Robert J Randisi

by Bounty on a Baron (v5)

  “They wouldn’t get near a fire.”

  “Maybe not,” the bartender said, “but you gotta think about your horse, too.”

  Decker knew he wouldn’t have to worry about John Henry. His gelding would be the first to know if there was a wolf nearby, so Decker would be the second.

  “I guess I’ll take my chances.”

  “Well, you’ll be okay as long as it doesn’t rain.”

  The ground outside had looked fairly dry to Decker as he rode in.

  “Expecting rain?”

  “That’s what my bad leg tells me.”

  “How reliable is your bad leg?”

  The man shrugged. “Half and half, I guess,” he admitted.

  “I’ll buck those odds,” Decker said. He finished the beer and said, “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  “Anyplace I can get some supplies?”

  “First tent as you came into town. There’s no sign on it, but it’s the closest to a general store as we got.”

  “Thanks again.”

  Decker turned to leave, then decided to go ahead and ask the question. He’d gotten everything he could out of the man, so if he clammed up now it wouldn’t matter.

  “By the way, I’m looking for a man you may have seen hereabouts.”

  “Oh? Who’s that?”

  “He’s called the Baron.”

  It might have been Decker’s imagination, but it seemed to get quiet in the room.

  He was watching the bartender’s eyes closely when he said the name. Although a man can control the expression on his face most of the time, the eyes usually get away from him. He was sure that he saw a glint of recognition in the man’s eyes.

  “The Baron? Is that his name?”

  “That’s what he’s called.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  Decker gave the man the information that was on the poster in his pocket.

  “Can’t say I’ve seen a man who matches that description,” the bartender said. “Sorry I can’t help you.”

  “You’ve helped enough,” Decker said. “Thanks anyway.”

  Decker had decided not to push the man. It was enough that he knew the Baron. It meant Decker wasn’t wasting his time up here.

  As Decker started for the door he noticed a disturbance at the table of five men where the big lumberjack was sitting. The two men on either side of him suddenly grabbed his arms, and one of the other men leaned over and punched him in the face. It was so sudden that Decker stopped to watch.

  The man who had thrown the blow was off balance, so there wasn’t much force behind it. The big lumberman simply shook it off and then rose to a standing position, roaring, taking the men who were holding his arms with him. Both men, looking frightened, held on for dear life as the big man swung both of them around, dragging them over the table and slamming them into each other.

  The table collapsed beneath the weight, and the other two men jumped back.

  The big man waited for the two fallen men to regain their feet, and then he faced all four, two of whom had picked up pieces of the collapsed table.

  “You fellas are making a big mistake,” the man said. “Put the lumber down and go on back to your camp.”

  “We’re gonna splatter your brains,” one of them said, and the others nodded in agreement.

  The four moved toward the bigger man, and he swung a backhanded blow that almost took one of their heads off. The other three swarmed over him, two of them swinging the wood. The big man blocked the blows with his huge arms, then grabbed both of the wood-wielding men by the jacket fronts and began to shake them. Decker knew their brains had to be bouncing back and forth inside their heads.

  Decker then saw the fourth man take out a knife. He began to circle the big man so he could come up from behind. Everybody in the room saw what was happening, but no one made a move to do anything. That was when Decker moved.

  Decker came up on the man from behind, grabbed his wrist, and twisted. As the man staggered off balance, Decker broke the man’s forearm with a satisfying, audible snap.

  The big man slammed the two men he was holding together, this time banging their heads. As one of the men slumped forward, the bigger man released him and let him fall to the floor. He held the other man up, pounded his big fist into his face once, and then released him.

  As he faced Decker, Decker put his hands up in front of him and said, “Take it easy. I’m on your side.”

  The big man looked down at the man who was cradling his broken arm and saw the knife on the floor in front of him.

  “So I see. I’m in your debt.”

  “Don’t mention it. You want to hold these fellas for the law?”

  “Ain’t none,” the man said. “Why don’t we just get out of here and leave them to themselves.”

  “Good idea.”

  They went outside and Decker moved to take hold of John Henry’s reins.

  “This your horse?”

  “He is.”

  “He’s a mighty good-looking animal.”

  “Thank you.”

  Decker took a moment to examine his new acquaintance. He was big, wearing a plaid coat with a fur collar and a fur hat. He had a full beard and was obviously a lumberjack.

  “Looks a little long in the tooth, though.”

  “John Henry’s nine, but there’s plenty of fire left in him. He’s better than any horse half his age.”

  “I’ll bet. Name’s Frenchie,” the man said, extending a huge hand.

  “Frenchie?” Decker said, shaking the man’s hand. “You don’t sound French.”

  “I ain’t, but every lumber camp’s gotta have a Frenchie, right?”

  “I guess so,” Decker agreed, amused by the man. “Who were those fellas?”

  “Just some fellas from another lumber camp. They took exception to something I said.”

  “What was that?”

  “I told them any man from my camp could whip any three men from theirs.”

  “Well, you proved that point.”

  “With your help.”

  “Ah,” Decker said, “but I took care of the fourth man.”

  “That’s right,” the man said. “You did. Are you just passing through?”

  “Yes. I was just going to get some supplies.”

  “First tent as you come into town,” Frenchie said. “Going that way myself. Mind if I walk along?”

  “Not at all,” Decker said. The man appeared to be genuinely friendly, but Decker stayed on the alert nevertheless.

  They walked together, John Henry trailing behind them. Decker held the reins loosely in his left hand, keeping his right hand free.

  When they entered the tent the bounty hunter saw that supplies were stacked on the dirt floor and that a counter had been set up similar to the one used as a bar in the saloon tent. Behind the counter was a man who couldn’t have been more than five and a half feet tall but who had the upper body of a man a full foot taller.

  “Hello, Frenchie.”

  “Ballantine,” Frenchie said. “Meet my friend…”

  “Decker.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Decker. What can I do for you today?”

  “I’m passing through and I need a few things.”

  “Well, just name ’em.”

  Decker reeled off the supplies he needed: some coffee, beef jerky, and some canned peaches.

  “I got ’em all,” Ballantine said. “Just hang on a second while I find ’em. This is sure gonna be easier when I get me a regular store.”

  “See what you can do for me, too, Ballantine,” Frenchie said, handing the small man a list.

  Ballantine nodded and went off to take care of both of them.

  “Sounds like a nice setup,” Decker said because he didn’t know what else to say.

  “Where you gonna be spending the night, Decker?”

  “On the trail somewhere, I guess. The ‘hotel tent’ didn’t sound very comfortable.”

  Frenchie made a fa
ce and said, “It ain’t. We got a lot more room up at camp, and all the tents have potbellied stoves in ’em. You’re welcome to spend the night there if you like—and you’ll get a hot meal. We got a great cook in camp.”

  Decker studied Frenchie, wondering if the man was genuinely friendly enough to extend the hospitality of his camp to a stranger. His natural cynicism made it hard for Decker to believe that, but looking into the guileless face of his new acquaintance, he was almost persuaded to change his mind. The man seemed for all the world like a big, friendly teddy bear.

  “That’s real hospitable of you. Do you have that authority? I mean, to invite strangers to camp—”

  “I’m not the foreman, but I’m a crew leader. That gives me some rights, I guess. I’m sure the foreman and the owner won’t mind—especially Miz Boone. She’s a real hospitable lady.”

  “Is she the foreman or the owner?”

  Frenchie found that real funny, and when he finished laughing he said, “She’s the owner, by God. The foreman’s Big Jeff Reno.”

  “Big?”

  Frenchie nodded and smiled, “Bigger’n me. If he don’t want you there, he’ll just toss you off the mountain.”

  “I got your coffee, Frenchie,” Ballantine said, returning with Decker’s supplies in hand. “You want to bring your wagon around back?”

  “Well,” Decker said, “I look forward to meeting him.”

  In the final analysis, it was the mention of the potbellied stove that did it, the bounty hunter had to admit to himself as they left the store.

  Chapter Ten

  As Decker helped Frenchie load the wagon, he found the man’s strength to be incredible. The burly man easily lifted objects that most men would find impossible to move. When the wagon was loaded, Decker tied John Henry to the back of the buckboard and climbed into the seat next to Frenchie.

  “What is it you do for a living, Decker?”

  Decker hesitated for a moment but finally decided to answer honestly.

  “I’m a bounty hunter.”

  “For real?” Frenchie asked, looking at him wideeyed.

  “Yep, for real.”

  “That’s better than being a real lawman, ain’t it?”

  “I guess—”

  “I mean, real lawmen capture outlaws and don’t get to collect the bounty, right?”

  “That’s right.” “Who gets it?”

  “Nobody.”

  “So, if you catch the outlaw, you get the bounty, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s a lot of money sometimes, isn’t it?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Is it hard work?”

  “Real hard.”

  “But I’ll bet you’re good at it, ain’t you?”

  “Yes,” Decker said.

  “You up here hunting somebody?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  Decker didn’t answer that one.

  “I guess that was a stupid question, huh?”

  “Not stupid…exactly.”

  “Yeah, it was dumb. I’m sorry. I’m just a real curious fella.”

  “And friendly.”

  “Oh yeah. Some people say I’m too friendly. You think that’s possible?”

  “For some people, I guess not.”

  “You seem like a real friendly guy. You mean you ain’t, really?”

  “Not so you’d notice,” Decker said.

  “You got friends, right?”

  “Some.”

  “Then that makes you a friendly fella. Hell, everybody’s got friends.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Hey, I got an idea!” Frenchie said, suddenly excited.

  “What?”

  “Maybe I could help you find whoever you’re trying to catch.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Is he up here somewhere?”

  “All I know is that he’s somewhere in the Powder River area.”

  “Lot of area to cover,” Frenchie said. “I bet you could use some help.”

  “I usually work alone, Frenchie.”

  “Alone, huh?”

  Decker nodded, and Frenchie shrugged.

  “Ah, I guess I belong up here cutting down trees.”

  “I’ll bet you’re good at it.”

  “Damn good.”

  “Then I guess you should do what you do best, and I should do what I do best.”

  Frenchie thought about that for a moment, then started laughing.

  “Hell,” he said, banging Decker on the back hard enough to bruise him, “that’s damn near the nicest I ever been turned down.”

  “What was the nicest?”

  “Well, there was this little gal once…”

  When they pulled into camp Decker immediately noticed a man he assumed was Big Jeff Reno.

  “That Reno?”

  “That’s him.”

  As big as Frenchie was—and he surely topped six-three—he was dwarfed by Reno, who had to be six foot eight and probably outweighed the big logger by fifty pounds.

  “Jesus,” Decker said.

  “I told you, he’s a big man.”

  The woman standing next to Reno was young and pretty, and it was no insult to her that Decker didn’t notice her right away. Reno was the kind of man who dominated any scene, no matter who was there.

  “That’s Miz Boone,” Frenchie said. “She took over the camp when her father was killed.”

  “Accident?”

  “Nope,” Frenchie said, giving Decker a sideways look. “He was murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Shot in the head.”

  “When?”

  “A couple of weeks ago.”

  “Anybody arrested?”

  “No,” Frenchie said. “There’s no law here, Decker. We sent word for a federal marshal.”

  “Who’s working Wyoming-Montana?” Decker asked.

  “Fella named Murdock. Heard of him?”

  Decker thought he had and nodded.

  “Anyway, we don’t know when he’ll get here.”

  “By the time he does the trail will be even colder than it is now.”

  “It’s sad,” Frenchie said. “Jack Boone was a good man.”

  As the wagon entered the center of the camp both Reno and the Boone woman looked their way. Frenchie stopped the wagon just in front of them and hopped down.

  “Who’s that?” Reno asked immediately.

  “A new friend of mine,” Frenchie told them. “Name’s Decker. He’s passing through and needs a place to stay. I offered him a bunk in my tent. Okay?”

  Reno studied Decker, who had stepped down, and then looked at Miss Boone. She, too, was studying the bounty hunter intently.

  “Do you vouch for him, Frenchie?” she asked.

  “Sure, I vouch for him, Miz Boone.”

  “All right, then,” she said. “Why not?”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Decker said.

  She looked at him as if she was surprised that he had spoken, then turned and walked away. There was one wooden cabin in the camp, and she walked to it and entered. Decker recalled what Frenchie had said about everybody being friendly and having friends, and he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, her father had been killed just two weeks earlier.

  Later, Decker would berate himself for being too dumb to see what was coming.

  The bounty hunter had to agree with what Frenchie had said about the camp’s cook. Either he was one of the best cooks whose wares Decker had ever tasted or food simply tasted better when the air was cold.

  Decker had been left to his own devices in the mess tent and was drawing curious looks from the loggers around him. Frenchie was nowhere to be found until he suddenly stepped into the tent with Jeff Reno. They were deep in conversation, and once or twice Reno looked Decker’s way, nodding.

  It might have dawned on Decker then, but he was too interested in the hot food in front of him.

  When Frenchie and Ren
o finally finished their conversation, Frenchie got himself a bowl of stew, then sat next to Decker. He attacked his food with vigor and spoke to Decker between bites.

  “Well, my friend, how do you like the food?”

  “Just like you said,” Decker told him.

  “Ah, I knew you’d enjoy it.”

  “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with your boss.”

  “Big Jeff?” Frenchie said. “No, we’re good friends. Whatever I do is all right with him.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “How have the lads here been treating you?”

  “Like I had the plague.”

  “Ah,” Frenchie said, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I should have known!”

  “Known what?”

  “That they would be suspicious of a stranger in their midst only a couple of weeks after Jack Boone was shot.”

  “Speaking of Boone,” Decker said, “what is Miss Boone’s first name?”

  “Dani.”

  “Danny?”

  Frenchie spelled the name for Decker and then said, “I think it’s short for Danielle.”

  “Pretty name.”

  “She was all bundled up when you saw her, but take my word for it, she’s a pretty little thing.”

  “How old is she?”

  “I’m not sure, I guess about twenty, twenty-one.”

  “That’s young to be running an operation like this, isn’t it?”

  “That’s why she’s leaning heavily on Big Jeff and…” Frenchie let the sentence trail off without finishing it.

  “And you?”

  “A lot of us,” Frenchie said, obviously avoiding the question.

  Decker looked Frenchie in the eye and said, “Why is it I get the feeling you’re a little more in charge here than you let on?”

  Frenchie put down his fork and looked at Decker.

  “I ain’t in charge, Decker,” Frenchie said. “Reno’s in charge, and he reports to Miz Boone. I was just good friends with her father, that’s all. She respects that.”

  “Frenchie,” Decker said, “why did you ask me up here? Really?”

  “Finish eating,” Frenchie said. “Dani would like to see you in her cabin—if you’ve a mind to talk to her.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Decker said. “And then I’ll talk to you—or you’ll talk to me.”

  “You’ve got a deal,” Frenchie said, and once again he attacked his meal.