Bounty on a Baron

“Well—”

“Come on!” Brand shouted, poking Roman in the arm, jarring him. “Tell me.”

“I…I tried to frame him for murder.”

“Well, that was smart. How did that work?”

“It didn’t.”

“Tell me about it. Come on, if we’re going to be partners in this, you have to tell me everything.”

Reluctantly, Roman told Brand what he had done to Martha after Decker had left her. Brand listened, continuing to circle the table.

“So, you killed an innocent woman for nothing.”

“Well, you—you killed an innocent boy, didn’t you? Isn’t that why Decker’s after you?”

“That was an accident,” Brand said, “an unfortunate accident. You, my friend, cold—bloodedly killed a woman who had nothing whatsoever to do with all of this.”

“It was the only thing I could think of.”

“And this,” Brand said, stopping behind Sheriff Kyle Roman, “is all I can think of.”

Too swiftly for the sheriff to realize what was happening, Brand slid his left forearm around Roman’s neck, put his right hand beneath the man’s chin, and twisted viciously. Roman’s body stiffened, shivered, and then went limp.

“That’s one problem solved,” Brand said, straightening up.

Decker stood across the street from Josephine’s house, trying to decide what to do. Finally he crossed the street and moved alongside the house, stealthily peering into windows as he went. When he finally got to the kitchen window he stopped and watched as a man stood behind the sheriff and quickly and efficiently broke his neck. There was no question about it. Only a man like the Baron would be capable of such an act. The bounty hunter had found his quarry at last.

Decker couldn’t really feel sorry for the sheriff. He had obviously gotten in way over his head due to greed.

Decker watched a moment longer, assessing his foe. The Baron lifted Roman up and tossed him over his shoulder. The man was obviously very strong, evidenced by both the move he’d used to break the man’s neck and the ease with which he was carrying the now-dead weight.

Rather than stay and watch the Baron dispose of the body, Decker decided to go somewhere to think and decide how best to confront this formidable opponent.

Chapter Twenty-five

Decker decided to go to the Broadus House and talk to the bartender, whose name he didn’t remember—if he’d ever known it at all. He wanted to assure the man that he had had nothing to do with Martha’s death.

When he reached the saloon the doors were locked, and he banged on them until they were opened.

“Decker,” the bartender said.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

The man stepped back and allowed the bounty hunter to enter.

“I heard what happened to Martha,” Decker said. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Where is she?”

“The undertaker’s.”

“Was the sheriff here?”

“He sure was.”

“He interrupted my breakfast by trying to arrest me for her murder.”

“That’s crazy,” the man said.

“Why do you say that? He seemed to think that since I was the last one with her, I was the logical suspect. In fact, I was afraid you’d believe it, too.”

“Naw,” the man said. “I saw Martha after you left her.”

“You did?”

He nodded.

“And she was fine. We exchanged a few words and then she went back to bed. Next thing I knew, she was dead.”

“I think I know who killed her.”

The bartender’s eyes widened and he asked, “Who?”

“The sheriff.”

“What?”

Decker explained his reasoning, and the bartender listened, nodding.

“The poor kid,” he said when Decker was finished. “If what you say is true, then she died for something she wasn’t even involved in.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Shit!” the man said.

“I don’t think I ever even learned your name,” Decker said.

“Potts.”

“Well, Mr. Potts, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. I’d like to see that sheriff get his, though.”

“Don’t worry,” Decker said, opening the door to leave. “I’m sure he will.”

As he walked down the street, Decker got an idea and headed for the store that Josephine ran. As he entered, a little bell above the door tinkled, announcing his presence. The woman behind the counter looked up and smiled at him.

“May I help you, sir?” the woman asked. “Something for your wife?”

“I’d like to see the owner,” Decker said. “Miss Hale.”

“I can help you just as well—” the young woman began, but Decker cut her off.

“I’m sure you can, and I mean no disrespect, but I’d rather see Miss Hale.”

“Very well,” the woman said. “If you’ll wait one moment?”

“Of course.”

The woman disappeared through a curtained doorway, and when the curtain parted again Josephine Hale came through. Decker was surprised at how tall she was, her eyes nearly level with his.

“Yes? Can I help you?” she asked.

“Maybe I can help you,” Decker told her.

“Oh? How?”

Decker took the shoe heel he’d found in the livery from his pocket and laid it on the counter.

“You lost that.”

She looked at the heel, her eyes widening. Then she looked at Decker and saw the distinctive gun on his hip.

“Decker!” she said, her voice a harsh whisper.

“That’s right.”

She tried to run, but he grabbed her by the wrist.

“Please,” he said, holding her tightly. “I’m not here to frighten you or hurt you.”

“You are hurting me,” she said, trying to pull free.

“I’m sorry. When I let you go, please don’t try to run. We have to talk.”

“I’ll call the sheriff,” she said defiantly.

“I doubt he’ll be able to come. Your man broke his neck this morning.”