Double The Bounty Page 2

  Maybe, Brian thought, it was time to move things farther west. Maybe try Nevada, Idaho, and Oregon, or even California. On the other hand, they could go east—Kansas, the Indian Territory, and Texas, even to missouri and Arkansas. If they did that, they could hang their hats in Louisiana. He had always wanted to see New Orleans!

  When Brent arrived, he’d have to broach the subject gently in order to get him to agree. His brother had changed since they began this charade. Brent liked the feeling of power and Brian knew that his brother’s violent acts were an extension of that. Now that he had actually killed someone, what would he be like? And how long would it be before he killed again?

  Brian shuddered to think.

  Sometimes his brother scared him.

  It was a good thing Brent didn’t know that, because Brent was intimidated by Brian’s superior intelligence, and usually bowed to it. If he ever sensed that Brian was afraid of him…

  He ordered another beer and wondered if he should continue to wait in the saloon or go over and wait with the girls.

  Chapter IV

  When Decker got to the newspaper office, it was almost six and they were getting ready to close up.

  “Excuse me?”

  There were two people in the place, an old man and a young girl with pigtails. She was very cute and looked to be about fourteen.

  “Gettin’ ready to close,” the old man snapped.

  “Oh, Grandpa, don’t be so grumpy,” the girl said. She walked up to Decker with a big smile on her face. “My name is Felicia Wheeler, what’s yours?”

  “Decker.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Decker. That there’s my grandpa, Harrison Wheeler, but everybody just calls him Harry He’s the editor of this newspaper.”

  “Then he’s the man I want to see.”

  “Well now, like Grandpa said, we’re just getting ready to close.”

  “I would just like to take a look at some back issues of your paper.”

  “Oh, then you don’t want to talk to the editor,” Felicia Wheeler said, “you want to talk to the staff.”

  “The staff? And who might they be?”

  “Me,” she said proudly. “I’m them.”

  Her grandfather came up behind her and said, “Felicia, you gonna be jawing with this stranger all day?”

  “Just a little while, Grandpa.”

  “Well, don’t forget to lock up when you leave.” The man’s hair was as white as snow, and his skin was pink and shiny. His eyes were a crystal-clear blue, and he turned them on Decker now. “This here’s my only granddaughter and she’s fourteen years old. If you do anything to her besides talk, I’ll have to kill you. You understand that?”

  “I’ll remember, Harry.”

  The threat was ludicrous, since Harry Wheeler was at least sixty, only about five foot four, and frail, but the sentiment was clear.

  “All right.”

  “See you later, Grandpa,” Felicia said.

  “Will you be home in time to cook supper, or should I go out?”

  “I’ll cook, Grandpa. I always cook.”

  The old man left, muttering something that Decker could not catch.”

  “What back issue you want to see, Mr. Decker?”

  “Just call me Decker.”

  “Fine, and you can call me Felicia.”

  “I’d like to see whatever issue has stories about Brian Foxx.”

  “The robber?” she asked, eyes widening. “Are you a lawman?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  She studied him for a moment and then said, “A bounty hunter.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re mean-looking enough for it. What kind of a gun is that for a bounty hunter to carry?”

  He looked down at the sawed-off in its special holster and said, “That’s so I can be fairly sure I’ll hit what I’m aiming at.”

  “Can’t you do that with a forty-five?”

  “Never could get the hang of firing a pistol. A rifle’s more my weapon. Can I see those papers? Do you have back issues?

  “Oh, sure, in the back room. Come on, I’ll get them out for you.”

  He followed her into the back room, which was filled with stacks of newspapers.

  “This looks like a real firetrap,” he said. “One match in here…”

  “All newspaper offices are firetraps, Decker. You just got to be careful.” She was looking through stacks of papers and turned to give him a stern look. “You don’t smoke, do you?”

  “I’ve been known to on occasion, but I don’t have anything with me.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  She started to lift a pile of newspapers, and Decker rushed forward to do it for her.

  “Just put it on the floor for now. Here’s an issue that will interest you. It’s dated three months ago, when he held up that bank in Bekins, Wyoming, and the one in Mesquite, New Mexico.”

  There was a chair and desk in one corner and he went there to read the paper. There was still some light coming in through a window over the desk.

  He read the accounts of both robberies, and they were much the same as the one in Heartless. In both cases the man had red hair and freckles and never made an attempt to cover his face. In Bekins no one was hurt, but in Mesquite a man was pistol-whipped, though not killed.

  “Here’s another,” she said from behind him. He turned and accepted the paper, dated some five months ago. Same story.

  “And another.”

  He took this one from her—dated a full year back—and asked, “Don’t you have to cook for your grandfather?”

  “He’ll wait.”

  She provided him with nine newspapers in all, but told him that there were more robberies than that.

  “I think there were twenty-three all told in two years,” she said, “but these eighteen were the only ones committed at the same time.”

  “Apparently.”

  “What?”

  “I said they were apparently committed at the same time by the same man.” He touched the stack of papers on the desk and said, “We know that’s impossible, though.”

  “Why is it impossible?”

  He looked at her to see if her question was serious.

  “Felicia, these robberies were all committed hundreds of miles apart. No one can be in two places at one time.”

  “Maybe,” she said, “and maybe not. I have some ideas on the subject.”

  “How do you know so much about this? How were you able to pick these newspapers out so easily?”

  “That was easy. I read everything I can about men like Foxx and Wild Bill Hickok. I read dime novels, too.”

  “You do, huh?”

  “Sure.” A thought struck her. “Were there ever any dime novels about you?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Decker, Decker…” she repeated, thinking. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Good,” he said, standing up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m finished here.”

  “Don’t you want to hear my ideas?”

  “Not right now, Felicia. I appreciate your help, but you’d better get on home and cook supper for your grandfather. He looks like he can use all the meals he can get.”

  “But I can help you—”

  “You already have,” he said, taking out two bits to give her.

  “I don’t want your money!” she snapped, backing away.

  “Take it. It’s the only way I have of thanking you.”

  “Go on, get out of here!” she shouted. “Big-shot bounty hunter, too big to let a girl help you.”

  He put the money down on a stack of papers and said, “Thanks, Felicia.”

  “Get out!”

  He left feeling bad that she was angry. She’d been very helpful and he liked her. Maybe he should have listened to her ideas.

  Maybe later….

  Chapter V

  Brian Foxx was eating dinner when Brent Foxx walked throu
gh the door of the saloon.

  “Hello, brother,” Brent said.

  “You’re late.”

  His younger brother, dusty from the trail, dropped his gear to the floor next to the table.

  From behind the bar the bartender stared at the two men. He’d seen them together before, but it never ceased to amaze him. They were identical! Same hair, same freckles, same build. If Brent hadn’t been so dirty, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart.

  Or was the dirty one Brian?

  “I got held up,” Brent Foxx told his brother. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  “Had to throw off a posse, you mean.”

  Brent gave Brian one of his little-boy looks.

  “You heard.”

  “Did you have to kill somebody?”

  Brent sat down and poured himself a drink from his brother’s bottle, then grabbed a piece of meat from his plate with dirty fingers and stuffed it into his mouth.

  “I don’t kill unless I have to, Brian,” Brent said. “You know that. He was gonna draw down on me. What was I supposed to do?”

  Brian thought that was bullshit, but he didn’t say so. There was no use in starting an argument, not now. He still had some talking to do first.

  “Why don’t you get cleaned up and then come back and have something to eat?” he suggested. “We’ve got some talking to do.”

  “Planning, you mean?”

  “Yeah, planning.”

  “When do we pull our next jobs?’” Brent always asked that question with such eagerness.

  “We don’t.”

  “Whataya mean, we don’t?”

  “Get cleaned up and we’ll talk about it.” Brent was going to complain, but Brian said, “Go on.”

  “All right,” Brent said, relenting. “I could use a bath.” Brent turned to the barkeep and said, “Sam, a steak that thick. Okay?” He held his fingers apart to indicate how thick he wanted his steak.

  “You got it.”

  Brent waved, then picked up his gear and went upstairs to his room.

  Brian had decided while waiting for his brother that they were going to lay low for a while. This was the first time someone had gotten killed during a job, and that made it a special case.

  Now all he had to do was convince his brother.

  Chapter VI

  After a late dinner, Decker went to the saloon again. This time he wanted a beer and a relaxing poker game. He’d gotten all he could get out of the witnesses and the sheriff, and it was time to start searching. He intended to travel a straight line from Heartless, Wyoming, to Doverville, Arizona, and see what popped up. He’d told the liveryman to have his horse ready at first light.

  Tonight he wanted to relax because early the next morning he’d be on the trail again.

  “You must like this place,” the bartender said after he ordered a beer.

  “It’s the beer, not the company.”

  “Thanks loads.”

  “Any chance of a poker game?”

  “If there is, you’ll have to get it up yourself. I don’t run any games in here.”

  “I’ll take a table in the back. If anyone shows any interest, send them over, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  “And make sure they have some money.”

  “Of course.”

  The man gave him a fresh deck of cards, and Decker took them to the table with him and put them right in the center, unopened.

  Before long a couple of cowboys ambled over to his table and said, “We hear you’re looking for a game.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What stakes?”

  “Just killing time.”

  “Sounds good to us.”

  “You fellas brothers?”

  “Nope. We happened to be at the bar when the bartender asked if we were interested in the game,” one man said, and the other nodded.

  “Take a seat, gents,” Decker said, reaching for the deck and thumbing the seal open, “the game is about to start.”

  Chapter VII

  “Can we talk now?”

  Brent Foxx stared across the table at his brother. He had just polished off a huge steak with some potatoes and biscuits and a pot of coffee. Now he poured himself a drink and addressed his brother.

  “We’ve got to lay low for a while.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because you killed somebody, that’s why!’Brian Foxx’ is not just a bank robber anymore, he’s a killer.”

  Brent shrugged.

  “You’re the one who wanted his name used.”

  “Nobody was ever supposed to get killed, Brent. We agreed. It’s bad enough you like to beat up on people—”

  “I explained all of that!”

  “Never mind,” Brian said. “I’ve already decided. We’re not going to pull a job for a while. In fact, we’re gonna pull up stakes and move east.”

  “East? To where?”

  “Louisiana.”

  “New Orleans,” Brent said knowingly.

  “Yes. We pull our jobs in Arkansas and Missouri—”

  “I don’t want to go east, Brian. I like it here.”

  They locked eyes and Brian knew that if he flinched first he would be lost. It had become harder and harder to match his brother’s mad stare lately. Finally Brent’s eyes flicked away and then down to his plate.

  “Sleep on the idea, Brent. We can talk about it in the morning.”

  “Sure, Brian,” Brent said. “Sure.” He stood up.

  “Where you going?”

  “I’ve been on the trail a long time. I need a woman. You coming?”

  “No, you go ahead.”

  Brent paused and asked, “You mind if I use both girls?”

  “You been on the trail that long?”

  “Seems like it.”

  “Sure, they’re all yours.”

  “Thanks. See you in the morning, Brian.”

  “Good night.”

  Brent left the saloon with a spring in his step, like a little boy on his way to a candy store.

  Sam came over, a small man in his thirties who had a special deal with the Foxx boys to provide them food and shelter whenever they showed up.

  “Want another bottle?” he asked, claiming the empty.

  “No, Sam. Thanks.”

  “Coffee?”

  Brian thought a moment, then said, “Yeah, coffee.”

  He knew it was going to be one of those nights when he couldn’t sleep.

  Chapter VIII

  Once the game started they quickly acquired two more players. They played for two hours, and at the end of that time Decker was up about a hundred dollars.

  They were starting the third hour of play when the batwing doors opened and Felicia Wheeler walked in.

  “Felicia—” the bartender said.

  “Relax, Ted,” she said, waving a hand at him. She surveyed the room until she spotted Decker and then hurried over to his table.

  He saw her coming, but kept his eyes on his cards.

  “Decker,” she said.

  He looked at her then.

  “Shouldn’t you be home in bed?”

  “I went to the livery and saw your horse and gear,” she said accusingly.

  “So?”

  “You said there had never been any dime novels about you.”

  “There haven’t, to my knowledge.”

  “But you didn’t tell me who you really were!”

  Decker lowered his cards and looked directly into her eyes.

  “Go home, Felicia. We can talk tomorrow.”

  “That’s a laugh. You’re leaving early in the morning.”

  She must have gotten that from the liveryman.

  “Felicia—”

  “You didn’t tell me you were the Hangman!”

  “You’re a hangman?” one of the players asked him curiously.

  “No, I ain’t,” he said, annoyed now. “What the hell are you talking about, girl.”

  “You ride with a ha
ngman’s noose on your saddle, don’t you?”

  He felt all the eyes in the room fall on him, which he didn’t like.

  “I’m out of this game, gents,” he said. He collected his money, stood up, and took Felicia by the ear.

  “Good night, Decker,” Ted the bartender called out. Decker waved his free hand and was aware of the laughter that filled the room as he led the girl to the door by her ear.

  “Jesus, that hurts!” Felicia squawked, but Decker didn’t release her until they were outside.

  “Are you trying to get me killed?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, rubbing her ear.

  “Any one of those men in there might have taken exception to who I was—and where the hell did you get this crap about me being called the Hangman?” he demanded.

  “From this,” she said, producing a curled-up book from her back pocket.

  Decker took it, unfolded it, and looked at the cover. It showed a man on a horse with a hangman’s noose 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—”