Double The Bounty

hanging from the saddlehorn. At the top, in big letters, it said the legend of the hangman.

“That’s not me,” he said, although he had to admit that looking at it made him uncomfortable.

“Then who is it?”

“This fella ain’t even dressed like me,” he said, indicating the painting on the cover.

“That’s just the cover. You know anybody else who rides with a hangman’s noose?”

“No,” he admitted, “but this ain’t about me. Is my name in there?”

“No. They call you Deacon in there. My grand-father says that’s so you can’t sue them.”

He started to flip the pages, but there wasn’t enough light for him to read by.

“Can I read this tonight?”

“You takin’ it with you tomorrow?”

“No, I’ll give it back—if you’re at the livery at first light.”

“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll be there—and if it’s about you, you’ll take me with you.”

“I will not!”

“What kind of deal you making, then?”

“I’m not making any deal with a snotnosed thirteen-year-old—”

“I’m fourteen!”

“All I’m doing is borrowing this book and meeting you at the livery in the morning. That’s it. Take it or leave it.”

She thought a moment, a stubborn look on her face, and then said, “All right, I’ll take it.”

“Then get your butt home and to sleep. You’ve got to get up early.

“You bet I will. I’m not letting you sneak off without seeing me.”

Actually, the thought of sneaking away had occurred to him.

Decker took the book to his room and read it, and he had to admit there were similarities between himself and the Hangman—not the least of which was the hangman’s noose. According to the copyright page, it was published out of New York City. The similarities were such that it might make sense to go to New York and talk to the man who wrote it—this Ned Buntline, whoever he was—even if, as Felicia’s grandfather had said, he couldn’t sue them.

Then again, men like Decker rarely left it to a court of law to solve their problems.

He put the book aside, first making a note of the publisher’s address. One of these days he’d get to New York and check on it.

Actually, the damned story in the book hadn’t been bad at all.

Chapter IX

He got to the livery before the sun started to come up, and Felicia was there already.

“Good morning,” he said, handing her the book.

“I saddled your horse for you.”

“You did?”

“I told old Hiram to stay asleep.”

Decker checked the cinch on his saddle and found that she had done a good job.

“Picked up your supplies for you, too.”

“Did you, now?”

She nodded.

“Mr. Walker at the general store is friends with my grandfather.”

Actually, Decker usually had coffee and jerky in his saddlebags and little else in the way of stores. He believed in traveling light and eating light. It made the first meal when you came off the trail taste that much better.

Felicia handed him a canvas sack, though, and he accepted it.

“You got bacon and coffee, some jerky, some biscuits, and a can of peaches.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

He hefted the sack and said, “Not enough here for two.”

She looked sheepish.

“That was silly of me, to think you’d take me with you.”

“Yes, it was.”

She touched the hangman’s noose while he tied the sack to the back of his saddle.

“Did you read the book?”

“I did.”

“What did you think?”

“It wasn’t bad.”

“But was it you?”

He turned and looked down at her. Her eyes were wide and shining, her nose pug with freckles on the bridge. She was going to be a beauty when she got older and filled out.

“No, Felicia, it wasn’t me. I admit it was real close, but somebody’s imagination is pretty good, is all.”

“Mr. Buntline’s.”

“Yes.”

“I have heard of you, though,” she said, still touching the noose.

“Have you?”

“Or read about you, I should say. The bounty hunter who carries a hangman’s noose on his saddle. I always wanted to ask you why.”

“When you get a little older, I’ll come back and tell you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Great! And maybe then, if I’m pretty enough, you’ll take me with you when you leave.”

“You’ll be pretty enough,” he said, mounting up, “but we’ll have to talk about that when the time comes.”

“Wait,” she said as he started to ride out. “Don’t you want to hear my ideas?”

“I don’t have time, Felicia.”

He was riding away when he heard her shout out, “You’re a fool if you don’t realize that you’re looking for two men!”

In Doverville, Arizona, a rider left town at first light the same day, traveling light. The intention of this rider was to ride in a straight line from Doverville to Heartless, Wyoming.

Decker made excellent time and crossed into Utah in three days. Ol’ John Henry may have lacked the speed of younger horses, but his stamina was as good as ever.

Along the way he had not stopped in many towns. He was trying to put himself in Brian Foxx’s place. The man had just pulled a bank robbery and would be looking for a place to light for a while—maybe even the same place after every job.

One thing Decker had learned about Brian Foxx was that his jobs—the “dual” jobs—were confined largely to Wyoming and Arizona, with an occasional foray into New Mexico.

Why not Utah?

Why not Colorado?

The answer was simple. Foxx’s home between jobs was in one of those places, and Decker’s immediate guess was Utah.