Free Man From Boot Hill by Marcus Galloway Page B

and headed for the front door.
    Nick stepped out of the parlor and locked the door behind him. A few locals were walking along the street, and one of them nodded in Nick’s direction. Nick returned the gesture, while making surehis jacket didn’t open far enough to reveal the holster strapped around his waist. Taking his time to soak in the morning air, he rounded the corner and kept walking until he arrived at Sheriff Stilson’s office.
    The bit of queasiness in Nick’s belly was a reflex that had been developed in his youth and nurtured during his years of raising hell. To this day, he still felt it when he got too close to that many lawmen gathered in one place. Doing his best to look the part he was playing, Nick eased the sheriff’s door open and poked his head inside.
    “Ah, there you are, Mister Graves,” Stilson said from inside the office. “Come on in.”
    Stilson was standing at a large cabinet nailed to the wall behind his desk. Several rifles and a few shotguns could be seen inside the cabinet before Stilson closed it up and locked it with a small key. Motioning to a chair in front of his desk, Stilson said, “Have a seat.”
    Nick removed his hat and held it in front of him to conceal his gun until he was properly situated on the chair. Just to be safe, Nick kept his hat on his lap even after he’d crossed his legs and draped his jacket over the modified Schofield.
    “Graves,” Stilson muttered. “That’s an awfully fortuitous name for an undertaker, ain’t it?”
    Nick shrugged.
    “Is that your proper family name?”
    Once he saw that the sheriff was going to wait until he had a response, Nick sighed and told him,“My father brought me to this country when I was a child and he couldn’t speak much English. He’s in my same line of work and was trying to get a job the moment we got off the boat. Someone heard him mention graves, so it was marked as our name.”
    “That’s a nice story. So, what’s your real family name?”
    “My wife told me you wanted talk to me,” Nick said. “I do have a business to run, so I’d appreciate it if we could get this done as quickly as possible.”
    Sheriff Stilson nodded and drummed his fingers on top of his desk. “That was a hell of a thing that happened at the Van Meter ranch,” he finally said.
    “Yeah. I believe my wife tried to get you over there before it was too late.”
    “She did come over to tell us something about some men you saw at the graveyard.”
    “And what did you do about it?” Nick asked.
    “I did my job.” This time, it was the sheriff who found himself looking at an unyielding face that would not be satisfied by the short answer. “I found a bunch of men who work at Van Meter’s place at the Wheelbarrow and had a word with them. Not one of them knew something like this was going to happen.”
    “Are you sure about that?”
    “I’d stake my badge on it.”
    “Maybe you should do just that,” Nick muttered under his breath.
    Stilson slapped both hands against the edge of his desk and leaned forward as if he meant to bite Nick’s head clean off his shoulders. “Excuse me? Could you repeat that a little louder?”
    Looking at Stilson’s face, Nick was quickly reminded of why he’d never gotten along well with most lawmen. “I was just wondering why you happened to end your investigation at a saloon while a man was getting shot to pieces and his family was being killed in front of him.”
    Stilson’s face remained impassive for a moment before he shifted his eyes away. Leaning back into his chair, the lawman rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand before shifting his hat a bit further back upon his head. “Actually, that brings me to the reason why I asked to have a word with you.”
    “I’m here,” Nick said. “Say your piece.”
    “My deputy and I didn’t while the night away at that saloon. In fact, we spent a good portion of time following up on what your…wife told us.”
    The snide tone in the