Chapter 1

Bounty hunting ain't all its cracked up ta be. Ifen ya believed all them dime novels, ya'd think that all a bounty hunter had ta do was walk up ta some poor soul an' stick a gun in his ribs ta git him ta surrender soz the bounty hunter could collect that big reward of $250. Ha! In between times, ya'd think that the bounty hunter lived high on the hog in a fancy hotel suite with fast women hanging off of both arms an' drinkin champaign out of them fancy glasses. Ha, again!

Well, let me tell ya, I'm a bounty hunter, an' ain't nothin' like that ever happened ta me. I spend most of my time in stinkin', noisy saloons with saloon whores tryin' to chivvy my last nickel out of me fer a quick roll in the hay. I often sleep on the trail in a dry camp with snakes an' scorpions fer company. Mostly, I eat beef and beans fer breakfast an' supper, and pemmican or jerky fer lunch. If I'm lucky, I manage a glass of stale, warm beer in one of them saloons. An' the bounties? The most I ever got was $90 fer a stupid hoss thief what didn't have the good sense ta run far enough away.

That's why I'm so surprised ta find myself chasin' after a train robber with a $750 bounty on him. The Texas an' Gulf Railroad is damned pissed at Jubal Atkins—he robbed too damned many of their gold shipments, an' he done it all alone. His special trick was ta derail a train at night an' rob the express car from the wreckage. Somehow, he had gotten aholt of a set of keys ta the safes in the T&G express cars, so he had no trouble openin' the safe while everybody else was runnin' around tryin' ta save lives an' stuff.

Anyhow, the T&G had spread handbills all over Texas and New Mexico Territory offerin' $750 fer his hide, dead or alive. The handbills had a right nice picture of Mr. Jubal Atkins an' a complete description of him, too, so nobody with half an eye would have any trouble recognizin' him. Ifen he was as smart as he claimed ta be, he would have lit out fer Mexico long ago, but not Jubal—he jus' loved ta poke fun at the T&G. He was all the time writin' letters ta newspapers braggin' on his exploits an' claimin' that he was gonna drive the T&G out of business. Why, he was even the one what provided the picture fer the handbill, he claimed that the picture they had been usin' didn't do him justice!

I happened to pick up his trail in a little town north of Brownsville. Smithville ain't much of a much, but it did have three saloons, and Mr. Atkins had visited each one to announce his presence an' tweak the nose of the T&G. I must of been the first bounty hunter through Smithville after Jubal had left, cuz there weren't no sign of nobody else trailin' him.

He lit out of Smithville headed north, an' I wuz about two day's behind him. He was easy ta follow cuz he was followin' the T&G tracks toward Laredo. I knew who I was followin' cuz the livery stable manager told me 'bout the special shoe his hoss wuz wearin'--there was a bar across the open end of the shoe on the right front hoof. It seemed that Mr. Atkins was partial ta that hoss, an' it had developed a weak spot in its hoof. The bar was supposed ta make it easier fer the hoss ta put weight on that foot. It sounded crazy ta me, but what do I know? Anyway, I liked it cuz it made it easier to follow Jubal's trail.

On the third day out of Smithville, I found myself very close to Mr. Atkins. He wuz not one ta spend the night camped on the trail. Oh, no! Mr. Atkins always slept in a hotel bed, accompanied by the best whore in town. Of course, he could afford such luxury, courtesy of the T&G express cars. This sybaritic livin' slowed him down an' gave me time ta cotch up ta him.

I caught up ta Jubal in a moderate size hamlet with the appropriate name of Hangtown. I knew right off where ta look fer him, soz I waited 'til after midnight an' went inta the hotel like I wuz gonna book a room. It took almost 10 minutes of banging on the bell at the desk ta wake up the clerk. I rented a room an' told the clerk I was lookin' fer a friend. I showed him the picture of Jubal Atkins that I had cut from a handbill (I didn't want the clerk ta know why I was huntin' fer Atkins). The clerk gave me a key he said was fer room #5, an' Mr. Atkins was in room #9.

Now, I knew that small town hotels don't have a lot of extra money to go into construction, soz the room keys are often identical. Ifen that was true, my key would also work in the door of room #9. I put my stuff down on the bed in #5 an' went huntin'. On the way by, I checked my key in #7 an' I was right: the key fit the lock.

I drew my pistol an' unlocked the door ta room #9. I eased my key inta the lock an' felt it hit an obstruction. Dammit, Jubal had left his key in the lock. Well, ifen he was asleep, I could jiggle the key out of the way an' git mine in. To be on the safe side, I pressed my ear against the door an' heard a lot of groanin' an' heavy breathin', so I knew that he wuzn't sleepin', but I figured that he wuz too busy an' interested in other things ta hear a key drop.

I jiggled my key a little bit an' the other key fell ta the floor. It only took a moment ta unlock the door, an' I eased the door open. OK, I admit it, I'm a conventional sort of guy when it comes ta sex, so I was shocked at what I saw. Jubal was lying on his back on the bed, an' the whore was straddlin' his hips with her weight on her knees. I watched fer a bit cuz I wuz so surprised that I wanted ta see what wuz goin' on. The whore was bouncin' up an' down on Jubal's cock pushed up inta her cunt. Damned if she didn't come that way—I didn't even know such was possible!

I guess that Jubal hadn't come, yet, cuz she stopped bouncin', but he rolled them over 'til they wuz in the position I was used to. He started pumpin' in her cunt, an' I kinda woke up. I pushed the door open all the way an' went up to the bed.

I poked my gun in his face an' he looked at me with passion in his eyes. "Hey, man, don't shoot, cuz I ain't come, yet!"

"OK, go ahead an' finish, then I'm arrestin' ya."

Jubal returned to pumping away while I waited as patiently as I could. When he finished, I gave him a couple of minutes ta enjoy the feelin', then I ordered, "OK, Jubal, on yer feet an' put on yer pants. I'm taking ya ta the marshal's office."

The whore looked at me kinda funny an' reached under the bed. Afore I knowed what happened, she slapped me aside the head with the chamber pot and yelled, "YA CAIN'T DO THAT! HE AIN'T PAID ME FER THE EXTRAS, YET!"

That wuz the last I knew 'til I woke up 'bout 30 minutes later with a throbbin' headache an' dryin' piss all over me. The whore an' Jubal Atkins were gone, an' so wuz my gun. Man, was I mad—that wuz my favorite gun! Oh, shit, my head hurt so bad that I was done fer the night, so I went back ta my room, stripped, an' fell inta bed.

The next mornin', I struggled out of bed an' put on some fresh clothes. Even I couldn't stand the smell of all that old piss. My head still hurt, but I managed to function well enough ta git some breakfast. With the breakfast in me, the headache finally left, an' I wuz more or less functional. When I had dressed, I had replaced my stolen pistol with one of the spares I always carried in my saddle bag, so I was dressed an' ready to resume the chase in no time.

The trouble was, I had lost the trail of Jubal Atkins. I asked around at the livery stables, but nobody could (or would) tell me anythin'. There wuz too much traffic on the road fer me to pick out tracks, soz all I could do was guess that he was still headed toward Laredo. Anyway, I rode in that direction, keepin' an eye out fer that tell-tale odd horseshoe print.