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.
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 the 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.”
