Robert J. Randisi
DOUBLE
THE
BOUNTY
Prologue
I
Brian Foxx knew he was a legend.
Oh, maybe he wasn’t as much of a legend as he wanted to be—but then no man ever is—except for Wild Bill Hickok. Hickok was the only man in history who might have been more famous than even he believed.
And Brian Foxx was certainly no Wild Bill Hickok.
Brian Foxx was a bank and train robber, and he was wanted in three states for robberies committed over the past two years. What made Brian Foxx a legend was the fact that he had robbed two banks on the same day on more than one occasion—hundreds of miles apart! It was physically impossible, yet witnesses in both places had identified the man as Brian Foxx, whose face had adorned enough posters and newspapers to be recognized.
Brian Foxx sat in a straight-backed wooden chair across the street from the Bank of Heartless, Wyoming. He was observing the bank’s activities, as he always did before robbing one. Also, he knew that he still had two days before everything would be set for the robbery to take place.
He had to wait for his twin brother, Brent Foxx, to get into position hundreds of miles away in Doverville, Arizona. This was they could rob their respective banks at the same time.
Witness would
II
In Denver, Colorado, inside the federal marshal’s office, Marshal Charles Edward Chesbro counted out one thousand dollars into the hand of a tall, dark-haired man with dark, penetrating eyes and a heavy mustache.
“Cole was a little worse for wear when you brought him in here yesterday,” the marshal said after he’d finished his counting.
“He was alive, wasn’t he?” the other man asked. He counted the money himself, which seemed to annoy the marshal.
“Uh, what are you going to do with all that money?”
The man put the money away and looked at the marshal.
“That’s none of your damned business. You got any new paper?”
“Outside on the wall,” the marshal said, stung by the reproach.
Without a word of thanks or good-bye, the man turned and walked outside.
The marshal shook his head, watching the man’s retreating back. He couldn’t understand why the man’s presence—no matter how many times he had dragged a prisoner back here—always unnerved him.
Outside, the man looked over the posters. He stopped at the one that said:
WANTED: BRIAN FOXX
$1500 REWARD
DEAD OR ALIVE
The man took the bottom of the poster between his thumb and forefinger and snapped it off the wall.
Poster in hand, he walked to his horse, a small but powerfully built gelding, and mounted up. Hanging from his saddle pommel, in plain sight, was an expertly tied hangman’s noose.
The man’s name was Decker. And he was something of a legend himself.
He was a bounty hunter.
PART ONE
FOXX HOLE
Chapter I
Decker directed John Henry, his nine-year-old gelding, down the main street of Heartless, Wyoming. Somebody was in a piss-poor mood when they named this town, Decker thought.
Decker commanded attention as he rode down the street. His tall, muscular frame sat straight in the saddle beneath a flat-brimmed black hat, and he rode with an air of confidence that women found arresting and men, threatening. Men found the dark eyes penetrating, as if Decker was able to look inside of them and discover their deepest secrets.
Women, on the other hand, found his eyes expressive. He looked as if he was concerned with how he could please them the most. Most women enjoyed the feeling it gave them in the pit of their stomachs.
