The Lawman

Chapter Thirty-seven

It had worked!

Decker watched from his window as Moran marched Gilberto and Raquel to jail.

With those two out of the way, his job would be a lot simpler.

Watching closely he could see that both Raquel and her brother were talking to the lawman. Obviously they were trying to tell him that he was making a mistake. Just as obviously Moran was not buying it. How could they convince the sheriff that they were not hunting Decker for a bounty? He certainly wouldn’t believe that Decker—one man alone—would be hunting for five.

When the knock came at his door Decker knew it was Moran because he had seen the man cross the street to the hotel.

When he opend the door Moran stuck his gun in his face and cocked the hammer.

“What’s going on, Sheriff?” he asked, backing into the room.

“Just being cautious, Decker. I’ll take your gun—left hand, please.”

“What do you mean, cautious?”

“Well, I only have your word that those two are bounty hunters, and they claim that you are. Either way, I don’t like bounty hunters, so I’ll just lock you up too until I can satisfy myself about who is who.”

This was not the way the plan was supposed to work, Decker thought.

“You’re going to put me in a cell with them?”

“Now, I wouldn’t do that to a fellow gringo, Decker. There’s a woodshed out behind the sheriff’s office. I’m going to lock you in there. Let’s go.”

“You’re making a mistake, Sheriff, really.”

“Sure, Decker, sure. Let’s take a walk.”

When the door closed on Decker he found himself in total darkness. Even the cell with Gilberto and Raquel might have been better than this.

It was definitely time for a new plan.

He sat down with his back against one wall of the shed and surveyed his own private cell. As his eyes began to get accustomed to the dark he could see that there was some light coming from some cracks between the wood, but by pressing with both hands he determined that whoever had build this shed had done a fine job.

It was strong enough to hold a horse.

He looked around the floor and saw a few pieces of wood, but the shed had apparently not been used for some time. The ground beneath him was damp, and he knew that his butt would get cold and numb soon enough.

He still had his matches and cigars, so he lit one up and used the match to take a better look at things. All around the floor there were small chunks of wood that he might be able to use to make a small fire. At least he’d have some light and some heat.

He gathered the pieces of wood together, but they were a little damp and would not light immediately. He checked pockets and found the poster on Moran. He couldn’t burn that, he needed it. Checking further he found an old poster in his back pocket that he didn’t need anymore.

Using the paper he started a fire, and eventually the wood pieces caught. It wouldn’t last very long and maybe he should have saved them for later, when it got dark out and cooler, but he didn’t intend to still be in that shed when it got dark.

The only question was, how to get out?

He settled down by the fire to think that one over.

His gun was gone, but he still had his gunbelt. That meant he still had his cartridges. He could pry some of them open and use the gunpowder inside. Could he blow the door that way? Probably not. Enough powder to do that would probably kill him, or at least deafen him. Besides which, he probably didn’t have enough powder to do the job.

Briefly, he considered setting one of the walls on fire, but discarded that. The entire structure would catch fire fairly quickly, and he’d be barbecued before the fire weakened one of the walls enough for him to break through.

He spent some time kicking at the door and the walls, looking for a weak point and finding none. He also thought that someone might hear the noise and let him out, but that wasn’t the case, either.

The fire flickered and he looked around for more wood chips to burn. He cleaned the floor of the shed, and was quickly left with nothing but hard-packed dirt.

Wait a minute.

Dirt?

The entire floor of the shed was dirt. Whoever had built it had not bothered to build a wooden floor. Even if they had, he might have been able to pry up a floorboard and get at the dirt. The whole point being that dirt can be dug up.

Using his hands he tried to start a hole, but succeeded only in breaking two fingernails. He could have used a large piece of wood to dig with, but all of the wood he’d found on the floor was now in the fire—and none of it had been large enough to use as a shovel.

If only he had a shovel.

His hands went to his belt buckle as if of their own volition. It was fairly large, and it was metal. Quickly he removed his gunbelt, then took off his belt and looked at the belt buckle. The edges were fairly sharp, but would they last long enough to dig a hole in the hard-packed dirt of the floor so that he could slide under one of the walls?

He’d never know until he tried.