Riders of Contagion

All over Appalachia bishops matched circuits to riders. "Does he know and keep our faith? "Do people cotton to his preaching?" Of most importance, "has he a good horse?"    

Jake, a long time circuit rider, was an admirable horseman who died a passable preacher.

Jake's infectious smile helped carry his message.  A half dozen weeks to complete the circuit, all he owned he carried in his saddle bags: a clean shirt, new bibles, and venison jerky.

Living in tiny clusters, Jake tended to church goers who were stitched together by needle thin riders who, like himself, sold bibles and hymnals on commission.    
   
The lives of his flock were hard and short.
Whatever Jake preached tended to
seep out between his visits. It wore on him
like a wet saddle.

One particularly cold winter Jake took ill.   The resulting miasma which clung to Jake  could have begun anywhere.    

Jake's last words bled from his mouth.  
"See she's rubbed and fed." He was not immune to backsliders, which is why his last words were for his horse.