Bounty on a Baron

Chapter Fifteen

Broadus was by far the largest town Decker had come across along the Powder River. It had not one, but two hotels, two saloons, a telegraph office, and many other shops that only show up in a growing town. To his surprise, it even had an ice cream parlor.

Decker found the livery and gave John Henry over to the liveryman’s care. He was happy to be in a real town again, where he’d be able to get a real meal and sleep in a real bed. Although his stay at the logging camp had been comfortable enough, it would not be able to rival a stay in a true town.

He entered the hotel lobby, put his saddlebags on the floor, and leaned his rifle against the front of the desk.

There was no clerk, but just moments later a man stepped out from behind a curtained doorway. He was a small, rather portly man with thinning black hair and a small moustache.

“May I help you, sir?” he inquired politely.

“Yes, I’d like a room.”

“Certainly. Please sign the register.”

While he was signing, Decker asked, “Who’s the sheriff here?”

“Our sheriff’s name is Kyle Roman, sir.”

“How long has he been sheriff?”

“I’d say…almost two years.”

“Is he a good one?”

“I’d say he was quite adequate.”

“Adequate” was not a word Decker would use to describe a lawman. He was either good or bad—and if he was adequate, that was the same as being bad. Still, two years seemed long enough for the man to know the area.

Decker finished signing in and asked for a room that did not overlook the street.

“Of course, sir,” the clerk said. “Here you are.”

He gave Decker the key and told him the room number.

“Do you have bath facilities?” the bounty hunter asked.

“Oh, yes, sir. If you go out the front door, make a left, and then another left, we have a bathhouse at the rear of the hotel.”

“Thanks,” Decker said.

He went to his room, dropped off his gear, and then followed the clerk’s directions to the bathhouse. Inside, he found bathing facilities for almost a dozen people. Three of the stalls were in use.

“A bath, sir?” an elderly man asked. He was sweating, because it was oppressively hot inside the building.

“That’s why I’m here,” Decker announced, feeling himself begin to sweat.

“Please undress out here and hang your clothing on a hook.”

“Out here?”

“Don’t worry, sir. Everything will still be here when you come out.”

Decker, looking dubious, undressed and accepted a towel from the man, which he wrapped around his middle.

“You can have stall number 7, sir. The water is plenty hot.”

Decker picked up his gunbelt and headed for the back.

“Oh, sir, you can leave your gun out here.”

“Maybe I can,” Decker said, “but I sure as hell won’t.”

The man didn’t know how to react to that.

“P-Please,” he stammered. “It’s the rules—” Decker ignored him and kept going, closing the door behind him.

The stall was a little larger than a jail cell. The tub was made of white porcelain, and the water was as hot as promised. There was no chair in the stall, so Decker was forced to leave his holster on the floor, but in a place where he’d still be able to get at it.

Decker soaped himself down, and after he rinsed off he simply lay back and allowed the heat to soak into his tired body. He realized that he had almost fallen asleep in that position when he heard the door to his stall open.

In an instant he had his gun in his hand, but a voice said to him, “There’s no need for that.”

The voice was mild and unhurried, and Decker turned his head to see who it belonged to. The man was standing just inside the door, his thumbs hooked into the front of his belt. He was tall and stocky and wore a star on his chest. Seeing that there was no threat to him, Decker put his gun back on the floor. The man’s beard and mustache made it tough to figure out his age.

“Sheriff Roman, I presume.”

“That’s right,” the sheriff said, moving farther into the stall. “How’d you know my name?”

“I asked about you at the hotel.”

“And I asked about you at the hotel,” Roman said. “You scared old Billy when you broke the rules and brought your gun in here.”

“Sorry about that, Sheriff, but I don’t go very many places without my gun.”

Roman cocked an eyebrow and asked, “On the run, are you?”

“No. My name is Decker. I’m a bounty hunter.”

“Ah, I see,” Roman said. “You must have a lot of trouble with people looking for revenge.”

“Some.”

“Some,” Roman repeated derisively. “A man like you—”

“What do you know about a man like me?”

“I’ve heard of you, Decker,” Roman said. “You’re good, or so they say.”

When Decker didn’t support or deny the statement, Roman continued. “What are you doing in Broadus?”

“Maybe we could talk someplace else.” Decker said. “After my bath.”

“Yeah, I guess this is sort of awkward.”

“The reason I was asking for you was that I was going to come and see you after my bath and discuss what I’m doing here. Does that suit you?”

“That suits me.”

“Fine. Can I get on with my bath now?”

“Sure…but give me your gun.”

“No.”

“I could take it from you,” Roman said, indicating his badge.

“I wouldn’t want you to try.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Roman said, “In my office, after your bath.”

“See you there,” Decker told him and fished around at the bottom of the tub for the soap.