…for I have sinned. My last confession was over a year ago. Since then I’ve committed a myriad of sins. When I drink I tend to gossip, that’s two sins right there that I blame on being Irish. A poor excuse, there’s thousands of hardworking Irishmen here in Dakota Territory who don’t gossip nor drink. I also covet other men’s wives, and frankly for no real reason at all since the local whores like my handsome face and throw me a free one every time I am down to my last cents. I also failed to read scripture regularly. Since I been locked up here I understand what a great loss that was. All I done here is read scripture. And the worst of my bad sins, when I am pushed in the corner I lie like a cat. Other times I lie even when it’s no benefit to me. Just a bad habit I can’t shake.”
“Well, Mr. McCall,” said the priest, “those are venial sins, so called because they are forgivable. However, let me remind you the one at hand. Last August you shot Mr. Hickok in the back at the Nuttal & Mann’s Saloon. It is a cardinal sin, also called mortal sin; murder.”
“Yes, padre, but that doesn’t count,” said McCall. “Killing in self-defense is not a sin at all.”
“How was that self defense? Hickok never threatened your life. I understand the day before he’d offered you to buy you breakfast after you lost all your money at the poker table. Then you borrowed more and you lost that too. That’s when Hickok came to you and gave you a couple of dollars.”
“That part is true, but it was not about money. The reason I shot Wild Bill was because he’d murdered my brother Lew in Abilene, Kansas. I never denied killing Bill. But shooting him was revenge killing, delayed self defense. The victim cannot do it so somebody close to him, friend or family member, pulls the trigger instead. Avenging Lew’s death was delayed self defense.”
Whatever, thought the priest who was annoyed he’d been summoned to the jailhouse that icy Dakota morning.
At the gallows, the clergyman, his teeth chattering and lips turning blue, asked all present to plead for mercy on the condemned man’s soul. Surveying them, McCall saw their unforgiving stoned faces but at least the hangman’s prayer seemed sincere.
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