“That’s right, ma’am. Each of the Gammons had a thousand-dollar bounty on his head.”
Marcy leaned back in her chair, her eyes wide with amazement. “Three thousand dollars!”
“That’s right. Come with me to Wichita, and I’ll authorize payment. You can collect from the bank there.”
Marcy looked over at Luke. “My God, we’re rich! I never saw three thousand dollars in my life!”
Luke hesitated to say anything. He didn’t fully trust Thornapple. Maybe the lawman was trying to trick him into going along to Wichita, where he would promptly place him under arrest.
Giving it more thought, that didn’t seem likely. Luke could tell by looking at Thornapple the badge-toter had plenty of bark on him. If Thornapple wanted to make an arrest, he’d just do it instead of trying some fancy trick.
More than likely, Thornapple had never seen any of the wanted posters charging Luke with murder that had circulated back in Georgia.
“There’s just one thing,” Luke said slowly. “I’m not a bounty hunter.”
“You killed three men with a price on their heads,” Thornapple offered. “It’s not like you have to file papers ahead of time or anything. That money is yours by rights, Mr. Smith.”
Marcy looked even more excited. “We’ve got to do it, Luke. We’ve got to claim that reward.”
He understood then how much it meant to her. She had spent her life struggling just to get by, enduring hardship and degradation. The tough times were starting to take a real toll on her.
Yet there was still a spark of dignity inside her, and a sense of determination that might allow her to make something better of her life if she just got the chance. The bounty money could give her that chance.
“All right,” Luke finally agreed. “We’ll go to Wichita with the marshal.”
She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Luke! You don’t know what this means to me.”
It meant he had inadvertently done something good for somebody. That wasn’t enough to make up for past failures . . . but it was a start.
Thornapple nodded toward the holstered Remingtons and coiled shell belt still laying on the table where Luke and Marcy sat. “Nice-looking guns. Whose are they?”
“They’re mine.” Luke reached out and pulled a gun out of the holster.
They split the reward money down the middle, fifteen hundred apiece. Marcy didn’t think that was fair. She wanted to take five hundred for her part and give the rest to Luke, but he refused and insisted she take half.
They set aside an equal amount from each share, and got a room in the finest hotel in Wichita. For a week they ate in the best restaurants the town had to offer, drank champagne they had sent up from one of the saloons, and spent long hours together in bed.
After that week, pleasant though it was, Luke was so restless he couldn’t stand it anymore.
He left the room early one morning while Marcy was still sleeping and walked to the livery stable where he was keeping his horses. He had just thrown his saddle on one of the animals when a voice asked, “Going somewhere, Mr. Smith?”
Luke looked around to see Marshal Jasper Thornapple standing in the open double doors of the livery barn with his shoulder propped casually against one of the jambs.
“Thought I might take a ride,” Luke answered, assuming as casual an attitude as Thornapple.
“Did you tell the young lady good-bye?”
“Who said I wasn’t coming back?”
Thornapple chuckled. “I’ve seen plenty of fiddle-foots in my time, Smith. Hell, I’ve been one. I know the look of a man who feels the call of distant trails.”
Luke shrugged. “Marcy and I aren’t really the sort for sentimental farewells.”
“I have a hunch you might be wrong about how she feels . . . but it’s none of my business, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
“That’s right, my business is hunting down lawbreakers. That line of work has given me a healthy curiosity about the people I meet.”
Luke turned a little so he could move faster if he needed to reach for the Remingtons. He had started wearing the cross-draw rig, and wished he’d had more time to practice getting those irons out in a hurry. “Out here on the frontier, curiosity’s generally considered to be not that healthy,” he commented.
“Maybe not, but it’s my job. So I sent some wires and did some checking. I wasn’t surprised to find out that Luke Smith is a pretty common name.”
“Lots of Smiths around,” Luke said, his voice tight.
“The only one I came across that might be of some interest to a man like me was from Georgia. He was wanted for killing a land speculator and some hired guns about five years ago.
Luke’s heart suddenly slugged hard in his chest. He wanted to believe what Thornapple was telling him, but it didn’t seem possible it could be true. He managed to ask, “Why would they drop the charges in a case like that?”
“Because once the Reconstruction government was forced to let go of some of its power, the facts of the case came out. Turns out the land speculator was nothing but a carpetbagging thief, and evidence indicated he’d had men killed in order to grab their land. That particular Luke Smith can go back to Georgia without having to worry about the law anymore.”
Luke drew in a deep breath. “That’s a lucky break . . . for him.”
The excitement he’d felt for a second had vanished. There was nothing waiting for him back in Georgia. Emily was probably married to Jess Franklin and raising a couple kids. Even if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t want to see him again. Not after he’d ridden off that night and never come back.
“I just thought you might be interested in hearing about that before you rode off,” Thornapple went on. “Which way do you plan to head? West . . . or east?”
“I set out to go to Denver a while back,” Luke said. “I suppose I still will.”
Thornapple straightened and nodded. “Have a safe journey, then.” He turned to head out of the livery.
Something occurred to Luke. “Marshal.”
Thornapple stopped and turned back to Luke. “Yes?”
“Can I ask you if you’ve heard of some other men? While in your line of work, I mean.”
Thornapple’s brawny shoulders rose and fell. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Wiley Potter. Keith Stratton. Josh Richards. Ted Casey.”
For a long moment, Thornapple frowned in thought. Then he shook his head. “None of those names ring a bell, Smith. Should they?”
“I don’t know. Thought it was possible.”
“Well, I haven’t heard of them. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. I’ll catch up to them one of these days.”
Thornapple lingered. “What do you plan to do with yourself?”
Luke thought about it for a second, then grunted. “Seems like there’s good money in bounty hunting.”
“Well . . . there’s money in it. Some wouldn’t call it good. Some folks call it blood money. And going after it is a good way to get yourself killed.” Thornapple shrugged again. “But you saw that for yourself. Not every owlhoot has a price on his head as big as the bounties on the Gammon brothers. But some are even bigger.”
“That’s what I thought.” Luke tightened the cinch on his saddle. “I’ll be seeing you, Marshal.”
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” Thornapple said.
Luke didn’t wave or even look back as he rode out of Wichita. He hoped Marcy was still asleep, snug and warm in that hotel room bed, dreaming of the new life she could make for herself with her share of the money. He hoped that when she woke up and found him gone, she wouldn’t hate him.
But either way, he was going.
CHAPTER 27
Blood money, Thornapple had called it, and that turned out to be true.
As the years passed, Luke Smith saw a veritable lake of blood.
