Bounty Hunter

by Michelle E Lowe

  Itza-chu left and Pierce looked down at their prisoner, who tilted his chin up at him.

  Pierce huffed and pulled the keys out of his coat pocket. “C’mon. Let’s get you up on your feet before your pecker freezes off.”

  * * *

  “How do you think it works?” Jaxton asked Emma.

  They stood at the top of the bell tower in front of the coyote cages. Emma held the book-sized, rectangular device she’d located in Javier’s bedroom. She had asked Javier about it when Itza-chu explained that the cage doors had somehow been unlocked all on their own.

  She pressed the typewriter key button again. When she did, something remarkable happened, as it had the previous times she’d done so.

  Slender metal spokes arched off the body of the lock and rotated around until they were aligned with the bottom of the lock, which had a deep pocket in it. The spokes sank into the pocket and the lock clicked. There were four buttons on the device, one for each cage. The fourth controlled all three.

  “It doesn’t need wires,” Emma noted. “It’s controlled by some other power source.” She thought a moment. “I bet it uses the frequency coming from the telegraph lines in El Parral. I can modify this to reach longer distances. Jaxton, do you know what this means?”

  Emma was glowing with excitement. It was nice to see her this way, Jaxton thought. Maybe this was exactly what she needed to forget about the one she couldn’t have.

  Emma fondly admired the device. “I’m going to use what’s here to change the world.”

  * * *

  After everyone had packed up their gear and loaded it onto their horses, they mounted up and headed out. Itza-chu managed to find a white linen shirt of Javier’s to wear. Javier was pleasantly quiet, perhaps due to Pierce’s threat to gag him again if he refused to keep his trap shut. He didn’t even complain about having to ride the donkey, for Jaxton was taking his horse, having lost his in the sandstorm. Fortunately, they found Javier’s mask, goggles, and air tanks in the bedroom, since the group didn’t have a spare.

  They rode out of the nightmare mission and traveled down the winding mountainside path to reach the flat desert plains. The Fire Field was near, giving them time to make it through in a single day. No one said much of anything. Pierce didn’t reckon there would be much conversation. At this point, everyone was spent. They had been fortunate in locating nearly all the fugitives in a short period of time, and other than Itza-chu’s wounded arm, there had been no real hiccups.

  For the most part, the journey was calm, with hardly any wind. The sun burned like a bastard in a cloudless sky. Everything seemed as if it was going to be just fine.

  They were a half mile to safety when the winds kicked up.

  “It’s another damn storm!” Jaxton hollered, pulling up his mask and goggles. Everyone got their gear on, including Javier, who was able to get his own mask and goggles on, for his hands were cuffed in front of him. There was no mask for the mule or the other horse. It couldn’t be helped. The sandstorm came upon them quicker than the last one. They were left with no visibility as the cloud of sand engulfed them. Pierce quickly buckled the mask around his horse and glanced past the animal to see that—to his utter horror—Javier was no longer on the mule.

  “Shite!”

  He rushed over in the hopes that his eyes were wrong, but Javier had fled.

  “Where is he?” he shouted to Jaxton, who was helping Itza-chu fasten the mask on his animal.

  Both men had their backs turned to the mule. Pierce couldn’t believe they had dropped their guard.

  “What is it?” Emma demanded, approaching while leading her mount.

  She had been riding up front, closely behind Pierce, while Jaxton and Itza-chu hung back at the rear to keep their prisoner boxed in.

  She saw their missing prisoner. “Where did he go?”

  “Stay here with Itza-chu,” Pierce ordered her. “Keep the animals from running off. Jaxton, come with me.”

  The men found vague footprints in the sand.

  “That way!” Pierce shouted, pointing in the direction the prints led.

  Pierce wanted to check his compass, but it had broken when he smashed it across the Machine Man’s face.

  “Give me your compass,” he ordered Jaxton.

  He dug it out of his trouser pocket. Pierce snatched it from him, angry that Jaxton had let the cocker out of his sight. He clicked it opened and saw the footprints were heading northwest.

  “He might be trying for the Fire Field border,” Pierce surmised, slapping the compass against Jaxton’s chest for him to take it. “C’mon! We can’t bloody lose him!”

  They ran into the storm and instantly lost sight of each other. Pierce hardly fretted about it. As long as they had air in their tanks and Jaxton had his compass, they stood a chance of finding Javier. Javier had air tanks, goggles, and a mask, but his hands were bound, which would slow him down.

  The temperature dropped like last time, but Pierce barely noticed. Fire shot up from the ground when sparks of lightning flashed. Pierce stepped on a blackened patch of dirt and the sole of his boot quickly grew hot.

  “Christ!” he shouted, leaping away a second before a roar of fire ripped upwards only inches from him.

  The heat of it caused Pierce to sweat. He stumbled backward with his arms over his face. He only hoped the mask and goggles wouldn’t melt to his skin. He quickly moved on, the air now thinning as his tank emptied. He didn’t worry about it. After all, he had his reserve tank.

  Then the airflow stopped. He tried getting the other tank working by breathing in deep as instructed. Nothing. Pierce checked the vacuum hose connected to the oxygen tank and found that the fire geyser had melted the bloody thing!

  It wasn’t long after that that the oxygen stopped flowing. Pierce didn’t fret that he’d suffocate, although the thing got mighty stuffy quick. He refused to take it off, though, for sucking in the sand wasn’t appealing to him, and he doubted his ratty scarf would serve him any better. He did his best to control his breathing, but that was only a temporary solution until the stagnant air could no longer be recycled.

  Already, his chest was tightening, he couldn’t discern a bloody thing, and without a working compass, he had no clue which way he was going. The only thing that could make this worse was if the ghosts showed up. Thankfully, he hadn’t seen any. Only sand that appeared to have taken over the entire world.

  A gun blast sounded nearby. Pierce jumped and then followed it. A figure slowly emerged from the whirling sands. Soon, the figure became recognizable.

  “I . . . I think I shot him,” Jaxton informed him, holding his smoking pistol to his side.

  Unable to see a damn thing, Pierce had no idea if he’d shot anything or not. Perhaps Jaxton only thought he saw him and fired. He was damn lucky the spark from the flintlock hadn’t triggered the methane gas.

  The storm cleared away as quickly as it had appeared, allowing in the sunlight. And not a moment too soon. Pierce pulled down his mask and took in a deep, needy breath, inhaling some remaining sand whisking about. As the sandstorm dissipated, Pierce spied someone lying on the ground.

  “Bloody hell!” he shouted, rushing over.

  He knew it was Javier even before they reached the bloke. He was on his side, wearing his mask and goggles, his hands cuffed in front of him. His dark clothing made it difficult to tell where he’d been shot, but judging by his eerie stillness, Pierce reckoned it was a kill shot.

  “Is he dead?” Jaxton asked as Pierce kneeled beside the body.

  He rolled Javier over. Blood covered his chest. Pierce peeled the goggles off and Javier’s dark, lifeless eyes stared blankly at nothing. To make certain the tosspot was dead, Pierce checked for a pulse and felt none.

  “Aye,” he confirmed, standing. “You got ’im for sure.”

  He sighed in despair, remembering the sheriff’s threat of punishing anyone who killed the outlaws.

  “Good work, lad,” Pierce said, patting Jaxton on t
he shoulder as he left to fetch the others.

  They brought the mule over and lifted the body onto it. They headed out of the Fire Field, thankfully without running into any more storms.

  * * *

  “He’s dead,” Sheriff Flores observed, standing outside of the jailhouse with Pierce and his posse.

  He seemed none too impressed that they had brought in another outlaw so quickly.

  “Aye.” Pierce pulled the medical bag containing the bank money off his horse. “But we got him, didn’t we?”

  “And I warned you, I wanted them alive. All of them. That was the deal. Who’s responsible for killing him?”

  Jaxton looked horrified. He swallowed thickly and stepped forward to confess when Pierce stepped in front of him. “I am. The prick tried getting away, and I was forced to put him down.”

  Everyone exchanged glances except for Pierce and the sheriff, who kept their eyes on each other. Sheriff Flores signaled for Pierce to follow him.

  “Come, gringo, we need to have a talk.”

  Pierce didn’t fancy the sound of that but nonetheless followed the Mexican into the jailhouse. The deputy’s desk had been vacated and other than Pierce and the sheriff, the room was empty.

  “You always wear this thing,” the sheriff remarked offhandedly, hooking a finger around Pierce’s scarf and yanking it down. “It’s so hot.”

  “Oi!” Pierce exclaimed, slapping his hand away. “Sod off!”

  Pierce quickly tightened the scarf over his scar. The sheriff chuckled as he made his way around his desk and took a seat. Pierce stayed in place, feeling the low rumble of the generator beneath the floorboards.

  “Here’s the bank money.” Pierce brought the medical bag over to the desk and set it down. “Whatever Javier’s take was, he confessed to spending a lot of it on drink, woman, and a capacitor.”

  Pierce had lied about the first two items.

  The sheriff regarded the loot with little interest and instead asked, “What’s a capacitor?”

  Pierce shrugged. “It stores an electrical charge that consists of a pair of conductors separated by an insulator.”

  Unsurprisingly, the man looked gobsmacked. Sheriff Flores sighed deeply, fluttering the hairs of his thick mustache.

  “The deal was for you to bring them in alive, Señor Landcross.”

  “And I told you—he tried escaping. We got caught in a sandstorm and he ran off on us. I aimed to wound the bugger, but I ended up killing him instead.”

  The sheriff cracked a smile as if he knew something Pierce did not.

  “What?” Pierce demanded.

  “Nothing, Señor Landcross,” he said eerily. “Nothing at all. In light of getting the bandits to us so swiftly, I’ll let this go. This one time.”

  This small slice of leniency blindsided Pierce.

  “Erm, all right. Cheers, I s’pose.”

  Sheriff Flores brought out a cigar from his cigar box and lit it. He leaned back in his chair and kicked his dusty boots up on the desk. “When do you think you’ll have the last fugitive in custody?”

  “Dunno,” Pierce answered. “Itza-chu is wounded, so I’m taking him home to his village. I’ll return in the morning to resume the hunt.”

  “Do that,” he said, tapping ashes into a standing ashtray beside him. “Return, I mean. You’re almost done, it seems.”

  There was something odd about this little meeting and how the bloke was acting. Pierce decided not to inquire. Instead, he gave him a simple curt nod and left the jailhouse.

  “What did he want?” Itza-chu asked when Pierce rejoined everyone.

  “Nothing,” Pierce lied. “He only wanted to yell at me about Javier.”

  The jailhouse door creaked open. Pierce glanced over to find Sheriff Flores standing at the doorway with arms folded and that cigar clutched between his rotten teeth.

  “Pierce,” Jaxton said, coming up to him. “Cheers, mate. For what you did. The sheriff might’ve had me arrested again if he knew I’d shot Javier. He doesn’t like me very much.”

  Pierce snorted. “Trust me, lad, he detests me far worse. No worries, eh?” To Itza-chu, he said, “C’mon. Let’s get you home. I’ll meet up with the rest of you in the same hotel lobby in the morning. And chin up. We’re nearly through with this shite.”

  I hope.

  * * *

  Deputy Andrés Ortega rode by Landcross and his so-called posse as he headed toward the jailhouse. They never noticed him, and the group kept going. It surprised Andrés to see the Englishman with them. When he reached the jailhouse, he dismounted where Emmanuel stood by a body draped over a mule like a sack of corn. Andrés paid the corpse little mind.

  “He’s returned, and you let him leave, Emmanuel?”

  “Si,” the sheriff said. “He still has a job to do.” Emmanuel lifted the dead man’s head up by the hair. “And so far, the gringo is doing fine work.” He pulled down the mask that the corpse was wearing and studied the face a moment before letting the head drop. “The mayor will be very pleased.”

  “Are you planning on informing the mayor about the Englishman?”

  Emmanuel snorted. “Of course not. This has nothing to do with him or our city. And I only let you know because I need your help in getting Landcross to Germany alive.”

  Emmanuel had informed Andrés about a woman who refused to give her name who told him about Pierce Landcross. He was a famous outlaw thief in Europe, and there was a significant bounty on his head in places such as France—and even more so in Hamburg, Germany.

  “It’s a long journey,” Andrés pointed out. “Are you sure the woman told you the truth?”

  “I sent a telegraph to the New York newspaper company she did. I even addressed it to the same journalist. This morning, I received confirmation.”

  “And you’re sure he’s our man?”

  Emmanuel took a long drag from his cigar and blew out a large cloud of grey smoke. “Landcross is described as having a scar across his throat. I saw it. He’s the fugitive they want.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Betrayal

  It was near dusk when Pierce and Itza-chu reached the outskirts of the Indian village. Itza-chu wore his own jacket with his working arm through the sleeve, the other still in the gauze sling.

  “Where did you get the money to buy the medical supplies at the pharmacy?” Itza-chu inquired.

  Pierce glanced over his shoulder at his own rucksack strapped to his back, then looked at Itza-chu guiltily. “I took some bank loot.”

  Itza-chu tutted at him.

  “What?” Pierce demanded. “I had my reasons. You needed these supplies. They’re better than what we found at the mission. Heals with Nature ought to patch you up and keep your wounds from becoming infected.”

  Itza-chu snorted. “I suppose the law cannot know just how much Javier actually had or spent now that he’s dead. Maybe if Heals with Nature does a good enough job, I can join you tomorrow.”

  “I think you’ve done plenty, mate. We’ll get the last tosser.”

  “Where are you going to start looking?”

  Pierce chewed his bottom lip. “No bloody clue. We got lucky with Harvey spilling his guts, but he said none of them knew much about this little prick, Chibi. Never even seen his face.” He huffed. “I’ll work it out. I have to.”

  “You could have stayed in Guaymas. You didn’t need to accompany me.”

  “Aye, but I want to see my wife.”

  Itza-chu smirked. “Miss her?”

  Pierce grinned. “Always.”

  He left it at that, though his need to see Taisia was inspired by more than simple loneliness. When they came to the village, Taisia wasn’t in their hut. He tossed his hat inside and went in search of her. He soon located Grandmother Fey, who was weaving baskets with the other elderly women.

  “Pierce,” she greeted him as he approached. “You’re back. I thought I sensed you close.”

  “’Ello, Grandma. Do you know where Taisia is?”

>   “In your parents’ hut. She had a bit of spell today, I’m afraid.”

  “Bloody hell,” he gasped. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine, but she’s very upset about something, Pierce. She hasn’t explained what is ailing her and has asked for privacy until you return.”

  Pierce could only imagine what was troubling her.

  He entered his parents’ hut where his folks were having dinner. Taisia was lying on the furs, facing away from everyone.

  “Pierce,” Nona said, putting her bowl down and standing. “You’re here. Have you found the criminals?”

  Taisia rolled over and looked at him hatefully. It caused him to cringe.

  “Not yet, Mum,” he answered while going over to his wife. “There’s still one more.” He kneeled next to Taisia as she sat up. “Grandmother Fey told me you had a spell today. Are you all right, love?”

  Her enraged look cut right through him.

  “Why do you care?” she seethed.

  Nona and Jasper exchanged looks.

  “Taisia?” Nona asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Pierce asked. “Of course, I care. Why the bloody hell wouldn’t I?”

  Taisia stood up. She seemed weak. He tried to offer her support, but she shouted, “You betrayed me!”

  Damn. He reckoned Taisia had found out about the kiss—from Tarak, no doubt.

  “Was she worth it, Pierce?” Taisia asked through gritted teeth.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” he insisted. “Emma kissed me and . . .”

  “So, you admit it?” Taisia bellowed with tears streaming down her cheeks. “You actually slept with her?”

  That hit him hard enough to make him take a step back.

  “Slept with Emma? Who told you that? Tarak?”

  “Da! He told me that after the races, you and that woman went to her hotel.”