Double The Bounty

Could they have gotten out while the comancheros were riding by? No, their horses were still there.

“Foxx! Come on, one of you answer me!”

“Who are you?” a voice finally called out.

“My name is Decker. I’m a bounty hunter.”

“You’ll find this bounty the hardest you ever tried to collect,” another voice said. It was the wounded one, lying on the floor somewhere.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“A deal?” the second voice asked.

“Yes, a deal.”

“What is it?” That was the first Foxx.

“I was traveling with a woman and a fourteen-year-old girl. Those comancheros are going to ride right into them. I’m sure you know what comancheros have been known to do to women.”

“So? What’s that to us?” the second man asked.

“Nothing. I’m telling you that I want out of here so I can go and try to help them.”

The second man laughed harshly.

“You expect us to let you out of here? To let you get away after you hounded us this far?”

“If you make me stay, somebody’s going to get killed, and it won’t be me.”

Again the second man laughed.

“There’s two of us. How do you expect to get us both?”

“Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just get one. Which one wants to go?”

“You’re going, bounty hunter—and soon.”

Decker decided Tomake his point a little stronger.

He stood up quickly and fired one barrel at the front door, which had been jammed shut with a piece of beam. The shot struck the partially rotted beam and almost exploded it into splinters, and the doors swung open. He then ducked out of sight and whistled.

What happened next must have really puzzled the Foxxes. John Henry started a ruckus, kicking and neighing, and it stampeded the other two horses right out the door, with John Henry on their tail.

“Now you’ve got no horses,” Decker said, replacing the spent shell with a live one.

“That was stupid. You don’t have a horse either,” the second voice said.

“Oh, but I do. My gelding will simply wait out-side for me.”

“Then we’ll take him—after we kill you.”

Decker wondered why the other brother hadn’t done more talking. From the way this one was talking, the other one had to be the smarter one.

He decided to take a chance that the smartest one, the one who had planned the jobs, was the real Brian.

“Brian, why is your brother doing all the talking?”

There was a moment of silence while the brothers tried to figure out how he knew which one was Brian. He hoped they wouldn’t ask him to name the other one.

Brian started when he heard his name. He knew that the man was talking to him. Somehow this Decker had managed to figure out their whole scam and even knew which of them was which.

This was a dangerous man.

“What’s your offer?” Brian called out.

“It’s simple,” Decker replied. “I walk out of here clean and try to help my friends.”

“And us?”

“You round up your horses and be on your way.”

“And after you’ve helped your friends?”

“I admire your confidence,” Decker said. “If I should avoid getting killed by those comancheros, I’ll come right after you again.”

“Jesus,” the other brother said in disgust, “that’s an offer?”

“Consider my chances against the comancheros.”

“You seem pretty confident about your chances,” Brian Foxx said.

“I’ve got an exaggerated opinion of my own abilities. What do you say?”

“I say forget it.”

“We’ll take it,” Brian said.

“Shit we will!” Brent Foxx said. He stood up and started running toward Decker, his gun out.

At least he thought he was running toward Decker. After firing his shotgun, Decker had moved a few pews away. He watched now as Brent ran to where he thought Decker was, and then stopped in confusion.

Decker could have blown him in half, and that would have gotten him his reward.

Instead he said, “Don’t move.”

The man, all red hair and freckles—which stood out starkly against the pale skin of his face— turned his eyes and looked down both barrels of the sawed-off.

“Drop the gun.”

The man’s eyes flicked about for a moment, looking for a way out, and then he obeyed.

“All right, Brian,” Decker called out, “I’ve got a new deal for you.”

“What is it?”

“Your brother’s life in exchange for your help.”

“My help with what?”

“If my friends have managed to get themselves captured by the comancheros, I want your help in getting them out.”

“You’re crazy,” Brent said.

Decker looked at him and said, “If you open your damn mouth again, you’re a dead man.”

One look at the man’s face, distorted by rage and hatred, told Decker that he was the one who had done most if not all of the killings.

If his brother was smart, he’d say no deal and let Decker blow this one away.

“What do you say, Brian?”

He gave the hidden man time to think it over and then prodded him again.

“I’m cocking the hammers on my shotgun.”

Shit!

Damn it!

Brian was incensed. It would serve Brent right if he let Decker blow his damn head off. What the hell was he thinking, charging blindly like that?

For a moment—for a single, fleeting moment— he was tempted to let Decker kill him.

And then the moment passed.

“All right!” Brian Foxx said. “All right. We’ll play it your way. You’re holding the deck.”

And it was stacked!

“Toss out your gun.”

The gun came arcing out.

“Have you got another one?”

“No.”

“All right, step out. If you have another gun, I’ll kill you both.”

Brian Foxx stepped out and Decker got a good look at him. Except for the fact that his color was good, he and his wounded brother were identical.

“What now?” Brian asked.

“Now you fellas are going to be a big help Tome,” Decker said, “a big help.”