Bounty on a Baron

Chapter Ten

As Decker helped Frenchie load the wagon, he found the man’s strength to be incredible. The burly man easily lifted objects that most men would find impossible to move. When the wagon was loaded, Decker tied John Henry to the back of the buckboard and climbed into the seat next to Frenchie.

“What is it you do for a living, Decker?”

Decker hesitated for a moment but finally decided to answer honestly.

“I’m a bounty hunter.”

“For real?” Frenchie asked, looking at him wideeyed.

“Yep, for real.”

“That’s better than being a real lawman, ain’t it?”

“I guess—”

“I mean, real lawmen capture outlaws and don’t get to collect the bounty, right?”

“That’s right.” “Who gets it?”

“Nobody.”

“So, if you catch the outlaw, you get the bounty, right?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s a lot of money sometimes, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes.”

“Is it hard work?”

“Real hard.”

“But I’ll bet you’re good at it, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” Decker said.

“You up here hunting somebody?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

Decker didn’t answer that one.

“I guess that was a stupid question, huh?”

“Not stupid…exactly.”

“Yeah, it was dumb. I’m sorry. I’m just a real curious fella.”

“And friendly.”

“Oh yeah. Some people say I’m too friendly. You think that’s possible?”

“For some people, I guess not.”

“You seem like a real friendly guy. You mean you ain’t, really?”

“Not so you’d notice,” Decker said.

“You got friends, right?”

“Some.”

“Then that makes you a friendly fella. Hell, everybody’s got friends.”

“I guess so.”

“Hey, I got an idea!” Frenchie said, suddenly excited.

“What?”

“Maybe I could help you find whoever you’re trying to catch.”

“I don’t think—”

“Is he up here somewhere?”

“All I know is that he’s somewhere in the Powder River area.”

“Lot of area to cover,” Frenchie said. “I bet you could use some help.”

“I usually work alone, Frenchie.”

“Alone, huh?”

Decker nodded, and Frenchie shrugged.

“Ah, I guess I belong up here cutting down trees.”

“I’ll bet you’re good at it.”

“Damn good.”

“Then I guess you should do what you do best, and I should do what I do best.”

Frenchie thought about that for a moment, then started laughing.

“Hell,” he said, banging Decker on the back hard enough to bruise him, “that’s damn near the nicest I ever been turned down.”

“What was the nicest?”

“Well, there was this little gal once…”

When they pulled into camp Decker immediately noticed a man he assumed was Big Jeff Reno.

“That Reno?”

“That’s him.”

As big as Frenchie was—and he surely topped six-three—he was dwarfed by Reno, who had to be six foot eight and probably outweighed the big logger by fifty pounds.

“Jesus,” Decker said.

“I told you, he’s a big man.”

The woman standing next to Reno was young and pretty, and it was no insult to her that Decker didn’t notice her right away. Reno was the kind of man who dominated any scene, no matter who was there.

“That’s Miz Boone,” Frenchie said. “She took over the camp when her father was killed.”

“Accident?”

“Nope,” Frenchie said, giving Decker a sideways look. “He was murdered.”

“Murdered?”

“Shot in the head.”

“When?”

“A couple of weeks ago.”

“Anybody arrested?”

“No,” Frenchie said. “There’s no law here, Decker. We sent word for a federal marshal.”

“Who’s working Wyoming-Montana?” Decker asked.

“Fella named Murdock. Heard of him?”

Decker thought he had and nodded.

“Anyway, we don’t know when he’ll get here.”

“By the time he does the trail will be even colder than it is now.”

“It’s sad,” Frenchie said. “Jack Boone was a good man.”

As the wagon entered the center of the camp both Reno and the Boone woman looked their way. Frenchie stopped the wagon just in front of them and hopped down.

“Who’s that?” Reno asked immediately.

“A new friend of mine,” Frenchie told them. “Name’s Decker. He’s passing through and needs a place to stay. I offered him a bunk in my tent. Okay?”

Reno studied Decker, who had stepped down, and then looked at Miss Boone. She, too, was studying the bounty hunter intently.

“Do you vouch for him, Frenchie?” she asked.

“Sure, I vouch for him, Miz Boone.”

“All right, then,” she said. “Why not?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Decker said.

She looked at him as if she was surprised that he had spoken, then turned and walked away. There was one wooden cabin in the camp, and she walked to it and entered. Decker recalled what Frenchie had said about everybody being friendly and having friends, and he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, her father had been killed just two weeks earlier.

Later, Decker would berate himself for being too dumb to see what was coming.

The bounty hunter had to agree with what Frenchie had said about the camp’s cook. Either he was one of the best cooks whose wares Decker had ever tasted or food simply tasted better when the air was cold.

Decker had been left to his own devices in the mess tent and was drawing curious looks from the loggers around him. Frenchie was nowhere to be found until he suddenly stepped into the tent with Jeff Reno. They were deep in conversation, and once or twice Reno looked Decker’s way, nodding.

It might have dawned on Decker then, but he was too interested in the hot food in front of him.

When Frenchie and Reno finally finished their conversation, Frenchie got himself a bowl of stew, then sat next to Decker. He attacked his food with vigor and spoke to Decker between bites.

“Well, my friend, how do you like the food?”

“Just like you said,” Decker told him.

“Ah, I knew you’d enjoy it.”

“I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with your boss.”

“Big Jeff?” Frenchie said. “No, we’re good friends. Whatever I do is all right with him.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“How have the lads here been treating you?”

“Like I had the plague.”

“Ah,” Frenchie said, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I should have known!”

“Known what?”

“That they would be suspicious of a stranger in their midst only a couple of weeks after Jack Boone was shot.”

“Speaking of Boone,” Decker said, “what is Miss Boone’s first name?”

“Dani.”

“Danny?”

Frenchie spelled the name for Decker and then said, “I think it’s short for Danielle.”

“Pretty name.”

“She was all bundled up when you saw her, but take my word for it, she’s a pretty little thing.”

“How old is she?”

“I’m not sure, I guess about twenty, twenty-one.”

“That’s young to be running an operation like this, isn’t it?”

“That’s why she’s leaning heavily on Big Jeff and…” Frenchie let the sentence trail off without finishing it.

“And you?”

“A lot of us,” Frenchie said, obviously avoiding the question.

Decker looked Frenchie in the eye and said, “Why is it I get the feeling you’re a little more in charge here than you let on?”

Frenchie put down his fork and looked at Decker.

“I ain’t in charge, Decker,” Frenchie said. “Reno’s in charge, and he reports to Miz Boone. I was just good friends with her father, that’s all. She respects that.”

“Frenchie,” Decker said, “why did you ask me up here? Really?”

“Finish eating,” Frenchie said. “Dani would like to see you in her cabin—if you’ve a mind to talk to her.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Decker said. “And then I’ll talk to you—or you’ll talk to me.”

“You’ve got a deal,” Frenchie said, and once again he attacked his meal.