The man who spoke was watching Decker. Although he was winning, it was clear that Red Face was intimating that Decker was doing the cheating.
Decker looked at Red Face and said, “If you’re not willing to lose your money, friend, I suggest you move on. Losing is part of this game.”
“A big part,” one of the other losers mumbled.
“I don’t mind losing,” Red Face said. “My luck just changed a little too quick to suit me, is all.”
“Talk like that is not going to make your luck any better,” Decker stated. “Just what is it you’re accusing me of, friend?”
Red Face looked into Decker’s eyes and suddenly seemed nervous. He realized he’d said too much and now seemed to want to back off.
“I’m not saying nothing.”
“And you’re not playing in this game anymore, either,” Decker told him.
“I got money on the table,” Red Face snapped.
“You’re still a little ahead, friend,” Decker said softly. “Why not quit now and save yourself…further embarrassment?”
Red Face looked at the other men at the table and, finding no support from any of them, picked up his money and stood.
He paused, as if he wanted to say something, but before he could Decker said, “Don’t change your mind.”
Red Face hesitated, then turned abruptly and walked out of the saloon. It was only then that Decker realized that Sheriff Calder had been watching.
“How long have you been here, Sheriff?” he asked as the lawman approached the table.
“Long enough,” Calder said. “Can we talk?”
“Gentlemen,” Decker said, surrendering his cards, “it’s been interesting.”
He rose and faced the sheriff.
“I like the way you handled that.”
“I don’t like being called a cheater.”
“Most men would consider that grounds for killing.”
“I never kill over a card game,” Decker said. “It makes it hard to get players next time.”
Calder laughed. “I like that, too.”
“I’m glad you approve. Where do we go to talk?”
“There’s an office in the back,” the sheriff said, pointing.
“The owner lets you use it?”
Sheriff Calder grinned and said, “I am the owner.”
Chapter Seven
Decker followed the sheriff to the back office, smiling at the fact that the town sheriff also owned the saloon. In most places, that was considered a conflict of interest, of sorts.
“Does the town council know about this?” Decker asked as they entered the office.
“Of course,” Calder said. “I’m the head of the town council.”
“I see.”
Decker regarded the man for a few seconds. Sheriff Calder did not seem to be a particularly formidable man, physically. What was it, Decker wondered, that had apparently enabled the man to obtain the run of the town?
Could it be because he was the Baron’s contact? Perhaps it was the Baron that the townspeople were afraid of. That seemed very likely to Decker. He knew of a man who once was able to terrify a town because his brother was a known gunman. When the brother was killed by someone faster, the town turned on the man and cast him out.
What would happen to Sheriff Calder, Decker wondered, once he brought the Baron in for the bounty?
It would be interesting to come back and find out.
“Have a seat,” the sheriff said.
For now, however, Decker had to deal with Calder. He did as the other man instructed.
“Can I offer you a drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“I understand you were in here earlier looking for me,” Calder said, sitting behind his desk.
“I was looking for a man named Calder,” Decker said. “At the time, I didn’t know you were the sheriff.”
“What about when you came to my office?” “I didn’t know your name, and then when you told me, I didn’t know if you were the same Calder.”
“I’m the only Calder in town,” the lawman said. “If you didn’t know who I was, why were you in here looking for me?”
Decker decided not to beat around the bush.
“I understand that if I want to hire the Baron I have to go through you.”
The man did not answer right away, and when he did he didn’t admit anything. Apparently he wasn’t as willing to do away with beating around the bush as Decker was.
“The Baron? Should I know who that is?”
“I hope you do, or I made a trip for nothing.”
“You just might have.”
Decker leaned forward and said, “Let’s not play games, Calder.”
“Sheriff Calder,” the lawman corrected him.
“You’re proud of that star, aren’t you?”
In answer, the sheriff looked at his badge and then wiped it with his sleeve.
“How long do you think you’d keep it without the Baron to back you up?”
“I don’t need anybody to back me up.”
“Then you do know the Baron.”
“What do you want with him?”
“I want to hire him to do what he does best.”
“What’s that?”
“Kill.”
Calder studied Decker intently for a few moments.
“You don’t look like you need any help doing that.”
“I can’t do this one,” Decker said. “I need someone who’s not…involved.”
“Who do you want killed?”
“I’ll tell that to the Baron.”
“Can you afford him?”
“I don’t know,” Decker said. “What’s he cost?”
Calder named a figure.
“I can cover that.”
“I’d have to check you out, Decker.”
“What’s to check out? I told you who I am and what I do.”
“How do I know you’re not looking to cash in on the Baron?”
“Has he got a price on his head?” Decker asked innocently.
When Calder didn’t answer, Decker said, “Even if he does, he can’t very well solve my problem for me if I take him in for a bounty, can he?”
“You couldn’t take him,” the sheriff said.
“You may be right, but right now I’m more concerned with hiring him.”
Again, Calder took some time before speaking.
“I’ll have to get back to you.”
“About what?”
“I’ll have to find out if he’s available.”
“How long will that take?”
The man shrugged.
“A day, maybe two. Stick around town, play some poker. You’ll hear from me.”
That sounded to Decker like a dismissal, so he stood up.
“I’ll need to see him within the next couple of weeks, Calder. I can’t wait any longer than that.”
“Like I said, give me a couple of days.”
Decker nodded and went back into the saloon.
Chapter Eight
On his way back to his room Decker heard the floorboards creak outside his room. Instantly awake, he heard the noise again.
Silently he rolled off the bed, drawing his gun from the holster on the bedpost. Then he waited.
The floorboards creaked long enough to tell him that there was more than one person in the hall. He cocked the hammer on his gun and waited.
Suddenly, the door burst open, as if kicked, and there was a man in the doorway shooting at the bed. Decker could hear the bullets as they struck the mattress. Without even thinking he started firing himself.
The figure in the doorway staggered and then fell, and Decker saw another silhouette behind him. That man fired one quick shot into the room and then turned and ran down the hall.
Decker sprang to his feet, ran around the bed, jumped over the body and burst into the hall. He could hear someone banging his way down the steps and ran after him, gun in hand. Luckily, he was cold when he went to bed and wore not only
his long underwear, but his pants, as well. Unfortunately, he was barefoot and stubbed his toe just before he started down the steps. Ignoring the pain, he ran down the steps and into the lobby, where the startled desk clerk was staring at him.
“Which way did he go?” Decker demanded.
“What? What?”
He ran to the desk, grabbed the clerk’s shirt, and pulled him halfway across the desk.
“Which way did he go, damn it?”
“Out the front door,” the clerk said. Decker released him, and as he was going out the door he heard the man shouting, “What’s happening, what’s happening?”
Decker ran out into the street and looked both ways but didn’t see anyone. He stood stock-still and simply listened. Since it was so late at night the saloons were closed and there was not any music or shouting. For this reason, he heard the sound of someone running to his right. He didn’t so much hear the man running as he heard him breathing hard as he ran.
Decker moved to his right, not running but moving quickly. He was walking on the boardwalk, and since he was barefoot there was no possibility of his footsteps being heard. He was not running because he did not want to breathe heavily. Bare-chested, he was aware of a slight bite in the air.
Ahead of him he could hear the man’s boots scraping and sliding alternately on dirt and the boardwalk. Decker quickened his pace, wanting to keep the man at least within earshot.
Finally Decker reached a point where he couldn’t hear the man anymore. It was possible that he had stepped into a storefront along the way, but all of the doors seemed to be locked. Decker continued moving along, alert for any movement behind him, but when he came to an alley he felt certain that this was where the man went.
Decker flattened himself against the window and carefully peered around the corner. He listened intently for a few moments and thought he might have heard the sound of breathing—although it could have been his own.
Sliding into the alley, he wondered if it deadended or if he was wasting his time and the man was long gone. He moved cautiously, not staying to the center or to either side, but moving from side to side so as not to present an easy target.
He held his gun in his right hand, cradling the barrel with his left, all his senses alert. He was sweating, which was making his exposed flesh feel even colder than before.
As he went farther into the alley the darkness deepened but his night vision improved. Finally he could make out the end of the alley, which was indeed a dead end. There were some wooden cartons at the end, and he had to assume that the man was behind one of them.
“There are two ways out of here,” Decker said aloud. “You can throw your gun out and we can walk out together, or I can walk out alone and leave you behind—dead.”
He waited, and there was no response.
“The choice is yours,” he added.
Two things tipped him off. He heard a sharp intake of breath and the sound of a boot sliding on the ground, and then the man moved quickly out from behind a carton, gun in hand. Decker squeezed the trigger and his shot caught the man in the stomach, punching it out through his back.
He knew it was useless to hope that the man was alive to question, so he turned to go back to the hotel before he caught pneumonia.
As he rushed through the lobby the clerk again shouted, “What’s happening?” And then he called out, “Should I send for the sheriff?”
Decker didn’t reply. He thought the sheriff already knew all about this.
Decker returned to his room and turned up the lamp. In the bright yellow light he leaned over and turned the man over. His bullet had traveled true, striking the man in the chest just where his heart was. He was dead and wouldn’t be telling Decker anything.
He knew someone who would, however.
Decker, fully dressed and carrying his saddlebags and rifle, burst into the sheriff’s office, startling the man behind the desk.
“What the—” Calder said, but before he could say any more Decker had dropped his saddlebags and was pointing his rifle at the lawman.
“Where do I find the Baron?” he demanded.
“What the hell are you doing, Decker? You’re pointing a gun at a duly appointed—”
“Don’t give me that shit, Calder,” Decker said. He moved closer so he could put the barrel of his rifle right beneath Calder’s chin. The man tried to back away, but his chair hit the wall behind him and he couldn’t go any farther.
“Your boys missed me, Calder, and I’m not about to give you a second chance.”
“I don’t know what—” Calder started to protest, but Decker pushed the barrel of the rifle right up against the man’s Adam’s apple, cutting him off.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Decker said. “Where do I find the Baron?”
“He’ll kill me—”
“I’ll kill you, Calder, and I’m here right now.”
“You can’t do this to a lawman—”
“When I find the Baron and bring him in you won’t be a lawman anymore, so I’m not worried about you.”
“You should worry about the Baron, Decker,” the sheriff said. “He’ll kill you.”
“I’ll worry about that, Calder. Just tell me where he is.”
“I’ll—I’ll—”
“Tell me!”
“All right, all right,” Calder said. “I’ll tell you where he is, because I know when you find him, he’ll kill you.”
“We’ll see.”
“Try up around the Powder River. I hear the Baron favors that area.”
“What do you mean, you hear? How do you get in touch with him?”
“I don’t.” Calder said. “He gets in touch with me.”
“When will you hear from him next?”
Calder shrugged and said, “When he’s looking for more work.”
“You don’t know how to get in touch with him?”
Calder shook his head, his eyes fixed on the barrel of the rifle beneath his chin.
“If you’re sending me to the Powder River for nothing, Calder, I’ll be back.”
“You won’t be back, Decker.”
“You better hope I’m not.”
Decker removed the barrel from beneath the man’s chin, reversed the rifle and slammed it into Calder’s jaw. He needed the man to be out just long enough for him to saddle his horse and get out of town.
He picked up his saddlebags and left the office. Minutes later he was astride John Henry and riding out of town toward the Powder River.
Chapter Nine
Decker’s trek to the Powder River area of Montana was long and uneventful. As he crossed the border into Montana from Wyoming it seemed to get noticeably colder. He pulled out his coat and put it on, turning up the fur collar.
The Powder River was born in Wyoming, ran about 140 miles north and then entered Montana, continuing for about 120 miles, give or take a mile or two for a bend here and there. That meant that Decker had 120 miles of river to follow, detouring for towns that were within easy reach—say a day’s ride, at most.
Decker didn’t think he’d have to ride to the end of the river. He was sure the Baron would probably rather be closer to the Wyoming border than deep in Montana. It would make it easier for him to get to Calder if he had to.
As he rode along the Powder River, the first place he came to was more a settlement than a town. A sign just outside announced its name as BRENNER’S CROSSING.
There were more tents than buildings, although in several places there were some skeleton structures, one of which looked suspiciously like a church.
One of the tents had a handwritten wooden sign over the doorway that said saloon. He dismounted, let John Henry’s reins fall to the ground, and entered the tent.
Inside, a bar had been fashioned out of several ten-foot-long wooden planks that had been stacked on barrels. There were a few men in the place sitting at makeshift tables. They looked like lumberjacks. One of them, a large, bearded fellow, stood out from th
e rest and seemed to be the center of attention at his table of five men.
Decker walked to the bar and asked, “Have you got cold beer?”
“As cold as you’ll get around here.”
“I’ll take a chance.”
The beer turned out to be lukewarm. He sipped at it, thinking about the Baron. Decker doubted that this would be the sort of place he’d hide out in. Most men needed women, and the Baron wasn’t likely to find many around here—unless one of these tents was a whorehouse.
He finished his beer and called the bartender back.
“Any chance of getting some companionship around here?”
“You talking about women?” the man asked. A short man with a round belly and bad teeth, he didn’t look like the type of man who knew a lot about where to find a woman.
“I’m talking about women.”
“Not around here. You’d have to wait for Lilly’s wagon to come through.”
“Lilly’s wagon?”
“Yep. Lilly’s got herself a whorehouse on wheels. She makes the rounds of some of the lumber camps.”
“I see. Any real towns hereabouts?”
“Most of them are like this, half town, half camp. We’re hoping to build us a church and a saloon pretty soon so’s we can be a real town.”
“Well, if you’re going to be a real town, those are the two buildings you’ll need.”
“You bet. Another beer?”
Decker made a face, then figured lukewarm beer was better than no beer.
“Yeah, give me another one.”
When the bartender returned he said, “You planning on staying?”
“I don’t know. You got anything like a hotel?”
“There’s a tent down at the end of the street that rents cots.”
Sleeping in a tent on a cot wouldn’t be much better than sleeping on the trail, Decker thought. As a matter of fact, sleeping on the trail would be better because he’d be able to build a fire and lie next to it.
“I guess I’ll make camp somewhere.”
“Don’t get too far from the settlement,” the bartender advised.
“Why?”
“Wolves.”
“More than one?”
The man nodded.
“Got us a pack that’s roaming around.”
Robert J Randisi Page 4
