Bounty on a Baron

Chapter Eight

On his way back to his room Decker heard the floorboards creak outside his room. Instantly awake, he heard the noise again.

Silently he rolled off the bed, drawing his gun from the holster on the bedpost. Then he waited.

The floorboards creaked long enough to tell him that there was more than one person in the hall. He cocked the hammer on his gun and waited.

Suddenly, the door burst open, as if kicked, and there was a man in the doorway shooting at the bed. Decker could hear the bullets as they struck the mattress. Without even thinking he started firing himself.

The figure in the doorway staggered and then fell, and Decker saw another silhouette behind him. That man fired one quick shot into the room and then turned and ran down the hall.

Decker sprang to his feet, ran around the bed, jumped over the body and burst into the hall. He could hear someone banging his way down the steps and ran after him, gun in hand. Luckily, he was cold when he went to bed and wore not only his long underwear, but his pants, as well. Unfortunately, he was barefoot and stubbed his toe just before he started down the steps. Ignoring the pain, he ran down the steps and into the lobby, where the startled desk clerk was staring at him.

“Which way did he go?” Decker demanded.

“What? What?”

He ran to the desk, grabbed the clerk’s shirt, and pulled him halfway across the desk.

“Which way did he go, damn it?”

“Out the front door,” the clerk said. Decker released him, and as he was going out the door he heard the man shouting, “What’s happening, what’s happening?”

Decker ran out into the street and looked both ways but didn’t see anyone. He stood stock-still and simply listened. Since it was so late at night the saloons were closed and there was not any music or shouting. For this reason, he heard the sound of someone running to his right. He didn’t so much hear the man running as he heard him breathing hard as he ran.

Decker moved to his right, not running but moving quickly. He was walking on the boardwalk, and since he was barefoot there was no possibility of his footsteps being heard. He was not running because he did not want to breathe heavily. Bare-chested, he was aware of a slight bite in the air.

Ahead of him he could hear the man’s boots scraping and sliding alternately on dirt and the boardwalk. Decker quickened his pace, wanting to keep the man at least within earshot.

Finally Decker reached a point where he couldn’t hear the man anymore. It was possible that he had stepped into a storefront along the way, but all of the doors seemed to be locked. Decker continued moving along, alert for any movement behind him, but when he came to an alley he felt certain that this was where the man went.

Decker flattened himself against the window and carefully peered around the corner. He listened intently for a few moments and thought he might have heard the sound of breathing—although it could have been his own.

Sliding into the alley, he wondered if it deadended or if he was wasting his time and the man was long gone. He moved cautiously, not staying to the center or to either side, but moving from side to side so as not to present an easy target.

He held his gun in his right hand, cradling the barrel with his left, all his senses alert. He was sweating, which was making his exposed flesh feel even colder than before.

As he went farther into the alley the darkness deepened but his night vision improved. Finally he could make out the end of the alley, which was indeed a dead end. There were some wooden cartons at the end, and he had to assume that the man was behind one of them.

“There are two ways out of here,” Decker said aloud. “You can throw your gun out and we can walk out together, or I can walk out alone and leave you behind—dead.”

He waited, and there was no response.

“The choice is yours,” he added.

Two things tipped him off. He heard a sharp intake of breath and the sound of a boot sliding on the ground, and then the man moved quickly out from behind a carton, gun in hand. Decker squeezed the trigger and his shot caught the man in the stomach, punching it out through his back.

He knew it was useless to hope that the man was alive to question, so he turned to go back to the hotel before he caught pneumonia.

As he rushed through the lobby the clerk again shouted, “What’s happening?” And then he called out, “Should I send for the sheriff?”

Decker didn’t reply. He thought the sheriff already knew all about this.

Decker returned to his room and turned up the lamp. In the bright yellow light he leaned over and turned the man over. His bullet had traveled true, striking the man in the chest just where his heart was. He was dead and wouldn’t be telling Decker anything.

He knew someone who would, however.

Decker, fully dressed and carrying his saddlebags and rifle, burst into the sheriff’s office, startling the man behind the desk.

“What the—” Calder said, but before he could say any more Decker had dropped his saddlebags and was pointing his rifle at the lawman.

“Where do I find the Baron?” he demanded.

“What the hell are you doing, Decker? You’re pointing a gun at a duly appointed—”

“Don’t give me that shit, Calder,” Decker said. He moved closer so he could put the barrel of his rifle right beneath Calder’s chin. The man tried to back away, but his chair hit the wall behind him and he couldn’t go any farther.

“Your boys missed me, Calder, and I’m not about to give you a second chance.”

“I don’t know what—” Calder started to protest, but Decker pushed the barrel of the rifle right up against the man’s Adam’s apple, cutting him off.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Decker said. “Where do I find the Baron?”

“He’ll kill me—”

“I’ll kill you, Calder, and I’m here right now.”

“You can’t do this to a lawman—”

“When I find the Baron and bring him in you won’t be a lawman anymore, so I’m not worried about you.”

“You should worry about the Baron, Decker,” the sheriff said. “He’ll kill you.”

“I’ll worry about that, Calder. Just tell me where he is.”

“I’ll—I’ll—”

“Tell me!”

“All right, all right,” Calder said. “I’ll tell you where he is, because I know when you find him, he’ll kill you.”

“We’ll see.”

“Try up around the Powder River. I hear the Baron favors that area.”

“What do you mean, you hear? How do you get in touch with him?”

“I don’t.” Calder said. “He gets in touch with me.”

“When will you hear from him next?”

Calder shrugged and said, “When he’s looking for more work.”

“You don’t know how to get in touch with him?”

Calder shook his head, his eyes fixed on the barrel of the rifle beneath his chin.

“If you’re sending me to the Powder River for nothing, Calder, I’ll be back.”

“You won’t be back, Decker.”

“You better hope I’m not.”

Decker removed the barrel from beneath the man’s chin, reversed the rifle and slammed it into Calder’s jaw. He needed the man to be out just long enough for him to saddle his horse and get out of town.

He picked up his saddlebags and left the office. Minutes later he was astride John Henry and riding out of town toward the Powder River.