100 COFFINS

“That’s insane,” Joseph said. “Paul Goodman is a man of God.”

“He was a highway robber,” Cadman said. “I tracked him here two years back.” The three walked through the maze of graves to the back corner. “This is it,” Cadman said, kneeling at a dilapidated cross. He remembered the burial vividly; he had a good memory when it came to his business.

“The grave of a man you murdered,” Joseph said, continually looking over his shoulder at the peaking roof of the saloon. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Notice anything strange about it?” Cadman asked. The sight, even though he’d half expected it, made him shudder. The dirt sank inward almost a foot as though something had been removed from it. “I’ll bet if you dug this up there’d been nothin’ in it.”

Joseph was silent, but his look was ambiguous. He conceded nothing.

Again, lightning lit the sky.





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