Man From Boot Hill Read online

  Man From Boot Hill

  Marcus Galloway

  The first book in the Boot Hill series, a hybrid of Unforgiven and Six Feet Under.

  Nick Graves is a Mourner. His profession is to arrange funerals and organize gatherings for wakes as well as hangings, supplementing his meagre income by making coffins. He has come to this job, a profession he learned from his father, after years making his living with a fast draw and a cool nerve. Now he wants to forget his past, forget the destruction he has caused by assuming a simple life and a quiet vocation.

  But the job he takes in new town also includes some old problems. The town is stocked full of corrupt men, men who will make it very difficult for Nick to continue the family trade, men who will force him to return to his old profession, when he created corpses instead of cared for them.

  MARCUS GALLOWAY THE MAN FROM BOOT HILL

  NO ANGELS FOR OUTLAWS

  ONE

  Ocean, California

  1884

  Nobody thought too much about the undertaker until it was too late.

  It was a quiet yet important job that didn’t draw attention—and that suited Nick Graves just fine.

  The sun beat down upon Nick’s shoulders as he stripped layer after layer from the side of a freshly cut plank of cedar. As slivers of wood curled up over the top of the plane, they were caught by the wind and blown back against his rough, callused knuckles. Like any other carpenter’s hands, they showed the wear that accompanied his trade. The missing fingers and gnarled scars, however, weren’t so typical.

  It had taken a bit of effort and plenty of practice on Nick’s part, but he was able to guide the plane along the wood’s surface with perfect accuracy, despite his wounded hands. He moved with slow, easy motions, as if he was rocking a baby to sleep. All the while, a satisfied grin took hold of his face.

  It had been some time since he had relaxed and enjoyed his chosen profession. Nick had learned his trade when he was a boy and had been practicing it for several years, but only recently had been able to give himself over to simple physical labor while letting his mind wander among the smaller things. A man couldn’t fully enjoy something like that until his face had collected a few lines around the edges.

  Every now and then he let his eyes roam along the rolling hills of a field outside of town where folks were planted after serving their time on this earth. Those hills were as familiar to him as a field of corn was to a farmer. While most people felt nervous walking among the carved headstones and freshly turned piles of soil, Nick sat out there to savor the quiet or admire his handiwork.

  The sounds of wood being carved, nails being driven and planks coming together were music to his ears. It had been a while since he was able to chisel designs into stone, but that was mainly because the folks in Ocean leaned more toward wooden crosses or markers with a few engraved sentiments.

  That, too, suited Nick just fine.

  It had been almost a year since he’d arrived in Ocean, and the locals had taken to him quicker than most. Plenty of other stragglers had found their way there after touring the California coast. Some had stopped before ever reaching the Pacific. Very few of them offered any skills to benefit the town, and the services of a gravedigger were always needed. It also didn’t hurt that Nick was accompanied by a pretty face that was anxious to smile at everyone in Ocean. Catherine did have a way of softening even the coldest of hearts. Nick was most definitely an expert on that subject.

  Just thinking about her made the sun feel a bit warmer on Nick’s face. The prospect of paying her a visit sooner than usual made his hands move faster while planing the edges of the planks that would soon fit together to form Eliot Pickler’s casket. Eliot was the first to be brought into Nick’s parlor for some time. The longevity of the Ocean locals was good for the town but bad for Nick’s business. Even so, Nick knew Eliot’s parents were short on funds, so he cut as many corners as he could when arranging the boy’s services. Good thing Catherine’s restaurant was pulling in more of a profit.

  Nick sat on a small stool looking out on the wide field where Ocean’s past was buried. His lean frame sat hunched over a stack of boards as his muscular arms kept peeling slivers of timber until each plank was just right. The smell of the freshly cut wood mingled with the scents of grass and dirt, making it easy for Nick to forget there was a proper town less than a mile behind him.

  When he closed his eyes, the only things he saw were the backs of his eyelids. When he let out his breath, the only thing he heard was the calm rustle of the wind. The ghosts that had screamed at him for so many years were quiet for now, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think they would ever truly leave him. In fact, he didn’t even think he deserved that kind of peace.

  As he continued to work, Nick felt the summer breeze become cooler as the sun dipped a bit lower. The buzz of insects grew louder and a few of the braver ones jumped against Nick’s leg.

  Suddenly, the insects stopped.

  Nick picked up on the silence and felt every one of his muscles tense. His right leg shifted to make sure his gun was still in its place at his side. It wasn’t.

  It had been a while since anyone had taken a shot at him, but those instincts would never fade. Ever since he’d started moving about without his gun, he felt as if he’d left the house without putting on his pants. At times like these, he felt the absence of his modified Schofield even more than he felt the absence of his fingers.

  After a few seconds, Nick let out the breath he’d been holding and strained his eyes to see what the insects had sensed that he hadn’t. For all he knew, it could have been a coyote walking somewhere out of his sight or a bird that decided to move at the wrong time.

  When he heard the rumble of horses coming his way, Nick set down his tools and started walking toward the bundle he’d brought with him from his workshop. By the sound of those hooves, it wouldn’t be long before he got a look at them. As much as Nick wanted to assume that they were just passing through, he’d seen too much hell to figure everyone he came across was going to be on their best behavior.

  The horsemen burst from the trees clustered at the farthest edge of the graveyard. Nick counted four of them and knew they were using a broken-down trail that led from over the Nevada border. The bundle he’d left on the ground was still a few steps away when he saw the lead horseman take notice of him and steer his ride straight toward him.

  “Hey,” the lead horseman shouted arrogantly. “We got a question for ya.”

  Nick guessed that two of those men weren’t over the age of twenty-two, and all of them had a cockiness that affected everything right down to the way they sat in their saddles. Nick didn’t bother checking if the riders were heeled. He knew all too well that most of that arrogance came from the weight of a firearm on a young man’s hip.

  Straightening up to his full height, Nick brushed some of the scraggly hair out of his face. Sweat from a hard day’s work had kept his hair damp, while the last few years of his life had been responsible for numerous strands of gray.

  The horsemen shifted in their saddles once they caught the brunt of Nick’s stare. His cold, steely eyes bored through each one in turn before he shifted his gaze to the first rider and asked, “What’s your question?”

  Several years older than the other three, the lead rider had more of an experienced air about him. The dark skin of his face was smooth and unmarked by any scars. Sharp, clear eyes glared out at the world from over a hawk-beak nose. His voice had an edge to it, which gave him a good rein over the rest of the men. “Is that Ocean up ahead?”

  Nick nodded.

  One of the other horsemen grunted under his breath. He was a lanky kid with a sorry excuse for a mustache sprouting at odd angles from his upper
lip. He wore his guns out in plain sight and rarely took his hand from the grip of his shiny new Peacemaker. “Some joke. Ain’t no ocean for miles. All we seen is deserts and grass.”

  “Some like it that way,” Nick said.

  “Take it easy, mister,” the lead horseman said. “All we wanted was to make certain we was headed in the right direction.”

  The third rider was taller than the other two and made a constant effort to keep from looking directly at Nick. So far, Nick couldn’t tell whether that was because of fear or some other reason. “I told you this would be Ocean,” the third man said.

  “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 ai
n’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.