I forgot to mention yesterday that while we were searching the bodies I found a funny-looking hatchet on the overgrown one. As soon as I took it by the handle it burst into flames! I dropped it right quick, but I did take it along with me because I figured a magic weapon like that would be worth something, and I was right. I sold it this morning, on my way to the Sheriff's Office, and I think I got a fair price for it.
I also sold my double-barreled, Dark Stone grip shotgun, the "one that took down Scafford", or so some people were already saying. I needed all of that money to buy the new shotgun available at the Sheriff's Office: the Punisher!
I have almost enough Dark Stone to have a grip made for this shotgun, but since this town has no Blacksmith I'll have to go elsewhere, probably back to Masthead.
While I was there I also asked a few questions of the only prisoner in that jail. He was a bandit whose sanity seemed to be gone; he was laughing and muttering to himself the whole time I was talking with him. He did say something that sounded ominous to me, though; he said, "They're coming. Two days from now."
Maybe that was just more nonsense; just in case, though, I think I'll stay around until the 17th.
Tomorrow I'll go by the church and see if I can rid myself of some of this changing feeling and see what can be done about . . . what's growing on me.
I spoke with Father Murray for the whole afternoon today. He helped get rid of some of the itching I had, and I was grateful for that, especially considering I'm carrying seven pieces of Dark Stone around.
Then we talked about Xotec and it, he, talked too. He actually asked the priest to baptize him! Father Murray was a little surprised, but he told me he's been here since before Brimstone blew, so he wasn't shocked for long. After a half hour's conversation he actually acceded to Xotec's request! He told me that he understood how I felt, but that this was the cross the Lord had given me to bear, and it was my responsibility to carry it. The good Father left me with a line of Scripture I'd heard before, but which I hadn't thought of in relation to what I was going through: "Whatever you do to the least of my people, you do to me."
I'd first thought of him as a horrible abomination, something to be cut out of me and discarded. But then I'd learned that Xotec, too, was a worshipper of our God Almighty. Small, almost helpless and dependent on me, he WAS one of the least of Christ's people!
I need your help, Lord; I know I can't do this on my own. Please aid me in bearing this burden.
I'm not heading back to Washington; there's plenty left here for me to look into, especially those red hand fellows. Maybe I won't ever go back, not like I am now.