The tall man stood in the marshal’s office, eyeing both Williams and the undertaker outside. Inside, the marshal lit the oil lamp on his desk and then finished signing his name on the document. He blew on the ink and held the paper out for the bounty hunter, who took it and nodded at the old lawman.
“Just head on over to the bank, give that to James, he’ll dole out your bounty,” said Williams.
The tall man folded the document, tucked it into his black jacket. The jacket was longer than most, just barely hiding the pistol on his belt. He touched his dark brown hat at Williams, took the wet cigar out of his mouth.
“There any women in this town?”
Reserved, the older man said, “Well, we pride ourselves on bein’ a good Christen town… but if it’s female companionship yer looking for, well… I reckon you might have some luck down at The Aces High Saloon.”
The tall man nodded and walked outside. He only glanced at the two men, grave diggers for the undertaker, loaded the stiff body of Garza into a long, wooden box. The undertaker smiled nervously at the tall man as he untied his horse and led it away. He mopped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief when the tall man had walked away.
The bounty hunter quickly made his way to the bank, receiving the frequent stares and whispers as he did so. He found the bank manager, James, and before too long he was tucking a small, thick canvas bag into one of his jacket pockets.
At the saloon, he led his black horse into the stables and flicked a coin at the boy that was shoveling out an empty stall. Eagerly, the boy caught the silver coin, shined it on his sleeve, and quickly shoved it into his pocket.
The thunder clouds completely blocked out the sun now; the only lights on the side of town came from the saloon, along with a good bit of noise. The tall man walked through the doors, everyone seemed to pause and glance up at him. Two card games stopped, the players swiveled in their chairs. The dancing girls that had been walking through the saloon, eyed the tall man in the dark jacket, some hiding their face behind fans. Finally, after a moment of silence, everyone turned back to their business, trying not to watch the dark dressed man.
He walked to the bar, placed a dollar bill on the slick, polished surface. The bartender finally got the courage to walk over to him, but he didn’t wait for the short, balding man to speak first.
“Bottle of whiskey,” the tall man’s voice was low and rough. “And a room. Let me know when this runs out.”
The bartender placed a bottle and key next to the tall man’s hand, and his eyes widened when he finally saw the dollar bill hidden under it. The bounty hunter took bottle and key with one hand, and turned towards the stairs.
“Send a woman up with another bottle in one hour.”
* * *
The two men stopped and wiped their sweaty faces with dirty handkerchiefs. One man sat on the pile of dirt next to the hole they were digging. The younger man leaned against his shovel. At their feet was a flickering oil lantern. Behind them, near the grave, sat Garza’s wooden casket. Mr. Dawson, the undertaker, had already taken the wagon back down the hill.
“Them look like rain clouds to you, Daniel?” asked Joe, the younger man.
Daniel winced as he tipped a small flask and drank. He sputtered, coughed, then said, “Don’ be a fool, boy. You hear that there thunder? O’course it’ll rain! So best ya hurry it up, get that bastard in the dirt fast ‘fore it starts.”
Joe didn’t move, but reached out for the flask. “Did you see that fella that brought him in? Big, ain’t he?”
Behind them, something was scratching. Then it scraped across the ground.
“I reckon it would take a special fittin’ for Mr. Dawson to make that tall feller fit in a pine box,” said the old man. “He be at least six and a half feet.”
“What bout his iron? I didn’ta see nothin’,” said Joe.
Some loose dirt quietly tumbled back into the hole. Not too far away an animal, perhaps a dog or coyote, could be heard panting in the dry summer heat.
“What you talkin’ bout, you brainless horn toad! His six shooter was plain as the nose on my face! No iron!” said Daniel, incredulously. “Sides, he had a Winchester stickin out his saddle. What kind of bounty hunter would ‘round with no piece anyway?”
Without looking, the old man held his hand out for the tin flask.
“Give me that back now. I think you’ve had too much, askin’ questions like that.”
The flask trembled and the liquid spilled out over his hand. He snatched it away quickly, cursing at the younger man.
“Dagnabit! Now yer spillin’ it everywheres!”
He stood up and looked at the other man, ready to curse him out. He never got that far though. Joe was shaking, his arms stiff and waving. His eyes were wide open, bulging. Slowly his mouth opened and closed, trying to scream. The creature biting his throat stopped all sound though.
Daniel took a step back, a look of terror on his face. His foot slipped in the loose dirt and he fell backwards into the open grave. He landed hard at the bottom, heard and felt something crack, couldn’t move his legs. At the lip of the grave, he saw Joe’s bloody, limp hand. Then, standing over him he saw a monster, the creature that bit into his young friend.
The stiff, rotten remains of Garza moved slowly. He had one eye still in his head; the other had been torn away, along with the left side of his face. Daniel looked at the cuts all over Garza’s body. He saw the broken shafts of arrows in his chest and arms. His nose was missing; a large piece of his scalp was missing, leaving his skull exposed. He moaned and hissed. Blood and spit dripped from his open mouth.
Daniel saw this horrible monster standing above him. He screamed in terror, and Garza leapt into the open grave with him.
Mr. Dawson stood on his porch, looking up at the cemetery. The clouds overhead rumbled again. The lantern on top of the hill winked out, and Mr. Dawson wondered what the two drunks were up to now.
