Man From Boot Hill (2 page)

The horsemen could see the town of Ocean clearly once they had put some distance between themselves and the graveyard. The trail had opened up and the land spread out to a grassy plain. Despite the beauty of the setting sun, which cast a dark purple tint on the sky, none of the horsemen seemed very happy.

As Dutch pulled back on his reins, the second group of riders thundered up to his side. The man at the front of that group had a bulky frame and pasty white skin stretched over a crooked face. A skinny nose jutted out at a distinctly broken angle, complementing the frown etched beneath it.

“Where’s the rest?” Dutch asked.

The big man with the hawk nose nodded toward the town. “They rode around to the east and should be there already. I was just about to head in there and make certain they didn’t get sidetracked in some whore’s bed or the like.”

“Send one of the others to do that. I want you and J. D. to circle back and take care of that grave
digger. He’s about my height with plenty of gray hair, and he’s missing some fingers from each hand. You shouldn’t miss him.”

Scowling, the bigger man asked, “Why should we kill a gravedigger?”

“Don’t question me, Alan. Just do what I say.”

For a moment, Dutch and Alan stared daggers at each other while the rest of the men watched. Before long, the big man started to look away. Before the retreat became too obvious, he said, “All I wanted to know was why.”

“Because he recognized George from the Van Meter place.”

Alan’s eyes narrowed to focus on George.

“I never even seen that gravedigger before!” George whined.

“That don’t matter. He’s seen you.”

“Then maybe George should be the one to clean up the mess,” Alan growled.

Dutch shook his head. “I can’t risk that. We need him.”

“Risk what? The guy’s a fucking gravedigger!”

“For this run, George is the one man I can’t do without. I don’t want to risk him falling off his horse, getting hit by a shovel or any other nonsense, since Lord knows he couldn’t do the simple job he had before without turning that into a pile of shit.”

“I’ll go clean up the runt’s mess,” Alan said, “just so long as Georgie pays for whatever I want at one of them saloons.”

“What?” George snapped.

Waving off the two of them, Dutch quickly said, “Sounds fair to me. If George has a problem with that, he can take it up with Alan, himself. I’m already sick of hearing about this. Just make sure that gravedigger doesn’t get around to telling anyone else he saw George with the rest of us.”

“You can count on me,” Alan said. “Come on, J. D. Let’s dig us another hole in that graveyard.”

J. D. appeared to be a year or two older than Alan. He also appeared to be anything but happy about following the other man to carry out the assigned task. His short-cropped black hair was stuck to his scalp with a bucket of sweat and his shirt was stuck to his back in much the same way. Both sleeves were rolled up to show lanky yet muscled arms.

Alan turned his horse around and touched his heels to the animal’s sides to get it running at a quick pace. J. D. followed in his wake, both men racing toward the graveyard as the sun continued its drop in the western sky. By the time they got back among the headstones, the sky was tainted blood red and the air was as cool as the bodies under the dirt.

Nodding toward a short, narrow wagon at the edge of the graveyard, J. D. asked, “That belong to the man we’re after?”

Alan’s eyes were slowly shifting in their sockets, but had yet to catch a glimpse of Nick. “I guess so.”

“Where’s he at?”

“He was right there when we found him,” Alan said, pointing to a spot currently occupied by an empty stool. “But he ain’t there now.”

“Yeah. I can see that. Maybe we should look for him.” When he saw that Alan still wasn’t moving, J. D. added, “If he gets into town, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“All right, then. I’ll check over here and you go that way.”

J. D. climbed down from his saddle so he could take a closer look at the wagon that had been left behind. The first thing he saw was the fresh droppings in the spot where the horse had stood in its hitch. He then squatted down and took a look at the ground near the wagon. A couple seconds later, he straightened up and drew his pistol.

“Did you see him?” J. D. asked.

“Nah. Looks like he skinned out of here.”

“No he didn’t.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what he wanted us to think,” J. D. said, “but that’s not what happened.”

“How do you know?”

“There’s a set of tracks next to the horse’s that were put down by a pair of boots.”

“So he led him a ways,” Alan grunted as he got his own horse moving in the direction of Ocean. “Then he mounted up and rode into town. You’re wasting time.”

J. D. pointed to a narrow strip of dirt leading to the main trail. “The boot prints stop here, but the horse’s go on.”

“Proves my point.”

Leaving his own horse behind, J. D. walked slowly around the graveyard. “Those horse tracks didn’t get any deeper after the boots left. That means there wasn’t any weight added.”

“Now that it’s getting dark, he’ll be harder to find.”

“Nobody got on that horse’s back, you fucking idiot,” J. D. hissed. “Now shut your mouth and help me find this gravedigger. He’s still around here somewhere.”

Whether it was due to the tone of J. D.’s voice or the sense he was talking, Alan finally did as he was told and climbed down from his saddle. He was at least right about one thing: It was getting dark awfully fast now that the sun had melted down to a warm glow in the distance.

Signaling for Alan to circle around the graveyard to the left, J. D. measured his steps carefully and circled around to the right. Since there wasn’t any place for a grown man to hide among the tombstones, both of them focused their attention on the trees. When they met up at the back of the graveyard, Alan waited for his next set of orders.

“He’s got to be in those trees,” J. D. said.

“Either that, or he ran into town.”

“If he did that, he would’ve already been picked
off. He’s probably just hiding or running for that river we crossed on our way in here.”

“You think he knows we mean to kill him?”

Raising his gun and crouching like an animal getting ready to strike, J. D. aimed at one of the misty shadows in the dank spaces between two of the bigger trees. “He does now.”

Alan’s eyes snapped in that direction and he reflexively tightened his grip on his gun. The tall figure in the nearby shadows had been there before, but hadn’t moved enough to distinguish it from the other looming shapes. Now, J. D. knew that the man had been silently watching him from that spot the entire time.

“You the gravedigger?” Alan asked.

Nick stepped forward.

“Hold it,” J. D. snapped. “What’s that you’re carrying?”

Nick kept his arms out to the sides. “You mean my pack?”

“Toss it.”

“It’s just my tools.”

“I said toss it.”

Nick let the bundle fall to his feet. “I don’t even know you men,” he said. “Why go through so much trouble to find me?”

“Never you mind,” J. D. said as he sighted along the barrel of his gun. “Just kick that over toward my partner. Alan, open up that pack and see what’s inside.”

Nick pushed the bundle along the ground toward Alan.

J. D. watched every move Nick made. He also watched the older man’s face to see if he could find any hint of weakness or fear. He found neither. Normally, folks didn’t have the strength to keep their eyes fixed upon him for more than a few seconds. This gravedigger, however, showed no sign of looking away.

While rummaging through Nick’s things, Alan shook his head. “All I see is tools. Hold up. I just found something else.”

“What is it?” J. D. asked.

Alan answered that question by removing a battered pistol from within the bundle. The gun sat awkwardly in his hand, causing Alan to look it over with increasing disgust. The barrel was nearly as twisted as some of the roots under his feet and the trigger mechanism looked brittle enough to snap under the slightest bit of pressure.

“Well?” J. D. demanded.

“It’s a gun,” Alan replied. “Or at least, it used to be. Damn thing looks like it came from the bottom of a junk pile.”

“Get rid of it.”

Alan happily pitched the weapon into some bushes without another thought. Since he was busy digging through the rest of Nick’s pack, he didn’t notice the subtle, angry twitch in Nick’s eye as he tried to mark where his gun had landed.

“Ain’t nothing more here,” Alan finally said. “Apart from digging tools and such.”

“Good.”

“If you’re gonna shoot,” Nick said, “then why not tell me what you’re after?”

By now, J. D. had taken aim at Nick’s chest. “Wrong place at the wrong time, mister. That’s all there is to it.”

Nick chuckled under his breath. “Story of my life.” With that, he lifted his right leg and reached down for a slender knife that was stashed in his boot. In one, smooth motion, he drew the knife and threw it directly at the gunman.

J. D. was unprepared to feel the blade drive into the meat of his gun arm as he pulled his trigger.

Nick was already moving. The hot lead from J. D.’s wild shot whipped past him and only managed to snag a piece of his jacket along the way. His sights were already set upon Alan and he charged forward to press the momentary advantage he’d created.

Watching the turn of events with wide eyes, Alan raised his gun and fired off three quick shots that made plenty of noise without drawing any blood. Then, all Alan could do was watch Nick rush toward him like a crazed bull.

Lowering his shoulder at the last moment, Nick slammed into Alan’s chest. Alan landed with a wheezing thump and both his arms splayed out to his sides. As much as Nick wanted to grab the gun
from Alan’s hand, Alan held onto it with every bit of strength he could dredge up. In his youth, Nick wouldn’t have had any trouble with the task. Now, he was at a distinct disadvantage.

Through sheer survival instinct, Alan managed to pull his arm free from Nick’s mangled fingers and roll out from under him. As he scrambled along the ground, Alan could barely decide where he wanted to go. Just as he got himself situated, he felt a powerful impact on the back of his head and the dim light of dusk turned to black.

While struggling to get his own feet beneath him, Nick balled up his fist and delivered a second punch to the base of Alan’s skull. That punch landed in the same spot as the first and knocked Alan’s forehead once more against the ground. Alan wasn’t completely unconscious, so he managed to protect his gun by pulling that arm beneath the rest of him before curling into a defensive ball.

Nick turned around just in time to see J. D. sitting up and reaching for the knife stuck in his arm. When he spotted Nick, J. D. gritted his teeth and switched the pistol into his other hand so he could squeeze off another shot.

Pushing aside the pain in his aching muscles as well as his last vestige of common sense, Nick dug his feet into the ground and ran straight at J. D. He reached out with his right hand and just managed to slap away the other man’s gun a split-second before it spat out a plume of smoke and sparks.

Nick’s ears were ringing and the grit of burned gunpowder coated the back of his throat. Thanks to the close proximity of that last shot, he didn’t hear J. D.’s scream when he grabbed hold of the knife still embedded in the man’s arm and gave it a single, powerful twist.

The jangling in Nick’s ears was slow to fade, but he instinctually glanced over to see what Alan was doing. Sure enough, Alan had flipped onto his back and was sitting up with gun in hand. There was still a confused look on his face, but Alan quickly focused in on where the fight had gone.

Nick lunged for J. D.’s gun and felt his hand close around its grip. When he got his finger on the trigger, the gun had slipped in his hand and skewed to one side. Nick was accustomed to the kind of trouble a regular gun gave him, but he cursed it all the same. Tightening his hand around the grip and taking another second to adjust for the slip, he pulled his trigger just as Alan pulled his own.

Alan’s shot was panicked and rushed, which caused it to hiss through the air a few inches off-target.

Nick’s measured shot carved a good-sized hole through Alan’s head.

Feeling his heart pound against his ribs and the blood churn through his veins, Nick watched Alan flop over and hack up one, final gasp.

When Nick turned the gun toward J. D., he saw naked fear in the other man’s eyes. J. D. tried to kick and scramble his way toward the surrounding trees while waving his hands as if he could swat away a bullet. Nick kicked J. D. onto his back while tossing away the gun. He then stood over the younger man and reached down to take hold of the knife still lodged in J. D.’s arm. Although Nick didn’t twist the blade, he held onto it solidly enough to keep J. D. from moving.

“What the hell brought this on?” Nick asked. “Who are you men?”

J. D. gasped painfully. As he tried to get away again, he felt the knife staying where it was. Finally, J. D. gave up his struggle and rested on his back. “You…recognized George,” he said, wheezing.

“George? You mean that boy from the Van Meter spread?”

J. D. nodded.

“So what if I recognized him?”

“Dutch didn’t want the…job to be spoiled.”

“What job?”

A good amount of the color had drained from J. D.’s face. His wound wasn’t bleeding too badly, so Nick figured the younger man was fading due to exertion.

“Tell me,” Nick growled, loudly enough to be heard through the fog in J. D.’s head. “What job?”

“Dutch…needed someone on the inside. To make it…easier.”

“Make what easier? Are they going to rob Van Meter’s ranch?”

Once again, J. D. nodded.

“When?” Nick asked.

“Soon. Real soon.”

Nick straightened up and took his knife with him. The blade came free, allowing J. D. to finally let out the breath he’d been choking on. After wiping the blade on his shirt, Nick ran to search for his gun. Along the way, his mind raced to figure just how quickly a group of men that size could move.

If Nick knew about anything as much as he knew about his current profession, it was how a gang worked. He’d practically grown up leading one. After getting to the bushes where his gun had been tossed, Nick dropped to his knees and shoved his hands through the brush.

The sun was a memory and the dim glow in the sky was all but blotted out by the trees over his head. Since he couldn’t see much of anything, he closed his eyes and let his hands continue their
search on their own. In the darkness, the ghosts he thought he’d banished came rushing back to him. He saw the faces of men he’d killed, men he’d betrayed, men who were his brothers and men who’d dragged him through hell.

While trudging through those nightmares, Nick touched the familiar piece of gnarled iron. He quickly found the nub of a handle and then closed his hand around it. To the ignorant eye, the Schofield looked like a piece of cobbled-together junk. Even the handle was chipped down to a stump, but it fit Nick’s hand perfectly.

Nick lifted the gun while letting out a relieved breath. The fingers clutching the weapon were just as gnarled as the gun itself. His right ring finger was nothing but a short stub and the middle finger was clipped short as well. Although his other fingers were there, the scars made his flesh look more like melted wax. His left hand was slightly better, but not by much.

Unlike J. D.’s gun, this one didn’t slip. Its handle had been specifically carved to fit his hand as well as compensate for the odd balance due to his missing fingers. Every other part of the weapon was modified as well, allowing Nick to draw and fire it almost as quickly as he could in his youth.

Gun in hand, Nick hurried to where his horse was waiting. Rasa might have been way past her prime, but the horse knew better than to wander off after being freed from the wagon’s hitch. While
the gunshots hadn’t spooked her, she was ready to put some distance between herself and that graveyard. She took off like a shot at the first touch of Nick’s heels, carrying him all the way back to the little cabin he’d built outside of Ocean.

As soon as he swung down from the saddle, Nick headed for the door and pushed it open. Catherine’s face was the first thing he saw.

The brunette stood up from where she’d been sitting and rushed over to greet him. She didn’t even seem to notice how close Nick’s hand was to his gun as she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly.

“Surprise!” she said.

Nick barely even knew what to think. His mind was still swimming with what had happened as well as the memories that were his constant burden. Finally, he managed to calm himself enough to speak in something other than an angry snarl. “What are you doing back? It’s not time to close the restaurant yet.”

“I left early. Something told me you’d like it if I paid you a visit. Weren’t you thinking about me?”

“Yeah. Of course I was.”

Catherine took a step back and held Nick at arm’s length. She looked him up and down, which was more than enough to tarnish the smile that had been on her face. Her smooth skin accentuated the fine lines of her face in much the same way that the cut of her dark green dress accentuated her figure.
Long, dark hair flowed freely to the middle of her back, just the way Nick always liked it.

“What is it, Nick?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“There was some trouble.”

A look of horror flashed across Catherine’s face. “Did somebody come after you? I thought that was all over.”

“It is. This is something different.”

“Different how? Just tell me what happened.”

Nick immediately went to the small room attached to the back porch. Normally, it was a place used to store meat or other supplies. A section in one corner, however, was designated for a different purpose and was sealed off by a locked wooden panel.

“Some men rode through the graveyard while I was there,” Nick explained as he unlocked the panel with a key kept in his watch pocket. “They had guns. They rode away, but some of them came back to try and gun me down.”

“Oh, Jesus. Do you know them?”

“I recognized one of them, but he wasn’t anyone who would want to shoot me.”

“Who was it?” she asked.

Opening the panel, Nick reached inside for a handful of bullets as well as a battered leather holster that had only started to collect dust. “He was one of the boys working for Joseph Van Meter.”

“The one who owns that ranch outside of town?”

“That’s the one. I went there for a job a while
back and just caught sight of the kid. I didn’t even say a word to him.”

“Then why would he want to kill you?”

“That’s what I aim to find out,” Nick said as he strapped the holster around his waist and stuffed the extra bullets into his pockets.

Suddenly, Catherine took special interest in the gun at Nick’s side. “Wait a second. You only kept the holster in there? When did you start carrying that gun around again?”

“I never stopped, Catherine. We may be starting a new life, but that don’t mean the old one will just forget all about me.”

“It won’t if you keep digging it up and—”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with me,” Nick cut in. “It’s got something to do with the rest of that gang. They intend on cleaning out the Van Meter place, and that kid I spotted must be a part of it. That’s why they didn’t want me to tell anyone else about it.”

“You told me,” she pointed out. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Sit tight and keep the shotgun ready, but I doubt you’ll need it. Those boys who came after me didn’t have the first clue who I was, so they’ve got no reason to know about you.”

Catherine took a deep breath and lowered herself onto a chair. “Are you sure they weren’t just some bunch of cowboys?”

“I know killers when I see them, and these boys have taken shots at plenty more men than me. Not
many more, but enough so they got a taste for it.”

Catherine wanted to ask how Nick could be so certain, but she stopped short because she already knew the answer. She also knew there was nothing she could say to convince Nick to put his gun away and see a doctor about the bloody stain on his shirt. “Are you at least going to talk to the sheriff about these men?”

Nick looked up from what he was doing and was silent. The expression on his face was a mix of hesitation and bewilderment. Finally, he said, “That might be a good idea.”

Catherine laughed and rubbed Nick’s shoulder. “I think so. I know you’re not used to working with the law, but this sort of thing is what they get paid to do.”

“Fine. You get the sheriff and tell him to go out to the Van Meter ranch. I’ll meet him there.”

“You’re still going?” she asked.

“Of course I am. I just needed to stop here to make sure I had enough ammunition.”

“How much do you need?”

“More than my pockets can hold.”