Between diggin’ graves and fillin’ ’em,
they might as well live in the boneyard!
HOME IS BOOTHILL
“You can bunk in the stables, same as before, and you can start on a new grave at first light.”
“A new grave?” Ike groaned.
“Old Mrs. O’Reilly isn’t expected to last,” Goodwood told them.
The door banged, and the pards exchanged a glance.
“Don’t say it!” Butch sighed.
For once, Ike bit his tongue. They headed wearily for the stables.
Someday, Ike told himself, he was going to sit Butch down and ask him seriously why they always felt obliged to put so much effort into being heroes. He could argue that the pay was lousy and most folks didn’t appreciate them anyway.
Goodwood hadn’t changed the straw in the stable loft, and their tools were as they’d left them, caked in clay.
It felt good to be home . . .