The first time Gavin Norton saw John McCurdy, it was from inside a casket.
Barlow County had been beset by a series of grave robberies, and Sheriff Thomas Rains charged Gavin with nabbing the crooks.
The young deputy hatched a plan to wait where he knew the thief would show up -- in the grave itself.
Gavin would never forget the expression of abject terror that splashed across the ugly, lantern-lit face that peered in at him that night when he sat upright in the coffin.
The outlaw disappeared into the darkness before Gavin could even get to his feet.
As the years passed, whispers emerged throughout the west about a bandit named John McCurdy who had once been so frightened at a gravesite that his hair turned white in an instant.
So scared, in fact, he could no longer venture out into the dark, an affliction which earned him the nickname of “McScaredy.”
Nevertheless, legend had it McScaredy developed into something of a magician, able to slip into any setting -- in broad daylight -- and take whatever he wanted.
Outwardly, Gavin denounced McScaredy as a myth, but he often wondered whether there might be some connection to his long-ago encounter.
Those thoughts plucked at Gavin as his stagecoach passed a graveyard on the way to Millcreek. He was an old man, but still lean and virile, and he often fantasized about the adventures of his youth.
As if cued by those memories, the coach lurched to a stop, and a white-haired gunman leaped into the rear compartment.
Gavin recognized the dog-faced man and jumped to his feet, ready to fight.
John McCurdy recognized Gavin, too, and this time, the sight of a corpse coming toward him was too much for his ticker.
McScaredy keeled over, dead, his magic finally run dry.
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