Reaper's Fee Part 6

There were so many scars on Nick's hands that he could barely feel the handle of the modified Schofield pistol. The leather of the holster was so worn and had been tooled so much that it was more like a piece of him. "Who else is going after that grave?" Nick asked. "I want names."

"Well, it doesn't matter if you heard of them or not. If I was you, I'd pile my things into a wagon and get out of this town, because there's gonna be more coming around looking for you."

"There always are."

"Once I find them jewels, they'll stop coming and you can live out the rest of your years in peace."

"I can't allow that," Nick said calmly.

Gil c.o.c.ked his head and leaned forward a bit. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me, boy. I can't allow anyone to defile my friend's grave. Especially not some wet-behind-the-ears p.r.i.c.k like you."

Gil heard that just fine. His face contorted into an angry mask and he drew in a deep breath until his chest was puffed out, pulling himself up to his full height.

Nick, on the other hand, remained in the same relaxed posture he'd taken since the conversation had begun.

"I'm finding them jewels one way or another," Gil said. "You can tell me where the grave is or I could get it from that pretty lady who owns that restaurant. She seemed to know all there was to know about you."

"That's not the path you wanna take," Nick said calmly.

"I won't have to if you stop strutting like you got some stones between yer legs and answer the question you were asked."

Nick let out a discouraged breath, blinked once and then drew his gun. The inside of his holster had been tooled with curved ridges that interlocked with the grooves twisting around the barrel of his modified Schofield. When the gun was brought up, the grip s.h.i.+fted directly into Nick's palm. Most men wouldn't have much use for such a feature, but most men also had all their fingers. The modification allowed Nick to make up some of the speed he'd lost when his gun hand had been mangled. His own skill and instinct, combined with a loosened trigger, gave Nick enough speed to clear leather and fire a shot before Gil could utter one more sarcastic word.

The shot cracked through the air and punched a hole through Gil's chest. It was a little right of center, which meant Gil was still drawing breath and able to look down as his body absorbed the impact. Although Gil had drawn his own pistol out of pure reflex, he wasn't able to lift his arm before Nick's second shot drilled through his heart.

Gil's eyes were open wide and his face bore a look of surprise that wasn't at all unfamiliar to Nick. He'd seen that same look on plenty of other men's faces. Seeing it now, Nick's ears were filled with the echoes of his own youthful laughter that might have followed such an easy kill.

Nick wasn't laughing now. Instead, he kept his gun in hand and his eyes on Gil until the other man's legs finally buckled and he crumpled to the ground.

Looking up, Nick saw several familiar faces staring back at him. Shop owners looked through their windows and a young man driving a wagon pulled back on his reins before his horses pulled him any closer to the spot where the shots had been fired.

Nick met every one of the eyes that were watching him. Some were frightened. Some were surprised. Some were just confused. All of them were waiting for an explanation. Most folks who saw such a thing just wanted to know what the other man had done or who he was.

Rather than take time to explain himself, Nick walked away.

There wasn't enough time for explanations.

EIGHT.

"Someone's going to dig up a dead body?" Catherine gasped. "Are you sure about this?"

Nick was in their bedroom, stuffing clothes into a saddlebag and nodding his head. "Pretty d.a.m.n sure."

"Someone's going to dig up Barrett?"

"Yes and for the tenth time, yes."

Catherine stood in the doorway with her arms folded. She blinked and then rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Sorry, but I just can't believe someone would do that."

"I can."

"Why?"

"Because," Nick said, "I'm the one who buried those jewels in the casket along with him."

Frozen right down to the expression on her face, Catherine had to wait until she was forced to draw a breath before she could speak. "Why on earth would you do that?" she asked. "It's not like Barrett needs the money."

"Barrett lived to pull off those jobs of his and he wound up dying for it," Nick explained. "The least I could do was let him have the money since I was the one to put an end to his career." Pausing to close his eyes for a moment, he added, "Since I was the one to put an end to him."

"You told me about what happened between you and him," Catherine said. "Barrett didn't give you a choice. You had to shoot him. That was years ago, Nick. Don't let what happened ruin you any more than it already has."

"They're calling it the Reaper's Fee," Nick said as if he hadn't even heard what Catherine was saying. "They gave it a nice little nickname and talked it up in all the saloons. I don't know who found out about the money or who spread this s.h.i.+t around, but I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'm going to let a bunch of ignorant, money-hungry s.h.i.+t heads dig up my friend."

"It doesn't matter if they do." Seeing that her words had no impact, Catherine walked over to step directly in front of Nick. "Did you hear me? I said it doesn't matter if they do dig him up. They're the ones who'll have that on their souls. Not you."

"Do you honestly believe that there's a G.o.d in the clouds somewhere who keeps track of these things so we don't have to?"

Catherine looked back at him and nodded solemnly. "Yes. I do."

Just then, Nick felt like a heel for asking that question as if it was a joke. Although Catherine made plenty of exceptions in order to live as his wife, she'd always kept her religion wrapped up securely inside of her. It wasn't ever forced down Nick's throat, but it was still there all the same.

"Sorry," Nick said. "I didn't mean it that way."

"Yes you did, but that's all right. I want you to tell me why you want to follow up on this so badly."

Nick stopped what he was doing and took a moment to compose his thoughts. At first, he figured he would just give her the short version, which would be more than he would give to anyone else. Then Nick remembered that Catherine wasn't just anyone else. The biggest difference between her and the rest of humanity was that she would actually listen to what he had to say.

"I've never had many friends," Nick said, "but Barrett was one of them. I may have had to be the one to send him off, but I sure as h.e.l.l won't let someone disgrace him by digging him up and stealing what I gave to him."

"But those jewelsathey're stolen. Aren't they?" Catherine asked.

"Whether they're stolen or if they belonged to his granddaddy doesn't matter. Whether he was a thief or a preacher doesn't matter. Whether he spent his last days shoveling dirt or trying to kill me doesn't matter. All that matters is that he was my friend and now he's dead. I've been earning my living as a mourner all these years, sending folks off to meet their Maker and carving their headstones. The least I can do is mourn my friend and see that he rests in peace."

Catherine didn't say anything for a while. She reached out to rub his arm as he was talking and kept her hand on him when he was through. Now, she gave his hand a squeeze and said, "I understand."

Nick blinked and waited for another shoe to drop. When it was clear there was nothing else coming, he asked, "You do?"

She nodded. "I may not agree, but I understand. If you've got to leave, thena" Catherine kept herself from finis.h.i.+ng what she'd been saying when she heard a horse ride up to the front of the house and come to a stop.

Even before the horse had settled down, its rider slid from the saddle and landed loudly enough for the impact of his boots to be heard inside the house. "Nick? You in there?" a familiar voice called out.

Voicing the same words that were going through Nick's head, Catherine whispered, "It's Sheriff Stilson."

Nick felt the old impulse to bolt, which was exactly what he would have done in his younger days when a lawman came knocking at his door. Old habits were hard to break, but Nick choked down the reflex and let out a strained breath. "Whatever I say, you just keep quiet," he cautioned Catherine.

Catherine's face had been neutral before, but she now looked more worried with each second that pa.s.sed. "What's the matter, Nick?"

"Stilson isn't here for a social call."

"Why? What happened?"

"You remember Switchback Gill?" Nick asked.

"Yes."

"He backed me into a corner and I had to kill him."

Catherine's eyes closed for a second before she started to nod. "If you need to leave, you'd better do it now."

At first, Nick was surprised. Then, he smiled and rubbed Catherine's shoulders. "That's awfully nice of you, but I'm going to face Stilson and tell him what happened."

"Why not just tell him that Gil was a threat? Plenty of folks from the Tin Pan will back you up."

As Catherine waited for an answer, Stilson knocked on the door.

"Stilson's a good man," Nick said quickly. "He's helped me plenty, buta"

"Never mind," Catherine said quickly. "You do what you need to do and get going. Just promise me you'll come home."

"Of course I promise."

With that, Nick took Catherine in his arms and kissed her as if he hadn't seen her for a year. Their mouths parted for a moment so their eyes could take in the sight of each other, and then Nick kissed her as if he wasn't going to see her for another year. Stilson knocked again, so Nick cut himself short and forced himself to go to the door. When he opened it, he must have still been a little flushed in the face.

"Oh," Stilson said. "Did I interrupt anything?"

"No, Sheriff."

"I guess you know why I'm here."

"It's either about the Jeffrey boys breaking those windows," Nick replied, "or that man I shot across from Don's gun shop."

Chuckling despite his best attempts not to, Stilson nodded and took his hat off so he could run his hand over his balding head. "It'd be the second one. I'd like to know why I heard about it from Don before hearing about it from you."

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.d made some threats that I had to check on before going through the proper chain of command."

"He say something against Catherine?" Stilson asked.

"Not specifically, but he threatened my wife and family."

"Why would he do something like that?"

"Because I recognized his face from a gang of thieves in the Dakotas and let him know he should think twice before starting any trouble around here," Nick said.

"You think he was planning a robbery?"

Nick shrugged. "I don't know if he was planning anything, Sheriff. I do know I put him on a friendly notice, he didn't like it too much, and then he decided to threaten my family."

"When did the shooting start?"

Without flinching, Nick replied, "The second he went for his gun."

Stilson kept his eyes on Nick for a few more seconds. His eyes were intense and calculating as he mulled over what he'd heard. Finally, he nodded and said, "Apart from the words that pa.s.sed between you, I guess that matches up with what Don and the rest of them told me. I wish you would have come to me with this first, though. At the very least, you could have said something to the folks who saw you gun that fellow down. They was all plenty scared."

"I bet they were. Sorry about that."

As the sheriff kept his eyes on him, Nick could feel the lawman sizing him up. He'd felt it plenty of times before whenever he, Barrett and the rest of his old gang had ridden into a town, whether they were there to get something to eat or burn the whole place to the ground. In the old days, Nick might have had a few choice words to say under all that scrutiny. Now he stood there and let the other man come to whatever a.s.sumption he saw fit.

"Take a walk down there and clean up the mess," Stilson finally said. "You are the undertaker, after all. While you're at it, make it known who that a.s.shole was. It'll do folks good to know he only got what was comin' to him. As for the rest of it, I suppose you did what needed to be done. Every lawman gets s.h.i.+t tossed his way, but that don't mean he needs to stand by and take it. If you say he went for his gun, then I believe you."

Hearing the pause in Stilson's voice, Nick replied, "He went for his gun, all right."

There was no lie to be seen upon Nick's face, so the sheriff nodded. "Then that's that. I'll expect you at my office to let me know when the street's cleaned up."

"Yes, sir."

Stilson put his hat back on and walked to his horse. After climbing into the saddle, he tossed a wave over his shoulder and rode back to town.

After making sure the lawman was gone, Nick closed the door and turned around to find Catherine standing in the same spot where he'd left her.

"Sounds like that went pretty well," she said from the bedroom's doorway.

"I think it did."

"It also sounds like you've got some work to do. Or were you planning on heading out before following that through?"

Nick shook his head. "I ain't about to s.h.i.+rk my duties, but I'll be leaving town after that."

"You're headed for the Dakotas?"

Nick nodded. "Yep. Barrett's grave is in the Badlands."

"What do you intend on doing once you get there?"

"I guess that depends on what I find. I'm hoping to just take down any marker I might've left and see to it that n.o.body's able to find that grave even if they know where to look. If I find something differentathen I'll just have to play whatever cards I'm dealt."

"How long will you be gone?"

Nick felt his stomach clench as the answer jumped into his head. "I can't say for certain, but it'll be a while. It's a long way to the Dakotas and I may have to make some odd turns to avoid cutting through too much Indian territory."

To Nick's surprise, Catherine smiled. She began tugging at the ribbons and strings that kept her dress cinched in tightly against the ample curves of her body. "Then maybe you should see to some of your other duties before you go. A husband can't just leave his wife for that long without giving her something to remember him by."