Preface

November, 1842.

Donatello gasped as the hole in his back closed up and air filled his lungs. The smell of sulfur still filled his senses as the dry, dusty, desert winds howled around him in the darkness. What the hell hit me? He faintly recalled the gun shot, then his brother-in-law, Sahan, walking over his body. He blinked, trying to get the dust out his eyes and saw a figure standing with his back to the full moon.

“Rise and shine, preacher.” The man spoke with a voice that was flowing and smooth, almost musical. “You and I, we've got to work to do.”

Donatello slowly sat up, dirt and stone gritting into his palm, then pushed himself to his feet. His hand braced on a weathered fencepost, he coughed as he tried to get his balance. Was I...

“Dead? Yup. Six feet from a tombstone. Luckily, your pal decided to leave your corpse out for the vultures.”

Donatello looked up and saw a tall man wearing a dirty white cotton shirt, black vest, trousers, and a black wide brimmed hat. The sheriff star glinted an unnatural blue in the moon light. All of this combined still wouldn't make Donatello think twice about the grizzled stranger. The salt and pepper gray of his well trimmed beard just added to the ominousness that seemed to radiate from the man like a haze.