Robert J Randisi

by Bounty on a Baron (v5)

  “Keep riding north and the Powder takes a bend to the east. From the point of that bend it’s about twenty miles to Ekalaka. I guess if you stick to the river, those are the three towns within reach.”

  “They all have telegraph offices?”

  “I’d say yes, though I don’t know for sure.”

  The bartender moved down the bar to take care of another customer, and Decker thought over what he had just learned.

  If the Baron was indeed holing up near the river, Decker’s guess was that he’d stay in Broadus or one of the towns the bartender had mentioned. If Decker rode directly from here to Terry, it would take him the better part of two days. If he stopped in between to go to those other towns, he’d end up with more than a week’s worth of riding to do. If the Baron was not in any of those towns, Decker would have to ride south and start checking small settlements and shantytowns like Brenner’s Fork.

  Of course, he could use the telegraph lines to check those larger towns, but he’d have to find a co—operative lawman at the other end. As a rule, lawmen didn’t like bounty hunters, so he knew he couldn’t count on that.

  It was worth a try, though.

  “Another?” the bartender asked.

  “Maybe later. What do you have in the way of gambling?”

  “You might pick up a poker game here, but if you want green felt you got to go to the Dice Box. They got poker, blackjack, faro, roulette, and dice.”

  “Where’s the telegraph office?”

  “Out the front and two blocks to the right.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  Decker left and headed for the telegraph office, already composing his messages in his head.

  After Decker had left the sheriff’s office Kyle Roman thoughtfully poured himself another cup of coffee and drank it slowly.

  He’d always wondered about Broadus’s mystery man, the man who called himself Brand. The man who had come to town and destroyed his relationship with Josephine Hale. Josephine had been immediately taken with Brand, and instead of accepting it gracefully, Roman had reacted badly. The result had been that Josephine rarely spoke to him, even to say good morning on the street. Had he reacted differently, he might have won her back during one of Brand’s absences, he knew, but it was far too late for that now.

  He’d always wondered what the man did when he was away from Broadus, and he’d always wondered about the slow, precise manner in which the man spoke, as if he were trying to hide some sort of accent.

  Now he knew.

  Brand was the Baron.

  With careful planning, that knowledge could be turned to a great advantage.

  After Decker had sent his three carefully worded telegraph messages to Miles City, Terry, and Ekalaka, he decided to take a look at the Dice House. They had gambling, but was their beer as cold as the beer at the Broadus House?

  Chapter Seventeen

  As Sheriff Roman approached Josephine Hale’s house he saw Brand sitting on the porch. “Good afternoon, Brand,” Roman said, putting his foot on the bottom step.

  “Sheriff,” Brand said, staring coldly at the man. Looking into those eyes now, Roman could see where the man could be a killer. “What can I do for you?”

  “I thought we’d have a little talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About you.”

  “What about me?”

  Yes, Roman thought, now that he stopped to lis ten for it, he noticed a definite accent there. The man spoke as few words as possible, but he definitely had a slight accent.

  “Well, I’ve always wondered where you went and what you did when you left Broadus, and now I think I’ve found out.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Are you interested?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway,” Roman said, milking the moment. “You kill people.”

  Brand did not react. He simply stared at Roman until the man began to fidget uncomfortably.

  “Do I?”

  “Oh yes, you do, for money—and you are known as the Baron.”

  “Where,” Brand said, “did you get such an idea?”

  “Oh, that I’m not at liberty to say. Let’s just say that there’s a man on his way here who would love for me to point my finger at you.”

  “And will you?”

  “Well, I might.”

  Again there was a long period of silence, as if Brand was waiting for Roman to explain and Roman was waiting for Brand to ask.

  Finally, it was Roman who impatiently broke the silence.

  “Of course, I could be persuaded to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Oh? How?”

  “Well, I’m sure for as long as you’ve been, um, in business you’ve probably put away a decent amount of money—maybe even in our bank.”

  Brand did not respond.

  “Okay, look, I’m gonna give you some time to think this over,” Roman said, taking his foot off the step, “but don’t take too long. I might get impatient.”

  Roman hesitated, waiting to see if Brand had anything to say, and when nothing was forthcoming he turned and walked away. His back itched, even though he knew Brand was not wearing a gun.

  Brand watched the lawman walk away and wondered what had happened. How had the man found out who he was? Was there really someone on the way—a lawman? a bounty hunter?—who was looking for him, or was that a lie?

  Or worse, was that man already here?

  He thought back to that job where he had accidentally killed the boy. Surely a poster would have been issued on him as a result of that incident.

  Who, he wondered, would dare try to collect the bounty on a man with his reputation?

  He knew of a lot of lawmen who would track him because it was their job, but there were only a few men he could think of who would track him for money.

  The most prominent of those was a man called Decker. Brand knew the man’s reputation. He even knew what kind of gun Decker wore, and he knew about the hangman’s noose he carried on his saddle.

  If Decker was here, then his world in Broadus was very close to coming apart.

  Brand stood up and went into the house. Entering the bedroom he shared with Josephine, he opened a closet and reached all the way in the back on the floor. He took out something bulky that was wrapped in cloth and then slowly unwrapped it. Removing the gun from the holster, he inspected it.

  It would have to be cleaned.

  He always cleaned his gun just before he used it.

  Josephine was surprised not to find Brand waiting for her on the porch, as he usually was. She entered the house and, not seeing him in the parlor or kitchen, went upstairs to the bedroom. She found him in front of the closet and was about to say something when she saw what was in his hand.

  “Are you leaving again?” she asked, suddenly frightened.

  He turned, surprised by her presence. The gun in his hand automatically pointed at her, and he abruptly turned it away.

  “No, no,” he said. “I’m not leaving…”

  She entered the room.

  “Then why do you have your gun? You don’t usually take it out unless you’re leaving.”

  “Jo—”

  “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Is that it?”

  “There might be a problem,” he said, “but nothing for you to worry about.”

  “If it concerns you, then it’s something for me to worry about,” she said earnestly. She put her hands on his chest and said, “Brand, I never ask you what you do when you leave, but if you’re in trouble, I want to help.”

  He tucked the gun into his belt and took her hands in his. “Let’s sit down,” he said, guiding her to the bed.

  “Jo,” he began, “in some parts of the country I’m considered something of…of an outlaw…”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The beer at the Dice Box was not as cold as the beer at the Broadus House, but there certainly was enough gambling to satisfy a ga
mbling man. Decker wasn’t really a gambling man, but he enjoyed a good poker game as much as anyone.

  It was getting on into evening now, and another thing the Dice Box had this time of day was women. They were young, attractive, and dressed in low—cut, sequined gowns. Decker decided to stay around for a while and then go back to the Broadus House, which was more his kind of place.

  He took his beer and walked around, watching some of the gambling tables, listening to the conversations. It was possible that he might hear something helpful.

  At one point one of the girls came over and leaned on his shoulder.

  “Can I get you something, honey?” she asked, tracing the outline of his jaw with a long, painted nail.

  She was young, very pretty and had a very deep, creamy cleavage, but she was wearing so much perfume that his head hurt and his nostrils burned.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “Why don’t you check with one of the players?”

  “Maybe later?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” he said, promising nothing.

  She sashayed off and talked to some of the men who were playing blackjack, and it looked to Decker like she was having more luck with them than she’d had with him.

  He was returning to the bar for another beer when he saw Sheriff Roman walk through the batwing doors. He stood at the bar, waiting to see what the lawman was going to do. In a few seconds Roman spotted him and came over to him.

  “Evening, Decker.”

  “Sheriff,” the bounty hunter said. “Making your rounds?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, my rounds. Hey, Ernie, give me a beer, huh?” the sheriff said to the bartender. To Decker he said, “Interested in gambling?”

  “Not really. I play a little poker now and then.”

  “Some pretty women working here.”

  “Sure are, but this really isn’t my kind of place.”

  “Oh? What is?”

  “The Broadus House. It seems a little simpler, much more my style.”

  “This place usually gets most of the action.”

  “That’s why I’m still here.”

  “Hoping to hear something about this man you’re looking for?”

  “You never know,” Decker said. “You haven’t heard anything, have you, Sheriff?”

  “Me? No, not a word,” he said. “Oh, but I did hear something about you sending telegraph messages ahead to some of the other towns.”

  The only way he could have heard about that was to check with the telegraph office. Why would he have done that? Decker wondered.

  “What’s that all about?” Roman asked. “Trying to get the local law to do your job for you?”

  “Just asking for some co-operation, is all. It could save me some time in the saddle.”

  “You don’t really expect to get any help from real lawmen, do you?”

  “Why not? You’ve been pretty co-operative, haven’t you?”

  “Sure I have,” Roman laughed, “but I’m a helluva guy.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Does this mean you’ll be staying in Broadus a little longer?”

  “At least until I get some replies.”

  “I see.”

  Roman finished his beer and set the empty mug down on the bar.

  “Well, I’d better, uh, continue my rounds. See you around, Decker.”

  “Sure, Sheriff. See you around.”

  Decker watched the man walk out, wondering what he had really come in for.

  When Brand finished his story, Josephine stared at him for a few moments, as if she simply couldn’t comprehend what he’d told her.

  “Who is this man?” she finally asked.

  “I can’t be sure,” he said. “It might be a bounty hunter named Decker.”

  “This Decker, is he dangerous?”

  “He’s the most dangerous bounty hunter there is,” Brand admitted.

  “Is there a way to find out if it’s him?”

  “There are two ways,” he said. “One, we can check the livery. If there’s a hangman’s noose with his saddle, then it’s him.”

  “A hangman’s noose?”

  “He carries it with him.”

  “That’s horrible!” Josephine whispered, her eyes growing wider.

  “I guess it’s his lucky charm.”

  “Does he—does he use it?”

  “Well, his bounty is usually collectable dead or alive.”

  “What’s the other way to find out?”

  “His gun. He wears a cut-down shotgun in a special holster. You can’t miss it.”

  “I want to help,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”

  “All right,” Brand said, “now listen closely…”

  Chapter Nineteen

  About a half an hour after the sheriff left, Decker decided he’d had enough of the nonstop activity in the Dice Box. He went outside, crossing the street to go to the Broadus House.

  The shot creased him on the top of the left shoulder, leaving him with a stinging pain. Throwing himself forward, he rolled for cover and came up with his gun out. As he checked the rooftops across the street, straining to see any sign of movement, he guessed he had the darkness to thank for his life. Before whoever was after him could get off another shot, he was up and running back toward the Dice Box.

  He moved along the sidewalk, alert in case whoever had shot at him had an accomplice on the other side of the street. Finally, he came to an alley and ran down it, trying to get behind the saloon. If he was lucky, he might catch his assailant coming down off the roof.

  When he got to the back he stopped short. It was pitch-black. He flattened against the wall, waiting and listening.

  When he heard something, it was from farther along behind the buildings. Cursing to himself, he took off running, realizing that his assailant had already made it down from the roof. He must have taken the one shot and decided not to risk any more.

  Decker ran along behind the buildings until he came to another alley. He flattened against the wall again and eased into the alley, expecting to hear a shot. When he heard nothing he began to move forward with more purpose until finally he was out in the street again.

  He heard somebody running toward him and spun around, his gun ready to fire.

  “Whoa! Easy!” Sheriff Roman shouted, holding his empty hands out in front of him.

  “Sheriff!” Decker said. He lowered his gun and took a deep breath. “Did you see anybody run out of this alley?”

  “Nobody but you.”

  “He couldn’t have been that far ahead of me,” Decker said, complaining. “I heard him—”

  “I heard the shot and came running, but since there was only one I couldn’t be sure where it had come from.” He squinted through the darkness and asked suddenly, “Hey, are you hit?”

  Decker put his hand on his shoulder and it came away covered with blood.

  “Just a nick.”

  “Better get the doc to take a look at it. Come on, I’ll take you over.”

  Decker looked up and down the street, then holstered his gun and reluctantly agreed. Whoever had taken the shot at him was gone.

  “Did you see him at all?” Roman asked as they began walking.

  “I didn’t see a thing,” Decker said bitterly. “Not a blessed thing.”

  In the doctor’s office, which was above the general store, Decker went over his story again for the sheriff while his shoulder was being patched.

  “Dug a nice furrow,” the doctor said, “but all in all I’d say you were damn lucky.”

  “I agree,” Roman said. “Tell me again what happened,” and Decker went into his story.

  “Sounds like whoever it was was waiting for you to come and expected to hit you with the one shot, otherwise you might have caught them coming down from the roof.”

  “That’s what I figure,” Decker said. “They took the shot and immediately left the roof. If I had been a little quicker in reacting—”

  “Can’t blame yourself for that,”
Roman said. “How were you to know they weren’t waiting to take another shot?”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  The doctor cleaned the wound, bandaged it, and then told Decker to put his shirt back on.

  “What do I owe you, Doc?” Decker said.

  The doctor named a figure, and the bounty hunter paid him.

  “Going back to your hotel?” Roman asked.

  “I think I’ll go over to the Broadus House and see if their whiskey is as good as their beer.”

  “If I were you I’d hole up in my room for a while. Whoever it was might decide to make another try to night.”

  “I hope they do,” Decker said. “This time I’ll be a little quicker.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The Broadus House wasn’t even half full, and there was a lone poker game going on in one corner. There was one girl working, and although she was as pretty—or prettier—than the ones across the street, her dress was not as fancy. It was low-cut, but it was plain.

  Decker went to the bar, and the bartender smiled, remembering him.

  “Beer?” he asked.

  “Whiskey first, then a beer.”

  The bartender poured him a shot.

  “Been across the street?”

  “Yep.”

  “Like it?”

  Decker made a face and said, “It’s too damn noisy.”

  “Got some good-looking women over there, though, don’t they?”

  Decker glanced at the woman at the end of the bar, who looked back.

  “You don’t seem to be doing so bad here,” he said.

  “Ah, that’s Martha. They’ve tried to hire her at the Dice Box, but she’s loyal.”

  “Really?”

  “She doesn’t like the owners. They treat the women who work for them like slaves.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I treat a woman like a woman,” the bartender said. He saw the look on Decker’s face and said, “Don’t get me wrong. That ain’t what I mean. I don’t tell Martha she’s got to get ten guys a night into her room or anything like that. She wants to take a guy upstairs, that’s her business. All I want her for down here is to have guys buy her drinks.”

  “Sounds like a nice arrangement. What does she drink?”