All the while, Cadman eyed the man named Paul intensely. There was something about him -- something he vividly recognized. Cadman swiftly moved over the bar and into the crowd for a closer look. Paul noticed Cadman's approach, and his magnetic gaze fell over him. There was a reserved stillness in the man's face. Cadman racked his mind, trying to remember.
"My children," Paul began in a loud, velvety voice that resonated off the saloon walls. "The night of our departure has finally come." He smiled.
Finally it clicked in Cadman's mind, and a quaking chill traveled up his spine. Fresno. Two years ago. He'd tracked a highway robber from Fresno to Trinity Hill, killing the man when he wouldn't surrender. He'd watched the man die -- seen his grave on the hill behind town. Watching Paul of the Holy Trinity spout his rhetoric, there was no doubt in his mind. Paul was the very man he'd killed that night -- the man he'd seen buried. The savior of these fanatics was a dead highway robber.
Cadman quickly turned towards the bar, his eyes searching out Alexander. Fortunately, the old man hadn't moved from his perch. Leaning in, Cadman spoke calmly and quietly. "What if I told you I knew that man?"
"Paul Goodman?" Alexander asked.
Cadman nodded. He looked over his shoulder suspiciously.
"How?"
Cadman stamped the fear from his voice, but his mind was rampant with it. "Because I killed him. I saw him buried on the hill behind this saloon, right here in Trinity."
"Well," Alexander said in disbelief, "I don't doubt he looks like him, Roth. Maybe you oughtta take another drink, huh? We're all worked up."
Cadman couldn't find fault with the old man's reluctance to believe what he said. His disbelief was natural. I'd react the same, he thought. "Why don't you take a trip with me?" Cadman asked. An idea popped into his mind: the grave should still be in the cemetery. Alexander will see then, and I'll see for sure myself. It wasn't an easy thing to believe. "Come out to the graveyard."
Alexander looked around with nervous eyes. His faith already on unsteady ground, it didn't take much convincing to get him away from the saloon. "They won't let us go," he said; but he was ready to run.
"Yeah," Cadman admitted. He thought for a moment. "There's a trap door behind the bar I'll bet," he said. "They gotta keep the liquor somewhere."
"The front door's the only other chance." Alexander's eyes darted through the crowd.
Paul, fired up now, worked the crowd into a furor. They called back his shouts, and the place began to roar.
Cadman hopped the bar like before, but nobody seemed to notice. In the better light he could make out the markings on the floor. It didn't take him long to discover the outlines of a square door. Thankfully, there'd been no effort on the bar owner's part to hide the passageway. Cadman nodded his discovery to Alexander, whose mustache twitched in nervous relief.
Lifting the door, Cadman peered into the dark storage space below. He took a candle from the bar and went down. The space was black as pitch and no taller than five feet; barrels littered the way. The candlelight helped him find his footing, but little else. Hunched over, Cadman felt his way to the cold wall.
The shouting voices resonated through the floorboards, nearly causing them to buzz.
Cadman had known fear many times in his line of work. It was an everyday reality. But, seeing Paul standing on that platform had shaken him harder than any grazing bullet. It was a different type of fear -- distant, but more poignant. Regardless, his mind remained steady from years of practice.
