Chapter 1: Billy McLane

Hoyt Malone had never given the first thought about being a bounty hunter, but now that he was dead broke and out of a job, he had no choice but to listen to Town Marshal Willys Freeman in St. Johns, Arizona Territory.

Hoyt had worked for Mr. Charles Mason since age thirteen. Then, just last month, the Masons sold their spread, and moved back east. A neighboring rancher bought the Mason spread, and told Hoyt he had enough men and didn’t need another hired hand.

Hoyt let the Town Marshal of St. Johns, Arizona talk him into going after Billy McLane. Hoyt and Billy had been friends for years. They’d even worked together on the Mason Spread for a couple of years.

“Marshal, if he won’t come willing, I’m not gonna kill’m.”

“He’ll come in for you, Hoyt, before he would anyone else.”

“This is a bad way for a man to make a living – going after his best friend like this. But I’m broker’n hell and I gotta do something about it pretty damn quick.”

“I’ll advance you fifty dollars. I can’t let you go off broke.”

“Fifty dollars? How much is the bounty on him?”

“Three hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Damn, what all has he done anyway?”

“Here’s his wanted poster. He killed a man over in New Mexico Territory when the man told him he couldn’t marry his daughter. He claimed self-defense and left town before the hearing.”

“What’s he wanted for here in St. Johns?”

“He was seen in front of the bank just before it was robbed last week. The lone masked robber got over fifteen hundred dollars, the banker said.”

“Damn his hide. Give me the fifty dollars, and I’ll try to bring him in alive.”

“Does that mean you’ll bring him in – no matter what?”

“For three hundred and fifty dollars, I’d bring your wife in – no matter what!”

“You probably would too – damn you! Now get the hell out of here and go get Billy. Last word we had on him, he was seen hanging out up at Navajo Springs Station north of here.”

“I know where that is. That’s a bad place to hang out, with all the riffraff passing through there on the railroad.”

“I know. That’s the reason, Sheriff Wills wanted me to ask you to go after him.”

“Sheriff Wills did? Why would he ask for my help?”

“Hoyt ... there’s not a man in Apache County, Arizona fool enough to tangle with your fists or your guns.”

“Well hell, I didn’t know that about myself!“

Within two years after hiring on at the Mason spread, Hoyt had his own saddle rig custom built at the saddle shop in town. He paid it out over six months – paying two dollars a week. It cost him a full month’s pay, but it was worth the extra he’d spent on it. When the Masons sold out after Hoyt had worked for them ten years, they let Hoyt keep the fourteen year old Buckskin gelding he’d ridden since the day he went to work for them.

A hired-hand with his own horse and saddle rig, has raised his status in life. It shows that a man takes a certain amount of pride in himself. Neither horse nor saddle are easy to come by, working for cowhand wages. But now he’s out of a job.

Hoyt knew Buck would never win any speed races, but the big horse could go all day and half the night at a fast canter, which would wear down even the best wild horses on the range.

St. Johns is located on the Little Colorado River in southeastern Apache County. As soon as he’d put his camp supplies together and tied the small pack behind his saddle with his bedroll, he was on his way – his saddlebags loaded with leg irons and handcuffs. Three hours later he was circling the area around the general store – saloon – train depot ... at Navajo Springs Station. He wanted a good account of who may be camped nearby, before he rode in.

He figured Billy would be the only one who’d know him, but he had to be careful about asking questions of another man. A stranger asking questions was sure to get a lot of doubtful looks and he was sure to be told a bundle of lies, if he even got an answer.

Hoyt had an out, he was looking for a friend, and he’d been told that his friend had been seen around here.

“Where you out of, Stranger?” the big man asked, after Hoyt had asked if anyone had seen a friend of his by the name of Billy McLane.

“Holbrook, over in Navajo County.” Hoyt lied, but he’d been there once before and felt safe in using the town’s name.

“You ever been in The Red Bull Saloon over there?”

“Never knew there was a saloon by that name in Holbrook. You must be thinking about the nearby town of Putnam. There’s a Red Bull Saloon over there. The only saloon I know of in Holbrook is Ma’s Place.”

“You’re right ... It was Putnam, where I was in The Red Bull. You say Billy’s a friend of yours, is he?”

“We worked together on a spread down close to St. Johns, on the Little Colorado for a couple of years.”

“He told me about hiring on as a cowhand down there once. Believe he said the place was called Samsons, or something close to that?”

“Mason, was the family’s name. They’ve sold out now and moved back east. The man who bought it told me he didn’t need any more hands. Thought I’d look Billy up and see if he had any leads on a steady payin’ job.”

“There’s a man named Billy who comes in now and then. A big man, bigger’n you, even.”

“That wouldn’t be the Billy I’m looking for. Billy McLane has never weighed over a hundred and sixty the whole time I’ve known him.”

“Oh ... okay ... I bet I know the Billy you’re thinking of now. Sandy haired, always got a grin on his face.”

“That does sound more like the Billy McLane I’m looking for. He still around or do you know?”

“Saw him yesterday. Said he’d be in sometime today, or tomorrow for sure.”

Early the next morning, Billy McLane rode up to the saloon. He recognized the Buckskin tied to the hitching rail, before he tied his horse beside it. He knew that horse and saddle both, and who they belonged to, when he looked them over.

Though he didn’t know why Hoyt Malone was here – for some reason, he had an ill feeling that his old friend wasn’t passing through Navajo Springs just for the hell of it.

Now that he’s a wanted man, Billy has become wary of anyone from his past and anyone who’s a stranger to these parts.

Hoyt was leaning against the far end of the bar, talking to Jake Gowan, the big man he’d met here yesterday. He saw Billy step inside the saloon, blinking his eyes as he looked around the dim lit room.

Hoyt nudged Jake’s arm, nodding toward the door where Billy stood.

“He saw my horse – he’s looking for me now,” Hoyt told him.

“Yep, and here he comes. He ain’t grinnin’ neither.”

“Hoyt, I saw Ol’ Buck tied out there. I got a feeling you come to see me, didn’t you?”

“That I did, Billy. I’ve come here to ask you to turn yourself in. You’ll get a fair trial and though you may have to serve some time, you’ll be free in a few years.”

“And if I don’t turn myself in?”

“I’ll take you back anyway.”

“You ain’t no lawman! You’ve turned Bounty Hunter, ain’t you?”

“A man has to make a living somehow. At least it’s on the right side of the law.”

“I ain’t going, Hoyt.”

“You will when you think it over, Billy. You know your ma and your sister, Janie would want you to.”

“Leave them out of this, Hoyt! They know nothing of me being wanted.”

“Billy, everyone in this part of the territory knows about you being a wanted man. You could make it easy on yourself – and them too, if you’d go back peaceably with me.”

Pushing back from the bar, Jake Gowan stepped over next to Billy. He turned to look at Hoyt, then growled at him, “You lied to me about why you’re here.”

“Yeah ... and you lied to me every time you opened your mouth. I know who you are, too. If you want in on this, then just get on with it, and make your case now.”

“You’ll never get out of this place alive!” Jake told him.

“Yes I will. You won’t be alive to see it, but I’m taking Billy back with me because he wants his ma and sister to know he’s trying to set his life straight.”

Jake asked Billy – without taking his eyes off Hoyt, “Is he that good, Billy?”

“He’s damn good, Jake. We used to shoot together and he’s too damned good for you to be pulling a pistol on ‘im.”