Lester of Two Evils

Pressing Business

It might have been a perfectly ordinary funeral had the man lying at the bottom of the hole in the ground been dead. To be fair, he looked the part. His shoulder-length hair and beard were white, as was the pale, paper-thin skin hanging loosely from his skeletal body. Between ears that had grown too large for their head, an open mouth revealed yellow teeth, their corners worn smooth from decades of use. In every outward appearance, the figure reclining in the gouged-out bit of earth seemed little more than the husk of a life long-lived and quite recently cast off.

However, upon closer examination, there were some signs of life. The rocks placed upon the wide wooden plank that covered the old man's naked body rose and fell, propelled ever so slightly up and down by shallow, labored breaths. Coupled with the murderous glare from a pair of very much open and piercing blue eyes, they defied the grim finality of the man's surroundings. For, while he might be brushing up against it, the sole resident of this particular hole in the ground was not yet, by even the most liberal definition, deceased. A fact that seemed to have been entirely overlooked by those gathered nearby.

A crowd of men, women, and children, all dressed in black, stood stiffly under the bright autumn sun. Though silent as mourners, their dour faces lacked the usual somberness associated with the passing of a beloved friend or family member.

Between these not-so-bereaved attendees and the coffin-sized hole, a pile of large stones occupied the spot traditionally reserved for a mound of freshly dug earth.

Overseeing the proceedings was a well-dressed rotund man. He cradled an open black book in his hands as he faced the crowd. While his official demeanor gave him an air of authority, his broad smile and smug expression were more reminiscent of a schoolyard bully than a man of the cloth.

Yet, despite these discrepancies, no reasonable person could be faulted for making the obvious assumption, bowing their head in respect, and quietly walking by. Unfortunately for the man in the hole, there didn't appear to be any reasonable people in attendance.

The rotund man shifted his book, straightened his black broad-brimmed hat, and pulled down on a matching vest, the buttons of which strained to contain his stomach. With his white shirt, high socks, and buckled shoes, he resembled a child's drawing of a Thanksgiving turkey come to life. Clearing his throat to indicate he was about to begin, he motioned for all to be quiet. An unnecessary gesture, as the only sound came from the calls of seagulls diving in the waves off the nearby beach.

"Good morrow, Mr. Corey," he said loudly to the man in the hole. "I pray ye have had enough time to consider your position and that good sense has prevailed so we might end this unpleasantness today?" He gave the crowd a somber look to relay his distaste for the task at hand. "I ask again, in the presence of these fine witnesses, are ye finally ready to enter a plea of guilt or innocence?"

Holding a quill over the tan parchment of his ledger, the rotund man inclined an ear towards the hole.

Though the literal gravity of his situation was surely excruciating, Mr. Corey remained perfectly silent and perfectly still. The only indication that he had heard the rotund man's question was the slow drift of his eyes. His head did not move as they slid to one side, stopping to stare squarely at his inquisitor.

For a long moment, neither man blinked.

At last, the rotund man raised his gaze to the blue sky and shouted. "Another!"

"Aye, Sheriff Corwin," chorused two burly men as they stepped forward. Selecting a large flat stone from the mound, they walked to the hole and placed it gingerly onto Mr. Corey's mounting pile.