“Why do you say that?”
“He uses his real name. He used to be a lawman, you know, a legitimate lawman in Wyoming. He robbed the town he worked in for two years, and he’s been going ever since. Six towns in thirteen months.”
“Where’s he been concentrating?”
“All over, never the same state or the same territory twice. The Wyoming Territory, the Dakotas, Nebraska, Nevada, the Utah Territory, and the Colorado Territory. Also, you’d think that using his real name he’d have built up a reputation that would warn people.” Randle shook his head. “The only people who know him are lawmen and bounty hunters, because we read the posters. Why, I’ll bet that the people in the towns he’s robbed think they’re the only ones he hit.”
“Well, maybe his own arrogance will trip him up.”
“Well, as much as I don’t like bounty hunters, Decker, this is one bounty I’d like to see you collect. This yahoo is wanted dead or alive, and it don’t make no never mind to me or any decent lawman how you bring him back.”
Randle was dead serious.
“That’s nice to know, Kevin. Thanks for the information.”
Yep, this one should be
Chapter One
Pemberton wasn’t a big town, but as small towns go it appeared to have pretty much everything a town should have.
Decker noticed this as he rode down Pemberton’s main street.
They had a livery a hardware store, a hotel, a saloon, a haberdasher’s shop, a gunsmith’s shop, one of everything a town needed to survive and prosper.
The only thingh they didn’t have anymore was a sheriff—unless, of course, they had elected one during the two weeks since “The Lawman” had robbed their bank.
Decker put his horse up in the livery and went over to the saloon for a drink.
“Help ya?” the bartender asked.
It was after noon, and the saloon was doing a brisk business. It was the only saloon in town, so anyone who wanted a drink would have to go there.
“Beer, cold.”
“As cold as we can get it.”
Which turned out not to be cold enough, but Decker didn’t complain. At least it was wet, and it cut through the dust.
“Got a sheriff in this town?” Decker asked.
“That’s sort of a sore point right now, Mister.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“We had a sheriff, but two weeks ago he upped and robbed the bank and left town.”
“You don’t say?”
“Ain’t been able to get anybody to take the job regular since then. Fact is, we had the same problem just afore our last sheriff came into town.”
“You made a stranger the sheriff?”
The man shrugged his beefy shoulders.
“He said he wanted the job, and nobody else did, so the mayor and the town council hired him.”
“No election?”
“Wasn’t nobody wanted to run against him.”
“You mean you can’t find anybody in this whole town who wants to be sheriff?”
“Town’s mostly made up of merchants, Mister. Ain’t a lawman among ’em.” The man leaned forward then and said, “Say, you wouldn’t be looking for a job, would you?”
“After what happened you’d still be willing to hire a stranger?”
“A town needs a sheriff, don’t it?”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Decker said. He paid for the beer and asked where he could find the mayor.
“His office is down the street, above the general store.”
“Thanks.”
“Gonna apply for the job?”
Decker ignored the question and left the saloon.
He stopped at the bank first and found the teller who’d been on duty when the bank was robbed.
“It was terrible,” the boy said. “It was like Mr. Hampton—that was the manager’s name—like he didn’t believe the sheriff was serious.”
“You did, though?”
“Mister, if a man is pointin’ a gun at me, I’m gonna figure he’s serious.”
“Smart lad.”
Decker started to leave, then remembered a question he wanted to ask and turned back.
“How much did he get?”
“About twenty thousand.”
Decker whistled softly. A man could lay low a long time with that kind of money.
Next, Decker went over to talk to the mayor. An officious, blustering fool, the mayor had little to tell him about the sheriff.
“He was a total stranger when we hired him, and a total stranger when he left.”
“He didn’t make any friends while he was here?”
“None. He kept to himself.”
“No women?”
“A lot of women, but no one in particular.”
“Did he do his job?”
“Well enough—until he robbed us. I tell you, it’s a disgrace what that man did, betraying the trust the people of this town put in him.”
“Next time you’ll know better than to hire a stranger without some sort of references.”
Decker left the office, disgusted with the man and the town, thinking that people who won’t help themselves deserve whatever they get.
Decker had dinner in a small cafe and then went to the saloon for a beer. He took a back table and watched the townsmen at play
It was his routine to spend a day in the last town that his prey had been seen in, collecting any background information that was available. Before taking out after a man, he tried to form a picture of him beyond a physical description or drawing.
Moran was an ex-lawman, and apparently had been a competent one. He was able to get people to trust him and hire him, which meant that he could relate to people when he wanted to. He was arrogant, but he could control his arrogance when he needed to. He didn’t bother trying to get on with people once he had the job, and he stayed to himself.
Since the mayor indicated that there had been many women, it seemed he was attractive to them, unless he dealt solely with whores.
So far, Decker had seen one of everything in Pemberton. That meant it had to have a whorehouse.
He went to the bar and asked the bartender, who verified his guess. He obtained directions, and went over there.
The madam was a Milly Smith—Miss Milly—a woman in her mid-fifties who must have been a beauty when
