Stand Up and Die. William W. Johnstone
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“That contract,” A. Percival Helton whined, “Has been invalidated. It wasn’t a legal hanging.”
Keegan spit on the grass. “He was to be hanged today. Sentenced legally, upheld by the governor of the Great State of Texas, and he was hanged. Just because the hangman got killed—”
“And there you have it.” The high-voiced, rotten snake had found something he could sink his teeth into. “The Benteens shot the bloody hell out of Purgatory City, and I am far, far too busy preparing the dearly departed for their funerals. Citizens of our county and our glorious town. They deserve burying, and, as the only undertaker in Purgatory City since Willard Carradine coughed himself to death from consumption and Alfred Davidson decided that El Paso was more to his liking, I think my duty rests with tending to the needs of those fine people.” And just to cut Sean Keegan to the quick, the whining miserable excuse for a man added, “Surely, Titus Bedwell, gallant soldier and God-fearing servant to our state and our county and our country, deserves my attention much more than a pathetic killer, whoremonger, bank robber, arsonist, and horse thief like Lovely Tom Benteen. Or, sir, do you disagree?”
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