Luke Jensen Bounty Hunter Dead Shot

by William W. Johnstone

  Hobie wanted glory as much as he did money, Luke mused. That was all too common. If young men never felt like that, there wouldn’t be anybody to fight the world’s wars.

  He knew there had been some of that hunger for glory in his own decision to join the Confederate Army back in ’61. Sure, he didn’t think it was right for the Yankees to invade the Southern states the way they had, and he still didn’t. But in the back of his mind, at least, had been the desire to hear the stirring music as he marched to battle under the flag of his homeland.

  In the end, that hadn’t gotten him any glory, only blood and mud and the closest brush with death he’d ever had. War, like bounty hunting, was an ugly, dangerous business.

  He could explain that to Hobie McCullough until he was blue in the face, and it wouldn’t do a damned bit of good. Men, especially young men, had to learn the hard lessons of life on their own.

  So he nodded and said, “All right, Hobie, we’ll ride together after those outlaws.”

  And God help us both, Luke added silently.

  They rode out of La Farva with the shouted thanks and farewells of the townspeople ringing in their ears. They had stocked up on supplies, provided at no charge by a grateful Lloyd Halligan, and filled all six of their canteens at the public well.

  Luke would have felt a little better about their mission if Kelly and Dog Eater had passed through there. It would have been nice to know that he and Hobie were still on the right trail, but all they could do was keep moving in the direction the fugitives had been traveling. He was confident they would pick up a lead to the outlaws’ current whereabouts sooner or later.

  Hobie talked a lot as they rode, and the incessant chatter reminded Luke of why he had never taken on a partner in his bounty hunting endeavors. Most of the past fifteen years he had spent alone, making few friends, and nearly all the female companionship he’d had was of the professional variety. Simpler that way. He enjoyed his own company, especially when he had a good book to read.

  Months before, he had been reunited with his brother Smoke, who had told him he was welcome on the Sugarloaf ranch near Big Rock, Colorado, any time. Smoke wanted to introduce him to their adopted brother Matt and to the old mountain man called Preacher. For years, Smoke had considered them family, and now that he’d found his blood relative—Luke—again, he wanted him to be part of that circle.

  So now he had a family, too, Luke mused, and Hobie was probably the closest thing he’d had to a friend in several years. Things were changing in his life, and Luke wasn’t sure he liked that. The life he had led was rather bleak in many respects, true enough, but he was accustomed to it.

  He didn’t have the heart to tell Hobie to shut up, though, so he let him rattle on and didn’t pay much attention to what was said.

  If Hobie noticed, he didn’t let it slow him down.

  Several days after leaving La Farva, they came to another small settlement. It appeared normal, with people moving around on the street.

  Luke reined to a halt in front of the Golden Buzzard Saloon. A carved wooden buzzard with a coat of gilt paint on it was mounted on top of its sign. Luke thought the figure was ugly, but at the same time it was certainly striking.

  “Are we gonna get a drink?” Hobie asked.

  “Among other things,” Luke told him. “Let me do the talking.”

  They dismounted, tied their horses at the hitch rack, and went inside. The saloon was about half full. Unlike the cantina in La Farva, a couple women were working, both of them hard-faced veterans of the frontier who showed every year of their drab existence.

  One of them perked up considerably at the sight of Luke and Hobie. She brushed a hand over her graying blond hair and smiled as she approached them. “Hello, boys. Can I get you a drink? You can sit down and I’ll bring it right to your table.”

  Luke returned the smile. “Only if you’ll agree to join us.”

  “Well, I’m really not supposed to”—she glanced at the bartender—“but I don’t think Glenn will mind.”

  Luke was sure Glenn wouldn’t mind, since it was the woman’s job to sell drinks. She would try to keep them coming as long as she sat with her customers.

  “My name is Doris, by the way,” she added.

  “I’m Luke and my young friend here is Hobie.” Luke didn’t see any point in giving her their last names.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you. Just sit anywhere. I’ll be back with a bottle and some glasses.”

  “Be sure to bring one for yourself,” Luke told her.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not used to drinking.” Doris laughed. “You might try to take advantage of me.”

  “I swear on my honor as a gentleman that I wouldn’t even think of it.”

  That brought another laugh from her.

  She must have been considering the idea of a gentleman drinking in a place called the Golden Buzzard, Luke thought.

  “She’s kind of a nice-looking lady, isn’t she?” Hobie said quietly as they sat down at one of the tables.

  “Yes, and she’s twice your age,” Luke pointed out.

  “That would make her just about right for you, then.”

  Luke chuckled in spite of himself at that gibe. Hobie’s constant chatter out on the trail could be annoying, but Luke couldn’t help but like the young man.

  “Don’t get any ideas about playing Cupid. I can handle that part of my life just fine, thank you.”

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I won’t.”

  Doris came back with a bottle and two empty glasses. She had a third glass for herself that already contained a couple inches of amber liquid. Luke and Hobie stood up politely when she reached the table.

  “My tastes run more toward brandy,” she said. “I hope that’s all right.”

  “Whatever you like,” Luke told her, knowing full well that was weak tea in the glass, not brandy.

  They sat down and Doris poured shots of whiskey for the two men.

  Luke lifted his glass and said, “To making new friends.”

  “How sweet,” Doris said. “I think maybe you really are a gentleman.”

  “I always endeavor to be.”

  Luke tossed back his drink. Hobie did likewise, then immediately got red in the face and started sputtering. He thumped a hand against the table a couple times.

  “A little too strong for you?” Luke asked dryly.

  “N-no,” Hobie choked out in a hoarse whisper. “Smooth. J-just the way I like it.”

  Luke tried not to grin. He wasn’t going to come right out and ask if that was the first drink Hobie had ever taken, but it wouldn’t surprise him if that were the case.

  “Speaking of friends,” Luke went on, “a couple of ours may have ridden through here in the past few days. Wonder if you’ve seen ’em. A redheaded fella, sort of slender, traveling with an Indian.”

  Doris instantly stiffened at that description. “Those two are friends of yours?” The friendly tone she had displayed a moment earlier had vanished completely.

  “Friends might be too strong a word,” Luke said, instantly switching tacks when he saw her reaction. “More like acquaintances whose trail crossed ours, really.”

  “Well, those acquaintances of yours caused a lot of trouble when they were here,” Doris said acidly. “That Indian, especially. He got in a fight over a woman and cut a man pretty badly. Almost killed him. And he smacked the woman around, too. Then when the marshal tried to step in, the redhead shot him!”

  “Good Lord!” Luke exclaimed, trying to sound surprised even though what Doris had told them didn’t shock him at all. “Did he kill the lawman?”

  “No, but not for lack of trying. It was just luck that poor Marshal Bendix survived. As if that wasn’t enough trouble they’d caused, those two robbed the general store! I hope they never come back here.” Doris folded her arms across her chest and frowned coldly at Luke and Hobie. “ If they’re friends of yours, I don’t think you’re welcome here, either.”

  Luke fr
owned. “I assure you, we spent less than one evening in their company, and going by what you’ve just told us, I’m thankful they didn’t try to rob and murder us! Isn’t that right, Hobie?”

  “Yes, sir. They sound like really bad hombres.”

  Doris sniffed. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Did you happen to notice which way they went when they rode out?” Luke asked.

  “Why?” Doris shot back at him, instantly suspicious again. “Do you want to follow them?”

  “Just the opposite. I thought we’d try to avoid them.”

  Her attitude eased a little. “Well, that would probably be the smart thing to do, all right. As a matter of fact, I did see them ride out. They were headed southwest.”

  “We’ll go a different way, then. We sure don’t want to run into them.”

  “Sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion about you,” Doris said. “I just don’t want to have anything to do with anybody like those two.”

  “How long ago did you say they came through here?”

  “Three days, was it? No, four. Four days ago. That’s right.”

  “Well, they’re long gone by now,” Luke said.

  “And good riddance.”

  Luke poured another drink. “I’ll drink to that.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Luke came awake and stretched. He was aware of the warm figure stirring beside him in the bed. Doris’s voice murmured sleepily, “Is it morning already, honey?”

  “Indeed it is.” Luke sat up and looked around Doris’s room, which was located on the second floor of the Golden Buzzard. He hadn’t paid much attention to the details the night before. The room was furnished simply with the bed, a dressing table, a ladder-back chair, and an old wardrobe that had been a nice piece of furniture at one time. Like everything else, it was showing its age.

  Aren’t we all, Luke thought as he swung his legs out of bed and stood up to stretch again, wearing only the bottom half of his long underwear.

  Sunlight slanted through the gauzy yellow curtain over the room’s lone window. He didn’t normally sleep that late, but he’d had quite a bit to drink the night before, not to mention a good meal. And once they’d adjourned to her room, Doris had proven to be an energetic companion.

  Luke wasn’t stupid enough to believe that he could always tell when a woman was sincere, but he thought her enthusiasm had been genuine. As she had put it, “You’re not the handsomest gent I’ve ever seen, but you really are a gentleman. I don’t run into one of those in a month of Sundays!”

  He had just pulled his trousers on and buttoned them when a tentative knock sounded on the door. He had a pretty good idea who was there, but drew one of his Remingtons from its holster, anyway as he went over to answer the knock. His thumb was looped over the hammer as he called, “Who is it?”

  “Just me, Luke,” Hobie replied. “I got the horses ready to go, like you told me last night.”

  Luke had to think for a second before he recalled telling Hobie to see to it that the horses were saddled and fed by sunup. He wanted to get an early start. Gunner Kelly and Dog Eater had quite a lead on them, and if he and Hobie were going to cut into that lead, they couldn’t afford to waste any time.

  Luke glanced out the window again and muttered a curse. Judging by the light, at least an hour had gone by since sunrise. There was no excuse for that, he told himself firmly. Hobie might wind up being a better bounty hunter than he was, sooner rather than later.

  “Go order us some coffee and breakfast at the hash house,” Luke said through the door. “I’ll be right there.”

  “I already did,” Hobie said. “The food will be ready in a few minutes.”

  Luke grunted. The boy was smart. Maybe a little too smart for his own good.

  Luke pulled on the rest of his clothes, stomped into his boots, and buckled on the double gun rig. When he bent over the bed, he saw that Doris had gone back to sleep. Smiling faintly, he bent lower and brushed a kiss across her blond hair. She moved her head a little and smiled, but didn’t open her eyes.

  Luke left a double eagle on the dressing table. With the violent life he led, a moment of gentleness was well worth it. And he wanted Doris to have good memories of him, too.

  Hobie was waiting in front of the saloon. They left the horses tied at the hitch rack, their saddlebags full of supplies, and went across the street to eat.

  They didn’t linger over breakfast and soon were mounted and riding out of the settlement. As they put the town behind them, Luke realized he hadn’t even gone to the trouble of finding out the name. It didn’t matter. It was just one more stop on the trail that led them after their quarry.

  Hobie wasn’t any less talkative, at least starting out, but Luke kept them moving at a fast pace that eventually grew tiring for man and horse alike. Hobie quieted down and reserved his strength for riding.

  By the time two more days had passed, Hobie was taciturn most of the time and beginning to get a drawn, gaunt look about him. His eyes had dark circles under them, and patchy stubble covered his cheeks and jaw. It was probably the longest he had ever been out on the trail, away from civilization.

  “This is the way you spend your days?” he asked once as they stopped to rest the horses.

  “Most of them,” Luke said.

  “Don’t you get lonely, ’way off out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  Luke shrugged. “You get used to it. If you can’t, you don’t stay in this life for very long. But even when you’re in a town, you’re still alone for the most part. Most people don’t have a very high opinion of bounty hunters. To them, we’re just one step above the outlaws we hunt, and a pretty small step, at that. If that bothers you—”

  “I know. You don’t last long at the job.”

  “That’s right.”

  A short time later, after they were riding again, Luke noticed a cloud of dust rising ahead of them. For a second, his pulse quickened with the thought that the dust might be coming from horses ridden by Kelly and Dog Eater, but then he realized that was pretty unlikely.

  For one thing, the two fugitives would have had to stop for several days in order for Luke and Hobie to catch up to them so soon, and Luke didn’t think they would do that.

  For another, there was too much dust. Even with the extra horses they had taken from the ranch, Kelly and Dog Eater shouldn’t have been kicking up a cloud like that.

  Hobie saw it, too. “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know. A big group of riders, maybe a wagon team. Look at the way the dust is moving. They’re angling across our path from the north-east.” Luke gestured to indicate what he was talking about. “It’s probably not Kelly and Dog Eater, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I guess it’s not really any of our business, then.”

  “You’re right about that,” Luke said.

  Despite what he’d told Hobie, curiosity gnawed at him. The dust cloud was moving pretty fast, and if somebody was in a hurry, it usually meant trouble.

  So did gunshots, and that’s what Luke heard a moment later, floating through the hot air.

  He reined in and motioned for Hobie to do likewise. The young man frowned as the shots continued. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Gunfire,” Luke said. “Quite a bit of it, too. Somebody’s fighting a battle up there, a mile or so ahead of us.”

  “Shouldn’t we go see about it?” Hobie said eagerly. “Maybe Kelly and Dog Eater are mixed up in it.”

  “That’s possible,” Luke admitted. “Unlikely, but we can’t rule it out.” He lifted his reins. “Come on.”

  Their mounts were far from fresh, but Luke thought the horses had one good run left in them. Hobie matched his pace as they hurried toward the dust cloud, which didn’t seem to be moving anymore. It was thinning as the breeze blew through it.

  That fact, along with the continuing gunshots, told Luke it wasn’t a running fight anymore. Pursuers and the pursued had come to a stop and were battling i
t out.

  It was flat country for the most part, broken by ravines, shallow bluffs, and mesas. They came in sight of one of those tabletop formations, and Luke stopped to get his spyglass out of his saddlebags. Hobie followed suit, digging out his field glasses.

  “Where did you get those glasses, anyway?” Luke asked as he tried to focus through the telescope.

  “An old man back in Rio Rojo gave them to me as payment for some odd jobs I did for him. He fought in the War Between the States and said he used them then.” Hobie paused. “Were you in the war, Luke?”

  “I was. I suppose that makes me an old man, too.”

  “No, sir, I didn’t say that. Which side were you on?”

  Luke didn’t like to talk about the war. Too many bad memories, culminating in the betrayal that had almost taken his life and set him on a lonely trail for a decade and a half afterward.

  “I fought for the Confederacy,” he said with a curt note in his voice, letting Hobie know he didn’t want to discuss the subject at length.

  “Oh. The fella who gave me these glasses, he was a Union officer.”

  “Plenty of good men on both sides. It was a shame so many of them had to die because of a bunch of damned politicians.” Luke stiffened as the image came into focus through the spyglass. “Well, that doesn’t look good.”

  “I don’t—Oh, Lord. Is that a stagecoach?”

  “It is,” Luke said.

  The coach was lying on its side near the base of the mesa. It appeared the team had broken loose when the wreck occurred, since the horses were no longer hitched to the coach and he didn’t see them nearby. Puffs of powder smoke came from behind the coach as its defenders used it for cover.

  Luke swung the spyglass, searching for the other side of the conflict. He found them a moment later, a dozen or more riders who had dismounted and stretched out on their bellies to snipe at the coach with rifle fire from a distance of about two hundred yards.