The sheriff of the town, a man named Mike Farrell, had believed Decker to be innocent, but Decker was convicted and sentenced to hang.
Even now Decker could feel the noose around his neck.
“I got as far as the gallows, with the hangman putting the noose over my neck, before Mike Farrell brought the real killer in and made him confess.”
“Who was it?”
“Her husband.”
“What happened?”
“Apparently I wasn’t the first one that she had thrown herself at, and that, combined with the fact that I knocked him down in front of her, made him mad enough to attack his own wife. I don’t know if he meant to kill her, but he did, after raping her.”
“And what happened to you?”
“The hangman took the noose off my neck and untied my hands and walked away.”
“No apology?”
“Nobody apologized. When I walked down off the gallows, nobody was even there anymore. They’d gone home disappointed that they weren’t going to see a hanging.”
“And the sheriff?”
“He resigned and left town, and I rode with him for a short time. He tried to get me to take up being a lawman, but I had other ideas.”
“Bounty hunting?”
“For a reason. I want to be able to get to the ones who are going to be hanged and satisfy myself that they’re guilty before I hand them over. I don’t want what happened Tome to happen to any other innocent men.”
“And the noose?”
“The noose is a reminder of what almost happened Tome, and why I took up bounty hunting. I lose sight of my reasons once in a while, and the noose brings it back Tome.”
“Does that mean you won’t bring Brian Foxx in unless you’re convinced of his guilt?”
“That’s what it should mean, but I’ve been finding myself already convinced. I mean, the eyewitness descriptions are pretty damaging.”
“Which ones?”
Decker stared at her and then sipped his coffee. It had grown cold while he told his story. He dumped it into the fire and poured another cup.
“You’re right, Felicia. Maybe I need more than the noose to remind me of my reasons.”
“Does that mean we can be partners?”
He stifled a grin and said seriously, “Let’s not get carried away.”
Later, after they had retired, Felicia said, “Decker?”
“What?”
“Are you asleep?”
“No.”
“What about the gun?”
“What gun?”
“The one you wear.”
“I told you, I’m not very good with a handgun.”
“Did you try to learn?”
“Mike Farrell was pretty good with a gun, and he tried to teach me, but it was hopeless, so he brought —”
“Wait a minute,” she said, sitting up. “Mike Farrell. I know that name.”
“Yeah, Mike went on Tomake a pretty good name for himself as a federal marshal.”
“He’s had dime novels written about him.’Iron Mike’ Farrell they call him.”
“I guess. Anyway, he took me to a gunsmith friend of his and asked the man to design something for me that wouldn’t require that I aim. That’s when he came up with this rig.”
“You and Iron Mike Farrell,” Felicia said, with more than a little awe in her voice. “Decker, do you know Wild Bill Hickok.”
“Felicia.”
“Yeah?”
“Go to sleep.”
Chapter XVII
The next afternoon they came within sight of a ranch house. There was a barn that was in a state of disrepair, and a corral with a few horses in it, but beyond that it didn’t look like much of a spread.
“Are we going to stop?” Felicia asked.
“To water the horses and ask some questions.”
Felicia moved as if to go forward, and Decker put his hand on her arm to stay her.
“We don’t know who’s down there, Felicia, and so far my questions have not been well received.”
“You want me to watch you closely, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll go first.”
Decker urged John Henry on and Felicia fell in behind them.
As they approached the ranch house, the front door opened and a man stepped out. He was followed by a woman, and then a girl.
The man appeared to be in his midforties, solidly built, his black hair flecked with gray and cut short. He had a solid jaw and a thin slit of a mouth. The woman was about thirty-five, handsome and well-shaped, with dark hair pinned up in a bun. The girl was no more than seventeen or so, slender and blonde, her hair worn long and loose. She was very lovely.
“Can I help you?” the man asked.
At that point Decker veered John Henry to his right, and the people on the porch became aware of Felicia.
“John…” the woman said, putting her hand on the man’s arm. Decker assumed that they were husband and wife, and that the girl was their daughter.
“My name is Decker,” he said, “and this is Felicia.”
“Is she your daughter?” the woman asked.
“No, ma’am, we’re just traveling together.”
“For what purpose?” the man asked.
“I’m looking for someone,” Decker said. “A red-haired man who may have passed this way within the past two weeks.”
“And the girl?”
Decker looked at Felicia, who remained silent.
“She’s a newspaper reporter, looking for a story.”
“Is that right?” the man said. He looked at Felicia and said, “You seem so young.”
“I’m fourteen, and Mr. Decker is making fun of me. My grandfather has a newspaper, and I
