Preacher Men talk a whole lotta gab in their long robes and stuffy chapels. They touch on everything under the sun and somehow miss the truth. It's because it's out there. Outside of those doors in the lands that we call Georgia and in the sweat of the folk we call 'honest'. The truth was with him that day in the woods. Johnny looked up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. What could have been truer?

All of the talk about good and evil, the eternal war of Heaven and Hell, it just had no use to a man like Johnny. He already won his battle. The Devil wasn't gonna bother him anymore, that much was sure. He tucked his tail and ran. He could still remember the look on that poor old demon's face.

Johnny smirked as he began to relive that day. He drowned out the Preacher and his talk of Pride, Greed, Envy and all those other rules that were meant for normal folk.

It was just him and the Devil there in that clearing. One on one. Who could know more about the Devil than Johnny? Certainly not this old fool up there jabbering. No one saw the duel, there wasn't a single witness and so, not a single person would believe the tale. If it weren't for the damn fiddle, Johnny wouldn't have believed it either.

Nothing to say against it, but any amount of gold was bound to cause more trouble than it was worth on the road, so he tried as best he could to conceal it, but the shine on the thing was indomitable. Paint, dirt, scratches. Nothing could take away from the brilliance. It was a hell of a sight.

Golden Johnny became a legend in the year or so since he started delighting the country-side with his skills. And oh, they were hot. He was turning rigid crowds into mobile mobs and turning a quick buck while he was at it. Johnny thought he was good before he beat the Devil, but now? It was almost too much.

Johnny stood up as the sermon finished. He was a little stuffy inside of his suit, but there was always a price to look that good. He picked up his fiddle and headed to the street. It was a busy Sunday afternoon and the town square seemed as good a place as any to make some money.

When he picked up his fiddle and started to warm up he could already feel the anticipation of the people walking by. Each lingering stare and every turned head fuelled his fingers further into the music. What a sight he was, with the sleek suit and a flashy fiddle. After he got loose he stopped to admire the crowd in front of him. He acted surprised as he lowered the fiddle from his chin.

"Oh...hey folks, didn't see you there." Everyone delighted at the show. "Now you wouldn't mind if I practiced a little tune on this little fiddle, now would you?" The crowd cheered. "And I sure wouldn't mind if you helped a humble showman fill his stomach." He nodded down at the empty case in front of him.

And so he started. At this point Johnny didn't bother with songs. He just let his fingers go. Eyes closed, he'd lose himself to the rhythm. It was fast and it was furious (^TM). There wasn't anything but him and his fingers blazing across the frets of his fiddle. How blessed these folk are he thought.

But when Johnny fluttered his eyelids for a moment he saw that no one was in front of him. He gradually slowed his playing as he scanned the square. On the opposite side, close to the river he saw a mass of people. Actually, THE mass of people, as it appeared that everyone in the town was gathered around something.

He walked over and as he got closer he heard a soft melody fill the air. He pushed through and his pride bristled when he saw a man at the centre of the people playing a fiddle. He looked around at the people and they all looked entranced. The empty case in front of the man was filled with coins and bills. The people hummed the tune as if it had been a familiar one, but Johnny had never heard it. It was slow, boring and, worst of all, easy to play.

Eventually the song finished and the people went about there business. The man dumped the cash into a satchel and chucked it to a small boy nearby who ran off. Johnny approached him.

"Awfully kind of you, friend." The man was in plain clothes that were on the wrong side of tattered.

"I can spare it." The man looked at Johnny with a warm smile.

"You're pretty good on that thing." Johnny said.

"Oh thank you. You're pretty good yourself."

"You saw me play?"

"Just before I started, you had quite the audience. Figured you could spare some." The grin hit Johnny harder than any punch. He stared the man up and down, stopping to observe his worn out instrument.

"How do you get by with a beaten down thing like that?" Johnny jibed.

"I mean, it's not made of gold, but it does well by me. People seem to like it." He gave a wave of his head that indicated the people milling about the square. Johnny couldn't believe how this amateur who was full up on victory.

"Sure, in a backwoods place like this, you could fool some people, but go anywhere with a real ear for music and you wouldn't get a second glance."

"Maybe." The man ignored the insult and began packing up his stuff. Johnny was determined not let him leave so high up.

"Hey, friend, how's about a friendly contest?"

"Not much for competition."

"If you win I'll give you my fiddle. Believe it or not, it's made of gold." Johnny smiled at the man.

"Now where does a man come by a fiddle made of gold?" The man looked curious. Johnny thought he had him.

"I won it, playing the fiddle against the best fiddler I ever met." Johnny smirked at the man, priding gleaming off of his smile.

"Seems to me that there ain't no judge for a fiddle contest. Play music. people like it or they don't. Nothing more to it." The man looked around as if he was considering this truth for the first time.

"Oh ya? I think you're scared, you heard me play and know I'd beat you!" Johnny was getting angry now.

"No doubt, Johnny, you got skill, but I'd say you need a little more soul." The man was expressionless as he stared into Johnny's eyes. "You play for you, when you should be playing for them."

"Listen, I could play circles around you on a bad day! Look at me, bantering with a bum! I'm outta here!"

"You say you won that golden fiddle you play, but I ain't ever heard of something like that that didn't cost something. Watch out, a weight like that will get real heavy if you let it." The man turned and left.

Johnny stood, fuming, in his now dusty suit sweating from the rage he had worked up. He watched the man until he turned the corner out of town. His shoulder ached from the weight of the fiddle.