Finding men to employ in the building of Hosea's church was proving to be a difficult task. A few men had come from the creek who were running out of money and not finding gold. They would labor for enough money to buy supplies and then head back with fervent gold fever.

Hosea had used two brothers who brought timber from the mill on their wagon and made a good start with a saber-toothed saw until a skeletal shape took hold from above and the smell of sawdust filled the air. But after their first week's wages, the men bought more supplies including whiskey and disappeared back into the hills of Silver Creek to the mine they claimed.

Alone again on a sunny Saturday afternoon with a few streaks of clouds in a fiery blue sky, Hosea looked to the heavens from his ladder. He placed a square nail down between thumb and forefinger and raised his hammer as if he could slay the world. The ladder wobbled beneath him. The hammer missed, and he mashed his thumb. He yelped and cursed under his breath while clinging to the ladder.

A voice bellowed from below, startling Hosea. "Say, preacher! You got yourself in a pickle? Tell me something. Didn't Noah have help when he built the ark?"

Hosea twisted and turned to see the source of the booming voice. The pain was alive on his face. He shook his throbbing thumb and bit down on his tongue. Clinging to the ladder as it swayed, he figured the man with a handlebar mustache and shoelace tie to be none other than Dirk Blake. A wiry fellow with a grizzled beard and silver badge stood next to him.

Dirk tipped his hat. "This is our sheriff, Jack Colder. And I'm Dirk Blake, the town's mayor and owner of the saloon."

Hosea grimaced and nodded, unable to speak without pain.

"You have a parcel of land which I approved. Just so you know, you're in the town limits. In this town, everyone ponies up and puts their fair share to fund the public trust."

Dirk spoke as if his words were dipped in honey, but Hosea knew it only made the poison taste sweeter.

"Well sir, no offense. But I believe under our constitution a house of prayer and worship is not to be taxed."

Dirk put his thumbs to his vest and with a belly laugh offered his view of the constitution. He looked at the sheriff in disbelief. "I reckon this man, hasn't heard." He looked up at Hosea with his hand to shade his eyes. "This is the Nevada Territory, a country all by itself."

Dirk looked back at the sheriff who nodded but with a glum look. He looked to Hosea as if he was old as dirt with stray gray hair under his hat, not the kind of man to pin a badge on unless you owned him like you might an artifact.

The sheriff spoke with a profound twang. "No one is above the law. Not even a preacher." He spat a wad of tobacco that landed on one of the minister's planks of wood.

Hosea hoped his own silence would snuff out the fuse that seemed to be placed under his feet.

Dirk folded his arms. "I recall we had a young preacher with peach fuzz on his face who preached from a wagon. One day his horse got spooked and the fellow fell on his head. He was never the same after that."

The sheriff chimed in. "Yes sir, he used to preach fire and brimstone, and after that, he wandered the streets blabbering like an idiot. Some say he wandered off a cliff. You might say he never regained his balance."

The pair looked up, as if proud that their script of words found the bullseye. Dirk waved his hand. "Have a nice day, Reverend." They walked back toward the hard-packed dirt of Main street and left Hosea to look up at the wavy blue afternoon as if he wanted to have a spat with his creator.

Hosea closed his eyes and prayed. Then he looked around him. The streets were almost empty, as most folks were down at Silver Creek. In part, He'd hoped for a stray, maybe someone who looked for work and could help him finish the building.

In the distance from Hosea's high view, he watched a ragged boy hiding under the stairs to the bakery. He lit a firecracker and tossed it by the front store side.

Lydia ran out with her apron on and her father close behind with a rolling pin in his hand. It was enough to distract them, as the boy charged up the steps and snuck into the back of the bakery.

Seconds later the boy scampered off with a loaf of bread and a piece of cake stuffed in his mouth. Hosea watched him round the blacksmith's shop and hide behind a crop of trees not far from where Hosea set up his camp.

Hosea scaled down from the ladder. He laid down his tool belt and took up his gun belt. The sheriff's henchmen were closing in when they heard the noise and were told what happened. It appeared the boy had a penchant for stealing. But he took to stave off hunger and stay alive.

It was unusual for a child to be in town without a family. Most folks who lost someone in the mine explosion had the mother who left back east after the mine played out.

As the men closed in, the boy shifted about and finally settled in Hosea's tent. He watched the tent move and heard the shuffling, confirming his suspicions.

Lydia headed toward Hosea as the men searched the fringes of the wilderness and woods. "Mr. Blackburn, I...I mean Reverend. Have you seen the boy?"

Hosea had not introduced himself and figured word got out about who he was and why he was there. And Hosea would have lied to himself if he hadn't noticed the attractive gale with a smudge of flour on her nose.

The modest young gale approached Hosea. She had chestnut-colored hair and dark maple eyes. And she smelled of cinnamon. She spoke in a low tone, so only Hosea could hear her." I've tried to corral the boy before and get him help. I believe he's been living on the mountain in an old miner's shack not far from his folk's graveside."

Hosea was dumbstruck and listening.

"I fear they might jail him this time or worse, give him licks with a bullwhip." He's just a boy. He don't know any better."

Hosea could feel his blood boil. He tugged on his jaw. "I know where he hid."

Lydia's eyes lit up.

"Follow me." Hosea sped over to his tent and dove in where the boy hid under his cot. Lydia struggled down the path to keep up with him.

"Stay down there, boy. And I will cover for you. Don't move or make a sound."

By then, he figured the sandy-haired boy would be too scared not to stay stiff.

Lydia looked concerned. She whispered in his ear as the men circled like jackals. "Preacher, you wouldn't lie for the boy?"

One of the sheriff's men stalked out of the woods, as the sunlight sparkled in the leaves. "Hey there, have you seen that little scoundrel?" The men eyed the pair down.

Lydia spoke up before Hosea could get out his first word. "I saw the squirt take off for the foothills. Sometimes he sleeps in the cemetery to be near his kin."

The men looked at each other. Some scratched the coarse hair under their hats.

"Gentlemen, if you got the brass to make it there by nightfall, then you might find him."

They all looked at each other. One spoke for them all. "He ain't worth it. Besides, if n you don't care, it all started with your place.

A moment of silence held like a prayer.

"Let's go finish our drinks boys before someone else does."

As the men left, Hosea figured they had a healthy fear of the place where the mining men died after the explosion. He'd heard the rumors, that they called it, "Ghost Mountain."

Hosea stuck his head in the tent that looked as if a raccoon had ransacked his place. "Boy. You come out now. Nobody's going to hurt you."

"James, it's okay," said Lydia. "I'm not mad at you. I would have given you bread if you asked."

The boy popped out from under Hosea's cot with cuts and bruises on his arms from bounding in the thickets of the woods.

Hosea placed his thick scarred hands on his shoulders. "You can stay with me and be my helper. Room and board."

Lydia glowed. "Don't you two worry none about meals."

"What do you say, James? Do we have an agreement?" He asked.

James nodded.

Hosea turned to Lydia with hawkish eyes. "A child shall lead us." He spoke as if a message charged through his hands from the boy's shoulders. "God is not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance."

It startled Lydia who stumbled backward with fear and wonder