With a bit more sniffing around, Sprole found an imprint that was almost as wide as and much shorter than the skidding tracks closest to the window. There was one deep track that pointed him to another. The next one was deeper toward the front and more rounded. Sprole grinned, picturing the escaping prisoner stopping there and twisting back and forth to try and decide where he wanted to go next. It would take a bit longer in the dark, but Sprole went through the motions of finding the next imprints.
There was no telling what could happen between now and daybreak. Even if the doctor was right and the prisoner wasn’t about to go much of anywhere right away, high winds could tear through town or a quick spot of rain could make tracking someone very difficult. There was no reason for the prisoner to get even more of a head start than what he’d already gotten.
Bounty hunters’ lives weren’t easy. Some men condemned them for being nothing more than bloodthirsty gun hands, while others tried to shoot them on sight. Lawmen didn’t care for them much, and the lawless benefited only when a man like Sprole was six feet under. Whiskey provided some bit of comfort, and sharing company with the occasional woman with low standards provided a bit more. Like any other predator on God’s green earth, a bounty hunter only found true joy when he was hot on the heels of someone doing their level best to get away from him. It was what David Sprole was born to do.
He inched forward with lantern in one hand and .44 in the other. Part of his attention was focused on the ground in front of him, and the rest was committed to looking for any hint that the prisoner might try to get the jump on him. A quiet breeze stirred as Sprole picked out another set of tracks. The imprints were shallower than the previous ones, and the next set were even shallower than those. The more tracks Sprole found, the farther apart they became.
The fugitive had decided where he was going and had started running to get there.
“Ready or not,” Sprole muttered through a wicked smile, “here I come.”
Chapter 10
After finding Sprole and breaking the news to him about the missing prisoner, Paul went straight to the sheriff’s house. Noss lived on the opposite end of town from his office in a little cabin that, as near as Paul could tell, had been purposely placed to be as far away from town matters while still being within the boundaries of Pueblito Verde. It was a sturdy structure built by every one of the sheriff’s family members who had resided in it. Now the sheriff was the only one who called the cabin home. No light shone from any of the windows. No smoke rose from the chimney. When Paul knocked on the door, the sound of his knuckles against the door echoed within.
After a few seconds, Paul knocked again. He waited and was about to try a third time when a haggard voice roared from deep inside the cabin like a bear growling from the depths of its cave.
“Who the hell is it?”
“It’s Paul Lester.”
As Paul stood on that narrow porch with his hands clasped in front of him and his head bowed, he was a picture of patience. With a bit of effort, he could hear the heavy shuffle of feet on the other side of the door, followed by grunting breaths as the door was pulled open.
Sheriff Noss didn’t look as if he’d just gotten home. In fact, he looked as if he’d been asleep for about three days before answering the door and blearily saying, “Sorry about the turn of phrase, Father.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” Paul said. “I take it nobody else has come for you yet?”
“Why?” he asked as if he already knew what was coming. “What happened?”
“That prisoner escaped.”
“Which one?”
Paul scowled and drew a breath. That single deep inhale was enough for him to detect the scent of liquor wafting from the lawman. “The prisoner that was taken from the hotel.”
“You mean the one whose hand you blew off before knocking him out?”
“Yes. That’s the one.”
“I thought he was strapped down and barely able to move,” Noss said.
“He’s a desperate man, Sheriff. And now he’s loose.”
“Aw, for Chr . . .” Noss paused and turned around on the balls of his feet, leaving the door open. “Might as well come in while I throw on some clothes.”
Paul stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “Where are your deputies?” he asked.
“If you’re looking for them around here, you’re in the wrong place. And if you ain’t seen ’em yet after that prisoner got away, they must be in the wrong place too.”
Inside, the cabin was only slightly more inviting than it was on the outside. It contained a heavy oak rocker, a small square table with a few dirty plates on it, and a little stove in a far corner. A food pantry stood beside the stove, along with a rack where two pots and one pan hung from hooks. The air smelled of burned coffee and blackened toast. Rather than examine the kitchen any further, Paul walked over to a window next to the rocker that rested beside a short bookshelf. The sheriff stomped into one of two bedrooms. The second door next to his was not only shut tight but dusty and encrusted with cobwebs.
“It’s been a while since I’ve paid you a visit,” Paul said. “Maybe a bit too long.”
“Nah,” Noss said from the next room while pulling on a clean shirt.
“If you’d like, I could have a word with one of the women in the congregation. Perhaps she could come by and help you clean the place.”
“Thanks, but no.”
Paul stood at the window, staring out at a row of simple wooden crosses planted several yards from the side of the cabin facing away from town. The markers had a clear view of a sprawling patch of land that seemed to stretch all the way out to the farthest reaches of creation. Not only did those crosses mark the darkest time in the lawman’s life, but the day they’d been driven into the ground was the last time Sheriff Noss had set foot in Paul’s church.
“You don’t seem overly concerned about this prisoner escaping,” Paul mused, watching the lawman’s reflection since Noss didn’t turn around to look at him.
“And you seem overly concerned with how clean my house is. You came here alone, so I’m guessing someone is already out trying to find that one-handed gunman.”
“Yes. Dave Sprole went to have a look.”
“Just what I thought,” Noss grunted. “I need a couple new deputies. Them boys would rather let that prisoner run away than miss a meal or two while trying to bring him back.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” Paul pointed out. “I doubt anyone will be going very far until morning.”
“Best let me be the judge of that.” Dressed in the clothes he’d had on at the saloon, apart from the addition of a clean shirt, Noss buckled his gun belt around his waist and reached for the hat hanging on the hook beside the front door. “Who was the last one to see that man with the shot-up hand?”
“That would be me and Doc Chandler.”
“Tell me what happened as best you can while we go see the doc.”
The two men strode out of the cabin. Even though the sheriff’s line of sight would naturally have swept over the crosses beside the cabin as he turned toward Third Street, Paul noticed the lawman’s eyes dip downward. Only after he was several paces past the markers did he break into a stride toward Doc Chandler’s office. “How long has it been since you’ve been to church?” Paul asked.
Without hesitation, the lawman replied, “Sixteen months or so.”
“Ever since you lost Martha and the boys.”
“That’s right. Now tell me what happened with that prisoner.”
“Facing up to what happened to them might help you make peace with it, you know.”
Sheriff Noss stopped as if he’d hit an unseen wall and wheeled around to face him. “I have to face up to what happened every day I wake up and they don’t. Have you lost an entire family?
”
“I’ve lost plenty. Most every man has at some time or another.”
“But unless you can tell me you know what it’s like to be content and surrounded by them that you love one day and digging their graves the next, don’t try to act like you understand.”
Paul reached out for him while saying, “A lot of time has passed and—”
Noss slapped away Paul’s hand as if someone were trying to take the gun from his holster. “It ain’t a wound that just heals over!” he snapped. “I’m moving along and that’s all you need to know on the subject.”
“It’s my job to try and ease suffering when I can.”
“And it’s my job to keep the peace in this godforsaken little patch of dirt, so just tell me what you know about that prisoner escaping or stand aside so I can talk to someone who’s more cooperative.”
For a moment, Paul considered pressing on with his previous concerns. Once he reminded himself of how little could be accomplished when two men are dead set on locking horns instead of speaking earnestly, he nodded and let the matter rest. As he and the sheriff resumed their walk toward Doc Chandler’s office, Paul told the lawman everything he’d told Dave Sprole. When he was done, the doctor’s office was in sight and the sheriff looked as if he’d walked ten miles to get there.
“Is that all you got to say?” Noss asked before climbing the two steps leading from the street to the doctor’s front door.
“On this matter . . . yes.”
“Good. It’s late, so you can go back to bed or tend to whatever business you tend to at night.”
“I’d like to stay, if that’s all right.”
Noss shook his head and stomped up the stairs. “Whatever I say probably won’t make a lick of difference. Just keep out of my way.”
The hand that Noss extended toward the doctor’s door went immediately to the gun at his hip when he heard the sound of quick footsteps crunching against the gravel. Both he and Paul turned toward the sound to find Sprole circling around the building to meet them up front. The bounty hunter raised his hands while wearing an excited grin.
“You lookin’ to get yourself shot?” the sheriff groused. “Sneaking up on me like that’s a real good way to go about it.”
“And if you’re looking for the prisoner that escaped from here when you or your men were supposed to be watching him,” Sprole said, “then following me is a real good way to go about it!”
“What are you doing out here? This is town law business.”
“Then the town’s lawmen should have been here to deal with it,” Sprole shot back. “As it turned out, I’m here and it’s my business to track down men that don’t wanna be found.”
“Since you were deputized to be part of my posse, I suppose that’s all well and good. What have you found?”
Some of Sprole’s grin faded when he said, “That posse was disbanded. I’m not taking orders from you or anybody else.”
“Fine. Just tell me what put that sloppy grin on your face.”
Paul could tell the bounty hunter still had his nose bent out of shape, so he stepped in before that could be expressed any further. “I met up with Dave when I was on my way to get you, Sheriff,” he said while putting himself between the two men. “He’s had a bit of time to look at what was left behind after the prisoner got away.”
“Did he, now?” Shifting an angry glare at Paul, Noss added, “And I can only assume that you spoke to this bounty hunter first because you also figured he was duly deputized to deal with such matters?”
“I figured he was qualified to track the prisoner down before he got too far,” Paul said. “And then I went straight to you. Now that we’re all here, why don’t we tend to the business at hand instead of bickering amongst ourselves?”
Jabbing a finger against Paul’s chest, Noss said, “Go home, Father. Now.”
Much to Paul’s surprise, Sprole walked right up to the lawman and shoved him back while saying, “Leave him be. This preacher’s been doing your job better than you or your men so far.”
It was a surprise, albeit not a pleasant one. Paul started to reassert himself, but was kept back by both of them.
“Don’t proceed to tell me how to do my job,” Noss growled.
Sprole lifted his chin so he could look down his nose at the sheriff when he replied, “Seeing as how you seem to have an aversion to getting off your lazy rump and lifting a finger to do anything around here, perhaps someone else should tell you how to do your job! One of your deputies was hurt when we were ambushed. Wouldn’t it have made sense to leave him in there with the prisoner instead of letting him go back to his own bed for the night after the doctor patched him up?”
“How about I wound you so you can stay in the doc’s office for a while?”
“Now, hold on,” Paul said. “Both of you! It’s been a long day and we’re all working with frayed nerves.”
“Keep out of this, Father!” Noss barked.
Just then three of the sheriff’s younger deputies hurried over to the small group that had gathered in front of the doctor’s office. To add to the commotion, Doc Chandler himself stepped from his office to see what was going on.
“What happened here?” one of the deputies asked at what had to be the worst possible time for that question.
“You!” Noss said to the deputy. “Get inside and have a look at what that prisoner left behind!”
The assistant lawmen all stood and blinked at the doctor’s office as if they expected to see something awe-inspiring appear on the walls. “Left behind?” one of them asked. “Isn’t he still tied to his bed?”
The sheriff balled up his fist and strained to keep himself from using it.
Meanwhile, Sprole was straining to keep his smirk from turning into outright laughter.
In a voice that came awfully close to being a hiss, Noss said, “Yes, the prisoner got away. I want you boys to spread out and search this town from top to bottom to find him. Look for anyone that might be missing a horse. Look for any broken windows that might show where he could have ducked in to hide. Look for anything at all that might let you know where he got to.”
“Probably don’t have to worry about the horse just yet,” Sprole said.
Glancing sideways at the bounty hunter, Noss said, “You keep out of this.”
Once again, Sprole raised his hands in mock surrender.
“And you,” Noss said as he shifted back to his deputies, “start searching every inch of this town until you either find the man you were supposed to be guarding or find some hint of where he might have gone.”
The deputy who had done the talking thus far sputtered, “But I—I mean, we all were—”
“No!” Noss snapped. “I won’t hear any excuses! Just do what you’re told and find that prisoner. He’s dangerous and I won’t have him running loose in my town. You hear me?”
Rather than say another word, the deputies all nodded. Sprole leaned over to one of them and said, “You might want to start inside the doc’s office. Looks to me like your prisoner skinned out the window and then headed back into town. If you want, I can show you the tracks.”
“Ain’t it a bit dark to be looking for tracks?” the deputy asked.
“You’re right,” Sprole said. “Best just go about it the way you normally do.” Even though he kept any other smart comment he might have added to himself, the sheriff looked as if he knew exactly what was running through the bounty hunter’s mind. At the moment, however, Noss was more perturbed at his own men than at Sprole.
“Why don’t I show you what Mr. Sprole has discovered?” Dr. Chandler offered.
Although it pained him to do so, the sheriff replied, “That would be a good idea.”
As one deputy followed the doctor inside, the other two started walking toward Third Street.
One of them said, “We’ll start searching the rest of the town.”
“Good idea,” Sheriff Noss said through gritted teeth.
The two younger lawmen muttered to each other while hastily putting some distance between themselves and Noss.
“Real good boys you got working for you there, Sheriff,” Sprole said.
This time, it was Paul who stepped up to the bounty hunter and hissed, “Unless you’ve got something helpful to say, keep your remarks to yourself.”
“Stay out of this, Father,” Noss said.
Sprole nodded and reached out to place a hand on Paul’s chest so he could push him aside as if he were opening a door. “He’s right, preacher. It’s probably best for you to keep your distance.”
“And why’s that?” Noss asked. “Are you planning to do something stupid? You planning to show everyone what a bad man you are by taking a stand against me?”
“I sure am thinking about it right now,” Sprole told him.
In what was already becoming a tiresome habit, Paul moved forward to get between the other two. This time, before he could try to negotiate some sort of peace, he was shoved back with even more force than before. His response was pure instinct when he knocked aside the bounty hunter’s hand.
Sprole chuckled in much the same way as if a child tried to lay down the law of the land. “You don’t know what you’re doing, mister. Just go home and polish your Bibles.”
“No. I have something I want to say.”
“Save it for Sunday,” Sprole grunted. “We got real business to discuss.” With that, the bounty hunter pushed Paul aside so he could strut directly up to within an inch of Sheriff Noss’s face. Before he could take his stand, Sprole was spun around by Paul to face him one more time. When Sprole grabbed the front of Paul’s shirt, his hands were swiftly knocked aside. When Sprole started to speak, a fist cracked against his jaw so quickly that he didn’t even see it coming.
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