The Reverend handed him the gun. "When you get ready, take a death grip on it and point it like a finger. Don't try to aim. Just imagine you're lifting a finger and pointing it at one of the sticks. Your aim is naturally better when you do that. Soft squeeze on the trigger."

David lifted the revolver, cocked it, and fired. He didn't even come close. His round hit the edge of the stage trail.

"You're trying too hard to aim. You've got to become one with the gun. It's got to be like part of you, a metal finger."

"Can I put it in my belt and draw it?"

"Only if you want to lose your manhood." David considered. "You mean I might shoot off my pecker?"

"Precisely."

Abby laughed.

"Sorry, ma'm" David said. "I forgot you were there."

"Quite all right "Abby said.

David pointed the revolver across the trail, cocked, and fired. He did this until the cylinder was empty. None of his shots scored, but each came closer.

He handed the empty revolver to the Reverend. "Damn," he said.

"It takes time and patience," the Reverend said. "After you cock it time after time, get used to the weight, you develop muscles in your forearm, then the gun is like an extension of your forearm." The Reverend raised the revolver and pointed, "and the bullet seems more to come out of you than the gun."

The Reverend reloaded, put the revolver in his sash. Though he was giving David sound advice, he realized too that he was showing off a bit for Abby.

He jerked the revolver free with his left hand this time, cocked, and fired six times in succession. Six sticks disappeared.

"Wow! You are better than Wild Bill Hickok."

"I told you that," the Reverend said.

The Reverend reloaded, put the gun in his sash. This time he drew with his right hand, fired, tossed the gun to his left, fired, and tossed it back and forth that way until six more sticks were down.

Twelve shots altogether: one series of six left-handed, one series alternating, and he had not missed a shot.

Abby applauded.

"Thank you, ma'm," the Reverend said. Then to David, "Go see how close I shaved them to the ground."

David ran across the trail to look.

All twelve sticks were cut even with the ground.

Twelve?

He had set up eleven. He remembered distinctly.

Well, no matter, the Reverend had found a stick. But as David bent to examine the one he had not set up, he noticed it was different from the others.

He scraped around it, and when he saw what it really was, he called, "Reverend. Come quick!"

IX

The Reverend put his revolver away and strolled briskly across the shadowy forest trail.

Abby followed.

When he reached David, he squatted down to examine the stick.

It was not a stick.

It was a filthy, human finger shot off at the first knuckle.

The Reverend scraped around it. A moment later he revealed a human hand.

He kept digging.

Soon he revealed an ugly, dirty face wearing an eye patch — though the patch had slipped and the empty eye socket was filled with dirt and forest mold. A worm twisted in the mess.

"Bill Nolan!" David said. "The missing stage driver."

The Reverend dug the rest of the body free.

…

When he had the entire corpse revealed, he said, "Go back to the wagon and get the blanket, David."

David went.

Abby bent down beside the Reverend. The smell of the dead man was strong. "Seems to be our day for dead bodies. What happened to him?"

"I don't know. But someone wanted the body hidden."

David returned with the blanket. The Reverend put it down beside Nolan, then he and David picked him up and put him on it. They folded the blanket over so that the body was covered.

"All right, David," the Reverend said, "let's get him into the back of the wagon."

They carried him over, placed him on top of the tent poles, then with David in the back with the corpse, the Reverend and Abby on the seat, they started back toward Mud Creek.

One of the corpse's hands had slipped out from under the blanket, and direct sunlight struck it. It smoked faintly.

The hand moved slowly back under the blanket.

None of the living saw it.

X

They took Nolan to the undertaker and the doctor was called over.

"Fancy seeing you again," Doc said to the Reverend.

The Reverend nodded.

"You need me back there, Dad?" Abby asked.

"I'll handle it. Keep David and the Reverend company"

The doctor left the others in the front room. He and Mertz went back to look at the body.

It lay on a table next to the banker who was naked, cleaned, and stuffed in a tub of ice.

Doc looked at the tub, then back to Mertz.

"Keeps 'em fresh. He isn't going to be buried until tomorrow late. Having a hard time getting mourners. Going to have to pay for some."

"I reckon he can afford it," Doc said.

Doc examined Nolan. He had a crushed hand and what looked like a bite on his neck. He frowned.

"That's just like Nate had—isn't it?"

"More or less," Doc said.

Doc went over the body, stripping it of its clothes as he went. When he was finished, he went to the washbasin and washed his hands, dried them.

"Well," Mertz said. "What's the cause of death?"

"Loss of blood."

"From that wound? It's bad, but not that bad,"

"Nonetheless," Doc said, put on his coat, and went out.

Mertz looked at Nolan and patted him affectionately. "Doc's getting old," he said.

…

Mertz picked up Nolan's clothes from the floor and went through them for valuables. He'd done fairly well by Nate, getting a ring and a silver dollar. And he got a wallet. Empty.

But a nice wallet. He figured Caleb had profited the contents of Nate's wallet before his body was brought in.

Win some, lose some.

He set about his business.

XI

Doc came out and said, "I know this isn't supposed to be something you say after you look at a corpse, but I'm hungry. Let's go over to the house for something to eat. You coming too, David?"

"No sir, I got to skedaddle. Pa will want me over at the livery the rest of the day. I'll put the poles in the shop, Reverend."

"That okay with your pa?" the Reverend asked. "Yeah, long as you pay him for keeping them overnight," "Figures," the Reverend said. "Very well." David darted for the door, stopped, turned. "Reverend. Can I see you a minute?"

David and the Reverend went outside.

"I just wanted to say," David mumbled, "I had a real good time today." "So did I." "I think you could do a lot worse than Miss Abby. You ought to keep her."

"She's not a fish, David."

"You know what I mean."

"I'll consider it. It'll be up to her."

"Thanks for the shooting lesson."

"You're welcome—and aren't you glad we didn't use Abby for shooting practice?"

David smiled. "Yeah. But maybe she'd have been big enough for me to hit. I'm no good on sticks.

"Practice, that's the key."

They shook hands.

David climbed on the wagon, clucked to the team, and started for the blacksmith shop.

XII

Doc and Abby had a house connected to the back of the office. It was simple, but nice.

Abby fixed beans, tortillas, and coffee, and after they ate, they retired to Doc's study. It was stuffed full of books and the smell of cigar smoke. The study connected directly to Doc's office.