The Priest and the Cowboy

Chapter ?

“Get up, Father,” said the girl in the knitted poncho. She stood with her legs on either side of the sleeping priest, staring down at him impatiently from underneath a brimmed hat. “Come on, I wanna get a move-on before the sun’s full up.”

The priest opened his eyes and blinked lazily. “Miss Curtis, why on God’s green earth are you waking me this early? It’s still dark out.”

Shay Curtis rolled her eyes and left the priest. “Listen, if we’re going to catch the men who robbed you, we need to get moving before they do. It’s a strategy, you know? Like a surprise attack.” She threw the saddle over her mare’s back and bent down to tighten the strap under its stomach. With a final tug, she turned back to Father Fletcher.

He was an okay sort of guy, she supposed, but definitely unfit for riding. He sat wrong in his saddle, didn’t know how to shoot, and was something of a dead weight – especially for Shay, since up until this point she had never ridden with any other soul.

She rigged up his horse and watched, amused, as he fought to climb onto the beast. “All right,” she said when he was ready, “I want you to just follow me.”

Father Fletcher paled considerably as Shay tossed a six-shooter to him. “Good Lord!” he cried. “I sincerely hope you don’t wish me to kill a man today.”

“Hey, if you want your cup back, you might have to.”

“It’s not a cup, it’s the Holy Grail.”

“You mean that’s real? Well I’ll be!” Shay kicked her spurs into the horse’s sides and took off. Father Fletcher tucked the gun into his black robes and rode after her.

The morning sun peered over the distant hills, but already the land was scorched. Shay fanned herself momentarily with her hat and then slid it back onto her head. She glanced over at the priest, whose cheeks and nose were burnt red. “Don’t you get hot in black?” she asked.

“The Lord refreshes and cools my body,” he replied without a second’s hesitation.

“Really? He’s doing a great job on your face.”

Father Fletcher pushed the bangs from his forehead. “I would advise you not to mock God in my presence,” he said softly, lifting his eyes to the cloudless sky.

Shay laughed a little.

“Father, in case you’ve noticed, there’s no God out here in the desert. Maybe in your St. Louis there is, but look around. Your holy cup got—”

“Holy Grail.”

“It got stolen by a couple of bandits who would probably love nothing more than to melt it down and sell it for barrels of cheap whiskey.”

“The Grail of Christ cannot simply be melted down, Miss Curtis. If God wishes me to succeed, then I will succeed.”

Even though she had only known the priest for two days now, Shay knew it best not to argue with him when he was feeling militant. However, one small question managed to find its way to her tongue. “And what if God doesn’t want you to succeed?”

Father Fletcher glared at her with such surprising ferocity that Shay felt the hairs raise on her arms.

“Then I will fail.”

“I see.” They were silent for a little while.

“And frankly, Miss Curtis, I find your complete lack of faith both unnerving and irritating. If you could only accept God—”

Shay bristled at this. Before she could think, her silver six-shooter flew out from underneath her poncho, aimed at the offending priest. The horses came to a standstill.

“How dare you!” she cried. Her voice sounded empty in the desert air. “Where was your god when my mother died giving birth to me? Where was your god when cattle rustlers shot my father and grandmother? I was nine! I was nine years old, Father! Don’t preach to me about my lack of faith, because any I once had died with my family.”

Bitter tears threatened to overtake her. The six-shooter stretched out to the priest, reflecting the morning sun. Father Fletcher’s lips parted with unspoken words.

A gunshot sounded from far away. Shay’s arm flew back. The gun, free from her grip, landed squarely on the ground.

“What the—”

Another shot flew only inches above her head, and then another that left the priest shaking. Shay dismounted her horse, but flinched in pain. “My arm’s hit,” she called to the priest. “Get down, you idiot!” She yanked hard on his black robes and sent him tumbling off his own horse. He spit out a mouthful of dusty earth.

“Miss Curtis, your arm!”

“I know, it’s my shooting arm, too,” she said, reaching to retrieve her gun. “Think you can shoot at all? I’m shit on my left.”

“I—I think so, but—”

“No time, get it out.”

The priest pulled the gun from his robes and exhaled sharply. Shay moved out into the open, running towards a dead tree for cover. A group of horses rode out from a nearby cliffside. There were seven of them, led by a grizzled-looking man carrying two brilliant, silver pistols. Three of the horses rode ahead to cut Shay off, and the others circled around the poor priest with guns drawn.

“Thought you could catch us unawares, eh?” the leader said. “I made a mistake leavin’ you alive, priest. And I’d be a damned fool if I made the same mistake twice.”

Shay found herself forced to the ground by two of the men. Her injured arm ached and throbbed. Struggling against her captors, she caught a swift glimpse of Father Fletcher with his hands in the air and his gun at his feet. She let out a sigh of disappointment and decided enough was enough.

“Hey, boys!”

Shay kicked one of the brutes holding her down right in the jewels and snatched his gun while her good arm was free. Three bullets sent the three men down fast and easy. The four by the priest drew their weapons, but Shay kept hers locked and loaded. They didn’t need to know she couldn’t aim that far using her left arm.

Father Fletcher’s mouth hung open in disbelief at what he just witnessed. He unconsciously drew a cross over his chest for the dead. Shay was eyeing him and then looking down towards his feet as if to signal him. He glanced down. It was his fallen pistol.

“Give it up, lady, it’s four against one here. Why don’t you surrender and…heh heh…come with us. What do you say?”

Shay knelt down and picked up one the dead men’s guns and held it tentatively in her right hand. She smiled as Father Fletcher quietly took his gun as well. His whole body shook like an autumn leaf. The four thieves seemed entirely focused on her. Just the way she wanted it. “Boys, you better start runnin’. There ain’t no mercy for—”

A shot fired prematurely. The leader made no sound, but fell over stone dead with a bullet in his back. Behind him, Father Fletcher stood with his six-shooter in a nervous grip, a thin wisp of smoke coiling out of the barrel.

“Well I’ll be damned,” said Shay under her breath.

The three remaining men dropped their guns and put their hands up. Shay took delight in robbing them of their spare bullets and refilling her canteens with water from theirs. She let them take the horses that belonged to the dead men, but decided to keep the boss’.

The thugs rode off as quick as can be, kicking up clouds of dust as the horses raced away. Shay poured a bit of water over her bullet wound. It had gone straight through, luckily. She leaned against her mare and wrapped a piece of clean linen around her forearm.

Father Fletcher approached her, and it was obvious he had just been crying. “Miss Curtis, these people need a Christian burial.”

“It’ll take too much time and effort, Father. Besides, I only have one arm at the moment. These were terrible men, you know. They weren’t getting into Heaven as it was.”

“How can you judge them? Has God given you the power to see their fates?”

Shay merely rolled her eyes. “And what if He has?”

The priest’s eyes leaked with fresh tears. “Please,” he begged. “Will you at least wait for me to bury the man I killed?”

“Father, we can’t—”

“Shay, please. Let my soul have some peace.”

Shay exhaled slowly. “Fine, if you want to stay here all afternoon and all night digging a grave in the desert for a thief, then go right ahead.” She loosened the leather strap keeping her pack together and removed a small shovel. She threw it to the priest. “There’s a town three miles east of here. I’ll be waiting there for you.”

Father Fletcher started to protest, but grew silent as Shay mounted her mare.

“Your Holy Grail is in one of those sacks on the boss’ horse.”

“Thank you…for helping me.” He moved to hand the gun back to her.

“No, Father, keep it. And try not to get yourself shot on the way to town after you’re finished here.” With a tip of her hat, Shay prodded the horse with her spurs and rode east.