Chapter 2

Cheyenne is the county seat, so I had no trouble collecting my bounties the next day. I picked up a set of wanted posters, the ones with pictures, to take with me. Most of the pictures were good enough to make it possible to identify the man who was wanted. The rest of the posters were filed in the nearest bin of scrap paper used for starting cooking or heating fires. That got me a grateful nod, so I was on my way to becoming a responsible citizen of Cheyenne.

Later on that day I went to the marshal’s office to ask what he knew of men I might track down for the reward. He did have one rumor for me: Jake Hosser, a man wanted for train robbery and worth $120, was sighted up in the hills west of town. Unfortunately, Marshal Brady could not be more specific than that, and those hills were well known to be the resting place for several bounty hunters. That was what was keeping any enterprising bounty hunter from going after Hosser.

I thanked him and went to the nearest saloon to see if I could stir up more useful information. I wound up talking to six different bartenders that day, but I didn’t have much more information than the marshal had given me. I figured that I had enough money to carry me for a while, so I could take the time to go after Hosser. It happened that I knew those hills pretty well since I had hunted in them for the years since I graduated from the 6^th Grade. My Army training as a Ranger was going to be helpful, too, so I figured that I had as good a chance as anybody to find Jake Hosser.

I figured that the chase was going to take at least a week, so I needed a pack animal. I was partial to mules for this job, but mules were mighty scarce in Cheyenne around that time, so I settled for a horse. I packed food, including coffee, a bedroll, and a tent in case it rained. I also took along an ax and a hatchet for cutting firewood. There was a minimum of utensils in my pack, so the horse was not heavily loaded.

We, my horses and I, left Cheyenne for the hills at daylight on a Monday, and it took all day to get well back into the hills. The distance was not that much, but I wanted to make damned sure that I was not added to that list of deceased bounty hunters. The basic terrain was the same as I remembered, but there were more trees than had been present in my former time. I figured that was due to the climate changing to less rain over the years.

What I was looking for was a small cave that I remembered using as a camping spot on many of my hunting trips to this area. I was going to use it if it were not already claimed by someone else who did not want company. The most innocent of people could be natural loners and not receptive to companions at their camp site. Well, I could live with that—I did know of a couple of other places that I could use if I had too. The cave I was headed for was just my favorite.

It was late afternoon, but a couple of hours before dark, when I found the cave I was looking for. Dammit, someone else was already using the cave for a camp. Oh, well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask if he would accept company.

I was not a complete fool, so I was careful and very watchful as I rode up to the cave. I saw a man doing some sort of work near a fire, but I could not tell what it was that he was doing. To be on the safe side, I stopped at about the limit of hailing range and shouted, “HELLO THE CAMP! WOULD YOU MIND IF I CAME IN?”

The man in the cave mouth was startled by my shout and jumped erect. He never said a word, but pulled out his revolver and started shooting. Now, that was downright unfriendly of him! I was deliberately too far away for accurate pistol shooting unless he was as expert as I was, and I would be stretching it a bit.

I grabbed my shotgun from where it was hanging over my saddle horn and flicked off the safety as I dropped to the ground. I did want to get away from the horses before I started shooting to prevent an accident. Even if the man really did want to shoot me, surely he did not want to shoot the horses. My riding horse would stay in place because I had dropped the reins onto the ground, and he was trained to understand what “ground hitching” meant. The lead rope for the pack horse was tied to the back of my saddle, so it was not going anywhere.

I scurried to some rocks that were nearby and shouted again, “HEY, MISTER, I AM THE PEACEABLE TYPE, BUT I WILL SHOOT BACK IF YOU KEEP THAT UP!”

The man ignored my comment and continued to shoot, this time with a Henry. The Henry was virtually obsolete by this time, but the bullets would still kill a man if he was not very lucky. Okay, I figured that this guy was just being antisocial, but I wondered at the reason for his attitude. I still was not close enough to him to see his face well enough for recognition, but I was pretty sure by now that he was some kind of outlaw. Otherwise, why would he keep shooting at me?

I was kind of pissed off by now, so I cleared the safety on my shotgun and aimed for the man’s legs. I didn’t really want to kill him until I had some answers, and I was happy that I had the laser designator installed on the shotgun. I was confident of hitting what I was aiming at up to 100 yards away, and this was well within that range. I should point out that with busted legs, he might as well be dead in this era, but he would be able to talk easier than he would with a load of buck and ball in his gizzard.

I fired as soon as the red dot showed up on his knees, and my shooting was up to my standards. Two of the shot hit him in the right leg and the ball hit him in the left leg just below the knee. That was one of my cleaner amputations as the ball cut the man’s lower leg away from the knee. He screamed and fell, and I knew that I would not need another shot.

I went back to my horses and mounted to ride up to the cave. No point in walking there and having to walk back just to fetch the horses. By the time I reached the cave mouth and dismounted, the man had fainted. I worked as fast as I could and got a tourniquet on each leg. I had simplified things by cutting the man’s pants legs off just above his knee, so modesty was preserved. However, the smell of fresh shit and piss made me wonder if I had done the right thing. Oh, well, the man might not live out the night, so his clothes were of minor concern.

This was when I got a good look at the man whom I had shot, and I saw that he was not Jake Hosser, but he was wanted for rustling horses. There was a bounty of $50 on his head, so I had not wasted my time. I was pretty sure, now, that I knew why he had shot at me, but I was still going to ask.

I moved to see what the man had in his pack for the makings for supper, and a bullet whizzed by where my head had been just moments before. Dammit, I should have my ass kicked for not keeping a lookout for somebody else coming to the cave.

Thank God, I had my shotgun slung over my back, so I still had it handy. I dove for some meager shelter and unlimbered the gun in preparation for defending myself. Whoever it was who had shot at me was acting no smarter than I had. He rode up to the cave, apparently because he thought that he had hit me with his shot. He asked as he rode up, “Hey, Paul, what is going on?” Well, Paul Stevens, was the man I had shot in the legs, so I knew that this was no stranger.

I was rightly pissed off again about the way the man had shot at me. By the custom of the times, anybody who acted like that deserved to be shot, and I was ready to live by the custom. I was down low so the other man was silhouetted against the sky. That made him a perfect target, and I did not fool around. I fired a load of buck and ball at his gut so that I would not mess up identification by blemishing his face.