The Preacher, formally known as Reverend Henry Jackson, a small town minister from Virginia, took a large gulp from his whisky bottle as he sat watching the world go by. Drink had long ago lost its ability to drown the memories and now only slightly dimmed the pain, but still there was comfort in the lost hours that alcohol brought. He'd enjoyed preaching in his little church and had been popular and considered a good man, well respected in his small community. He'd had a lovely wife then, Caroline, as warm and beautiful as a summer's day, a wonderful daughter Laura, as pretty and loving as her Mama, but then the fever had taken them both, alongside a good many of his congregation. He lost everything important and found something else entirely in the bottom of a bottle.

He still hung onto the trappings of belief, but wasn't sure whether he still believed, certainly he could offer no comfort, when he was lost, so he left what little remained of his home and drifted, working only to make sure he was never short on drink.

It was in a small town, not far from Boulder, that he'd first seen them. Two young men, with the confidence that youth and having lost nothing brought, had steamed into town with a rag tag group on their heels. They sauntered into the saloon, laughing and Preacher felt a stab of envy at how carefree they were. He'd been sat on the boardwalk trying to be invisible, out of luck, out of money and most importantly out of drink. He could have sworn they'd not even noticed him, but not long after they'd entered, the boyish curly haired one came back out and said with a smile. "You're looking a little lonely there" and placed some money into his hand, heading back into the saloon without giving him a chance to refuse or even thank. The Preacher spent the money in the usual way and when he'd surfaced they were gone. It was only later that he found out who they were. The Heyes_Curry gang, newish, but already gaining a reputation for being very successful.

Only a few months later, he crossed paths with them again, this time on the inside of a slightly better class of saloon. He'd somehow found himself riding out with them when they left town the next day. The Heyes_Curry Gang gave him a home of sorts and had provided him with some direction, not to mention he always had enough money for alcohol. He'd realised only later, that he'd been wrong about one thing, their confidence wasn't due to never having lost anything. No-one asked anyone in the gang how'd they'd got there, it was an unspoken rule that was firmly adhered to. But one hot August night, driven from sleep by the call of nature, he'd heard them talking in muffled tones as he headed back inside.

"Sometimes don't seem like 15 years, Heyes, but more often it feels a lifetime away and I can't remember a damn thing about them. " Curry's voice was slurred as if drunk, which was unusual. Curry liked a drink, but rarely drank enough for it to be noticeable.

The Preacher had felt like he was intruding on something intensely private and stood back, careful not to be seen. He heard Heyes murmur something, but didn't catch the words, only Curry's half laugh in reply. Preacher feeling like he'd overheard enough, crept back inside. He was pretty sure he'd not been noticed, although he knew Curry had heard something, by the way he'd put his head on one side. Fifteen years ago, they'd have been children, he wondered how they'd survived.

A few weeks later, a raid gone wrong had led to several of the gang being injured, but Heyes and Curry had made sure not a single one of them had been left behind, that commitment was more than most gang leaders had. Breathless and exhilarated after they'd met back up at Devil's Hole, they'd clasped shoulders and grinned at each other, the world down to just them for a few moments and Preacher had felt a tug of envious grief as he watched them from his perch, holding his bandaged arm, craving a drink. There was no doubt they'd saved his life.

Now, several years later, it felt like he was again losing something special. After a few difficult months, with only limited success, Heyes and Curry were leaving, to try their luck at going straight. It left The Preacher in a dilemma, stay on, with Wheat as leader or make his own way again. Neither idea appealed, which was why he was sitting in a quiet town watching the world go by. Another half bottle later and he'd made his decision, go out on his own.