100 COFFINS

Cadman shrugged. Whatever happened, he did it to himself, he thought.

“Let’s head back down,” Alexander continued. “I wanna have a look.”

Cadman instinctively followed Alexander through the graveyard. His imagination ran wild as he made out the roof and upper façade of the saloon. If something had come out of the well … He watched the graves as they passed. All of them were the same -- all drooping, missing something. He wondered if many of the townsfolk were like Paul Goodman. But that wasn’t likely. There’d be too much of a chance of getting recognized. If I’d only been here a day earlier, Cadman thought. I’d have recognized Paul before it was too late -- recognized him for what he really was.

The bleak silhouette of the saloon sat calm and quiet. Cadman and Alexander moved cautiously around to the front entrance. They stopped, looking over the doors. Not surprisingly, all of the lights had been snuffed out except for a few candles here and there. Alexander started to push through the doors but Cadman held him back.

Something on the ground, just within the entrance, caught his eye. He bent to pick it up, then recoiled in horror, throwing it with force back to the ground.

“What was it?” Alexander asked excitedly.





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