It had been a week since Jacob Harris left the home of Randle and Margaret Williams. He had been busy collecting supplies and preparing to head west. His time as a searcher had come to an end. He planned to settle down and live out the remaining days left to him in peace and solitude.

It came as no surprise to him when he heard the news of the deaths of Randle and Margaret. The weight of grief filled their home. Suicide was the only means of relief. While he understood the news he gave them was a factor in their demise, he couldn’t help but feel glad that “at least I got paid.”

He climbed up on his wagon, gave the reins a quick flick and the leather straps smacked against the rump of his horse, Sally. She knew the way to go. She had been there before. The dilapidated cabin in the woods.

Jacob passed the days on the trail thinking about the cabin. How he actually did find Caleb Williams. How he told Caleb why he was there and who had sent him. He remembered Caleb’s gaze as it drifted from the present into the glazed-over stare of death he had seen far too many times in his life. A sharp slap on the cheek brought Caleb back.

Caleb begged him to lie to his parents. Despite being what most would call a fancy bounty hunter, Jacob could be persuaded. And he was. All it required was a flash of gold. It seemed deception could be bought. Jacob watched as Caleb opened the drawer of a desk in the corner. Next, Caleb turned with a hand extended, filled with coins. Caleb asked if it would buy his silence. Jacob nodded. What Caleb didn’t know is that Jacob would have done it for much less.

And now he rounded a corner in the deep woods of the mountains. Having reached his destination, he walked toward the cabin and pushed open the door. The floor creaked as each fall of his boot heel thumped. The desk was still there. He opened the drawer. His two pieces of gold found a new home.

********

“Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee; let the water and the blood, from thy wounded side which flowed, be of sin the double cure; save from wrath and make me pure.”

Samuel Jordan loved to sing. It was fitting that his favorite hymn be the tune of the moment as he fastened the church bell into place. The full breadth Jordan’s Bend could be seen from this lofty perch in the steeple. He could see the town square, the houses and the one-room school. He could see the curve of the Pine River as it formed the city’s boundaries. But most of all, he saw the culmination of years of hard work. Clearing the forest and using the lumber to build a beautiful town in a place that mankind seemed to disregard. He smiled and wiped the sweat from his face.

As he turned to the ladder, he spotted tufts of smoke lifting into the sky far up the mountainside beyond the back of the church. He had seen this smoke before. His smile faded and his eyes narrowed.

Rung by rung he made his way down, signing in a low, quiet tone.

“Not the labors of my hands, can fulfill thy law’s demands; could my zeal no respite know, could my tears forever flow, all for sin could not atone; thou must save, and thou alone.”

(To be continued.)