Outlaw Hell Read Free

immediately.
    â€œThere you go,” the cowboy said.

    â€œI'm very grateful,” the priest said with a little bow. “I am Father Diego. May I know your name?”
    â€œJust call me Joe. Sorry if I scared you, but there's more killers and crooks out here than you can shake a stick at. Want me to help you with that bread?”
    Before the humble priest could reply, Duane was reaching for the wooden bowl. He emptied flour into it and mixed it with water. “Do you have any sourdough?”
    â€œNot that I know of.”
    â€œToo bad, ‘cause sourdough gives it that special taste.” Duane kneaded and rolled biscuits, then placed them in the Dutch oven. He'd observed cooks during his brief stints as a cowboy after leaving the monastery in the clouds. “Shouldn't take long. Which way're you headed, Father?”
    â€œSan Antone. Are you a Catholic?”
    â€œYes sir, and I was raised in a Benedictine orphanage. I wonder if you'd hear my confession after the biscuits are done.”
    â€œWe shouldn't wait to confess,” replied the padre, “because we never know when our Lord will return. I'll watch them to make sure they don't burn.” He raised his hand and made the sign of the cross. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”
    The young man appeared embarrassed, and the padre sought to reassure him. “There's nothing you can tell me, my boy, that I haven't heard a hundred times before. Go ahead, make a full confession, and I will absolve you in the name of Jesus.”

    Duane clasped his hands and bowed his head. “My last confession was approximately six months ago. Since then I'm afraid I've ... ah ... shot a few people.”
    The desert fell silent, as Father Diego stared at him. “Excuse me, but did you say you'd shot a few people?”
    â€œSelf-defense every time, Father. They pushed me into it.”
    â€œSelf-defense every time? It is difficult to believe, no?”
    â€œI don't know what it is about me that bothers folks, Father, but they're always trying to take advantage, and am I suppose to let them?”
    The priest thought for a few moments, then nodded sagely, for he'd heard many strange confessions during his ecclesiastical career. “Do you have anything else to add?”
    â€œWell,” replied Duane, lowering his voice, “I've ... ah ... fornicated with a few women.”
    â€œI suppose they attacked you, and tore off your clothing?”
    â€œI know what you're thinking, Father. That I start everything in the first place. But I swear I don't. It just sort of happens.”
    â€œHoly Mother Church teaches that all events are caused. Where did the killings take place?”
    â€œTexas,” Duane replied.
    â€œI meant what kinds of places?”
    Duane frowned guiltily. “Saloons most of the time.”

    The priest waved his arms dramatically. “Aha, you see? What do you expect in saloons, a Holy Hour? Stay out of saloons, and sin no more. I'm sure that's where you meet the women too, no?” “Yes,” replied Duane.
    â€œDo you have anything else to confess?”
    â€œWell,” Duane began, “I might've stolen a few horses here and there.”
    â€œYou're not sure?”
    â€œIt was dark.”
    â€œNot as dark as your heart, I'm afraid. Young man, you simply cannot go on like this. Thou shalt not kill.”
    â€œWhat about when somebody shoots at me?”
    â€œIt is your duty to avoid sinful situations. Use your mind instead of your weapons of violence. You must view every man, no matter how low, as a brother, and every woman as the Mother of God, not a creature put on earth to satisfy your deezgusting lustful appetites. I will ask you to say one Rosary every day for the rest of your life. Do you have a rosary?”
    â€œI used to have one, but I lost it.”
    â€œI'm sure that's not all you have lost.” The priest rummaged in his