“Sure, Georgie,” the lanky rider said. “You also said there was a whorehouse and hot steaks in a place a few days north of here, but there wasn’t anything but a stack of empty buildings and some goats.”
“Shut up, Alan. I was right about everything else.”
“Aw, come on, Georgie. You led us to that other town ’cause you liked them goats. I saw you sneak off that night to get behind the biggest one and—”
“You can shut the hell up, too, Bertram!” George snarled.
“Shut up, the lot of you,” the lead rider snarled. “You’re grousing like a bunch of little girls.”
George nodded while Alan grinned and eased back into his saddle. “Sure, Dutch,” he said.
By this time, Nick had moved himself closer to the bundle he’d left on the ground. Rather than stoop down to reach for it, however, he stayed within arm’s reach while keeping an eye on the squabbling horsemen. “You boys can settle this in town, if you like. There’s a few good saloons on Eighth Street.”
“What’s the matter, old man?” Bertram asked as he turned his glare toward Nick without losing any of the attitude he’d shown to George. “Are we disturbing your nap?”
“No, but a graveyard’s not the place to be stomping around and tossing insults at each other like a bunch of damn kids.”
Hearing that, all three of the riders started looking around wildly. When they caught sight of the rows of headstones no more than four or five paces away, they wheeled around as if they’d found themselves on a sinking ship.
“Aw, hell,” Bertram grunted. “He’s right. This is a damn graveyard. How come Georgie didn’t know that?”
George was already riding toward town and shaking his head at the other man’s complaints.
“Haven’t I seen you before?” Nick asked after him.
When he glanced over his shoulder, George seemed surprised to find that Nick was talking to him. “I don’t think so, mister.”
Nick’s eyes took on a grayish hue as he narrowed them into slits. After only a few seconds, he nodded and said, “At the Van Meter spread on the other side of town. You were one of the new boys hired on there.”
The other two men stopped short. Bertram shifted to take a closer look at Nick, while Dutch glanced back and forth between all the men.
“Is that so?” Dutch asked.
George started to shake his head, but was unable to keep it up under Nick’s careful gaze. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Maybe I’m mistaken,” Nick said. “You do look an awful lot like that kid, though.”
“He’s got a common face,” Dutch said. The leader of the horsemen then tipped his hat to Nick and added, “Much obliged. I think I’ll be visiting one of those saloons you mentioned.”
Nick nodded and watched the men leave. Although he kept a friendly smile on his face, he stayed close to the bundle at his feet.
Sure enough, a minute later he heard more horsemen riding through the trees nearby. They circled the graveyard and then sped up to join the others farther down the trail. Nick closed his eyes but could not determine their numbers. Something in his gut told him there were too many for his liking.
Part of Nick wanted to unhitch the old horse from his wagon and find out where they were headed. But there was no badge pinned to his chest and no reason to hold a grudge against those men. He did have more than enough experience to know that curiosity damaged more than just cats.
Reminding himself of the peace he’d earned, Nick settled back onto his stool and continued putting together Eliot’s casket.
TWO
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 gravedigger. 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.