He raised his eyebrows at the mention of mass grave robbing. "Jaysus, Mary 'n Joseph..." He crossed himself, even if only out of habit. Perhaps, also, the Father's criticism stung a bit...

He stroked his chin as he listened to them speak (and resisted the urge to snap at the stranger's looks of disapproval), leaning on a pole as they went on. When he'd finished, though, he'd had quite enough of the strangers scorn.

He straightened himself up, "Now listen 'ere, lad, oi don't wear this 'ere hat, and carry this 'ere roifle as a fashion statement. If'n you're disencloined to loike me, foine than, an' do well to leave me alone." He went over, untied his horse, and mounted as he finished. "And as for what oim capable?" He gave a conspicuous look up and down this person, "Oi'd reckon oi've been about, doin' deeds before you were but a gleem in yer Da's oyes, and seen things that'd droive a man to his knees in prayer... [i]You[/i] don' tell me of what a man is capable." He gave a nod to the clergyman, "Sunday, than? Good day, Father."

And with that, he urged Gunpowder to move in the direction of the sheriff's station. It wasn't his intention to go looking for trouble, but than again, he probably should have thought of that before running off to a town said to be home of spooky things going on. Perhaps it was divine providence, than, he came to a town such as this, when they might be in need of men who knew how to fight in an organized fashion?