Chapter 2

I'd sat around fer as long as I could stand it, an' I just had ta git back ta business. I'd already been by the courthouse ta collect my rewards fer Jenkins an' Smith. While I was there, I picked up a new set of posters. I was ready ta go as soon as I picked up my hoss. Hector was a little bit rambunctious from being so long without work, but he settled down soon enough ta keep from bein' a problem. I didn't have any particular plans, so I followed a hunch an' headed sort of south.

This was a major road from Austin, so I had ta be ready for anythin'. I didn't know what was comin' up, but I had a strong feelin' that I would find some business real soon. My hunches had been pretty damned reliable all my life, but this seemed ta be more urgent than usual.

I was only 'bout six miles out of town when I found out what my hunch had been warnin' me about. The road was windin' around through some trees when I caught a stray thought, "That galoot is almost close enough. Another 20 feet an' I'll have a clean shot at him."

My attention jumped ta a place about 100 feet away. There was a man there, an' he was holdin' a Winchester. The rifle was pointin' in my general direction, but it was not yet aimed right at me. There was a bushy limb between me an' the rifle, so the owlhoot couldn't see me as clearly as he would in only a few more feet.

Well, I wasn't gonna wait around fer him ta take the first shot. As quick as I could, I drew my pistol an' fired a shot at the blob of shadow that I could see in among the trees. I didn't have a lot of time ta take careful aim, but I willed the bullet ta hit the road agent in the chest right over his heart.

By dogies, it worked! I heard, "He's almost..." an' then there was nothin'. The bandit fell ta the ground, an' I looked around just ta be sure I wasn't the target of this galoot's partner. Nobody else was in sight, soz I rode up ta where my would-be ambusher was lying on the ground.

He was lyin' on his back, an' I could see a neat hole in his shirt. There wasn't much blood showin', so I figured that I had made another heart shot. Damn, I could stand fer that ta become a habit!

This was a fairly successful road agent, judgin' from the amount of gold in his money belt an' pockets. He was carryin' $640 in gold an' some loose silver ta the tune of $28.40. His face wasn't on one of my posters, but he still paid off pretty good. His Winchester looked ta be a '73 model an' nearly brand new. I should get a decent price fer it an' his Colt Navy conversion should be worth some. His knife was trash, an' I ignored it. I also took his hat an' boots, what I fastened ta his saddle. I toyed with the idea of keepin' his hoss as a remount, but I finally decided ta sell it, along with the tack. His body was off the trail an' out of the way, soz I just left it fer the scavengers.

Well, this hunch had paid off very well, soz I planned ta keep followin' 'em as much as I could. At the moment, nothin' was naggin' at me, soz I just resumed my way traveling south of Austin. Nothin' else showed up that day, but, hell, I had made a pretty penny off that incident, so I had no complaints.

I sold the hoss an' other stuff at the next town an' came away with nearly $750 fer a day's work. Now, that was nothin' ta shake a stick at. I could live fer more than a year on that kind of money, soz I could go back ta Alice Jones with a clear conscience. The trouble was that I was bound ta git bored afore too long.

The next day, I had a hunch ta hang around town. Well, my first hunch had really paid off handsomely, so I wasn't gonna argue with this one. All I accomplished this day was ta enjoy some poker an' two cool beers, but I didn't press my luck by leavin' town. Ah, the next day was the one what made the hunch pay off!

I was sittin' in a saloon, nursin' a cool beer an' wonderin' what was headed my way. I finally got my answer ta that one along 'bout mid-morning. Who should wander into the saloon where I was goofin' off than The Sandy Creek Kid, aka (also known as) Henry Roth. The Kid don't look like much, but he's only 19 years old an' has a reputation fer killin' 23 men in regular gunfights. Nobody knows, probably not even him, how many he's killed under other circumstances.

Anyhow, there was a federal warrant out fer his capture, dead or alive, fer murderin' a federal judge down near San Antonio. I can't remember the details of the murder, but the feds were willin' ta pay $750 fer his head, with or without the rest of his body.

The Kid was no more than 5'-6" tall, an' he looked like a kid with some of his baby fat still on his face. At 6'-1" tall without my boots, I towered over him, but a bullet can't see no difference along them lines. I paid close attention ta The Kid's thoughts an' learned that he was expectin' ta meet some friends in this here saloon in a few minutes. That meant that I needed ta git a move on, or forgit the whole thing. The Kid was bad enough ta face without havin' four more galoots in on the deal.

I stayed seated an' drew my gun. My idea was ta duck behind a tipped over table ifen things didn't go my way, an' I had a head start toward duckin' if I was already low ta the floor. I shouted, "HENRY ROTH, YA'RE UNDER ARREST! RAISE YER HANDS AN' YA MIGHT LIVE THROUGH THIS!"

As I kind of expected, The Kid didn't follow directions. Instead, he dropped ta the floor an' pulled a gun from his boot. I was expectin' somethin' unusual ta happen, but that wasn't it. Nevertheless, I shot Roth as he kind of leaned over. The bullet went into the top of his head, through his hat, an' down into his body. There wasn't no doubt that he was dead, but I tried not ta git too careless.

Still holding my revolver at the ready an' with the hammer cocked, I stood up an' slowly walked ta where The Kid was lyin' in a big pool of blood. I called ta the bartender ta have the swamper fetch the marshal, an' the swamper left on a dead run.

I was kneelin' down ta go over what The Kid might have on his body that I would find useful when I heard a shout, "THAT GALOOT HAS SHOT HENRY! GIT HIM!" Four men went for their guns, but I started shootin' before any of them had cleared leather. Now, don't ask me how I did it, but I fired four bullets an' hit four men in the heart.

Only one man got off a shot, an' that bullet went inta the floor. The bartender an' all 12 of the other customers in the saloon were amazed at what had happened. I pretty much ignored the looks of awe from the 13 onlookers as I went ta see if any of the men near the door were on posters. Three of the four were on posters, so I was again very lucky. I was gonna git $175 fer them four, plus the $750 fer Henry Roth. Shit! I was gittin' very rich very fast!

The marshal showed up shortly after I had identified the men in the pile near the door. He didn't want ta believe my story, but he reluctantly backed down when the bartender an' the other witnesses backed up my claims. Anyway, I picked up some money from the bodies, along with their guns an' such. I was feelin' right generous at this point, so I gave the marshal a Double Eagle ta pay for five funerals an' told him ta keep the change. I gave the swamper a Half Eagle ($5) tip ta clean up the mess, an' I cemented my good relations with the crowd by buyin' a round for the house.

The swamper went fer the undertaker while the marshal an' I went ta his office fer the receipts. This was my most profitable day since I had started in the bounty huntin' business, an' I hoped my luck continued ta run this way.

I spent the night in the hotel an' left town the next mornin'. I just kept headin' more or less south, since I didn't have any more hunches about what else ta do. I figured that, if nothin' else came up, I should run inta more road agents as I rode. The economy was in the doldrums at this time—it still hadn't recovered after the War. The number of men without jobs was somethin' horrible, so there was not much else for the unemployed men ta do but ta become bandits. Of course, they could do what I did an' become a bounty hunter.