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the next hour or so.
    Suddenly, an ear-jarring clanging on my cell bars startled me out of my reverie.
    “Got a visitor for you, Talbot!”  The sheriff rattled the bars of my cell with a rusty, iron rod.  Standing next to him was a man I didn’t know.  The kindness on his face was in stark contrast to the dislike and anger on the sheriff’s.
    Must be a reverend, or priest or something.   He wore that dark religious garb with a square peck of white in the center of his collar.
    McCraigh unlocked the door and let the minister into my cell.  “Holler when you’re ready to go, Preacher.”  He slammed the door shut behind him and left.
    I studied the man, but said nothing.  I wasn’t in the mood for visitors, much less a preacher.  His hair was splotched grey in some places and white in others.  What was left of it anyway.  He had a rounded paunch, and a face to match, a face which hinted at an underlying kindness uncommon to most.
    “What can I do for you, Preacher?”
    “Name’s Reverend Theodore Jay.  Thought you might have a last confession or want some company before tomorrow.”
    “Not exactly in the mood for company, an' I don’t see much point in confession.”
    “Aren’t you worried about the state of your soul?”
    I held my silence.
    “Do you feel ready to face God tomorrow, son?”
    “Listen, Preacher, I ain’t got nothing against the likes of you, but my mama taught us ‘The Good Lord helps those who help themselves.’”
    “Jake...you don’t mind if I call you Jake do you?  Good.  Jake, that philosophy is quite a common one.”
    “Always worked for me.”
    “Many people think that’s a Bible saying, but it isn’t.  That idea is actually the opposite of everything God teaches us in His Scripture.  He doesn’t want us to rely on ourselves, He wants us to be depend completely on Him.”
    “Look,” I interrupted, “I’ve been on my own for most of my life, and that’s the way God left me.  He certainly didn’t keep me out of this mess, now did He?  Way I figure it, the only one who can help me is myself.”
    “How are you going to help yourself out of the hanging tomorrow, Jake?”
    “Good question.  If you’re so keen on depending on God, why don’t you go and ask Him to get me out of this mess?  Maybe then I’ll believe all those stories about how He’s up there, watching and caring and such.  In the meantime, I’ll keep looking for answers here on earth I can grab onto with my own two hands.”
    The minister shook his head sadly.  “You just don’t realize how...”
    “I’m in no stinkin’ mood to have no theological argument, all right!  Go down to the saloon if you want to preach.  I need to be alone.”
    “All right.  I’ll be praying for you, Jake.”
    He left and Sheriff McCraigh went with him, slamming the front door to the jail as they went out.  McCraigh was going home for the night, I supposed.
    I had to focus on more important things.  Surely there was a way out of this jail.  Maybe some loose boards.  I glanced around, trying to concentrate on escaping, but found my mind floating all over the place.
    The sheriff returned about an hour before daylight.
    Here I was, a man facing his last hours, yet I had nothing better to do with my time than keep track of people’s comings and goings.
    Before I knew it, dawn was cracking through the tiny window of my cell.  With the new sunlight came the cries of a couple roosters and the voice of that same stranger who’d come a few hours earlier in the middle of darkness.
    This time, the sheriff’s mocking tone was gone and he seemed to treat the stranger with more respect.  They receded into the front office again and out of my earshot.
    I strained to make out what they were saying, desperate to break the accelerating cycle of useless thoughts racing through my head, alternating between guilt, spite, and helpless dread.  Soon, my mind had drifted elsewhere again.
    "Rise and shine, Sleeping