The Preacher.

[James]

THE STREETS OF PROMO

THE PREACHER

Chapter One

The old wagon creaked beneath me as the horses pulled it along the dusty trail.

I'd been traveling since shortly after sunrise, and judging by the sun overhead, noon wasn't far off.

I reached down beside the seat and picked up my canteen.

“Easy, boys. We'll find somewhere to rest soon.”

A few more miles passed before something appeared in the distance.

A large wooden arch stretched across the road.

I slowed the horses as I approached.

The words carved into the sign became clearer.

WELCOME TO
THE STREETS OF PROMO
WHERE THE OLD WEST LIVES AGAIN

“Well,” I said, looking at the horses. “Looks like we found ourselves a town.”



I snapped the reins lightly.

“Come on.”

The wagon rolled beneath the arch.

Buildings lined both sides of a long, dusty Main Street.

The Silver Spur Saloon stood immediately to my left. Farther down were the General Store and the Hotel.

Across the street stood the Bank and the Sheriff's Office.

And farther down Main Street, I could see the steeple of a small chapel.

That caught my attention.

I smiled.

“Would you look at that.”

A few townspeople stopped what they were doing as my wagon rolled past.

I couldn't blame them.

FAITH ON THE MOVE was painted in large letters across the canvas.

I hadn't gotten halfway down the street when the door to the Sheriff's Office opened.

A man stepped onto the boardwalk.

Badge on his vest.

He watched me for a moment before stepping into the street and raising his hand.

“Hold up there.”



I pulled back on the reins.

“Whoa.”

The horses stopped.

The Sheriff walked toward the wagon.

“Afternoon.”

“Afternoon, Sheriff.”

He looked at me.

Then at the wagon.

Then back at me.

His eyes settled on the revolver at my side.

“You planning on staying awhile?”

“Couple days, maybe.”

“What brings you to the Streets of Promo?”

I glanced toward the chapel at the end of the street.

“Same thing that brings me to most towns.”

“And what's that?”

I looked back at him.

“People.”

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow.

“We've got plenty of those.”

I smiled.

“Then I reckon I've come to the right place.”

He looked at the writing on the side of my wagon.

“Faith On The Move.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What exactly are you selling?”

“Nothing.”

That seemed to surprise him.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what are you doing with a wagon advertising something you ain't selling?”

I climbed down.

I reached beneath the wagon seat and pulled out my Bible.

The Sheriff looked at it.

“I'm Robert Gualt.”

I held out my hand.

“Most folks just call me Preacher.”

The Sheriff shook it.

“Sheriff Promo.”

I looked again toward the chapel.

“That church being used?”

“Sometimes.”

“Mind if I use it while I'm here?”

Sheriff Promo studied me for a second.

Then he looked at the Bible in my hand.

“I don't see why not.”

“Much obliged.”

I started to climb back onto the wagon.

“Preacher.”

I stopped.

“Yes, Sheriff?”

He pointed toward my revolver.

“You always preach wearing that?”

I looked down at the gun and then back at him.
“The Bible protects my soul. The gun protects the man carrying it.”

Sheriff Promo smiled.

“Fair enough.”

I climbed onto the wagon.

“Where can I put my horses?”

“Keep going. Stables are just past the hotel on your left. They'll get you settled.”

“Much obliged, Sheriff.”

I took up the reins.

“Come on, boys.”

The wagon started moving again.

As I passed the Sheriff's Office, I heard Sheriff Promo call after me.

“Preacher!”

I looked over my shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Welcome to the Streets of Promo.”

I tipped my hat.

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

I continued toward the hotel.

I figured I'd get the horses taken care of, find myself a room, and maybe have something to eat.



After that, I'd walk down and have a look at that chapel.

I didn't know anybody in this town.

And nobody here knew me.

But I'd learned something during all my years on the road.

Sometimes you don't know why you've been sent somewhere until you meet the person who needed you to come.

I continued past the hotel to the stables, where I left the horses and wagon in their care.
Then I grabbed my traveling bag and Bible and walked back to the Hotel.

The bell above the door gave a little ring when I stepped inside.

The woman behind the counter looked up.

“Good afternoon.”

“Afternoon, ma'am. I was hoping you had a room.”

“I do. How long will you be staying?”

“Couple of days.”

She turned the register around.

“Name?”

“Robert Gualt.”

I signed the register.



She looked at the Bible tucked beneath my arm.

“Robert Gualt.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Would you happen to be the man who just came into town with that Faith On The Move wagon?”

I smiled.

“Seems everybody's already seen that wagon.”

She smiled back.

“Not much comes down Main Street without somebody noticing.”

She took a key from behind the counter.

“Room four.”

“Much obliged.”

“Most folks around here just call me the Widow,” she said.

“Widow?”

“That's right.”

I picked up my bag.

She looked at the Bible again.

“Are you a preacher, Mr. Gualt?”

“That's what most folks call me.”

Her expression changed slightly.

“A preacher…”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She looked toward the front window for a moment, almost as though something had crossed her mind.

Then she looked back at me.

“Well, Preacher, welcome to the Streets of Promo.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

I started toward the stairs.

“Preacher?”

I stopped and turned.

“Yes?”

“Supper is at six.”

I smiled.

“I'll be here.”

I headed upstairs.

Room four.



A bed, washstand, small table by the window.

Nothing fancy.

But I'd slept in places with considerably less.

I set my bag on the bed and placed my Bible on the table.

Then I walked to the window and looked out over Main Street.

From there, I could see the town stretching toward the little chapel.

I'd only been in the Streets of Promo a few hours.

Already, I had a feeling my being here wasn't an accident.

I stayed in my room for a while, resting after the long ride.



Eventually, I pulled out my pocket watch.

Almost six.

I stood, placed my Bible on the small table, and headed downstairs.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I could already smell supper.

The Widow looked up as I entered the dining room.

“Right on time, Preacher.”

“You said six.”

“I did.”

She showed me to a table.

A few other guests were already eating.

I took off my hat, sat down, and bowed my head for a moment.

When I looked up, the Widow was standing beside the table with my supper.



“Long trip?”

“Long enough.”

“Where'd you come from?”

I smiled.

“Last town that needed me.”

She set the plate down.

“And where are you headed?”

“Don't know yet.”

She looked at me strangely.

“You don't know?”

“No, ma'am.”

“How do you know where you're going?”

“Usually I don't.”

She smiled.

“That sounds like a difficult way to travel.”

“Sometimes.”

I picked up my fork.

“But it's gotten me this far.”

She started back toward the kitchen.

“Ma'am?”

She turned.

“Yes?”

“That chapel down the street.”

“What about it?”

“Sheriff said I could use it tomorrow.”

Her face brightened.

“You planning on holding a service?”

“I thought I might.”

“What time?”

“Ten o'clock sound reasonable?”

“I'll spread the word.”

“Much obliged.”

She disappeared into the kitchen.

I ate my supper quietly.

Every now and then, somebody passing through the dining room nodded at me.

Apparently word about the new preacher had already traveled through town.

I was finishing my coffee when I noticed the Widow standing near the front window.

She wasn't moving.

She was looking outside.

Something about the way she stood caught my attention.

I walked over.

“Everything all right?”

She turned quickly.

“Oh. Yes.”

I looked through the window.

Across Main Street, a man was sitting alone on the boardwalk.

His hat was pulled low.

He wasn't doing anything.

Just sitting there.

“Who's that?”

The Widow looked at him.

“Adrian.”

“Friend of yours?”

“He used to be a friend of everybody's.”

I looked at her.

“Used to be?”

She hesitated.

Then shook her head.

“It's not my story to tell.”

I remembered those words.

“Fair enough.”

I looked outside once more.

Adrian stood and slowly walked away.

The Widow watched until he disappeared down the street.

Then she turned away from the window.

“You want some more coffee?”

“No, ma'am. I think I've had enough.”

I headed toward the stairs.

“Good night, Preacher.”

I stopped.

“Good night.”

I climbed the stairs and returned to my room.

I took off my gun belt and hung it over the bedpost.

My boots came next.

I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up my Bible.

I read for a little while.

Then I closed it and set it on the table beside the bed.

I blew out the lamp.

The room went dark.

Outside my window, the Streets of Promo had grown quiet.

I lay back and closed my eyes.



Tomorrow morning I'd hold a service at the chapel.

After that, I'd probably stay another day and move on.

At least...

that's what I thought.

[James]

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