed. 'She shot at men hunting Wolvers. She speaks against the Deacon, and even her own son says she's been seduced by Satan. The woman is a disgrace.'
'She's a good Christian woman, Else. Just like you.'
'I take that as an insult,' snapped Else Broome, her multiple chins quivering. 'You have a store to run, and I don't think people will take it kindly if you are seen to support a woman of her kind. You'll lose business to Ezra Feard, you'll see. And I don't see why it should be you who gives Oath for her. Let her find someone else who doesn't mind being a laughing-stock.'
Broome turned his attention back to the fire.
'And another thing . . .' began Else Broome.
But her husband was not listening. He was thinking of five dead raiders on the road, and the tortured spirit of the man who had killed them.
CHAPTER FOUR
The world does not need more charismatic men. It does not need more intellectual men. No, and it does not need more caring men. What it cries out for is more holy men.
The Wisdom of the Deacon Chapter ii
* * *
Seth Wheeler pulled the blanket up tight around his ears and settled his head against his saddle. The night air was cold and it had been two years since he had slept out in the open. The blanket was thin; either that or I'm getting old, he thought. No, it's the damn blanket. Sitting up, Seth held the blanket close to him as he moved to the fire. It was burning low now, just a tiny flicker of flame above the coals. There were four sticks left, and these would normally have been left for the morning. Casting a nervous glance at his four sleeping comrades, he added the wood to the fire. It blazed instantly to life and Seth shivered as the warmth touched him. God, he'd almost forgotten just how good it felt to be warm.
There were no clouds in the night sky, and a ground frost was sprinkling the grass with specks of silvered white. The wind gusted, scattering ash across Seth's boots. He stared down at the sticks. Why did they have to burn so damned fast?
This high in the mountains there was little dead wood, and his men had gathered what there was close by.
Seth had two choices: return to his cold bed-roll, or gather more wood. Rising with a softly whispered curse, he stepped across one sleeping body and walked to the thin line of trees.
It had been a long ride in search of the killer. They had found his tracks soon enough, and followed him up into the mountains. But the pursuers had lost his trail twice after that and four fruitless days had followed. Then they'd picked up the wrong trail and come upon an old man and a mule. Strange old coot, thought Seth. Odd eyes, looked as if they could see right through you.
'We're hunting a man,' Seth had told him. 'We're Crusaders from Purity.'
'I know that,' the oldster had replied. 'Spent the night in a cave yonder with the man you're looking for.'
'Which way was he heading?'
'North. Into the wild lands.'
'We'll find him,' said Seth.
'Hope you don't, son. Strikes me you're good men. Shame to see such men die.'
'Is he a friend of yours, this man?' asked Seth. The old man shook his head.
'He only met me last night. But I'd say I like him. You best be careful, Crusader. Men like him
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