The Man From Boot Hill: Burying the Past Chapter One The Dakota Territories 1882 It had been a beautiful service. Certain things could have gone better depending on who was asked, but all in all it was a fine ending to a fine life. Raymond Hunt was a miner and retired lawman. A fever caught hold of him toward the end of the previous autumn and never let him go. His skin had gotten warmer to the touch and his dreams had gotten more frantic until the only way for him to get any rest was to drown his addled brain in liquor. His wife and both his children had done their best to comfort him. When it was the doctor's turn to step in, he did so admirably but none of it was good enough. Death was like that. Once it set its sights upon a soul, there wasn't a whole lot to be done about it. Raymond Hunt's death hadn't been a cruelty. It had been a kindness. It brought an end to the nights of fitful sleep and the times he would wake up having to be reminded of the names he'd known his entire life. It marked the end of his family's heartache as Raymond eventually became a fond memory instead of a stranger wasting away in front of them. It was a cool day in the spring of 1882 when Raymond's family gathered to see his body committed to the earth. Nestled in the hills of the southern Dakota Territories, the cemetery was a peaceful spot, no more than a half mile from a town named Switchback. There were stones carved into different shapes and sizes bearing names carved expertly into their faces. There were also simple wooden markers with names painted in a hasty scrawl. All of them were labors of love arranged in simple jagged rows. Raymond's marker was one of the nicer stone ones planted in that hallowed ground thanks to the efforts of a stranger who'd ridden in to seek employment with the town's undertaker. He was a tall, slender man with dark hair shot through with the occasional strand of gray. He wasn't old, but he seemed to have done more than his share of living in the time he'd been around. As cold and off-putting as his eyes may have been, folks were eventually drawn to him by the soothing tone of his voice, which sounded like a rumble of thunder in the distance. This man proved to be more than a simple gravedigger. In fact, he took part in nearly every duty performed by the regular undertaker as well as a few others. One of his talents was masonry and was taught to him by a father who'd been carving headstones his entire life. This man's talent was able to shine thanks to the simple fact that Raymond's illness had taken so long to tear him apart that the doctor took to calling it a "condition." Folks in town, Raymond's family, even Raymond himself, knew he was going to get better. There was hope in people's eyes when they talked about him and his strength of will. But the man in charge of carving the headstones didn't feel so hopeful. He wasn't a cruel man and didn't share his doubts with anyone else. He'd just seen enough death in his life to recognize the sound of its steps when it approached. He'd seen Raymond once during the winter and after that, the stranger with the cold eyes had gone back to his workshop and started chipping at a fresh stone. A week after that stone was finished, so was Raymond Hunt. When it had been revealed the day before the burial, the stone had gotten plenty of compliments. Tears of joy flowed from the widow's eyes and grateful, if somewhat weary, smiles came onto the faces of Raymond's children as they shook the ravaged hand that had carved Raymond's marker. Time and talent. That was all it had taken for a simple miner to receive the finest headstone in any cemetery a hundred miles in any direction. After the preacher was finished with his sermon and the simple wooden box had been lowered into its hole, folks stood in silence to study that marker as if they were taking in a work of art. The seconds ticked by and folks drifted away to move on with their lives, but a few remained to pay their last respects. Among them were Raymond's oldest son and the wife he'd left behind. "I don't know how to thank you, Nicolai," the widow said. She was a woman in her early fifties who seemed at least five years younger since her husband had passed on. The love she had for her husband saw to it that she deteriorated right along with him when he'd been ill. Now, after death's most recent visit to Switchback, a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her eyes were always kind, yet they became even kinder as she gazed upon the downcast face of the gravedigger. The gravedigger smiled. The compliment was nice, but something else was even nicer. It had been a while since he'd heard his name spoken out loud properly without being shortened to Nick. "No need to thank me, ma'am," he said. "I'm just doing my job." The Man From Boot Hill: Burying the Past . Copyright © by Marcus Galloway. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Burying the Past by Marcus Galloway All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
