Chapter 2

My next stop was at the county courthouse to collect my bounty and to pick up a set of wanted posters. I only took the posters with pictures; the posters with only a written description were not good enough for a positive identification, so I just didn't bother with them. I rode (I'm in the West, remember) the 400 yards to the nearest saloon and ordered a beer. This one did taste a little better than the last one that I had, but only slightly; however, I did wonder if it was worth the 3¢ that I paid for it.

I took my beer and the stack of wanted posters to a table and started going through the posters while I sipped my beer. Nobody without a Teflon-lined mouth and esophagus could have drunk that beer any other way! I had gotten about half way through the stack of posters when I felt a slap to the back of my head. What the shit was that all about!?!

I turned around to the sound of laughter from three of the most disreputable looking toughs that could be dredged up from a common cesspool. Not only did they look that way, but they smelled that way. They were even being avoided by the two saloon whores.

One of them said, "Hey, look at who thinks he is a big bad bounty hunter!" That brought another laugh from his companions.

I was sitting down, so it looked like I was at a disadvantage compared to the three bullies. I said, "Yes, I am a bounty hunter, and I do make a good living at it. You three should be happy that I have not yet seen your faces on a poster. Otherwise, you would not think the situation was so funny. Now, I want an apology for that slap on the head, or I might lose my temper."

"Oh, mister big bad bounty hunter, I am so sorry that I slapped your sissy-looking head. Next time, I might just piss on it." That brought on another laugh from his friends. The speaker was beginning to think that he was a real witty one, because I saw him winding up for another bon mot.

That was when I said, "One more stupid word from you, you asshole, and I will be forced to shut you up, maybe permanently."

That must have been enough to bring my assailant to the breaking point, because he reached for his gun. Had I been wearing my gun in the usual place on my thigh, I would have been a dead man. However, I had no trouble drawing from my crossdraw holster, and I put a bullet through the loud mouth's chest before he had fully drawn his gun from its thigh holster. The fact that I had a double-action gun also helped a lot.

At the sound of my gunshot, the two fools with him also reached for their pistols. I suppose that it was simply the reflex action of the bully, because any thinking person would know that I already had the drop on them. Anyway, it was necessary to shoot both of them as well. Having been in this position in enough movies, I knew what to do. "Bartender, please send for a marshal."

As it happened, that was not necessary. The town marshal just happened to have walked through the door when I fired my first shot. Therefore, he saw everything, including the fact that I had been sitting down during the whole fracas. That alone was worthy of note and had caught his attention. Furthermore, the three bullies were well known troublemakers, so the marshal ruled it self defense in my favor and that was the end of the legal details.

I did take a minute to go through the pockets, etc. of the dead men to take anything I wanted. I did pick up a total of $13.41, plus a plethora of weapons of all kinds. I did decide to keep a stiletto and a derringer that I found, but the rest would be sold. Unfortunately, I did have to pay the six-bits for the burials, but I still came out ahead. The marshal also assured me that the town owed me a debt of gratitude for ridding it of three troublemakers that were a real pain to the honest and law abiding people of the town.

The marshal and I talked for a few minutes, and I explained to him that I was just beginning my career as a bounty hunter. He commented that if I continued to shoot as well as I just had, I should have a long and profitable career. We parted on a friendly basis just as the undertaker arrived. I tipped the swamper four-bits for having to clean up the unexpected mess. I had lost my appetite, what little I'd had, for that God-awful beer, so I gave the dregs to the swamper and left with my stack of posters.

I went to the hotel restaurant for lunch and looked through the remainder of the posters while I waited to be served my beef and beans stew. This turned out to have a few vegetables in it, and I sent my compliments to the cook. She came out of the kitchen to see who had done such an unusual thing, and we talked for a few minutes before she had to return to work.

While I was in the restaurant, I spied a calendar which told me that this was May of 1876. Uh-oh, that meant that another Indian war was in the offing, and it would start very soon. This was the war precipitated by Custer's defeat at Little Big Horn, and almost every Indian Tribe would join in on the festivities. To my knowledge, only the Mescalero Apaches did not try to kill every White man in sight.

I did not remember enough of the details of that war, except to know that it was very bloody on both sides. This did prompt me to decide to head south, since down there the "only" very belligerent Indian tribes were the Kiowas and the Comanches. If I hurried, I should make it to Texas before the worst of the fighting, and there I would only have to worry about the Comanches. Besides, I had a feeling that bounty hunting might be more profitable in Texas or NMT (New Mexico Territory).

If I headed due south, I would have to cross the Red River between Indian Territory and Texas, and the Comanches were very active there, but that would be my best route because of the developed roads through the eastern part of Oklahoma. I decided to chance that route, and I would start immediately after lunch.

I had enough money to buy a pack mule and to stock my pack with the necessities for camping out. Actually, I planned to spend as many nights as possible in appropriate shelters and to eat in as many restaurants as possible, but I wanted to be prepared in case I could not find a convenient town.

My first few nights were spent in hotels and I ate in restaurants during that time. I bought a light lunch to take with me, but I had pemmican and jerky if I got caught short. It took me five uneventful days to reach Kansas, but things changed shortly after I crossed the border.

I came to the town of Broken Shoe and stopped for lunch. Just as I came out of the restaurant, there was a big commotion at the far end of the street. The bank was being robbed! The bandits came out of the bank shooting at everyone in sight. Fortunately, I was too far away to be noticed and to draw a shot. I ducked down between my horse and my mule where I had hitched them.

The bandits stormed down the street toward me, and I figured that I might as well join in on the fun. I was ready with my pistol when the bandits drew near, and I opened fire as soon as I was sure of making a hit. There were five bandits in the gang making the break, and it appeared that I was the only one who had made any hits. Four men fell from their horses, and they were all dead.

Ever hopeful for a reward, I helped gather up the dead men and waited for the bank owner to show up. He announced that he was grateful for the help that the townspeople had given the marshal in stopping the bandits. However, there had been so many people shooting at the bandits that it was impossible to tell who had actually shot them. Therefore, he was not going to give out any rewards. Instead, he was going to hold a big picnic lunch after church on Sunday, and the whole town was invited.