“I’m coming in,” Decker said.
“Come ahead!”
Before Brand could fire again Decker ran to his right, out of sight behind a nearby building. From there he worked his way around behind the building, and then to the back of Josephine’s house. He flattened himself against the wall and carefully made his way to the back door, first peering into the kitchen window.
Next to the back door was a wooden bin which was probably used for wood. Ducking low and moving as quickly as he could, Decker got to the bin and opened it.
As he suspected, the body of Kyle Roman had been squeezed inside. Brand must have had to break the corpse’s legs to fit him in there, another testament to the man’s strength.
Decker closed the bin, took a step back, and, holding his rifle chest-high, kicked the door with all his strength. Wood splintered, and the door crashed open. Decker went in quickly, holding the rifle out ahead of him. The kitchen was empty, and he flattened himself against a wall, listening intently, watching the door to the rest of the house.
For all he knew, Brand could have gone out the front door. Before he could verify that, he was going to have to check the whole house. If Brand wanted to run, he had plenty of time to go to the livery, saddle a horse, and get out.
Decker was counting on Brand’s readiness to finish this here and now. He was certain the Baron was not the sort of man who’d run.
Sliding along the wall, he worked his way to the doorway and slowly peered around the corner. He found himself looking into the parlor. From his vantage point he could see the window that Brand had broken. The front door was still closed, so if Brand had left the house, he had closed the door behind him. If not, then he had most likely gone upstairs.
Decker eased into the parlor, his rifle ready, and checked behind the sofa. Confident that the room was empty—and, in fact, that the first floor was empty—he moved to the stairway. He listened intently, trying to hear some indication that Brand was upstairs. The scrape of a boot, the creak of a floorboard would have been welcome, but there was nothing.
Slowly, he started up the stairs, taking them one at a time, alert in case any of them creaked, giving
Finally he reached the top step, sweat dripping from his chin. The inside of the house had become oppressively hot. His hands were slick on the metal of his rifle, and he wiped them on his pants one at a time.
At the top of the stairs he had to step around a corner in order to get a look at the second-floor corridor. Knowing that Brand would never fall for such a trick, he took off his hat anyway, hung it on the end of the rifle, and dangled it around the corner.
Nothing.
He put his hat back on, steeled himself, and then leaped into the corridor, staying low.
The corridor was empty.
There were apparently two rooms on this floor, one behind him and one in front of him. The room in the front would overlook the street.
Decker backed down the corridor to the room behind him, stopped just past the door and then repeated the technique he used to open the kitchen door. He hoped Josephine wouldn’t be too upset about all the broken doors.
This room was empty. Not only was there no one in it, there was no furniture in it, either. There were some cartons on the floor, but none large enough to hide a man. It was obviously used as a storeroom.
That left the front room, which must be the bedroom.
He moved down the corridor to the door, listened for a few seconds, then kicked it open and ducked inside. He swiftly covered the room with his rifle, first left, then right, but there was no sign of anyone there. Quickly, feeling foolish, he checked under the bed and in the closet, then stood up straight. Brand had obviously left the room, but where had he gone?
Decker was about to leave when he saw something on the window. Moving closer, he realized that it was a piece of paper hanging from the window lock. He walked over to it, saw that it was a note, reached for it—then cursed and threw himself to the floor just as a shot shattered the window.
“Shit!” he said between his teeth.
He had almost allowed himself to be suckered into standing in front of the window.
Cautiously he moved to the window on his knees, avoiding the broken glass, and peered up over the window ledge. He was in time to see Brand retreating toward town.
Decker grabbed the note off the window and sat with his back to the wall to read it.
DECKER,
MEET ME IN TOWN FOR A HOT TIME
THE BARON
It was an invitation he couldn’t refuse.
Decker left the house knowing that Brand had turned this entire contest to his own advantage. He had waited for Decker to move inside the house, and then had left by the front door, closing it behind him. He probably hadn’t expected that trick with the note to work any more than Decker had expected his trick with the hat on the end of the gun to work.
Now Brand had moved the battle to the streets of the town, where he would probably assume that Decker would be concerned with the welfare of innocent bystanders.
If Brand was not concerned, then he had obviously given up all chances of saving his life in Broadus.
Now he was only trying to save his life.
Brand was undecided.
Initially he’d wondered if he wouldn’t be foolish not to go to the livery, saddle up, and ride out, but he knew that all that would do was postpone this showdown between him and Decker. He knew Decker’s reputation as a bulldog. He hunted one man until he caught him, no matter how long it took.
That kind of man would have to be taken care of now, when he had the chance.
Now he was undecided as to whether he should stay on street level or move to the rooftops. He had the whole town to play with, having effectively put Decker at a disadvantage.
It was then that he realized he was actually enjoying this.
With the whole town at his command, he was like a kid in a candy store.
Where should he go first?
Josephine only heard the shots because she had been listening for them. There was one shot, then a long silence as she sat hardly breathing until she heard the second one. After that she stood up and moved toward the batwing doors.
She stopped there. It took her a few seconds to become aware that the bartender, Potts, was behind her.
“You don’t want to go out there,” he said gently.
“Yes,” she said, “I do…but I won’t.”
She didn’t want either man to be killed because each was watching out for her.
Or would either one of them even be worried about that?
