Double The Bounty

Chapter IV

When Decker got to the newspaper office, it was almost six and they were getting ready to close up.

“Excuse me?”

There were two people in the place, an old man and a young girl with pigtails. She was very cute and looked to be about fourteen.

“Gettin’ ready to close,” the old man snapped.

“Oh, Grandpa, don’t be so grumpy,” the girl said. She walked up to Decker with a big smile on her face. “My name is Felicia Wheeler, what’s yours?”

“Decker.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Decker. That there’s my grandpa, Harrison Wheeler, but everybody just calls him Harry He’s the editor of this newspaper.”

“Then he’s the man I want to see.”

“Well now, like Grandpa said, we’re just getting ready to close.”

“I would just like to take a look at some back issues of your paper.”

“Oh, then you don’t want to talk to the editor,” Felicia Wheeler said, “you want to talk to the staff.”

“The staff? And who might they be?”

“Me,” she said proudly. “I’m them.”

Her grandfather came up behind her and said, “Felicia, you gonna be jawing with this stranger all day?”

“Just a little while, Grandpa.”

“Well, don’t forget to lock up when you leave.” The man’s hair was as white as snow, and his skin was pink and shiny. His eyes were a crystal-clear blue, and he turned them on Decker now. “This here’s my only granddaughter and she’s fourteen years old. If you do anything to her besides talk, I’ll have to kill you. You understand that?”

“I’ll remember, Harry.”

The threat was ludicrous, since Harry Wheeler was at least sixty, only about five foot four, and frail, but the sentiment was clear.

“All right.”

“See you later, Grandpa,” Felicia said.

“Will you be home in time to cook supper, or should I go out?”

“I’ll cook, Grandpa. I always cook.”

The old man left, muttering something that Decker could not catch.”

“What back issue you want to see, Mr. Decker?”

“Just call me Decker.”

“Fine, and you can call me Felicia.”

“I’d like to see whatever issue has stories about Brian Foxx.”

“The robber?” she asked, eyes widening. “Are you a lawman?”

“No, I’m not.”

She studied him for a moment and then said, “A bounty hunter.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re mean-looking enough for it. What kind of a gun is that for a bounty hunter to carry?”

He looked down at the sawed-off in its special holster and said, “That’s so I can be fairly sure I’ll hit what I’m aiming at.”

“Can’t you do that with a forty-five?”

“Never could get the hang of firing a pistol. A rifle’s more my weapon. Can I see those papers? Do you have back issues?

“Oh, sure, in the back room. Come on, I’ll get them out for you.”

He followed her into the back room, which was filled with stacks of newspapers.

“This looks like a real firetrap,” he said. “One match in here…”

“All newspaper offices are firetraps, Decker. You just got to be careful.” She was looking through stacks of papers and turned to give him a stern look. “You don’t smoke, do you?”

“I’ve been known to on occasion, but I don’t have anything with me.”

“Well, that’s good.”

She started to lift a pile of newspapers, and Decker rushed forward to do it for her.

“Just put it on the floor for now. Here’s an issue that will interest you. It’s dated three months ago, when he held up that bank in Bekins, Wyoming, and the one in Mesquite, New Mexico.”

There was a chair and desk in one corner and he went there to read the paper. There was still some light coming in through a window over the desk.

He read the accounts of both robberies, and they were much the same as the one in Heartless. In both cases the man had red hair and freckles and never made an attempt to cover his face. In Bekins no one was hurt, but in Mesquite a man was pistol-whipped, though not killed.

“Here’s another,” she said from behind him. He turned and accepted the paper, dated some five months ago. Same story.

“And another.”

He took this one from her—dated a full year back—and asked, “Don’t you have to cook for your grandfather?”

“He’ll wait.”

She provided him with nine newspapers in all, but told him that there were more robberies than that.

“I think there were twenty-three all told in two years,” she said, “but these eighteen were the only ones committed at the same time.”

“Apparently.”

“What?”

“I said they were apparently committed at the same time by the same man.” He touched the stack of papers on the desk and said, “We know that’s impossible, though.”

“Why is it impossible?”

He looked at her to see if her question was serious.

“Felicia, these robberies were all committed hundreds of miles apart. No one can be in two places at one time.”

“Maybe,” she said, “and maybe not. I have some ideas on the subject.”

“How do you know so much about this? How were you able to pick these newspapers out so easily?”

“That was easy. I read everything I can about men like Foxx and Wild Bill Hickok. I read dime novels, too.”

“You do, huh?”

“Sure.” A thought struck her. “Were there ever any dime novels about you?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Decker, Decker…” she repeated, thinking. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good,” he said, standing up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m finished here.”

“Don’t you want to hear my ideas?”

“Not right now, Felicia. I appreciate your help, but you’d better get on home and cook supper for your grandfather. He looks like he can use all the meals he can get.”

“But I can help you—”

“You already have,” he said, taking out two bits to give her.

“I don’t want your money!” she snapped, backing away.

“Take it. It’s the only way I have of thanking you.”

“Go on, get out of here!” she shouted. “Big-shot bounty hunter, too big to let a girl help you.”

He put the money down on a stack of papers and said, “Thanks, Felicia.”

“Get out!”

He left feeling bad that she was angry. She’d been very helpful and he liked her. Maybe he should have listened to her ideas.

Maybe later….