Bounty on a Baron

Chapter Twenty-nine

Decker sat in a straight—backed wooden chair in front of his hotel and cleaned his gun. When that was done he picked up his rifle and cleaned that as well. He had a clear view of the street and, with his back to the wall, there was no chance of anyone getting behind him.

It was the thought of Josephine sitting in the saloon that finally prompted him to rise, pick up his rifle, and start down the street toward her house.

Might as well get it over with and not make the poor woman wait, he thought. Brand wondered where Josephine was, then pushed all thoughts of the woman from his mind. He couldn’t very well concentrate on Decker if he was thinking about her.

He strapped on his gun and checked his rifle one more time. He looked out the parlor window just in time to see Decker walking toward the house.

So this was it.

“Brand!” Decker called out when he stood directly in front of Josephine Hale’s house. He couldn’t even be sure if Brand was inside anymore.

“Brand! It’s time to leave, Brand!”

Decker waited, wondering if he should go to the back door and try to get in. He doubted that Brand was going to come out and just face him in the street.

He was about to move when he heard glass breaking and saw the barrel of a rifle poke out the window.

“Decker!”

“I’m here.”

“Come on in and get me, Decker. You don’t think I’m coming out there, do you?”

“It would be a lot easier.”

“Forget it,” Brand said. There was a shot, and some dirt was kicked up at Decker’s feet.

Decker knew that Brand had missed on purpose. He had simply fired to signify that this was it.

“I’m coming in,” Decker said.

“Come ahead!”

Before Brand could fire again Decker ran to his right, out of sight behind a nearby building. From there he worked his way around behind the building, and then to the back of Josephine’s house. He flattened himself against the wall and carefully made his way to the back door, first peering into the kitchen window.

Next to the back door was a wooden bin which was probably used for wood. Ducking low and moving as quickly as he could, Decker got to the bin and opened it.

As he suspected, the body of Kyle Roman had been squeezed inside. Brand must have had to break the corpse’s legs to fit him in there, another testament to the man’s strength.

Decker closed the bin, took a step back, and, holding his rifle chest-high, kicked the door with all his strength. Wood splintered, and the door crashed open. Decker went in quickly, holding the rifle out ahead of him. The kitchen was empty, and he flattened himself against a wall, listening intently, watching the door to the rest of the house.

For all he knew, Brand could have gone out the front door. Before he could verify that, he was going to have to check the whole house. If Brand wanted to run, he had plenty of time to go to the livery, saddle a horse, and get out.

Decker was counting on Brand’s readiness to finish this here and now. He was certain the Baron was not the sort of man who’d run.

Sliding along the wall, he worked his way to the doorway and slowly peered around the corner. He found himself looking into the parlor. From his vantage point he could see the window that Brand had broken. The front door was still closed, so if Brand had left the house, he had closed the door behind him. If not, then he had most likely gone upstairs.

Decker eased into the parlor, his rifle ready, and checked behind the sofa. Confident that the room was empty—and, in fact, that the first floor was empty—he moved to the stairway. He listened intently, trying to hear some indication that Brand was upstairs. The scrape of a boot, the creak of a floorboard would have been welcome, but there was nothing.

Slowly, he started up the stairs, taking them one at a time, alert in case any of them creaked, giving him away.

Finally he reached the top step, sweat dripping from his chin. The inside of the house had become oppressively hot. His hands were slick on the metal of his rifle, and he wiped them on his pants one at a time.

At the top of the stairs he had to step around a corner in order to get a look at the second-floor corridor. Knowing that Brand would never fall for such a trick, he took off his hat anyway, hung it on the end of the rifle, and dangled it around the corner.

Nothing.

He put his hat back on, steeled himself, and then leaped into the corridor, staying low.

The corridor was empty.

There were apparently two rooms on this floor, one behind him and one in front of him. The room in the front would overlook the street.

Decker backed down the corridor to the room behind him, stopped just past the door and then repeated the technique he used to open the kitchen door. He hoped Josephine wouldn’t be too upset about all the broken doors.

This room was empty. Not only was there no one in it, there was no furniture in it, either. There were some cartons on the floor, but none large enough to hide a man. It was obviously used as a storeroom.

That left the front room, which must be the bedroom.

He moved down the corridor to the door, listened for a few seconds, then kicked it open and ducked inside. He swiftly covered the room with his rifle, first left, then right, but there was no sign of anyone there. Quickly, feeling foolish, he checked under the bed and in the closet, then stood up straight. Brand had obviously left the room, but where had he gone?

Decker was about to leave when he saw something on the window. Moving closer, he realized that it was a piece of paper hanging from the window lock. He walked over to it, saw that it was a note, reached for it—then cursed and threw himself to the floor just as a shot shattered the window.

“Shit!” he said between his teeth.

He had almost allowed himself to be suckered into standing in front of the window.

Cautiously he moved to the window on his knees, avoiding the broken glass, and peered up over the window ledge. He was in time to see Brand retreating toward town.

Decker grabbed the note off the window and sat with his back to the wall to read it.

DECKER,

MEET ME IN TOWN FOR A HOT TIME

THE BARON

It was an invitation he couldn’t refuse.