Bounty on a Baron

Damned shame.

He holstered his gun, mounted his horse, and rode out of Kendall, Texas.

His job was done, and there had been some unfortunate incidentals, but that’s all they were.

Incidentals.

Prologue II

Santee, New Mexico

When Decker rode into Santee he was not a happy man. He was leading a horse with a man slung over the saddle. The man had a nice price on his head, but Decker was supposed to have caught three men, each with a price on his head.

He rode right up to the sheriff’s office and recognized the horse tethered outside. He dismounted and looked around, but the other two horses he had expected to see were nowhere in sight. The two wanted men were probably over at the undertaker’s. He knew they weren’t in jail, because they were dead.

He’d killed them.

He mounted the boardwalk and entered the sheriff’s office without knocking. He didn’t know the sheriff of this county, but that didn’t matter.

As he entered, he saw a man sitting next to the sheriff’s desk. The man turned in his chair and his eyes widened in recognition.

“Wellman,” the bounty hunter said coldly, ignoring the sheriff completely.

The lawman frowned and stood up.

“Who are you? What do you mean busting into my—”

“My name is Decker.”

“Oh,” the sheriff said, recognizing the name. “Ain’t this my lucky day. Two bounty hunters in one day. Who have you got?”

“I’ve got Ross Parmenter outside.”

“Dead, of course.”

“Do you know any other way Parmenter would have come in?” Decker asked.

“No,” the lawman admitted. “This feller just put in for Parmenter’s sidekicks. He’s got a two-thousand-dollar chit. I guess the five—thousand—dollar chit goes to you.”

“Wrong,” Decker said.

“What?” the sheriff asked, puzzled.

“I get the whole bundle.”

“I don’t understand—”

“This man does,” Decker said, moving closer to Wellman, who stood up hastily.

“Take it easy, Decker.”

“Well then, fill me in,” the sheriff said. He was an older man, in his early fifties, and had probably been the sheriff here for a good many years. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Decker said. “He stole my meat.”

“What?”

“He’s crazy,” Wellman said.

“I caught up to Parmenter’s sidekicks before I caught up to him. They made their choice and I killed them. Then I hung them up so they’d still be there when I got back with Parmenter,” Decker explained.

“You…hung them up?”

“I tied a rope around their ankles and hung them from a tree to keep the critters from getting at them. When I got back with Parmenter, they’d been cut down. I didn’t know by who until just now.” He knew Wellman, and he knew his horse, so he knew who he’d be facing when he entered the sheriff’s office.

Wellman was a hard man, but only when he had things going his way.

That wasn’t the case here.

“He stole my meat, and he’s trying to steal my money.”

“Meat?” the sheriff said. “Is that what those men are to you?”

“It’s what they are now,” Decker said. “You sign my chit for five thousand, Sheriff. The rest I’ll get from Wellman, here.”

“Not in my office—”

“You want me to take him to court for it?” Decker asked. “Or are you telling me I’m not entitled to that money?”

The sheriff wiped his mouth nervously, withering beneath Decker’s hard gaze.

“I ain’t saying that at all—”

“Then sign my chit.”

Defeated, the sheriff sat down and started writing.

“Let’s have it, Wellman.”

“What? You’re crazy, Decker—”

“On the desk.”

“Wha—”

Decker closed his eyes just for a second, displaying tolerance for the last time.

“Put the chit on the desk, Wellman,” he said, enunciating each word very carefully. Nervously, Wellman looked at the sawed-off, cut-down shotgun Decker wore in a specially constructed holster.

“Decker, we can split—” Wellman started, but the look in Decker’s eyes caused him to hurriedly pull the chit from his shirt pocket and put it on the desk, his hands shaking. That done, he stepped away from the desk and moved his hands away from his sides to show that they were empty.

“All right, all right,” he said, backing away from the desk. “Jesus, Decker, they were just hanging there, swinging in the breeze. How was I to know they were yours?”

“You know me, Wellman,” Decker said, picking up the chits. “If I ever catch you stealing from me again…” he began, but thought better of threatening the man in front of a witness—especially a lawman.

“Get out of here,” he said, his voice low and threatening.

Wellman rushed from the office, slamming the door behind him.

“Your chit for Parmenter,” the sheriff said, handing it to Decker.

“I’ll take him over to the undertaker.”

“What did you mean, he knows you?” the sheriff asked.

“Nobody else hangs their meat up the way I do, Sheriff,” Decker explained. “Wellman’s in the business. He knows my trademarks.”

“Like the hangman’s noose you always carry with you?”

Decker stared at the sheriff, who apparently knew that trademark pretty well.

“Yes, like the hangman’s noose. Have you got any new paper in, Sheriff?”

“Don’t let any grass grow under your feet, do you?” the lawman said. “Well, as a matter of fact, I got some paper in on the Baron.”

“On the Baron?” Decker said, surprised. “He’s a killer, but he’s usually careful enough to avoid drawing paper.”

“Well, not this time,” the sheriff said. “He gunned down a kid, a twelve-year-old boy.”

“What? He’d never take a job like that. Not on a boy.”

“You know him?”

“I know his rep.”

“Well, he killed a man named Carver and two others. One of them was probably the target. The kid came along later, and the Baron gunned him down.”