The place known as Graves County was a mean and nasty patch of civilization carved into the American western frontier. In the year 1878 it was a place you could find stolen goods for cheap, illicit sex for even cheaper, and bloodshed for free. It was a place where the sheriff’s deputies took bribes, the judges hung every man who went to trial, and the church made young altar boys stay after sunset submitting themselves to elders. It was a local legend that even once, during a rainshower, the precipitation had come down the color black. The earthquake that shook Graves County Colorado at summer’s end that year was devastating. It rocked the ground for over a dozen miles. It was in the days after the earthquake that the stranger appeared.

He was strange because he wasn’t strange at all. A forty something year old, negroe with a handsome face, with brown eyes and jet black, curly hair. Average height with crows feet on the sides of his deep eyes, he had creases on the side of his mouth that could have either come from years of smiling or frowning. He had a dark mustach that was slightly curled at the ends. He had a narrow nose and wore an untucked, white, collared shirt. It was unbuttoned at the top creating a v-shape visual of his chest. His black, slacks were clean and his black boots were worn pretty badly as if he had walked in them for years. As he walked into town on that hot saturday he wore a leather backpack on his back, and a short top, wide-brim hat on his head. The townspeople didn’t pay him much attention. Some were drunk under the miday sun, slumped along the fronts of cheap boarding homes with shattered windows. Business owners and men with They were busy assesing damage done to thier establishments. Front porches were broken, doors, violently had been shaken from thier hinges. A few people were still sweeping up glass, others were refilling the horse troughs with the gallons of water that had spilled out. Stray dogs wondered the dusty roadway.

The entire road was split don the middle with long cracks in the earth that were only a few inches wide. It was as if the earth had fought to hold in the pressure and presence of something destined to be released. The stranger wiped sweat from his brow with a hankerchief he pulled from a pants pocket, then he returned it to it’s place. He walked along side the roadway, taking in a visual of all the damage the violent city had suffered. He walked through the town making all the correct turns with the instincts of a former resident returning after a year long absence. It wasn’t long before he was at the church; or what was left of it. The one level, one room chapel had faltered and slumped to the ground in a pile of cracked wood logs and stained glass. A group of boys all within thier teens were serparating good wood from scrap, under the direction of a tall, heavyset foreman and a catholic priest.

“Hey there,” the stranger spoke. All eyes were on him, but no one spoke. “Just wanted to know if you guys need help?” The priest was the first to extended a hand and say,

“God bless you my good man.” They shook hands and he introduced the forman as Mr. Franklin and himself as, Father Colin Reed. Placing his sachel near a wagon, the stranger rolled up his sleeves, drunk a hand full of water from a bucket and went to work. As they worked he showed he was not afraid of physical labor. The helpful stranger told everyone his name was Hosea Schofield and said he had come from a neighboring town of Hartsdale. Schofield was proficient with the hammer and the hacksaw. He drove down nails with hard, precise hammer blows; and he measured and cut wood boards even every time. The boys were egar to showcase strength and atempt to out work him but there was no use. THey worked on for four hours, diging holes, setting strong posts,and laying a foundoation for the new building. Before long they had it framed up as a wooden skeleton complete with roof and all.

On ground level, one of the boys approached him, waited for him to drive one final nail into a board of wood before he asked him,

“Hey mister, if you’re form Hartsdale, do you know Wildcat Wiggins?” Hosea was down on one knee, catching his breath but he looked up with a smile. He nodded slightly and said,

“Stanley Wiggins.,”

“Wildcat?”

“Yeah, wildcat, that’s one bad dude.”

“I know,” said the boy who couldn’t have been a day over fourteen. “Is it true he got killed the same day of the earthquake?”

“Yeah,” said Hosea. “Found him with his hand hacked off, and a bullet in his head.” The boy’s eyes bulged, and other boys listened in on the story.

“Aw shucks! He killed like, ten men, from what I hear! I wonder who finaly got him.”

“Hard to say kid,” said Hosea. “Man like that done so much bad to people, God’s the one who finaly got him.” said Hosea. While they talked no one noticed a kid climbing off the roof atempting to step onto the ladder, he lost his footing. Before the conversation about Stanely Wiggins could go any further, the boy was screaming as he and the ladder came to a crashing fall some twenty feet to the ground.

Everyone rushed over, the boy was screaming in pain. He was laying on his side, cradling one arm with the other as blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. The foreman lifted him and carried him to the wagon walking as careful as possible as not to injure the kid any further. Hosea was the first to the wagon, snatching up his satchel, and hopping in the driver’s seat. He grabbed the reighns and once the boy and forman were inside, he cracked the leather straps against the horses backs, and they pulled off.

At the doctor it was determined the boy had broken his arm trying to brace for the fall. He also had a cracked rib, broken ankle and had lost a tooth. The doctor was a calm old man short in stature with a bald head.

“I want him to stay here over night,” he said to the parents. “I have two night nurses working they will take care of him but you two can stay if you like.” Outside the doctor’s one level building, Hosea sat on the bench, with a worn out leather bible on his lap. The book was closed and the stranger was looking into the sunset as if he were lost in his own thoughts. The doctor and the foreman came outside. The foreman said,

“He’s the one who drove, doc,” referring to Hosea.

“Your quick reaction time may have been a deciding factor,” said the doctor extending a hand. “The boy’s rib injury is the worse but he’s no longer coughing up blood.”

“Nah,” said Hosea shaking the doc’s hand. “I just did what any man in my boots would do.”

“Well hey, you did what’s right,” said the foreman. “Work day’s over I would pay ya but I’m stretched for cash.”

“Cash is not an issue partner.”

“Where you staying, you going back to Hartsdale?”

“Well I don’t know where I’m staying tonight but God will provide something.”

“Well my home is open to you. I got a wife and two sons but we can make room for ya.” Hosea smiled and said,

“Thank you Mr. Franklin. I won’t even snore.”

“Let me get back over to the church, round up my boys.”

“I’m not too far behind ya,” said Hosea. “Just gonna stop buy the general store pick up a few things, can you meet me there?”

“Okee-doke.” Mr. Franklin pulled off on the wagon, Hosea put his Bible back in his satchel and the doc went back inside. Hosea stood up and pulled a gold pocket watch from his pocket to check the time. He closed it and walked out into the setting sun. It was dark by the time he made it to the sheriff’s office. It had boarded up windows, and the porch was cracked from the earthquake. He walked inside to find the sheriff siting at his desk laughing at a joke. Three deputies were standing around eating buttered dinner rolls. The sheriff’s office was small and cluttered.

“Can I do for ya,” asked the sheriff. He was a tall, strong man with a clean shaven face. He took his feet off his desk and sat up straight. The deputies were all young clean shaven white men who looked to be in good shape. Hosea gazed at all the wanted posters on the walls. Some were good drawings some were not so good. Reward prices vaired and some were wanted dead or alive.

“Him,” said Hosea pointing to one inparticular. “He’s dead.” The men all looked at the wanted poster of a train robber.

“Huh,” asked the sheriff. “The hell are you talking about?”

“And him too,” said Hosea pointing to another, this one was a rapist. Hosea continued looking at the other ones. Then said, “Yeah just them for now. You can take those two down.”

“Hey mister, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about but ain’t nobody came in here and showed me these men dead or alive, and aint nobody came in here collecting no reward money so if that’s in your game plan it’s time to cut the crap.”

“Yeah,” said Hosea calmly strocking his mustach, “just those two. You’ll smell em in a few days time.” He shook his head with a smile and said, “reward money?” He chuckled. “Use that money to build a new school.” With that he left, mumbling the words ‘reward money’ with sarcasim. The deputies didn’t know what to make of him. The sheriff told his best deputy,

“Jimbo see where that fucker’s heading. Don’t need strange little fellers like that here in Graves county.” Jimbo stepped out onto the porch and bit into his roll as he watched Hosea pause to light a cigarette with a match. Hosea pitched the match and continued walking. He walked down the darkened street. Lamp lights were coming on inside many of the homes and businesses of the town. Crickets chirped and fireflies apeared int he night as short bursts of dim yellow dots. Piano could be heard playing from the saloon. As he passed one building inparticular, a busty woman in a cleavage bearing dress approaced him.

“Hey there handsome,” she said stepping out of the shadows. She had curls upon curls of golden hair pinned and pulled back. She wore heavy eye shadow and smelled like fresh apples and cinamon.

“Howdy,” said Hosea tipping his hat.

“For the right price you can have the time of your life tonight? I like that flavor saver you got there,” she said stroking his mustach.

“Well madam,” he said stepping back. “Context clues tell me that there cooch of yours is contaminated.” The woman’s face contorted with damning insult. Lost for words it took her a second to come back with,

“Why, you, son of a bitch!”

“I’m a son of God,” said Hosea. “He’s the opposite of a bitch. Let’s get that straight first. Second, you really should find a new line of work. Pretty girl like yourself could open a fruit stand and sell more than any hard legged farmer I know.” The woman was about to make a smart remark but the stranger’s idea made sense. “Or, young as you are, you could start a family and hold down a homestead just fine. Fast money don’t last honey.”

“Take your preachin’ ass on somewhere,” she said. “You ain’t buyin, then don’t waist my time.”

“I’m moving on,” he said turning away. “Just remember your body is a temple of God, and it shouldn’t be for sale.” When Hosea got to the general store he could see a young boy working inside was still re stocking shelves from the earthquake. With glass containers of beans and rice shattering the store had taken a huge loss inthe natural disaster. There were customers moving about the store purchasing everything from post cards, to spices, to shotgun shells, to dishes. Hosea moved among the crowd like a ghost. He bought a dill pickle, a box of 45 caliber bullets, and a pouch of tobacco. He paid for the items with a hand full of blood stained dollar bills. The old man behind the counter looked at him strange but rung him up in a hurry. Hosea smiled patiently and told the clerk, “Have a blessed day,” as he left.

He only had to wait a few minutes before Mr. Franklin and his two sons pulled up in the wagon. Hosea had stuffed his store items into his backpack, but he was eating the pickle right there on the spot. Mr. Franklin’s sons John and Jacob were 15 and 16. They had worked with Hosea Schofield all day and had a good vibe about him.

The Franklin’s three room home was small with a chicken coup on the side of the house. The boys unchitched the horses from the wagon and tied them up. As soon as Mr. Franklin opened the front door you could smell the beef stew cooking. Mrs. Franklin had a pudgy face and dressed in a long dress and apron. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back in one long braid. After washing thier hands and saying grace they ate at a small round table in the corner of the front room. Mostly, they talked about the earthquake. Hosea told them it woke him from his sleep when it shook Hartsdale. After dinner the eghausted boys went to bed in one room and thier parents went to the other room. In the front room where they had eaten Hosea made a pallet out of blankets. The entire home was dark with just the light of the moon shining through the windows of the front room. It was dim but it was enough for Hosea to open his thick, large print leather bible. He read a few scriptures by the light of the moon.

After reading he got on his knees placed his hands together and foreahead to the blanket he curled over in silent prayer. The youngest of the boys, Jacob, stood in the doorway watching him. He walked back into the shadows and crawled back into the bed. It was close to three in the morning when Hosea heard the horses neighing outside. He rose from his sleep wearing just a pair of tattered cotton shorts. He peered through the crack of the curtians. He saw a shadowy figure untying one of the horses from the hitching post. Hosea went into his bag and came out with a pistol. He opened the flip top schofield revolver ensuring there were six, 45 caliber slugs in the cylinder. He closed it and rose to his feet. When he opened the front door, the horse thief was walking away with one of the horses. Hearing the door open, he turned around, one hand on his gun, one hand on the horses reins. Hosea called out,

“Stop! Thief!” The thief spun and raised a well trained gun. He fired one shot that slammed into the doorframe next to Hosea, at head level. Wood chips and dust flew into Hosea’s hair as he raised his own gun. The schofield went off with a booming shot. The thief’s chest exploded and he collapsed to the ground in the darkness. The horse bucked and Mr. Franklin came running from the back room with a long double barrel shotgun in hand. His sons were close in tow. Mr. Franklin yelled,

“What the hell’s going on!” Hosea lowered the pistol and walked barefoot out into the darkness in his tattered shorts. The Franklin family knoticed two vicious scars on Hosea’s back, near his shoulder blades. Thirty feet away Hosea kneiled over the fallen outlaw. He was breathing heavy, and blood trailed out of his mouth. His gun lay a few inches away from his hand. Blood was pooling, turning the dust into mud. Hosea whispered,

“May my God have mercy on your soul.” Hosea could hear Mrs. Franklin screaming in the doorway. The victim’s eyes froze up as he exhaled his final breath of life. Mr. Franklin and Hosea rode into town and got the sheriff. The sheriff and his deputies identified the man as Kyle McBride, a known cattle rustler and hated horse thief.