"The best you can do for the money, Lutz. I've got to go to the County seat on a case and I can't be here myself. Billy was a personal friend of mine, so treat him right." "Sure; we can turn him out first-class for that money; a new suit of clothes and a tony coffin. Any friend of yours I'll handle like he was my own." There was something slightly jocular in his tone, a flippancy which Dan Treu felt and silently resented. He looked at Lutz in his shiny, black diagonals, undersized, sallow, his meaningless brown eyes as dull as the eyes of a dead fish, and he thought to himself as he walked away-- "That feller's in the right business, and, by gosh, he's thrown in with the right bunch." The grave-digger's mouth puckered in a whistle when Lutz went to his home to notify him that his services were needed. "What! Another!" The undertaker grinned. "I'm about used up from gittin' robbed of my rest," complained the grave-digger. "This night-work ain't to my taste." "It's no use kickin'; you know what Lamb says--that these daylight buryin's makes talk amongst the neighbors." "Should think it would," retorted the grave-digger, "with them typhoids dyin' like flies." "I thought of a joke, Lem." "Undertakin' is a comical business; what is it?" "When an undertaker's sick ought he to go to the doctor what gives him the most work or the least?" "You got me; I'll think it over and let you know." In spite of his garrulous complaints the grave-digger was at work in a new grave on the sagebrush flat a mile or more from town when the undertaker and the liveryman drove up at midnight with all that remained of Billy Duncan jolting in the box of a lumber wagon. The coffin of unplaned lumber was unloaded at the grave and the liveryman hastened away, for he himself had no liking for these nocturnal drives, but neither was he the man to quarrel with his own interests. If the Health Officer and His Honor, the mayor, asked no questions when the hospital deaths went unreported, he felt that these frequent midnight pilgrimages were no concern of his. The undertaker peered into the shallow grave. "This hole looks like a chicken had been dustin' itself." "You'd think it was deep enough if you was diggin' in these rocks and drawin' only $5.00 for it," was the tart reply. "I told you I wouldn't dig but three feet for that money. 'Tain't like diggin' in nice, easy Nebrasky soil. Gimme $10 a grave an' I'll dig 'em regalation depth." "Quit jawin' and take holt of this here box." "Is he heavy?" "Never heard of any of 'em comin' out of there fat. Slide the strap under your end." "He's heavier than most," grunted the grave-digger. "He couldn't a been in there long." Lutz laughed. "They made a quick job of this one. Steady now--let her slide." The grave-digger was sleepy and cross and careless. The strap slipped through his fingers and the box fell with a heavy thud. It fell upon its side and the lid came off.