Boot Hill

Samuel had a real knack for grave-robbing. "The trick is", he always liked to say to the few he really trusted, "is to read the obituaries, then go look for dirt. The body will be fresh, the ground will be easier to dig, and nobody will suspect anything is amiss." And on those rare occasions when unpleasant rumors about him began to swirl, the matter could be settled by greasing a few palms. Plenty of people were on the take, and in Samuel's experience, nobody likes to jam a stick in a wheel that's turning just fine. It's an unfortunate truth that many people abandon their morals the moment it becomes advantageous to do so. Samuel knew this all too well. Just the same, his nefarious business had made him quite prosperous, so much so that it made no sense for him to keep digging up corpses. Try as he might, he couldn't quit. The thrill of the experience was addictive. He distinctly remembered one night when unearthed a gold pocket watch and an ornately engraved revolver from the grave of some distinguished gentleman. 

He did a brisk business indeed, and not just with the local medical college. He'd sell just about anything to anybody, including any circus that came through town. The guys in charge of the freak show were always looking for new specimens to display. Samuel's favorite place to go prospecting was Boot Hill. Everyone who died violently got buried there. It was a good place to find the bodies of young gunfighters. Samuel had made some macabre souvenirs from a few and made pretty penny from the ones he sold. The others he kept in his private collection. "Oh well, everyone has a vice", he would tell himself to soothe his guilt conscience, "at least I'm not a murderer." Plenty of whiskey helped him forget his troubles, at least for a while. Somehow though, there was an aura of evil about him that the townsfolk picked up subconsciously. For a time, he went to church every Sunday, both to make a good impression and in the hope of gaining some sort of divine forgiveness.

That phase passed after a few months, and with his favorite shovel in hand, he returned to skullduggery of the most literal kind. The best nights for digging had clear skies and light from a half or greater moon. That way, he didn't need a lantern and so was less likely to draw unwanted attention. Excavating the loose soil of a fresh grave took him two hours or so. He was in good shape, both from his current hobby, former occupation, and a childhood of working on his family farm. Heaving hay bales and chopping wood prepares the body for many strenuous endeavors. He didn't bring his wheelbarrow, as the foray he planned would not require a complete exhumation. No, this night was merely to gather a few more artifacts for his collection. Samuel was giddy with anticipation, for a recent obituary noted that a famous gunfighter and outlaw, Earl McGrath, had been interred at the Rattlesnake Junction cemetery, which was less than half a day's ride from Samuel's home.

McGrath's reputation was the stuff of legends. Ruthless, diabolical, and treacherous, he had terrorized a large portion of the cities west of the Mississippi. During his many escapades, he had outwitted dozens of lawmen and bounty hunters. The long arm of the law caught up with him in the midst of a poker game in Mexico. Despite being outnumbered 100 to one, McGrath and a handful of desperados loyal to him somehow managed to kill or wound most of their opponents before they in turn died of sudden lead poisoning. One of the surviving lawmen insisted on taking McGrath's corpse as a trophy of sorts. And that is how McGrath's mortal remains ended up at the Boot Hill cemetery in Rattlesnake Junction. Rattlesnake Junction sprang up as the railroad came through. It was a jerkwater town; all the steam locomotives that passed through stopped to refill their boilers. Given that all the trains stopped there, it was a good place for drifters, fugitives, and other nomadic vagrants to hop on or hop off. As a result, the town was full of brothels and saloons and became a kind of mecca for outlaws.

All that local history was the last thing on Samuel's mind as he tied up his horse to a hitching post by the cemetery gate. After passing his shovel through the bars, he bounded over the gate like a cat. As he prowled ahead, his eyes scoured the headstones and dirt. It took him the better part of an hour to find McGrath's grave. Over the years, Boot Hill cemetery grew almost as fast as Rattlesnake Junction, and it gradually got harder for Samuel to find the graves he sought. Samuel struck a match to better read the name on the tombstone. His heart leapt with excitement as the flame's light revealed the name of McGrath. Samuel began digging with gusto. Two hours later, his shovel hit the lid of the cheap coffin with a thud. He pried off the lid and saw nothing except a piece of paper. He struck another match to read the writing. In jagged, block letters, all it said was:

LOOK BEHIND YOU

As Samuel turned, he heard the sound of a revolver being cocked. A sinister figure in tattered coat menacingly stood above him.

"In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm McGrath. Let me tell you a story. I grew up in this town and tried to walk the straight and narrow. When I took to getting money the easy way, every few years I'd come back to Rattlesnake Junction to visit my dear father. Once, I gave him gold watch, and another time I gave him an engraved revolver. I returned again sometime after he died, and asked my folks what my father did with my gifts. They said he liked them so much he insisted on being buried with them. He hoped when I found out what he did, I'd have a change of heart and turn away from my wicked ways. I went to his grave later and could tell that someone had dug it up. I dug it up myself and saw that my gifts were missing. I paid a few vagrants to keep an eye on this place at night. That went on for years, but eventually led to you. Once I was sure it was you who robbed my father's grave, I was determined to recover my property and avenge my father. I faked my death in Mexico and made it so my coffin would get buried here. I figured you'd come for it. Now, I've got half a mind to kill you right here since I already know where your house is. The thing is, wherever you hid my property, you hid it well, and I don't feel like rummaging for it. Return my property to me tonight, and I'll spare your rotten life. Deal?"

Samuel nodded as McGrath holstered his six-shooter and reached to help Samuel out of the grave. They got on their horses and McGrath followed Samuel back to his house. He led McGrath into the backroom where his collection was stored. Samuel pulled a Bible off a bookshelf and opened it. In the hollow space inside lay the items McGrath sought. McGrath took one in each hand and paused as though lost in thought. 

"Here, you can keep the watch. Someday, I'll depart this life, and that watch will be proof that we met. You can tell them my story then. Were you ever a praying man?"

"Yes. For a while."

"Same here. You ought to know your name means 'hears God'. Let tonight be a new beginning for both of us."

At that, McGrath shoved the engraved revolver in his belt, strode out to his horse, and rode off into the night.