The first book in the Boot Hill series, a hybrid of Unforgiven and Six Feet Under.
Nick Graves is a Mourner. His profession is to arrange funerals and organize gatherings for wakes as well as hangings, supplementing his meagre income by making coffins. He has come to this job, a profession he learned from his father, after years making his living with a fast draw and a cool nerve. Now he wants to forget his past, forget the destruction he has caused by assuming a simple life and a quiet vocation.
But the job he takes in new town also includes some old problems. The town is stocked full of corrupt men, men who will make it very difficult for Nick to continue the family trade, men who will force him to return to his old profession, when he created corpses instead of cared for them.
The Man from Boot Hill
By Galloway, MarcusHarperTorch
ISBN: 0060567686Chapter One
Outside of Jessup, Nebraska
1881
It was autumn. Not only that, but it was far enoughinto autumn that the wind carried the steely edge ofwinter upon its breath as it raced over the witheredweeds and through the barren branches that stuckup from the Nebraska plains like uneven stubble onan old man's chin. The sky was wide and gray,streaked with clouds that hardly seemed to move nomatter how long he stared at them. Instead, theyhung like cobwebs from the rafters of his father'swoodshed, only stirring occasionally when a bigenough wind rolled through.
That wind tore through his body as well, chillingthe blood in his veins and causing his musclesto tense. Gritting his teeth, he clenched the reinsin his fists and gave them a little snap, causing thetwo mismatched horses to quicken their pace towardthe distant town. Adjusting naturally to thebumps in the road, Nicolai shifted as the wagonjostled beneath and around him. The clattering of the wheels upon the rocky trail had combinedwith the rattle of his equipment in the back toform a constant flow of noise that he'd stoppedhearing long ago.
Looking up, he saw the Nebraska plainsstretching out in every direction like a drabcoloredquilt that the good Lord had laid down infront of him. Nicolai grinned as his father's wordsdrifted through his mind.
"There isn't much," Stasys had said when referringto the American prairie. "But at least there'sno sea."
Nodding, Nicolai snapped the reins and thoughtabout just how true that was. To someone whodidn't like the sea or even the coast, Nebraska wassomething close to paradise. The land was flat andin some places barren, but it was as far from theseacoast as a man could get. The only thing tobreak up his view of the rolling prairie was thetown that lay directly ahead of him.
That town would be Jessup, Nebraska. Eitherthat, Nicolai thought, or he owed a good beatingto the man who'd given him directions to theplace before he'd left Iowa. Supposedly, Jessupwas a nice enough place. Not that it mattered, ofcourse. His visit there wasn't exactly for pleasure.He had some business to tend to in Jessup. Someof it was new, and some of it was so old that it hadstarted to rot in the back of Nicolai's mind.
From the bits and pieces he'd put together,Nicolai knew a man he'd been after for some time was in Jessup. Of course, the town was more thanjust a hiding place. He had heard there was morethan one saloon and enough restaurants to givehim a wide variety of meals during his stay. Onething Nicolai couldn't stand was a town thatserved up bland food. He'd had enough of thatwhen he was a boy. Stasys was a good man and agreat provider, but there were only so many waysto boil potatoes.
Also, Jessup was one of the smaller stops on thelocal gambler's circuit. Playing cards was anotherone of Nicolai's requirements for a town, and hewas already looking forward to sitting down to agood, solid game. As luck would have it, he wasalso fairly certain an acquaintance of his had alreadyfound his way to Jessup, and Nicolai waslooking forward to possibly catching up on oldtimes.
Jessup had also appealed to him because theplace was in need of a man of his particular talents.According to the Iowan he'd spoken to, Jessupwas starting to develop a rotten air to it. Thatwas due to two things. First of all, there was aproblem with some gunmen who'd also taken aliking to the town's food and card games. Likemost men trying to make themselves look tougherthan average, those men weren't shy about backingup their tempers with the occasional bit oflead.
Every so often even the drunkest shooter gotlucky and those chunks of lead found their way into live targets. Unfortunately, one of those livetargets had been Jessup's resident grave digger.From what Nicolai had heard, the poor fool wasdoing his job while some other local was visiting afresh mound of dirt in the cemetery. Since thatgrieving man was still on someone else's shit list, afight broke out and everyone in front of the killerwound up buried in that same cemetery ... includingthe unfortunate grave digger.
Nicolai didn't know every last detail and hedidn't much care. All he knew was that Jessup wasin need of a strong worker, and he was looking toput his newly inherited wagon to good use. He figuredhe'd learn whatever else he needed once hegot to Jessup and started asking around. Since badnews and dirty gossip traveled like a greased logthrough a plume, Nicolai had no doubts that hewould become an expert on the grave digger'sstory before he even asked for the dead man's job.
It seemed to be a nice bit of luck that two suchgood opportunities had presented themselveswithin the space of one town. Then again, justhow good that luck truly was depended on whoyou asked. There was bound to be someone whowouldn't find it anything close to good.
"Come on now, Rasa," Nicolai said as hesnapped the rein that stretched over the firsthorse's back. "No time to get tired. We're almostthere. You don't see Kazys acting lazy, do you?"
Both horses nodded their heads and quickenedtheir pace a little. Nicolai passed the time by conversing with the two animals. Although the talkwas one-sided, it occupied his thoughts enough tomake the last leg of his trip speed away.
Continues...Excerpted from The Man from Boot Hillby Galloway, Marcus Excerpted by permission.
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