THE BOUNTY: Twentieth in a Series of Jess Williams Westerns (A Jess Williams Western Book 20)

by Robert J. Thomas

  The grief of losing her husband came rushing back into her mind. Combined with that and the knowledge that she had just been raped along with the sight of the dead man she had just killed, caused a total meltdown to wash over her. She sat there sobbing uncontrollably for over an hour before she picked herself up and walked into the house to pack some things. She knew that Rubin was right, she had to run to get away from what she knew would come for her; a very powerful and wealthy angry man who would want to exact a deadly revenge for the death of his only son.

  ***

  Jane sat on top of the large bay horse and looked at her cabin. She looked at her garden and thought about the irony of it all. Only a few hours ago she was picking tomatoes from her garden to can and now, she was about to leave everything she had and run for her life. It wasn’t fair and she hated it, but she had no other option now. She had to find Rubin Fisher and somehow convince him to tell the truth about what happened. It was the only way she would ever be able to return to her little cabin; to the only way of life she knew. She slowly turned the bay away and with tearful eyes, rode away from the only thing normal left in her life, the little cabin her and her late husband had built together.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Sheriff Jubal Burch of Defiance, Texas, was a short fat man with a stubby nose that rode above his tobacco-stained moustache from the stubby cigar he always seemed to be chewing on. He wore a Colt six-shooter in a haphazard fashion. The holster was almost engulfed by his overlapping belly and the pistol rode behind his right hip. He wasn’t any good with the gun, but he did carry a Spencer repeating rifle when doing his rounds and he was quite good with that.

  He reined up in front of Walt Mercer’s house, woefully dreading the task he had before him. He slowly dismounted and tried to straighten out his holster on his waist. He looked up to see Walt walking out of his magnificent large home. Mercer was wearing his usual brown denim pants, white shirt and black tie and a heavy belt with a large solid gold belt buckle that had been custom molded into the letter ‘M’. Sheriff Burch walked up the three steps and onto the large covered porch and Walt could tell by Burch’s demeanor that whatever brought the short, portly, cigar chewing Sheriff out to his house wasn’t good news.

  “What in the hell brings you out here, Sheriff?” demanded Walt, a cutting tone to his voice.

  “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news Mr. Mercer,” stammered Burch slowly for effect.

  “Whatever that pain in the ass son of mine did now, I’ll fix it,” exclaimed Walt.

  “I don’t think that you can fix things this time,” said Burch cautiously, his eyes darting everywhere but at Walt.

  “Damn it Jubal, spit that cigar out of your mouth and tell me what you came here to tell me,” demanded Walt angrily. Jubal tried his best to meet Walt’s eyes when he said it.

  “Your son, Jethro…well…he’s dead,” muttered Jubal.

  Walt’s body stiffened and his face contorted up with hate and anger. A look of hardness washed over his face and he punched Jubal straight on his nose, knocking the Sheriff backward. Jubal twisted to his right and went down on his hands and knees. The cigar went flying out of his mouth and landed in the dirt by his horse.

  “Damn it, Walt,” cried a stunned Jubal. “I think you done broke my damn nose.”

  Walt stood there and rubbed his right knuckles and gazed out at nothing in particular. The anger and angst welled up inside him. He had constantly bought Jethro out of trouble with his money and his connections, but he knew that no amount of money could buy his son’s life back.

  Sheriff Burch finally got himself back up using the porch railing to brace himself. Blood was streaming from his nose and painting his brown tobacco stained moustache a strange reddish-brown color. He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped some of the blood off his face.

  Walt said nothing as he spun around on his heels and walked back inside the house and into his large office. He picked up two glasses and poured some brandy into them and he took a long drink of it. Sheriff Burch sauntered into the office holding the handkerchief to his nose. Burch picked up the brandy and stuck it under his nose and took a sip of it while holding the handkerchief in place. Walt slowly sank into his large, brown, padded chair and poured himself another glass of brandy and took another long pull from it.

  He motioned for Burch to take a seat, which he did quickly, not wanting to enrage Walt any more than he already had. Walt sat there in silence for a few more minutes and then he looked straight at Burch, who had stopped the bleeding now, although his moustache was still stained with blood and tobacco.

  “What in the hell happened? Who killed my boy?” demanded Walt. Burch squirmed in the chair a little.

  “Well, we can’t be absolutely certain about it, but as near as we can tell, Jane Lacey killed him with a pitchfork,” he explained timidly.

  “Jane Lacey?” replied Walt, a look of surprise and confusion on his face. “What possible reason could she have for killing my boy?” Burch fidgeted around tensely in his chair.

  “Well, from what we could tell out at her place, it looks like Jethro might have had his way with her if you get my meaning,” explained Burch. “Her dress was all cut up and lying on the ground like some kind of display.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” snapped Walt. “Anybody could have done it.” Burch squirmed around in the chair some more.

  “Walt, it was Jethro’s knife we found next to his body on the floor of the barn,” answered Burch carefully. “It was the one he kept in his boot with his initials carved on the handle of it. And we found his horse outside the barn all saddled up. I mean…sure…we can’t prove he raped her, but it sure looks like he might have.”

  “Did you arrest her and lock her up?”

  “We can’t find hide or hair of her anywhere,” explained Burch. “She must’ve lit out of there right after it happened. We went inside her house and saw that she had gone through the drawers in the dresser and packed some clothes. The drawers were still open and there were cloths scattered about on the floor. One of the three horses she owned was gone from the barn, too.”

  “And no one saw anything? No one knows anything?”

  “Well, we found two sets of fresh tracks leading up to the house coming from this direction,” continued Burch. “Then we found two sets of tracks leavin’ the house in two different directions, but one of them wasn’t the same as the two tracks we found coming in. And like I said, your boy’s horse was still there, so we figure one set of tracks leaving the house was Jane Lacey.”

  “And the other set of tracks?” asked Walt, leaning forward in his chair. Burch hesitated for a moment.

  “Well, we ain’t sure, but there must’ve been a third party there who might’ve witnessed what took place.”

  “A witness?”

  “Maybe,” suggested Burch. Walt leaned back in his chair and took another long pull from his brandy.

  “Any idea who it might have been?”

  “I’m only surmising, but you know how Rubin Fisher and your boy was hanging together all the time,” submitted Burch. “Might’ve been it was him there with Jethro.”

  “Maybe it was Rubin who raped her, or maybe she wasn’t even raped at all.”

  “Like I said earlier, we really don’t know exactly what happened out at her place, other than the fact that your boy was killed. Jane Lacey is missing and whoever else was out at her place is gone, too, whoever that was,” stated Burch. Walt settled back in his chair again and gave Burch a hard ominous look.

  “Sheriff, you put some men together and try to find Jane Lacey and Rubin Fisher and when you do, you bring them to me.”

  “Shouldn’t I lock them up in the pokey if’n I find them?”

  “You listen to me, Sheriff,” snapped Walt angrily. “I pay your salary and I own this town as well as the Mayor and the town council. You’ll do as I say or someone else will be wearing that badge on your shirt.”

  “Alright,” gro
aned Burch, as he rose from his chair to leave.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” offered Walt, “you print up some notices with Jane Lacey’s likeness on it and distribute it to every town within two hundred miles of here. I want her brought in to me alive and I’m offering twenty-five thousand dollars to whoever brings her in.”

  “That’s one hell of a lot of money for one person.”

  “Money is what motivates people.”

  “Well, that’ll sure motivate a lot of men,” said Burch. “For that much money, you’ll have every gunslinger and bounty hunter alive hunting her down.”

  “That’s exactly the point, Sheriff. Now go and get it done. I want those posters printed up by the end of the day.”

  Sheriff Burch nodded and stood up and walked out of Walt Mercer’s house. He walked down the steps of the front porch and found his stubby cigar lying on the ground. He picked it up and brushed some of the sand off it and stuck it back between his thin lips and chewed on it. He climbed up in the saddle and turned his horse back around and headed toward Defiance to do Walt Mercer’s bidding again. He didn’t like it, but Mercer was right about owning the town and just about everyone and everything in it, including the law.

  ***

  Walt Mercer sat in his large office in silence for a few hours grieving over his dead son. He had never spent much time with Jethro. He was always working on his next business venture along with the next pile of money he could make. But now that his only son was dead, he wasn’t thinking about his next business venture. He was thinking about Jane Lacey and picturing her standing over his dead son’s body with a bloody pitchfork in her hands. He pictured the dirt being shoveled into his son’s grave. Then he pictured Jane Lacey’s neck in the rope that was squeezing the life out of her slowly, and he pictured his hands holding the other end of that rope.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jess rode out of the little no name town with Web Miller’s dead body strapped across his horse. He traveled along a small river that led to the town of Breckenridge, Texas; the closest town with any law where he could turn the body in for the bounty. It took him three days to reach town. He arrived in the late afternoon and headed straight for the jail hoping to find someone wearing a badge. As he was climbing down from the saddle, a small thin man sporting a goatee and some bushy sideburns and a tin star that announced he was the town Marshal, walked out and looked at the dead body and smiled a crooked smile.

  “Who ya got there?” the Marshal asked. Jess pulled the wanted poster out and handed it to him. The Marshal mouthed the words to himself as he read the paper. He walked over to the stinking corpse and lifted the head up and compared it to the wanted poster.

  “This don’t look like Web Miller to me,” said the Marshal derisively. Jess cocked his head and gave him a disgruntled look.

  “Look at the poster again,” demanded Jess. The Marshal compared the poster with the dead man’s face again and gave Jess a clever look.

  “I don’t see the resemblance.”

  “Are you blind or something?”

  “Don’t get testy with me. I’m the law in this two-bit town.”

  “Listen, Marshal, I spent almost a month tracking that killer down and I just spent three stinking days hauling his corpse here to turn him in for the bounty, so you’d better take another look or find someone else to confirm that the dead body on that horse is Web Miller,” demanded Jess, his tone turning sour.

  “And I’m telling you this ain’t the man on the poster,” rejected the Marshal indignantly. “So why don’t you haul your bounty hunting ass out of here and we’ll plant this stinker and call it even. Otherwise, I can start investigating why you killed this man, whoever he is, and maybe I’ll lock your ass up until I can find out.” Jess deftly removed his hammer strap and glared at the Marshal.

  “I’ve heard about law dogs like you,” retorted Jess. “You deny the bounty and refuse to identify the corpse and then threaten to arrest the man who brought the corpse in. Then, after you chase the rightful person out of town, you turn the corpse in for the bounty yourself. Well, that ain’t gonna happen. Either I’m taking his corpse to another town, or you’re gonna pay me the three thousand dollars he’s worth.” The Marshal gave Jess a detestable look and walked a little closer to him.

  “You ain’t taking this corpse anywhere,” snarled the Marshal.

  “Yes I am.”

  “You planning on drawing down on a man with a badge?”

  “If you force me to, yeah.”

  “Who in the hell do you think you are anyway?”

  “The name is Jess Williams,” barked Jess heatedly. The town Marshal started to reply, but he swallowed the words as the name sunk into his crooked little brain.

  “Did you say Jess Williams?” the Marshal asked cautiously.

  “You hard of hearing, too?” demanded Jess. The Marshal looked Jess over some more and finally recognized him from the sketches in the dime novels he read about him.

  “Are you the same Jess Williams they write about in them dime novels?” asked the Marshal timidly.

  “Yeah, but what does that have to do with any of this?”

  “Well…ah…let me look again,” the Marshal replied modestly as he walked back over and lifted the head up again and compared it with the wanted poster.

  “You know, the more I look at him, the more it does look like Web Miller. I can have your money for you first thing in the morning when the bank opens.”

  “Alright, but if you don’t get my money tomorrow, I’ll take it out on your hide and three thousand dollars is a lot of hide,” warned Jess. “Now, the best place for a room and a meal?”

  “Matilda’s Boarding House on Second Street has clean rooms,” offered the Marshal. “Rooster’s Saloon serves some pretty good vittles and they always have free pickles and eggs on the bar if you’re drinking.”

  “Thanks,” said Jess irritably.

  Jess walked his horses back down to the livery he had passed on the way into town. He stabled his horses and threw the stable boy a five dollar gold piece and took his saddlebags and rifles to the boarding house. When he walked up to the boarding house, he saw a heavyset women sitting on the front porch in a rickety old rocking chair that squeaked with every move. She eyed Jess up and down and frowned unhappily at him. He took the two steps up to the porch and forced a smile at her.

  “Got a room?”

  “I don’t want no trouble,” the woman quipped.

  “I’m not looking for any, just a room.”

  “Then why do you have all those guns?”

  “Because I’m a bounty hunter and I’m not very good at throwing rocks,” said Jess edgily.

  “Key to room three is behind the desk,” snapped the woman, revealing the three missing teeth in her mouth. “Leave the money on the desk.”

  Jess walked in and grabbed the key, left the money on the desk and walked up the steps to the second floor. It was a small but clean room with a single bed, one dresser with a bowl of water and a small towel. He left his things in the room and headed back out to find Rooster’s Saloon and get something to eat.

  He slipped his hammer strap off as he pushed through the batwing doors. The first thing he noticed was an extremely tall man standing behind the bar with a towel draped over his shoulder. The second thing he noticed were the two men standing by him on the opposite side of the bar. Both men were well armed, each wearing two six-guns. One of them had a rifle leaning up against the bar. The other had a sawed off lying on top of the bar. Both men looked like seasoned gunmen. They eyed Jess up and down as he walked up to the bar. The tall barkeep sauntered over to Jess and wiped off the top of the bar in front of him.

  “What’ll it be, Mister?” he asked in a deep raspy voice.

  “Good whiskey.”

  The barkeep went into the back and came back out with a bottle and poured Jess a small glass of it. Jess looked at the pickles and pickled eggs on the plate on top of the bar. He picked up an egg and took a huge bi
te out of it.

  “Hungry?”

  “What do you have back there?” asked Jess, chewing the egg.

  “You wanna look at our menu?”

  “You have a menu?”

  “Yeah,” the barkeep replied strangely.

  He reached down below the bar and brought up a single piece of paper and handed it to him. Jess looked at it and the only thing written on the menu was beef stew in big bold letters. He gave the barkeep a funny smile as he handed the one-item menu back to the tall barkeep as he polished off the egg.

  “I’ve given it a lot of thought and I think I’m going to go with the beef stew,” said Jess sarcastically.

  “Good choice,” offered the barkeep, smiling strangely again.

  The two gunmen were standing at the bar about fifteen feet from Jess and they were watching him intently, exchanging looks with one another and whispers. Jess tried to ignore them, but they kept staring at him. The barkeep brought out the beef stew and put the platter in front of Jess and leaned up against the back of the bar, still smiling strangely. Jess took a large bite of the stew and started chewing it when one of the two men sauntered alongside the bar closer to him making sure he didn’t block his partner’s view of Jess and Jess smiled at that, knowing it was the move of a professional gunny.

  “We know who you are,” the one man said.

  “Okay,” said Jess, his mouth still full of the stew.

  “You’re that Jess Williams fella.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m Gus Snowden and my partner over there is Liam Elder,” said Snowden tersely.

  “Okay.”

  “That all you got to say?”

  “Yep.”

  “I saw you bring Web Miller in today,” said Snowden smartly.

  “I did.”

  “You know, we was looking for him, too,” added Snowden sharply.