He had actually gotten as far as the gallows, and the hangman had put the noose over his neck. Decker had given himself up for dead, had known that within seconds he would be executed for a crime he’d never committed. It had only been at the last moment that Mike Farrell, the sheriff, brought the real killer in and made him confess.
The killer was the husband.
Decker was not the first one that the woman had thrown herself at. That, combined with the fact that Decker had knocked him down, made the man angry enough to attack his own wife. In his fury he had killed her by accident, then, frightened, he had blamed Decker.
Nobody apologized. In fact, when Decker had walked down from the gallows nobody was even there anymore. They’d gone home disappointed that they weren’t going to see a hanging.
Sheriff Mike Farrell resigned and left town after that, and Decker rode with him for a short time. Farrell tried to get Decker to take up being a lawman, but Decker had other ideas.
He became a bounty hunter. His reasoning was that he wanted to be able to get to the ones who were going to be hanged and satisfy himself that they were guilty before he handed them over to the law. He didn’t want what happened to him to happen to any other innocent man—ever.
The noose that he carried was a reminder of what had almost happened to him and why he took up bounty hunting. Every once in a while he lost sight of his reason, but the noose never failed to bring it back to him.
He dried his face and chest, wiping the towel under his arms, where the smell of fear persisted.
He returned to the bed then, wishing he had a bottle of whiskey in the room with him.
Actually, he was wishing he had Viola in the room with him. She would have kept him from thinking of his past, and might have kept him from dreaming about it.
The knock on the door in the morning woke him. As he opened his eyes he couldn’t even remember falling asleep. Cautiously he opened the door to find Viola standing in the hall.
“Good morning,” he said.
She sniffed and said, “You smell terrible.”
“I had a bad night,” he muttered. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this return engagement?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Joe sent me over to invite you to breakfast.”
“When and where?”
“His room, half an hour.”
“Tell him I’ll be there.”
“Do everybody a favor,” she said.
“What?”
“Take a bath first.”
Chapter Four
When Decker reached the saloon he found the front door open. They weren’t open for business, but the bartender was inside, just starting to take the chairs down off the tables.
“What can I do for you?” he asked Decker coldly.
“I got an invitation from Rigger for breakfast.”
“Oh yeah,” the bartender said. “He’s waiting for you upstairs. Tell him I’ll send breakfast up.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Decker went up the stairs and knocked on the door of Rigger’s room. It was opened by Viola.
“Well,” she said, putting her hand on her hip, “don’t we smell pretty.”
Decker stepped past her into the room.
“Decker, glad you could come! Viola, go down and tell Carl—”
“Carl said he’d send breakfast up.”
“Great.” Rigger looked at the girl and said, “Okay, get lost.”
“Sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“I’m sure.”
Viola looked at Decker, then turned and left.
“That any way to treat a lady?” Decker asked.
Rigger laughed.
“If she were a lady, she sure wouldn’t be working here,” he said. “Besides, she loves it when I treat her like that. She thinks it means I love her.”
“Do you love her?”
“I love all my girls,” Rigger said, spreading his arms magnanimously. “Come on, Decker. Let’s go inside and have a seat. Breakfast’ll be here soon.”
Rigger led Decker into another room, where a large, round table was set up with everything you’d need for breakfast—except breakfast.
“Have a seat. You’re gonna love the food. Carl does things with eggs nobody else can.”
“I’m sure. Could we get to the discussion at hand?”
“Hmm? Oh, you mean what we talked about last night.”
“Right. The Baron.”
Rigger scratched underneath his chin and looked like he was concentrating on something.
“Yeah, I guess I could give you some idea of where to look. I can’t say he’s there, mind you, but you could start looking.”
“Where?”
“Up north. Montana.”
“Montana? Why would he be holed up in Montana?”
Rigger shrugged and said, “He likes the cold. Is it cold in Russia?”
“I don’t know,” Decker said.
“Well, the way I hear it, when he’s between jobs he goes up Montana way.”
“Where? Does he have a spread up there?”
Rigger shrugged and said, “Beats me. I guess you’ll have to go up there and find out.”
“I guess I’ll have to.”
“Montana’s a big place.”
“It’s a place to start.”
Decker stood up just as the door opened and Carl entered with breakfast.
“You ain’t leaving before you eat, are you?” Rigger asked.
That had been Decker’s intention, but suddenly he was hungry. Must have had something to do with the smell of bacon and eggs and biscuits and fried potatoes.
“After Carl went to all this trouble?” he asked. “Hell no.”
“Good!” Rigger said. “Set it right down, Carl. You got a couple of hungry hombres here.”
Over breakfast they talked about anything but the Baron. Rigger spoke about El Segundo and why he liked it there.
“It’s peaceful,” he said. “I make my living with my gun, Deck, but I’m pretty sure I ain’t gonna have to use it here.”
“Isn’t it a little dangerous?” Decker asked.
“What?”
“Having one place where you stay between jobs. You here in Texas, the Baron in Montana.”
Rigger shrugged.
“Not many people know where to find me,” he said.
“I knew.”
“You’re in the business.”
“Not your business.”
“Well, then, you know me. You don’t know the Baron, that’s why you had to come to me.”
“It still sounds dangerous, always returning to the same place.”
“Everybody’s got to have a place to stay, Decker,” Rigger said. “A place to relax, let down their guard.” Rigger leaned forward and said, “Don’t you have a place, Decker?”
Decker stood up and shook his head.
“I never let my guard down, Joe. Thanks for the breakfast, and the information.”
“I’m glad we got our old…argument cleared up, Deck. I’d like to think of you as a friend.”
“Why’s that?”
Rigger smiled and said, “I never kill friends.”
“I guess I should find that encouraging. Give Carl my compliments.”
“I’m almost tempted to come along with you,” Rigger said to Decker’s retreating back.
“Why don’t you?”
Rigger thought a moment, then shook his head.
“It wouldn’t do. Word might get out that I went after the Baron because of—”
“Jealousy?” Decker asked.
Rigger shrugged.
As Decker turned to walk to the door, Rigger called out, “Hey, Deck!”
“Yeah?” Decker said, turning with his hand on the doorknob.
“Um, anything I tell you stays between you and me, right?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t want it to get around that I told you where the Baron was.”
“You don’t ha
ve anything to worry about. Besides, when you get right down to it, you really haven’t told me where he is, have you?”
Rigger smiled. “Try a town in Wyoming called Douglas, near the North Platte River. Look for a man named Calder.”
“Calder? Who’s he?”
“He’s the man you go to see when you want to hire the Baron.”
Surprised at the information—and that Rigger would be willing to give it—Decker gave the other man a small salute and left the room.
Downstairs Decker didn’t see Carl, but he did see the girl, Viola. She was dressed for work, even though it was early. She wore a silver dress with a deep, plunging neckline and probably thought she looked sexy as all hell. Decker still thought she was a little too innocent-looking for this line of work.
“Are you and Joe finished?” she asked.
“All done,” Decker said. “He’s all yours.”
“Not yet,” she said, cocking one hip, “but he will be.”
“Good luck, honey—you’ll need it.”
Joe Rigger didn’t love anybody but Joe Rigger. Viola was going to have to learn that the hard way.
Chapter Five
Douglas was a fair-sized town about forty miles east of the larger town of Casper, Wyoming, and about eighty miles west of the Nebraska border. It was almost three hundred miles south of Montana. It had everything a town should have if you were going to use it for a base: a hotel and a telegraph office.
Decker put his horse up in the livery and then carried his rifle and saddlebags to the hotel.
“Will you be staying long, sir?” the clerk asked him. He was a dapper man with slicked-down hair, and he smelled of cheap cologne.
“That depends,” Decker said, signing the register.
“On what, sir?”
“On how long it takes me to find a man named Calder.”
“Who, sir?”
“Calder,” Decker said. He put the pen down and stared at the clerk. “You don’t know anyone by that name?”
The clerk thought a moment, then shook his head and said, “No, sir. Does the gentleman have a first name?”
“I’m sure he does,” Decker said. “Can I have my key, please?”
“Of course, sir,” the man said. “Room 7. It overlooks the street.”
“What does Room 8 overlook?”
“Just the alley.”
“Is there a roof or ledge outside the window?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll take that one.”
“As you wish, sir.”
The clerk replaced the key to number 7 and handed him the key to number 8.
“If there’s anything else—”
“I’ll let you know,” Decker said. “Thanks.”
He picked up his rifle and saddlebags and ascended the stairs to the second floor. Once in the room he dropped his gear on the bed and walked to the window. Sure enough, it overlooked an alley. Across from him was a blank wall. There was no way of telling what kind of building it belonged to. Its roof, however, extended another floor above his window. There was no access there. He was satisfied that the room was fairly secure from outside entry—except for the door. He fixed that by taking the one straight-backed wooden chair in the room and jamming it under the doorknob.
He had ridden all day and was tired, even more than he was hungry or thirsty. He took off his boots, reclined on the bed, and fell as deeply asleep as his instincts would let him. At the slightest sound, he’d be instantly awake and alert. Left alone, he’d be able to sleep for about an hour, then go in search of a drink and a meal.
The drink was a shot of whiskey at the saloon, followed by a beer.
“Maybe you can help me,” Decker said to the bartender after he swallowed the last of the beer.
“I just did, friend,” the man said. He was a sloppy fat man with huge forearms that looked as if they might once have held some muscle. Maybe there still was some beneath the surface. His face was a mass of bumps, dominated by a lumpy nose. He had either been a wrestler or a bare-knuckled boxer.
“I need to find a man.”
“I supply drinks,” the man said, “and you can probably find a woman in here. We don’t deal in men.”
“Look, friend—” Decker said, putting his hand on the bartender’s arm. The bartender quickly closed his other hand around Decker’s wrist and squeezed. Decker found out that the man still had plenty of muscle.
“You wanna ask me a question, you go ahead and ask, friend, but that don’t entitle you to touch me.” With that he took Decker’s hand off his arm and then released him. “And it don’t necessarily entitle you to an answer.”
“I’m looking for a man named Calder,” Decker said. Holding his hand below the bar level so the barkeep couldn’t see, he began to flex it, trying to bring it back to life.
“So?”
“You heard of him?”
“What if I have?”
“I’d like to see him.”
“And what if I haven’t?”
“I’d still like to see him.”
“What for?”
“That’s between him and me.”
“If I did know him, where would he be able to find you?”
“Right here, after about an hour.”
“Where you gonna be for that hour?”
“Getting some dinner. Know a good place?”
“There’s a café down the street. It ain’t the best food in the country, but it’ll do.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back here in an hour.”
The bartender shrugged, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.
Before going to the café Decker stopped in at the sheriff’s office.
The man seated behind the desk looked up.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“My name’s Decker,” the bounty hunter said, moving toward the desk. “Just wanted to check in with you. I just arrived in town.”
The lawman stood, showing himself to be a tall man of medium build, not thin, not heavy.
“Why would you be checking in with me?”
“Isn’t that what a stranger does when he comes to town?”
The man laughed, showing yellowed teeth.
“Not in my experience.”
“Well, I’m a bounty hunter on the trail of a man.”
The lawman frowned and said, “That’s different. I’m obliged that you came here and introduced yourself.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Calder, Sheriff Sam Calder.”
Decker paused only slightly before taking the man’s hand and shaking it.
Finding Calder had been easier than he’d thought.
Chapter Six
Over dinner, Decker considered his options.
He had left the sheriff’s office without approaching the man about the Baron. For one thing, he didn’t know if the lawman was the right Calder. For another, he’d already made contact at the saloon and was probably better off going through the proper channels. If the sheriff was the right Calder, let him approach Decker.
At the café Decker ordered a steak with potatoes and onions, some biscuits, and a pot of coffee. The bartender had been right. The food wasn’t the best, but it was edible and better than the beef jerky and beans he’d been eating on the trail. As for the coffee, Decker rarely found better coffee than he prepared for himself over a fire.
After dinner he went back to the saloon and ordered a beer from the bartender. From the big man’s demeanor, no one would have known that Decker had already been in the saloon once. Decker did not speak up. If that was the way the man wanted to play it, that was fine with him.
The saloon was fairly full now. Two private poker games were going on at opposite ends of the room and a couple of saloon girls were working the room, both looking more suited to their occupation than Viola had back in El Segundo. These women were older and knew how to work a crowd of men, not playing favorites but making each of the men feel special.
Decker took his beer over to one of
the poker games to watch. Ten minutes later, when a chair opened up, he slid into it.
“You gents mind some new blood?”
“Not as long as you got some new money to go with it,” one of them said, laughing at his own joke. The other three men at the table did not last. The joking man was apparently the big winner. He had a very red face, which Decker at first suspected came from laughing. He soon discovered that the man’s face was naturally that color.
The deal fell to Decker and he dealt out a hand of five-card stud. He’d dealt himself a small straight, but the red-faced man was betting two pair like they were invincible. The other three men dropped out of the hand, and Decker decided to let the big winner have it. He didn’t like it when a new man sat in on a game, drew the deal and immediately made a winning hand. Anybody losing would look at that suspiciously.
Two rounds later he drew a third king to a pair in a hand of draw poker and beat the red-faced man’s three threes without tipping his hand.
“Looks like we’ve got us a player,” the red-faced man said.
“Somebody ought to start beating you,” one of the other players mumbled.
Fortune eventually turned for one of the other men, who started winning big. Decker, too, won a few hands and was ahead. Red Face started to lose and no longer had cause to laugh.
In fact, he was decidedly unhappy.
“Looks like your luck changed as soon as the stranger sat down,” he said to the man who’d started winning.
“You’re as much a stranger to me as he is,” the man stated.
The other man obviously wasn’t too sure about that, but as long as he kept his feelings to himself, Decker knew there’d be no trouble.
Over the next hour Decker won a little, the previous winner lost a lot, and the new winner was winning the most. The other players were holding their own.
This did not sit well with the red-faced man, who finally decided to speak out.
“I don’t like the way this game is going,” he said sullenly.
“You think we do?” one of the other losers said.
“I wonder why you started winning as soon as this man sat down?” Red Face said, indicating Decker.
“Beats me, but I’m sure glad he came along. Changed my luck for sure.”
Robert J Randisi Page 3
