Blogtober 2020 Day Six Entry
Phin stayed on the road all through the night, helped by a bright moon on a clear night. He had never owned a horse, though, or even tended one, so some time after midday, the horse collapsed, dead from dehydration and exhaustion.
“Murphy,” Phin called out. “Horse is dead.”
“So is the Swede,” Murphy replied.
“When?”
“Dunno. He never said much after you took off his arm.”
“Did he bleed to death?”
“I don’t think so,” Murphy said. “I don’t see much blood around his arm. It was probably the snake.”
“Yeah,” Phin agreed. “This whole thing has been a disaster from the time we walked into that office.”
“Except we still have the money,” Murphy said. “I counted it. It’s almost $25,000.”
“Really?” Phin said. “I guess Gunnarson was right about something, at least. What do you think we should do with him?”
“Bury him,” Murphy said. “Otherwise he’ll attract buzzards, and that ain’t right to just leave him like that.”
Phin nodded and picked up the axe. He broke up clods of dirt, and Murphy used the Swede’s broad-brimmed hat to scoop the loose dirt out of the grave. It took about an hour before they guessed the hole was deep enough.
They laid him in the hole and pushed the dirt over his corpse. They tamped the earth down with their boots and stood together looking over their work.
“Should we say something?” Phin asked.
“Thank God it was him and not one of us,” Murphy said.
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