The Assassination of William Walsh by the Outlaw Robert Palins
There was no God in Price’s Landing. There was the saloon, where even the liquor bottles had nothing left to give. There was the schoolhouse, long since abandoned by the schoolmarms and bright-eyed children, sometimes used on Sundays for worship service when the weather was bad and flooded the church. Horses grazed outside the small cemetery, the only place in Price’s Landing where no one spat or swore. There was an inn, and a general store, or at least the remains of one, but no God anywhere to be found.
When William Walsh rode into town that Tuesday, the dust of the trail mingling with the low, dusky clouds behind him, he wasn’t looking for God. He was looking for Marie, the sweet, shy girl who had worked at the Inn ever since she and William were young. A pale, Irish face, freckled and easy to blush, but with straight, dark hair that cascaded down her back, her pride and joy. After three years away from Price’s Landing, making his fortune, William had finally decided the time was come to find Marie and make her his wife.
As his horse slowed to a stop outside the cemetery, William heard the church bells start to peal. He looked over at where the old church stood, and saw the whole building shudder with every strike of the bell, chips of plaster and paint raining down from on high. William’s heart sank into his…
