was adequate, that was the same as being bad. Still, two years seemed long enough for the man to know the area.
Decker finished signing in and asked for a room that did not overlook the street.
“Of course, sir,” the clerk said. “Here you are.”
He gave Decker the key and told him the room number.
“Do you have bath facilities?” the bounty hunter asked.
“Oh, yes, sir. If you go out the front door, make a left, and then another left, we have a bathhouse at the rear of the hotel.”
“Thanks,” Decker said.
He went to his room, dropped off his gear, and then followed the clerk’s directions to the bathhouse. Inside, he found bathing facilities for almost a dozen people. Three of the stalls were in use.
“A bath, sir?” an elderly man asked. He was sweating, because it was oppressively hot inside the building.
“That’s why I’m here,” Decker announced, feeling himself begin to sweat.
“Please undress out here and hang your clothing on a hook.”
“Out here?”
“Don’t worry, sir. Everything will still be here when you come out.”
Decker, looking dubious, undressed and accepted a towel from the man, which he wrapped around his middle.
“You can have stall number 7, sir. The water is plenty hot.”
Decker picked up his gunbelt and headed for the back.
“Oh, sir, you can leave your gun out here.”
“Maybe I can,” Decker said, “but I sure as hell won’t.”
The man didn’t know how to react to that.
“P-Please,” he stammered. “It’s the rules—” Decker ignored him and kept going, closing the door behind him.
The stall was a little larger than a jail cell. The tub was made of white porcelain, and the water was as hot as promised. There was no chair in the stall, so Decker was forced to leave his holster on the floor, but in a place where he’d still be able to get at it.
Decker soaped himself down, and after he rinsed off he simply lay back and allowed the heat to soak into his tired body. He realized that he had almost fallen asleep in that position when he heard the door to his stall open.
In an instant he had his gun in his hand, but a voice said to him, “There’s no need for that.”
The voice was mild and unhurried, and Decker turned his head to see who it belonged to. The man was standing just inside the door, his thumbs hooked into the front of his belt. He was tall and stocky and wore a star on his chest. Seeing that there was no threat to him, Decker put his gun back on the floor. The man’s beard and mustache made it tough to figure out his age.
“Sheriff Roman, I presume.”
“That’s right,” the sheriff said, moving farther into the stall. “How’d you know my name?”
“I asked about you at the hotel.”
“And I asked about you at the hotel,” Roman said. “You scared old Billy when you broke the rules and brought your gun in here.”
“Sorry about that, Sheriff, but I don’t go very many places without my gun.”
Roman cocked an eyebrow and asked, “On the run, are you?”
“No. My name is Decker. I’m a bounty hunter.”
“Ah, I see,” Roman said. “You must have a lot of trouble with people looking for revenge.”
“Some.”
“Some,” Roman repeated derisively. “A man like you—”
“What do you know about a man like me?”
“I’ve heard of you, Decker,” Roman said. “You’re good, or so they say.”
When Decker didn’t support or deny the statement, Roman continued. “What are you doing in Broadus?”
“Maybe we could talk someplace else.” Decker said. “After my bath.”
“Yeah, I guess this is sort of awkward.”
“The reason I was asking for you was that I was going to come and see you after my bath and discuss what I’m doing here. Does that suit you?”
“That suits me.”
“Fine. Can I get on with my bath now?”
“Sure…but give me your gun.”
“No.”
“I could take it from you,” Roman said, indicating his badge.
“I wouldn’t want you to try.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Roman said, “In my office, after your bath.”
“See you there,” Decker told him and fished around at the bottom of the tub for the soap.
Roman was seated behind his desk, drinking a cup of coffee, when Decker entered the office.
“Grab yourself a cup,” he said. “The pot’s a fresh one.”
Decker did so, then took the chair in front of the sheriff’s desk. The office was small, but it was clean and well cared for.
Sitting so close to Roman, Decker realized the lawman was younger than he was. The beard made him look older, but Decker didn’t think the man was yet thirty.
“So?” Roman said.
“I’m looking for a man,” Decker told him.
“That’s what you do,” Roman said. “What’s this par tic u lar man’s name?”
“He’s called the Baron.”
“The hired gun?”
“That’s him.”
“What makes you think he’s here?”
“I don’t know if he’s in Broadus,” Decker said. “The word I got was that he was up here around the Powder River somewhere.”
“Know what he looks like?”
“Just what it says on his paper,” Decker said. He handed the poster to Roman.
“I must have a copy of this somewhere,” the sheriff muttered, accepting the poster.
He read it, then passed it back.
“From that description he could be anyone.”
“The talk about him says he’s foreign. Comes from Russia or someplace,” Decker said. “Maybe he talks with an accent. That ring a bell?”
Roman thought a moment, then said, “No, not right off.”
“Mind if I take a turn around town?”
“How long you planning to stay?”
“How big is this town?” Decker asked. “How long does one turn take?”
“Be my guest,” Roman said. “If you find him, though, I want to know about it.”
“You will,” Decker promised, putting the coffee cup down on the desk, “just as soon as I bring him in.”
“Alive?”
Decker turned and said, “You know, you make a lousy cup of coffee.”
