Stepping out into the cold air, they squinted against the glare of the snow. Cora untied Our Lady's reins from the hitching rail and led her around back to the hotel's small livery, where she gave the mare's reins to the stable hand and helped Ben saddle up Book.
"You still got that knife?" she asked. Ben nodded, pointing to his boot. "Good. You keep that and the crucifix since you ain't got your guns working yet. I reckon George and I will be making enough of a racket that them suckers won't bother much with you."
Ben looked at his boots, embarrassed. "You know I'm looking to get my irons cleaned up."
"Right, but until you do, you got to be careful," Cora said. "I won't have you getting killed by no vampire."
Ben kept his head down as he led his gelding out of the stable and mounted. Cora reclaimed Our Lady and followed him back to the main street. Together, they nudged their horses into a trot, pointing them north toward Harcourt's retreat and the infected mine that lay beyond.
Across the street, cold blue eyes watched her go. Wash Jones kept his hat pulled low as she rode by. Once she vanished into the bustle of horses and carts, he flicked the reins over the team's back and started the wagon moving again. He'd been riding by when he saw her come out of the hotel. His fingers had been reaching for his gun when he remembered that there were probably lawmen about. Forced to content himself with watching, he'd stopped the team and waited until she had ridden on.
His fingers squeezed the reins as he drove the wagon over to the Pioneer. He ached to turn around and follow her, to draw his pistol and settle the matter where the law couldn't stop him. Mounted as she was, though, the wagon couldn't hope to catch up. He guided the team up behind the Pioneer and jerked the reins back. The horses snorted and stamped in protest. Ignoring them, he checked to make sure the coffin was still covered by the burlap sheets before barging through the rear door.
He hadn't taken two steps before he stopped short as Boots came around a corner, wiping his hands on his apron. "Glad to see you, Mr Jones. Did you bring the item?"
"Wouldn't be here if I didn't," Wash said. "It's in the wagon."
"Good," Boots said, a grin twisting his pleasant face. "Bring it up to the storage room. You may use the back stairs."
Wash was about to protest, but the bartender turned and vanished around the corner. Grumbling to himself, the gunman went back outside and tossed the burlap back, revealing the pine box. He grabbed the end of the coffin and pulled, lowering it into the snow. He stepped around the lower half, wrapped his arms around the wider part, and began dragging it toward the door.
The coffin was too heavy to be empty, but Wash didn't want to know what was inside. There was no stench, so it couldn't be a dead man, but it still smelled a little off. Musty, perhaps, like it had been tucked away in some rich man's closet for a long time. Whatever it was, Wash made sure to keep his arms wrapped around the box as he dragged it along the ground. The lid wasn't nailed shut, and he didn't want it falling open.
Grunting with effort, Wash maneuvered the coffin through the narrow doorway and began pulling it up the stairs. The bottom edge banged against each step as he went, making a racket, but he didn't care. If Boots wanted it to arrive in good shape, he could damn well give him a hand with it.
Wash finally made it to the storage room, panting from the exertion. He looked at the skid mark behind him and grinned to himself. He threw open the door, dragged his burden through, and let it drop to the floor with a loud bang. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
"A little more respect might be in order," said a voice behind him. He jumped and spun around, pulling his gun. When he saw the bartender's eyes looking back at him from the shadows, he relaxed a little but didn't lower the revolver.
"Yeah, well, you want it treated nice, you can haul it yourself," Wash said. "Now where's my reward?"
Boots smirked at him. "All in good time. Were I you, I would savor the veil of