Decker watched the man walk out, wondering what he had really come in for.
When Brand finished his story, Josephine stared at him for a few moments, as if she simply couldn’t comprehend what he’d told her.
“Who is this man?” she finally asked.
“I can’t be sure,” he said. “It might be a bounty hunter named Decker.”
“This Decker, is he dangerous?”
“He’s the most dangerous bounty hunter there is,” Brand admitted.
“Is there a way to find out if it’s him?”
“There are two ways,” he said. “One, we can check the livery. If there’s a hangman’s noose with his saddle, then it’s him.”
“A hangman’s noose?”
“He carries it with him.”
“That’s horrible!” Josephine whispered, her eyes growing wider.
“I guess it’s his lucky charm.”
“Does he—does he use it?”
“Well, his bounty is usually collectable dead or alive.”
“What’s the other way to find out?”
“His gun. He wears a cut-down shotgun in a special holster. You can’t miss it.”
“I want to help,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”
“All right,” Brand said, “now listen closely…”
About a half an hour after the sheriff left, Decker decided he’d had enough of the nonstop activity in the Dice Box. He went outside, crossing the street to go to the Broadus House.
The shot creased him on the top of the left shoulder, leaving him with a stinging pain. Throwing himself forward, he rolled for cover and came up with his gun out. As he checked the rooftops across the street, straining to see any sign of movement, he guessed he had the darkness to thank for his life. Before whoever was after him could get off another shot, he was up and running back toward the Dice Box.
He moved along the sidewalk, alert in case whoever had shot at him had an accomplice on the other side of the street. Finally, he came to an alley and ran down it, trying to get behind the saloon. If he was lucky, he might catch his assailant coming down off the roof.
When he got to the back he stopped short. It was pitch-black. He flattened against the wall, waiting and listening.
When he heard something, it was from farther along behind the buildings. Cursing to himself, he took off running, realizing that his assailant had already made it down from the roof. He must have taken the one shot and decided not to risk any more.
Decker ran along behind the buildings until he came to another alley. He flattened against the wall again and eased into the alley, expecting to hear a shot. When he heard nothing he began to move forward with more purpose until finally he was out in the street again.
He heard somebody running toward him and spun around, his gun ready to fire.
“Whoa! Easy!” Sheriff Roman shouted, holding his empty hands out in front of him.
“Sheriff!” Decker said. He lowered his gun and took a deep breath. “Did you see anybody run out of this alley?”
“Nobody but you.”
“He couldn’t have been that far ahead of me,” Decker said, complaining. “I heard him—”
“I heard the shot and came running, but since there was only one I couldn’t be sure where it had come from.” He squinted through the darkness and asked suddenly, “Hey, are you hit?”
Decker put his hand on his shoulder and it came away covered with blood.
“Just a nick.”
“Better get the doc to take a look at it. Come on, I’ll take you over.”
Decker looked up and down the street, then holstered his gun and reluctantly agreed. Whoever had taken the shot at him was gone.
“Did you see him at all?” Roman asked as they began walking.
“I didn’t see a thing,” Decker said bitterly. “Not a blessed thing.”
In the doctor’s office, which was above the general store, Decker went over his story again for the sheriff while his shoulder was being patched.
“Dug a nice furrow,” the doctor said, “but all in all I’d say you were damn lucky.”
“I agree,” Roman said. “Tell me again what happened,” and Decker went into his story.
“Sounds like whoever it was was waiting for you to come and expected to hit you with the one shot, otherwise you might have caught them coming down from the roof.”
“That’s what I figure,” Decker said. “They took the shot and immediately left the roof. If I had been a little quicker in reacting—”
“Can’t blame yourself for that,” Roman said. “How were you to know they weren’t waiting to take another shot?”
“I guess you’re right.”
The doctor cleaned the wound, bandaged it, and then told Decker to put his shirt back on.
“What do I owe you, Doc?” Decker said.
The doctor named a figure, and the bounty hunter paid him.
“Going back to your hotel?” Roman asked.
“I think I’ll go over to the Broadus House and see if their whiskey is as good as their beer.”
“If I were you I’d hole up in my room for a while. Whoever it was might decide to make another try to night.”
“I hope they do,” Decker said. “This time I’ll be a little quicker.”
The Broadus House wasn’t even half full, and there was a lone poker game going on in one corner. There was one girl working, and although she was as pretty—or prettier—than the ones across the street, her dress was not as fancy. It was low-cut, but it was plain.
Decker went to the bar, and the bartender smiled, remembering him.
“Beer?” he asked.
“Whiskey first, then a beer.”
The bartender poured him a shot.
“Been across the street?”
“Yep.”
“Like it?”
Decker made a face and said, “It’s too damn noisy.”
“Got some good-looking women over there, though, don’t they?”
Decker glanced at the woman at the end of the bar, who looked back.
“You don’t seem to be doing so bad here,” he said.
“Ah, that’s Martha. They’ve tried to hire her at the Dice Box, but she’s loyal.”
