Bloody Joe’s Last Dance: Classic Western Series (Bloody Joe Mannion Book 9) by Brandvold Peter

Author:Brandvold, Peter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Published: 2024-02-27T00:00:00+00:00

The next day, midmorning, Mannion squatted near the grave still being dug by one of Bellringer’s men on the cemetery sprawling along the side of a low butte on the northeast side of Del Norte.

His bay stallion, Red, stood nearby, idly cropping the short, spring grass, bridle reins dangling. The only sounds were the snick-snick-snicks of the gravedigger’s shovel, the breeze ruffling the leaves of the large cottonwood behind Mannion, and the crunching sounds of Red munching the tender green shoots from wet patches where snow had recently melted, occasionally giving his tail a switch at pesky flies.

The mule hitched to the gravedigger’s wagon hung its head in the traces, also switching its tail at flies drawn by Cletus Booker moldering in the simple, pine coffin beside the grave. Mannion had made sure Bellringer had thoroughly cleaned the man’s body and wrapped him in his saddle blanket. Joe had considered buying him a suitcoat, the largest one available at Wilfred Drake’s Mercantile, but had nixed the idea. He doubted Booker had ever worn a suitcoat in his life. Knowing he’d be buried in a jacket more appropriate for church would have embarrassed him. No, the man’s own saddle blanket was more fitting.

At least Joe had made sure he’d been cleaned up, though Booker wouldn’t have known the difference between being cleaned up and buried in his own blood, no more than he’d have known whether he was buried in a suitcoat or in his saddle blanket. It was all just the useless working of a busy mind. Of a guilty mind. Of a sorrow-racked mind.

Cletus Booker was dead and Mannion was going to miss him, though he’d known so little about him. Though he’d rarely even thought about him when he’d been alive. Had never even thought to inquire about his personal life, his past.

Death put such a damn hard end to things, made you consider things you never would have considered before it showed its ugly countenance in the form of a man walking into a trap in a murky saloon in Del Norte, Colorado Territory, and was blown out the batwings in a hail of lead.

When the gravedigger finished the grave, Joe helped him lower the coffin into it with ropes levered over their shoulders.

When the coffin was settled at the bottom of the grave, Mannion glanced at the gravedigger, a big, bald man named Stanley, who held his black, felt hat down in front of him with cursory deference to the dead he was around so much. Mannion said, “Come back and fill it in later, will you? I’d like a few minutes alone.”

Stanley frowned at him, vaguely puzzled.

“I figure he deserves someone to be here with him…for just a few minutes before he’s forgotten about for the rest of time.”

Stanley stared at Mannion as though he were wondering if the lawman had gone mad.

Joe smiled as he stared at the grave. Maybe he had. His logy heart felt large, swollen, as tender as an exposed nerve.

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