Read an Excerpt
They cleared the dirt from the ends so they could reach the handles, grabbed hold, and tried to lift it out, but no matter how hard they strained, they could not budge the chest.
"It's too heavy," Asa said. "We'll need help."
"Dig it out more. There ain't enough room in that hole," Fishbone said as he waved the revolver about.
"Be quicks, little weasels, be quicks!" Whitey said, his voice hushed and dangerous sounding.
They dug outward from the box a couple of feet, and then dug slowly down, taking their time, scooping out small shovel loads of gravel and sand, hoping Fishbone's patience would hold long enough for them to figure out what to do.
And then suddenly the hole had grown wide enough and Ike and Asa stood back as soon as Fishbone tucked his revolver into his belt and stepped into the hole. "I'll take one end, you take the other," he said.
At first the wet earth beneath the box, seemed to suck it back down, and then Fishbone's shoulders bulged. He grunted loudly and as the box came free, they swung it up onto the ground outside the hole. "We'll have to widen it a little, but it'll make a proper enough grave." He took out his revolver, stepped back as if to shoot away the rusty lock, and then pulled the trigger again and again and each time the hammer cracked down on an empty chamber and then Whitey reacted...