Chapter 1

I hate the heat! I hate the sun! I hate the dust! I hate the thirst! So, what the hell am I doing here in New Mexico Territory in the summer of 1899? Just stupid, I guess. But a bounty hunter has to do what a bounty hunter has to do.

I'm not chasing any particular hombre right now, but I am on the lookout for opportunity. It's hard to make a living out of 25 and 50 dollar rewards, but the big ones don't come along that often. When your best asset is a fast draw with an accurate aim, there's not much else to attract your interest. Still, it's not a way to get rich quick. I have even stooped to punching cows when the pickings got slim enough.

I'm not a good gambler, though I do like to play poker for the fun of it. I am usually good enough to break even, but I could never make a living at it. At least, I have sense enough to stay away from keno and those other sucker games.

It's the saloon women that are my downfall; I just can't stay away. I am what is known as "hot-blooded." It only takes a sniff of pussy and I am in full pursuit. All too often, I just keep after them until I run out of money and then I get bounced out on my ass. I have been lucky so far with disease; I haven't caught any thing yet, but I know that I can't stay lucky forever.

Here I am, mooching along between towns pretty much minding my own business. At least, the road does follow along a creek with enough water to keep a stand of cottonwoods growing. The shade is a welcome change. Suddenly, there is the crash of a shotgun blast, followed shortly by a second crash. What could that be? Maybe a body in trouble? If so, there may be a little opportunity for me. I quickly urge my horse into trot as I pull my saddle carbine to the ready position. You never know what you might find along a lonely road.

I come around a curve and what a sight! A buckboard is upside-down beside the road and an elderly man is sprawled out in a pool of blood with most of his head missing and a monster hole in his chest.

Along side on her knees is a good-looking young woman screaming bloody murder at a man holding a double-barrel shotgun pointed at her. He seems to be gloating over his good fortune with rape on his mind. Since I am still comfortably out of shotgun range, I yell at the man to make him point the shotgun at me instead of the woman. As soon as he swings the shotgun around toward me, I pop off a shot. My .44-40 makes a nice sized hole in his chest (I told you I was fast and a good shot). Just to be sure, I blow his head open with the next shot.

As I continue riding toward her, the woman looks at me kind of funny, like she is not convinced that she has been rescued. She does look a little bit more relaxed when I holster my carbine and tip my hat. I give her a cursory look and notice that she has what looks like a Smith and Wesson .32 holstered to her thigh under her skirt. I like a sensible woman!

"Good day, ma'am. May I be of assistance?" I ask in my most nonthreatening manner.

"You already have been," she said in the sweetest sounding voice I have heard in much too long. "That piece of trash over there just murdered my father and was about to do me great harm when you came up."

"I had better check that he had no confederates in the neighborhood. I'll be right back." I swung off the trail toward the creek. I made a reasonable size loop around the ambush site to be sure it was clear and then went back to pick up the dead man's horse where it was tied. When I got back to the woman, I dismounted and again removed my hat, I had learned that a little courtesy goes a long way with women.

I asked, "Are you alright, beyond the obvious?"

She answered, "I think so, but I do need help getting my father's body back to the ranch. Could you stay with me for that long?"

"It would be my pleasure. Let me check the buckboard," I said as I walked toward it. I checked the body, the axles, and all four wheels. It looked safe enough; it just needed turning upright. I went back to my horse and remounted. I threw a loop around a projection on the far side of the buckboard and wound the rope around the pommel of my saddle. With a little effort, my horse was able to get the buckboard back on its wheels. I recovered my rope and went to get the woman's horse, which had only run a few hundred yards before stopping to graze. Once the horse was rehitched, the easy part of of the job was finished.

As gently as I could, I placed her father in the back of the buckboard and covered his body with my groundsheet. I threw the villain over his saddle and tied him on. After hitching the two riding horses to the buckboard, I helped the woman onto the seat and climbed up, myself. "Where to, ma'am?" I said as I picked up the reins.

She directed me to turn around and head out. We went about 3 miles and turned off on a side road. Eventually, this road led us to a rather grand ranch house, practically a hacienda.

As soon as we reached the house, a boy ran up to help with the horses. When he saw what was in the buckboard and tied behind, he let out a tremendous whoop for help. Several ranch hands and house servants came running to help. As expected, they were all suspicious of me, but the woman calmed them down and a man who was obviously the ranch foreman brought order out of chaos.

I jumped from the buckboard and helped the woman down to stand beside me. We moved into the house, and her father was carried to his bedroom, where he was laid out on his bed. The young woman, the foreman, and I went into the living room. She had been holding my hand the whole time since we left the buckboard and she pulled me down beside her on the sofa. The foreman sat in a chair across from us. She looked at me with a pleading expression and said, "You have been so kind to me and I don't even know your name. I am Sarah York, and this is our ranch foreman Bill Hudson."

"Please forgive me for being rude; my name is Mat Sullivan. I have tried not to press you with my attention, since you are under such great stress. I have been amazed at the strength of character you have shown and I wish that I could do more to ease your burden."

When I said this, Sarah seemed to wilt. She broke into great sobs and grabbed me around the neck. I was completely flummoxed at first, but quickly realized that she needed to release some of the pent up grief she felt, so I just gently held her while she cried. Meanwhile, Bill looked on at a total loss as to what to do.

After about 15 minutes, the tears stopped and Sarah drew back, completely embarrassed. "Oh, Mr. Sullivan, I am so sorry to break down like that. Please forgive me, and I've gotten your shirt all wet!"

"Please call me Mat, and your reaction is perfectly understandable. Maybe it would help if you would tell us what happened just before I met you."

"My father and I left the ranch this morning headed to a lawyer's office in Julesburg. I don't know any details about the meeting; I was just going to do a little shopping while he took care of his business. Since we were early for the meeting, we were moving along at a slow trot when a man jumped out of the bushes beside the road and, without saying a word, fired his shotgun at my father. The first shot caught Dad in the chest and blew him right out of the buckboard. The second shot was fired after Dad was on the ground and obviously dead; I can't imagine why the man would shoot again. The sudden noise caused the horse to bolt and I jumped out before the buckboard turned over. I ran to my father's body and kneeled down. I was screaming in pain and sorrow when you rode up. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"It sounds to me like an assassination, rather than a robbery. Who do you know that would want your father dead?" I said as I looked, with concern, into her beautiful eyes (uh-oh, here I go again).

"I can't think of anyone, right now. How about you, Bill; do you have any notion?"

"No, Miss Sarah. I have no idea who could or would want your father dead. He was the nicest, most gentle man anybody could know."

"Well, whatever the cause, we should report the incident. Is there a sheriff or marshal I could talk to and turn over the body of the murderer?"

Bill said, "Sheriff Tom Hanson has his office in Julesburg; he's there most of the time. It's too far to get there this afternoon; why don't you go in tomorrow?"

"OK, I'll do that. Can I overnight in the bunkhouse?"

"Certainly not!" exclaimed Sarah. "You will stay in the main house, in a guest bedroom. We have plenty of room. We still have time; you can have a bath and rest before you join us for dinner. Carmelita will have no trouble accommodating one more at the table, and she will be thrilled to have a new person to try her excellent cuisine. In fact, please plan to make our house your home while you are in the area."

"You are most kind and I will take you up on that offer."

The bath and the clean clothes sure made me feel better and, I am certain, much nicer to be near. I was called to dinner at 7:00 PM and enjoyed it immensely. That Carmelita sure can cook! The food, along with plenty of excellent coffee, was enough to make me feel like a king.

The sun had set by the time we finished eating, so Sarah suggested that I try one of her father's cigars and we go out on the veranda while I smoked it. Never in my life have I turned down a good cigar. That, coupled with the companionship of a beautiful young lady, was more than enough to get me on my feet and out the door. The temperature had cooled with the setting sun, so I suggested we take a short walk to work off some of the dinner. Sarah readily agreed.