100 COFFINS

Cadman shook his head. “I was just passing through.”

“Then the Word hasn’t reached as far as we’d hoped,” Alexander sighed. “That explains why you’re the only stranger to come.”

The thought settled in Cadman’s mind that he stood in the equivalent of an asylum, surrounded by a cadre of religious fanatics. He didn’t like the prospect of it. And the whole town, he guessed, was like that: sitting here in the dark, waiting to die, waiting for the world to come to an end. I’m getting a drink and moving on, he promised himself. To hell with Trinity Hill; I’ll sleep in the rain if I have to. With that in mind, Cadman eased his backside onto the bar top and slid his legs to the other side. He hopped down with a thud.

A young man, similar in appearance and attitude to Joseph, piped up from close by. “You can’t drink,” he chided. “Sir, there’s no drinking in here tonight.”

Cadman, ignoring the young man, unhooked his duster, allowing it to fall open. It revealed two pistols holstered at his side. Their pearl handles shone even in the dim candlelight. “Well I’m gonna,” he said.

People turned at the sudden ruckus.





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