100 COFFINS

“Paul Goodman?” Alexander asked.

Cadman nodded. He looked over his shoulder suspiciously.

“How?”

Cadman stamped the fear from his voice, but his mind was rampant with it. “Because I killed him. I saw him buried on the hill behind this saloon, right here in Trinity.”

“Well,” Alexander said in disbelief, “I don’t doubt he looks like him, Roth. Maybe you oughtta take another drink, huh? We’re all worked up.”

Cadman couldn’t find fault with the old man’s reluctance to believe what he said. His disbelief was natural. I’d react the same, he thought. “Why don’t you take a trip with me?” Cadman asked. An idea popped into his mind: the grave should still be in the cemetery. Alexander will see then, and I’ll see for sure myself. It wasn’t an easy thing to believe. “Come out to the graveyard.”





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