MPF 2.04 – The Devil's Due

I woke from a dream of warmth and comfort to the smell of coffee on the pot, and the soft whickering of Bones. I raised an eyebrow under my hat. Bones is a smart horse, but he doesn't much care for coffee.

"Bout time you woke up, Sinner." The Preacher cackled to himself at nothing in particular. I raised the brim of my hat just enough to see the scarecrow thin man in black hunched over the fire, his back to me. Long stringy grey hair flowed from under his wide brimmed black hat and hung down his back just past his shoulders. "Got a job for you."

"Always another job."

"No rest for the wicked, Sinner. You know that better than most."

I took a single deep breath as the last of the dream slipped away and cold hard ground of the Rocky Mountains reintroduced itself to me. I rolled to a sitting postion, rearranging my poncho about me and looking for my cup. Then I saw it. In the Preacher's hands as he poured himself a cup of the strong black coffee and stood up. "Gonna be a beautiful day, Sinner."And he took a long drink, slurping loudly and smacking his lips enthusiastically.

"You're gonna burn yourself if you keep that up."

The Preacher cackled again. "Burn. Well, that's something you might know a bit about, I reckon."

I reached into my bag and pulled out a piece of pemmican I'd bought from a Nez Perce trading store. I offered the Preacher a piece. Sometimes the best way to teach manners is to show them, my mama always said.

The Preacher grunted, selected a large piece of the dried beef, and took another long pull at the coffee. "Time's a wastin', Sinner. You've got a train to catch."

I checked the silver circled brim of my black hat. Six silver dimes were arranged around the circle. "Train?" Bones snorted once. "Bones is right. We're not exactly fans of trains."

Trains are predictable, and full of people. Neither of which particularly appeal to me. Bones just doesn't like being carried anywhere. Come to think of it, he's not an especially big fan of the Preacher, either.

"The train will be in Salt Lake in a day. Catch it. There's precious cargo aboard."

I chewed my pemmican, my dry, dry pemmican, and stared pointedly at the cup in the Preacher's hand. "Bones can get me to San Francisco fast enough. And neither of us particularly care for trains."

"It's the job, Sinner. Take it or leave it. Precious. Cargo. You do want to get the fruit of your labors, don't you?"

I stared at the Preacher's cold blue eyes, and felt their piercing gaze again. I stood, but he was a tall cuss, and he still looked down on me. I figured he always would. "Fine. Catch the train. Salt Lake to San Francisco. Work to be done." I checked my pistol, feeling the cold metal in my fingers.

"See you in 'Frisco." The Preacher said, and he placed the cup in my hands. I glanced down to see it was full to the brim. He hadn't touched the pot since his first pour. I looked up sharply at his retreating back as he strolled off, whistling and snickering to himself. A snatch of song drifted over his shoulder as he walked away on those long skinny legs. "Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves… we shall come rejoicing…" A whisp of wind kicked up dust in my eye, and when I looked back up, the Preacher was gone. I frowned at my coffee, and glanced in the direction the old man had set out in. "Bones? Remind me why I put up with that crazy old man." Bones shook his head.

"Well, the old man was right about one thing – we'll have to hoof it if we were going to make it to Salt Lake in a day." I sipped my coffee as Bones rolled his eyes at me. Bones was a smart horse, but he had no sense of humor at all.

We made it as far as the Cache Valley that night – a day of hard riding. We stopped and I made arrangements for Bones and myself with a local farmer. Crazy folk, moving away from civilization like they did, but the wives were good cooks. And they knew their way around horses. We slept in the barn.

The next day, without a pot of coffee to help us on our way, we started on down the trail. Like I said, crazy folk.

We had made it almost all the way to the outskirts of town when I heard the whistle of the train. Bones said something ungentlemanly, sparing me the trouble of saying it myself, and saving the ears of any good farmers around us. We broke into a gallop toward the far side of Salt Lake. The train was already leaving. We rode hard and fast, the wind whistling through my ears, and I leaned forward, letting Bones stretch out his legs like he hadn't in a good while. He's usually pretty good about keeping his stride, but to catch that train, we moved like the wind. Bones pulled alongside the train as it accelerated, and I reached out for the railing on a passenger car. No good getting on in the caboose. I swung a leg over the horse, and landed solidly on the passenger car. I glanced back at Bones as he kept pace with the passenger car, just to show he could, then he whinnied once at me and started to slow. I waved.

He knew the way to San Francisco. I figured we'd meet up there.

I turned to see a rather pale looking conductor trying to pick his jaw up off the floor. "Uh… ticket to San Francisco?"

The question snapped him back to himself and he blinked a couple of times. He mumbled the price, still staring back at Bones. I nodded, and reached in my vest for the depleting lump of my Canon city winnings. It was getting to the point where I was going to need to find a card game.

I entered the passenger car and began making my way forward.

###

As I moved up the passenger car, my eyes drifted across the faces of the men and women aboard. People dressed up for the train, trying to impress someone, I suppose. My dusty clothes were a little inappropriate, given the company, but honest dirt is the mark of the laborer, my mama used to say.

I found a seat toward the front of the passenger car, across from a redheaded woman in a green dress. As I strode forward, something about the way she held her head, the way she kept her eyes out the window brought to mind a young woman I'd been acquainted with long ago and far away. Her name was…

"Jane." The name fell out of my mouth as it dropped open in my surprise. There she was. Janet Lydia Worthing, big as life and plain as day. She glanced up, and her expression was one of hostile curiosity.

"I'm sorry… I don't believe we've been-" She looked up, taking in my dusty boots, pants, hat held in front of me, vest, but as they reached my face, her eyes widened, and she gasped. "Seth!" In the space of a heartbeat, her arms were around me and she appeared to be attempting to squeeze me to death then and there. "Oh, Seth, where have you been! We hadn't heard, feared the worst, your mother…" Amused smiles from our fellow passengers surrounded us.

I gave her a squeeze back, then managed to extricate myself from her enthusiastic greeting. "Jane Worthing, it's been too long."

She pulled me down to sit across from her, and no sooner had my posterior kissed the seat than she started laying in to me. "Too long? Seth McAllen? It's been ten years. You all up and disappeared, not a word from anyone, no letters, not even a note for your mother. She's fine, incidentally. And what have you been doing all this time?"

I shrugged. "Well, you know, this and that."

Her eyes narrowed, and the corners of her mouth turned down in a rare, disapproving frown. "You're not an outlaw, are you?"

I chuckled. "No, Jane. No. I've been busy, but I'm not an outlaw." Not any more, I thought to myself. "I'm definitely on the side of the angels."

Her expression evinced a certain suspicion of my assertion. She leaned back, crossing her arms, still frowning. "Well, then I suppose you can explain why you're going to San Francisco."

Oh, sure, I thought to myself. I'm off to San Francisco on a holy quest given to me by a Preacher who may or may not be human. You understand how these things happen, right? That'll satisfy her. Heh.

"As it happens, my current employer has me riding the train to provide protection." Her expression did not improve. "He seemed to think that a particular piece of cargo might not make it to its destination."

"So… you're working for the Pinkertons now?" It was a close approximation, I supposed.

"Not exactly – but someone like that. Just trying to make sure we keep law and order, I suppose."

She considered that for a moment, then her expression softened. "Well, it's good to see you, Seth. It's been so long. I suppose you've got all kinds of stories!"

I chuckled. Stories, sure.

I mentioned the time I'd spent with the Rangers, which seemed to satisfy her a bit. "So, the Rangers? Not even a jaunt home to see your Mother?" She hesitated, biting her lip. "… or anyone else?"

Of course I hadn't. Couldn't. Not after what I'd done. There was no home for me to go back to, not really. Not any more. All that was left was the work in front of me, and perhaps sweet release when it was finished. Though even that wasn't certain. And as attractive as the prospect of remaining her and catching up with Jane Worthing was, there were still work to be done.

I stood, catching her by surprise. "I'm sorry, Jane, but I do have work I need to be getting to. If you'll excuse me?" I tipped my hat to her and made my way forward into the next car. Leaving her behind. Again.

The next car was also filled with passengers. No one seemed to be holding or carrying anything especially out of the ordinary. I kept moving forward, looking for the Preacher's "precious cargo", but I couldn't see anything or anyone that seemed to be worthy of special protection. The dining car beckoned, but I passed through without sampling its various comestibles. There would be plenty of time to eat between here and 'Frisco, I told my grumbling stomach. Man is not to live by bread alone, and all that. When I'd gotten up to the front of the train, just before the coal car and the engine, I stopped. Nothing here seemed like the "precious cargo" the Preacher had been talking about, and I'm usually pretty quick to pick up on those kinds of things. I shrugged, hoping I hadn't gotten on the wrong train. I had yet to miss a task, but I was only human.

Well, mostly.

I made my way back to the last passenger car. The baggage car was in back of that, then the caboose. I considered the possibility of the cargo being in the baggage car, which seemed unlikely if it was so darn precious. Curse all preachers and their need to be cryptic. Why can't a man come out and just say "I need four werewolves shot in Canon City"? I thought to myself.

I purchased a sandwich in the dining car, and munched it on my way back to the baggage car. As I passed Jane's seat, she kept her head turned to the window. I didn't say a word as I passed by.

Just outside the baggage car, I felt the hair on the back of my arms start to stand up. Whatever it was, it was in the baggage car. I slid the door open and entered.

Inside the baggage car, I just strolled toward the back, feeling the oddness increase as I went until I was about three-quarters of the way down the aisle. I stopped, reached out my right hand and laid it on a small black case. The case was monogrammed. J. L. W. Goodness. Jane Lydia Worthing.

My childhood friend was carrying whatever it was to Frisco. I had to make sure she – and it – safely arrived in San Francisco. I made my way back to the passenger car where she'd been seated. But when I got there, the bench was empty.

I started forward, telling myself that perhaps she'd made her way to the dining car. That perhaps my boss was merciful after all. That I might be allowed to spend time in the not unwelcome company of Jane Worthing. But she wasn't in the dining car. Nor was she in any of the other passenger cars that I could see.

Jane Worthing was gone.

###

I made my way quickly back toward the baggage car – the case was still there, thank goodness, but where could Jane have disappeared to? We were on a moving train. We hadn't stopped. She hadn't passed me on my way back up from the baggage car, and I'd moved up and back since I came back from back there. I came back to the place where we'd been sitting, and a chubby man sporting a bowler cap and a walking stick was sitting in Jane's old spot. He smiled up at me with a cherubic face, rosy colored cheeks, and shiny white teeth. Something about him was slightly offputting, maybe a hint of odor that I couldn't quite place.

He nodded at the seat across from his and spoke. "Have a seat, Mr. McAllen. We may have a bit of business to conduct."

My palm started itching, and I had to fight down the urge to draw my pistol. I glanced around at the other occupants of the passenger car, but they paid us no mind, staring out the window. In fact, all of them were staring out the window. Without moving. And now that I noticed, the view out the window was odd – darker, like the train was running under a shaded tree, though there wasn't a tree to be seen.

I sat down across from the chubby man. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Mister…?"

The man's smile broadened. "Oh, names. I love names. You can call me… let's see… Les. Call me Les."

"Les."

"Oh, yes, exactly. I do so love names, Mr. McAllen."

"Well, You said we might have some business to conduct. What kind of business are we talking about?"

"A simple exchange," Les said, spreading his hands, and leaning his walking stick against his knee.

"Hmmm. Well, I don't have a lot of value here," I said, reaching for the cash in my pocket.

"Oh, now, Mr. McAllen, we're not engaging in the gross exchange of currencies. We're going to talk about an exchange of items with a somewhat more…" His tongue lingered on these last words, relishing the taste of them in his mouth. "Things of a more lasting value." He grinned and leaned forward. I wanted to stand and walk away, but I'd have had to touch him to rise, and something in me felt that to merely touch the man before me would be less than prudent.

"Well, Les, you again have me at something of a disadvantage. You say you're not interested in money, but I don't have anything I'm willing to trade."

"That's the beauty of the arrangement that we're about to enter into. What you're going to give me isn't something you own. Just as what I'm going to give you isn't something I own." The man's eyes went cold then, cold and glittering, but the smile stayed on his face. "You may know that your boyhood friend, Miss Worthing, is transporting a particular item, an ancient item of great importance and significance I can assure you, to the West Coast. The item doesn't belong to her any more than it belongs to you, and I've been given the assignment of making sure that it is returned to its rightful owner."

"Where is Miss Worthing?"

"Your dear Miss Worthing is close at hand, to be sure. Just as the item my employer has sent me for is close at hand. But just as you cannot perceive Miss Worthing, I cannot seem to perceive the item I need to complete my task."

I considered the smiling man for a moment. "What do you propose?"

Les smiled at me. "As I said, a simple trade. You present me with my master's belongings, and I shall release Miss Worthing."

"What exactly is it you're after?"

"Oh, come now, Mr. McAllen. You know exactly what I'm looking for. I know some of your history. I know you were in the baggage car. It's the kind of thing that would be hard – no – impossible for you to miss. So please don't patronize me."

"You know it's in the baggage car. Get it yourself." I took my hat off, and took a moment to check the silver circles that surrounded it. I knew he wasn't trying anything just then, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Mr. Les' smile grew more strained. "It's something that must be given of the free will of the holder. It's not the kind of thing I'm allowed to take."

"It has to be given by a mortal of their own free will."

"Yes. That's a rather direct way of putting it, but you are correct. It has to be given up, and cannot be taken."

I nodded, replacing the hat on my head. "So you want me to betray Miss Worthing, steal her property, and give it to you when she wouldn't do that herself."

Mr. Les' smile widened. "I prefer to say that we're giving you the opportunity to return property to its rightful owner, something any good citizen would do. I'd also say that you were doing so out of a desire to help Miss Worthing, who seems to have gotten herself into a right pickle. And I'd dare say that she'll come around to see your side of things eventually." He leered at me. "She is quite fetching, and any man trying to win her hand would naturally run to her aid, wouldn't he?"

A flood of memories washed over me – the smell of Jane's hair, the soft touch of her hand on mine – her lips as we kissed for the first time. My hand went to my revolver. "Tell me why I shouldn't just take care of you right here and now."

Mr. Les glanced down at my hand over the Colt Peacemaker and burst out in a high-pitched giggle. It sounded strange coming from his corpulent frame. "Oh, Mr. McAllen, you really are too much. You really think that any weapon made by mortal hands could touch me?" He giggled some more. "Ah, that's the danger of dealing with men who've held a gun as long as you have. They start to think that every problem can be solved with it. If it will make you feel better, draw. Draw, and see what happens." He leaned in closer, and I could feel the heat coming off his body – his eyes turned yellow, like a cat's, and his skin went red for just a moment. I blinked, and it was over. He was sitting back in his bench, smiling pleasantly at me.

I eased the hand back into my lap. "I'm going to have to think it over."

Mr. Les stood, taking his cane in a hand and gesturing at me with it. "One hour, Mr. McAllen. One hour to save the woman you love." He strode up the passageway and exited the passenger car.

When he was gone, there was a strange sigh, as though everyone in the car with me had been holding their breath, and the sun suddenly came through bright through the windows. Blinking at the light, I pulled a pocketwatch from my vest. One hour.

I set my jaw.

And then I stood and strode back to the baggage car.

###

The case was exactly where I'd left it. I reached up and touched it, feeling the sense of warmth flow up into me. Whatever was in this case, it most certainly did not belong to Mr. Les, or his master. I stood there, my hand on the case, for a long time, trying to figure a way out of my predicament. I thought about Jane again. The memory of her had been an anchor to me at a time when I'd been lost at sea. She'd always been strong, always been true. And I… I had not. I remembered the sound of her voice, the thrill that ran up me whenever I caught her eye… and the look she'd given me when I'd ridden off to war. She'd been so hurt. She'd been betrayed. I was not about to leave Jane to her fate at the hands of Mr. Les and whomever he had with him. Nor could I surrender the case Jane was transporting to San Francisco.

But Mr. Les was not going to surrender Jane to me without something to trade – something of, as he'd said, lasting value. And I didn't have anything else to offer.

Well, I told myself that, anyway, but I knew better. I drew my gun, checking the loads again. Six silver bullets, each etched with the cross of St. George across the top. They flew straight and true, and they'd serve well in what was to come. I reloaded, snapping the chamber closed and holstering the pistol. I felt its comforting weight at my hip. Then I took the hat of my head and began removing the six silver dimes from where they lay hidden behind the circles that ringed my hat.

Mr. Les couldn't perceive the thing they wanted, and wouldn't be able to until it was surrendered to him. Six dimes. Six tasks. It had taken me a year to gather them. Sometimes, the tasks were near together, at others, a month would go by before I'd see the Preacher again. A year of my life, collecting payment for work completed. "The Laborer is worthy of his hire", the good book said. Well, I was about to cash in.

It wouldn't be so bad, I told myself. There was plenty of work to be done, and one year more or less was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. That is, if the Preacher and the Power that I served didn't look on this as an insult, or as an abandonment. Or demand payment in full when they assumed I had completed the requisite number of tasks.

I swallowed at that thought. And then I placed the silver dimes in a little sack, and headed for the private cabins at the front of the train.

###

The final car – the one nearest the coal car and locomotive – is where they were. As soon as I entered the car, I could feel it – a cold feeling that ran up my legs, and threatened to turn me around and send me back toward the back of the train immediately. No one would come up here. I forced myself to step into it. The chill increased, becoming frost on the rail as I strode forward. My breath fogged in front of me.

I gritted my teeth, clutching my sack of dimes in my left hand, and pulling the Peacemaker from the holster. I shifted it, holding it by the barrel. When I reached the final cabin, and the cold, sick feeling was strongest, I reached out and knocked – the butt of my gun against the wood of the cabin.

The door opened, but all I could see was blackness. No ray of light penetrated the inky threshold. Cold came at me in waves, but I stepped into the blackness.

The door slid shut behind me.

I turned, but there was no one there, and I couldn't feel the door. But after a moment, I realized that I could see just a little ways – my gun was glowing with a cold blue fire.

Looking around, I saw no one and nothing, but I could tell Mr. Les was there, close and watching. "Let's get to it, Mr. Les."

"You have something to give me?"

"I'm here to trade." I'd dealt with Mr. Les' kind before. They were always trying to change the words of an agreement to their own favor. "Let's trade."

I heard Jane's voice from the void, cold and distant as a whisper. "No, Seth! Don't!"

Mr. Les stepped out of the shadows before me, his cherubic face beaming in delight. "Where is it?"

I hid my left hand behind my leg. "Jane. Where is she?"

Mr. Les made a flourish with his cane, and suddenly, I saw Jane. She was suspended in the air, surrounded by a silver circle about four feet wide. Sitting at the circle, a man sat cross legged. He wore a black top hat, and his face was covered by a thick black beard and mustache. His eyes and face glowed with an eerie light, both silver and red.

Then I saw that below Jane there was no floor – just a pit that led down who knew where, with a ruddy light coming from the bottom.

"There, you see?" Mr. Les said. "She's perfectly fine. Once we've made our trade, she will be released."

I nodded at his choice of words, and measured the distance between myself and the circle.

"All right, Mr. Les, I'm ready to trade." The grin on his face became positively devilish.

I tossed the sack of dimes at Mr. Les' face, sprinting toward Jane as I did so. I heard him start to scream as I ran, but I couldn't turn to watch. I flipped the Peacemaker around, bringing the barrel up and firing. The man in the top hat pulled back from where the bullet landed – directly between his outstretched hands. As he did, the glow from the circle faded, and Jane began to fall with a scream. I flew across the circle, tackling her headlong as he began to drop, and we landed roughly on the other side of the circle. I rolled off her, bringing my gun up toward Mr. Les.

I needn't have bothered. He was still screaming, holding the dimes in his hand as a cold blue fire flowed up his arm toward his head. His skin had turned bright red, and his golden cat eyes blazed in fury and pain. He cast the dimes back toward me – toward the pit. I reached out, but missed them and they tumbled into the pit and the fiery inferno beneath. My gun came back up to cover Mr. Les. The fire had gone out when he'd tossed the dimes, but smoke still rose from his arm. He snarled at me, then smiled. "Don't think this is over, Sinner. When it's said and done, we'll have an eternity to discuss what happens when you try to cheat the devil."

"Get thee behind me, Mephistopheles." I said. And I pulled the trigger. The devil disappeared in a burst of orange flame.

"That was interesting," a voice came from behind me. I turned and pointed my gun at the magician in the top hat. He held a black staff carved in sigils and runes. Staring into his eyes, I saw the same cold look I'd seen from men who held a gun and were prepared to use it. I put myself between him and Jane.

"You'll pay for that, I imagine, McAllen," the Magician said.

I shrugged. "This is payment already. Now, do I have a quarrel with you or not?"

The Magician smiled then, a genuine smile with real human warmth behind it. He raised the staff and put it down. "Not today, I think."

I released the hammer on my gun and holstered it, but didn't take my hand too far from it as I helped Jane to her feet. "Now, if you don't mind, we've got a train to get back to."

The Magician nodded, and tapped the floor with his staff. My eyes were dazzled as the blackness of the place we'd been was replaced with the glow of the light streaming in from the windows of the cabin. Jane collapsed onto the bench and began to sob. I sat and placed my arm around her, silently holding her until she stopped. We sat that way, unspeaking, until night came and she fell asleep in my arms.

###

The rest of the train ride was uneventful. Jane, when she woke, had excused herself to go to the baggage car to check on something. I waited in the private cabin, but she didn't come back. Somehow, I wasn't surprised. I didn't look for her – I'd been gone so long, and I had work to do still. It wouldn't be fair to make her wait, or drag her along. And it would be even longer now that I'd lost the dimes. I checked the ring of circles around my hat, but they were gone.

An hour outside of San Francisco, there was a knock on the door. I opened the door, but it wasn't Jane. The Preacher stood there, with an uncharacteristically soft expression on his face.

"Well, you done good, Sinner. Better'n I thought you would, and that's a fact." He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, and sat on the bench opposite me.

I sat across from him. "You thought I'd hand over whatever it is Jane's protecting."

The Preacher shook his head. "Tell the truth, I figured you'd 'a spit in Les' eye, and told him to go back to hell."

I felt a small black pit open inside of me. "And you figured I'd abandon Jane?"

The Preacher took off his hat and frowned, looking at it. He shrugged. "You already rode away from her once. I owe you an apology. It wasn't a very flattering thought I had of you."

"Well, I am a sinner, after all."

The Preacher smiled at that. "As are we all." He reached into a pocket and withdrew a slightly singed sack, tossing it to me. "I think you dropped this somewhere a ways back." I dropped the six dimes into my hand. They were a little blackened, but a good rub got the soot off. The seventh one was new, crisp and shiny. "Thank you for this," I said, and I began slotting the dimes back behind the circles of my hat.

We rode in silence for a full two minutes before the crazy light came back in his eyes. "Well, way I figure it, you done well enough to earn yourself a little rest before your next task."

My eyebrows went up. "Rest?"

"Sure, Sinner. Forty days and forty nights worth of rest, I imagine. Ride about. See the land."

I thought about it. "That's it? Ride around? See the land?"

The Preacher nodded.

"Do I need to go fasting?"

He cackled at that, and I knew that things between us were getting back to normal. "Well, if I were you, I'd take some vittles." He stood, chuckling to himself. "Fasting. Heh." The door closed behind him.

I caught a glimpse of Jane on the platform. She blushed and turned away, clutching her little bag. A Franciscan monk was taking her arm and gesturing away from the platform. I turned away myself. I don't believe either of us looked back.

At least… I didn't see it if she did…