Bounty on a Baron

Chapter Seventeen

As Sheriff Roman approached Josephine Hale’s house he saw Brand sitting on the porch. “Good afternoon, Brand,” Roman said, putting his foot on the bottom step.

“Sheriff,” Brand said, staring coldly at the man. Looking into those eyes now, Roman could see where the man could be a killer. “What can I do for you?”

“I thought we’d have a little talk.”

“About what?”

“About you.”

“What about me?”

Yes, Roman thought, now that he stopped to lis ten for it, he noticed a definite accent there. The man spoke as few words as possible, but he definitely had a slight accent.

“Well, I’ve always wondered where you went and what you did when you left Broadus, and now I think I’ve found out.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Are you interested?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway,” Roman said, milking the moment. “You kill people.”

Brand did not react. He simply stared at Roman until the man began to fidget uncomfortably.

“Do I?”

“Oh yes, you do, for money—and you are known as the Baron.”

“Where,” Brand said, “did you get such an idea?”

“Oh, that I’m not at liberty to say. Let’s just say that there’s a man on his way here who would love for me to point my finger at you.”

“And will you?”

“Well, I might.”

Again there was a long period of silence, as if Brand was waiting for Roman to explain and Roman was waiting for Brand to ask.

Finally, it was Roman who impatiently broke the silence.

“Of course, I could be persuaded to keep my mouth shut.”

“Oh? How?”

“Well, I’m sure for as long as you’ve been, um, in business you’ve probably put away a decent amount of money—maybe even in our bank.”

Brand did not respond.

“Okay, look, I’m gonna give you some time to think this over,” Roman said, taking his foot off the step, “but don’t take too long. I might get impatient.”

Roman hesitated, waiting to see if Brand had anything to say, and when nothing was forthcoming he turned and walked away. His back itched, even though he knew Brand was not wearing a gun.

Brand watched the lawman walk away and wondered what had happened. How had the man found out who he was? Was there really someone on the way—a lawman? a bounty hunter?—who was looking for him, or was that a lie?

Or worse, was that man already here?

He thought back to that job where he had accidentally killed the boy. Surely a poster would have been issued on him as a result of that incident.

Who, he wondered, would dare try to collect the bounty on a man with his reputation?

He knew of a lot of lawmen who would track him because it was their job, but there were only a few men he could think of who would track him for money.

The most prominent of those was a man called Decker. Brand knew the man’s reputation. He even knew what kind of gun Decker wore, and he knew about the hangman’s noose he carried on his saddle.

If Decker was here, then his world in Broadus was very close to coming apart.

Brand stood up and went into the house. Entering the bedroom he shared with Josephine, he opened a closet and reached all the way in the back on the floor. He took out something bulky that was wrapped in cloth and then slowly unwrapped it. Removing the gun from the holster, he inspected it.

It would have to be cleaned.

He always cleaned his gun just before he used it.

Josephine was surprised not to find Brand waiting for her on the porch, as he usually was. She entered the house and, not seeing him in the parlor or kitchen, went upstairs to the bedroom. She found him in front of the closet and was about to say something when she saw what was in his hand.

“Are you leaving again?” she asked, suddenly frightened.

He turned, surprised by her presence. The gun in his hand automatically pointed at her, and he abruptly turned it away.

“No, no,” he said. “I’m not leaving…”

She entered the room.

“Then why do you have your gun? You don’t usually take it out unless you’re leaving.”

“Jo—”

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Is that it?”

“There might be a problem,” he said, “but nothing for you to worry about.”

“If it concerns you, then it’s something for me to worry about,” she said earnestly. She put her hands on his chest and said, “Brand, I never ask you what you do when you leave, but if you’re in trouble, I want to help.”

He tucked the gun into his belt and took her hands in his. “Let’s sit down,” he said, guiding her to the bed.

“Jo,” he began, “in some parts of the country I’m considered something of…of an outlaw…”