Free Dead Man’s Hand by John Joseph Adams Page B

about?”
    “We’re not ready to ride to the end of the line,” said Keller.
    Scratch uttered an amused laugh. “Hardly anyone is. But that’s where you’re headed.”
    “I don’t think so,” said Wichita.
    “Me neither,” added Keller. “I think we’ll get off up the road a ways.”
    “Nosir!” snapped Scratch. “Your souls are mine!”
    “I should think you’d be a little more reasonable, given all the souls we’ve already
     sent your way,” said Bradshaw.
    “I thank you for them,” said Scratch, “but that doesn’t change anything.”
    “So you insist on taking us all the way?” said Keller.
    “Absolutely,” said Scratch.
    “Got a nice spread, have you?”
    “Magnificent,” replied Scratch. He uttered a harsh chuckle. “You’ll see it soon enough.”
    “Hey, Ben,” said Keller, “how did the Earp Brothers wind up owning the Oriental Saloon
     down in Tombstone?”
    “Pretty much the same way Jubal Pickett took over the Crosshatch Ranch,” said Bradshaw.
     “They ran the old owners off.”
    “And I hear that’s how Red Jim McCabe got hold of half the gambling halls in Denver,”
     added Wichita.
    “So if we go all the way to the end of the line with you,” said Keller, “and we like
     what we see, why, we just may take it over.”
    “After all,” said Wichita with a smile, “what are you gonna do—kill us?”
    “It’s out of the question,” growled Scratch.
    “You’d better think twice about this, Scratch,” suggested Wichita.
    “Or you’re going to see just how much hell we three can raise,” added Keller.
    “Just remember,” said Bradshaw. “We’re
already
dead, so what’s the worst you can do to us compared to what we can do to you?”
    They couldn’t see Scratch’s face, but they could hear him muttering and grumbling
     to himself.
    “Well?” said Keller after a couple of minutes had passed.
    “Just the three of you?” said Scratch. “No members of your gangs?”
    “We don’t belong to gangs,” said Wichita.
    “And it’s the
four
of us,” said Keller.
    “
Her
too?” demanded Scratch.
    “Especially her,” said Bradshaw.
    “Hell, if you want a real chippie, I got a few million at home.”
    “You insult her once more and I’m gonna climb up there and give you a lesson in manners,”
     said Bradshaw. “Now apologize to the lady.”
    “You’re kidding, right?” said Scratch.
    “Lean down, look at my face, and tell me if you think I’m kidding.”
    Scratch emitted a sigh of defeat. “All right, all right. I apologize, lady.”
    Bradshaw turned to Abigail. “Is that good enough for you, ma’am?”
    She nodded an affirmative.
    “All right,” growled Scratch. “But I’m gonna want something in return.”
    “We’ll take care of it,” promised Wichita.
    “Will you sign that in blood?”
    “We ain’t got no blood, remember?” said Bradshaw.
    “All right,” repeated Scratch. “I’m sick of the sight of you. Where do you want me
     to let you off?”
    “Next wood and water you come to,” said Keller.
    It took the horses a hard half hour of galloping, but finally they came to a sky-blue
     river running alongside a grove of tall Cottonwood trees.
    “Remember this spot,” said Keller, as the four passengers climbed down. “You’re going
     to be stopping here from now on.”
    “Why would I ever want to see you again?” demanded Scratch.
    “Because even the dead get hungry, and we’ve got ourselves the best cook they’ve ever
     encountered, living or dead,” answered Wichita.
    They used the timber from the Cottonwoods to build the place, and they called the
     finished way station—with her permission—Miss Abigail’s Rest Stop. Given their particular
     skills they were able to make sure that everyone behaved, and whenever an outsider
     wandered in, they sent him straight to Scratch’s domain as their part of the bargain.
     They even added a faro table in the back room. And to this day it remains the most
     popular way