The Bone Orchard Read Free Page A

Johns.”
    Ezra nodded, swallowing hard. He didn’t understand why they were having him read the telegrams with Ambrose sitting right there. The marshal would make a much more effective witness with his gruff drawl and haunting silver eyes.
    He held the final telegram up. “Jennings in San Fran. I do not aim to let him leave. I bury him here, or they try him for . . . for my murder.”
    The finality of those words echoed through the rapt courtroom, and Ezra shivered. He raised his head, staring at Ambrose with his lips parted in shock.
    “This was a hardened US Marshal,” the prosecutor was saying to the judge and jury. “A man who saw war, a man who tracked murderers and thieves over deserts and mountains. The atrocities he witnessed in the aftermath of Boone Jennings’s wake drove him to forgo the due process of the law he had upheld all his life, to risk his life to take Boone Jennings off the face of this earth so no one else could be hurt by him.”
    Ezra’s mouth went dry as he stared out at Ambrose, trying to imagine what would drive the man to such action.
    The prosecutor stopped pacing, his hands behind his back as he stood before the jury with a grim set to his jaw. “Marshal Ambrose Shaw died of his wounds the same night he confronted Boone Jennings. He gave his life to bring this man to justice, to end his reign of terror. You the jury must be just as brave in your convictions as Marshal Shaw was in his.”
    Ezra’s heart stuttered, and his gaze shot to the back of the courtroom. Ambrose was still sitting there, his face hidden in the shadow of his hat. He raised his hand, and tipped the brim toward Ezra.
    Boone Jennings began to chuckle.

    “You’re a ghost!” Ezra shouted at Ambrose as soon as they were in the lobby of the Palace Hotel, the trial left to carry on without them once Ezra’s testimony was over. Ambrose was quite proud of him. He wished he could have sat up there himself, but he would settle for a front row seat to Boone Jennings’s hanging instead.
    People stopped and stared at Ezra as he continued to rant at Ambrose, their scandalized murmurs growing louder the longer Ezra spoke.
    Ambrose glanced around. “Most folks can’t see me. You might keep that in mind when you’re shouting at me.”
    Ezra coughed and covered his mouth, glancing at the nearest hotel patrons. “Hello,” he said with a polite smile. He pointed at Ambrose. “He’s a ghost.”
    The couple stared at him, and then the gentleman grabbed his wife’s arm and led her away in a hurry.
    Ambrose laughed.
    “I’m glad you find this funny, because I certainly don’t,” Ezra hissed. He stopped and narrowed his eyes. “Why can I see you and they can’t?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe you got that second sight thing. Ain’t Pinkertons supposed to be all-seeing?”
    “That’s not funny. Why did you choose me?”
    “You were in my room, remember?”
    “ Your room?” Ezra spat. “It’s not your room, you’re dead !”
    Ambrose reached for his arm, taking it in a pale imitation of the iron grip he’d once employed in life. “People are going to think you’re crazy, son. I’ll be damned if your testimony gets struck because you’re talking to air. Come on.” He dragged Ezra with him.
    “Your hands are cold,” Ezra grumbled as he followed along.
    “Of course they’re cold, I been dead for two weeks.”
    “I’m dreaming right now. I’ve been slipped opium, and I’m in some sort of drugged daze.”
    “Stop muttering to yourself, goddamn.” They got to the doors of the lobby, and Ambrose stood staring at them. Then he glanced at Ezra, who raised his eyebrows at him.
    “Go ahead,” Ezra said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Open the door.”
    “I . . .”
    “You can’t, can you?”
    Ambrose sighed at the grand doorway with its ornately carved wood and lead glass. “They’re awful heavy,” he said.
    “Heavy,” Ezra echoed. His expression became more sympathetic. “I see,” he whispered,