The stage, naturally, was late. The people of Lost Creek, being accustomed to the irregular schedule of arrivals and departures, would normally have taken little notice of the coach as it rolled in after sundown, except this time, there was a horse tethered to the back of the coach with a body draped over its back.
The stage didn’t stop in front of the Lost Creek Hotel like it usually did. It traveled on to the sheriff’s office and, as it went, a small crowd of people began following behind.
The coach finally came to a halt and both O’Connell and Hunter jumped down to the ground. The driver hustled off to get Sheriff Watts, who was having his dinner at Donaldson’s Cafe, while Hunter climbed inside the stage to untie the bounty hunter and the wounded outlaw.
Bledsoe was conscious now. And angry. He had a lump on back of his head as big as a saddle horn.
“Are you the one that hit me?” the bounty hunter demanded.
“I’m the one,” Hunter replied matter-of-factly.
“You’re gonna be almighty sorry you interfered with me, mister.”
“I’m sorry already. Because of you we’re late,” was Hunter’s dry response.
It bothered the bounty hunter that this shotgun rider wasn’t afraid of him. Bledsoe derived much of his pleasure from the fear people felt in his presence. He promised himself that this shotgun rider was going to learn that fear and learn it quick.
“What did you say your name was?” said Bledsoe with the sharp edge of a threat implied in his scowling expression.
Hunter had just finished untying the kid and was just leaving the coach. He paused at Bledsoe’s question, leaned back inside and said, “Hunter ... Warfield Hunter.”
Bledsoe’s eyes opened wide. “War Hunter? You?” he asked, incredulous.
“Some people call me that,” said Hunter. And then he casually left the coach to greet Sheriff Watts who was marching up to the stage with Del O’Connell.
“What’s this that Del’s been sayin’?” asked Watts. “Did you really bring in Bobby Winslow and Dave Bennett?”
“We just provided the transportation, sheriff,” said Hunter. “A bounty hunter by the name of Bledsoe is the one who caught ’em. Bobby Winslow’s dead. He’s the one on the horse. Dave Bennett’s shot in the leg. He’s in the coach along with Bledsoe. Better have Doc Russell come and take a look at the kid’s wound.”
“I’ll do that,” the sheriff agreed as he unholstered his pistol, “but first things first. I gotta put the Bennett boy in a cell and send word to Mr. Lindstrom that the fellers that killed his daughter have been caught. It’ll sure be a load off his mind to know we got ’em.”
“I’ve heard of Lindstrom,” said Hunter. “And I remember hearing something about a girl being killed. I didn’t know it was his daughter.”
“Yeah,” said the sheriff. “Happened about a week or so before you got here.”
“She died in a fire?”
“That’s right. She was in the Feed and Grain when it burned. Folks don’t like to talk about it much, hopin’ time will bring old man Lindstrom out of his grief. S. J. is a respected man hereabouts and nobody wants to bring back the memory of it all by yammering about it. He’s taken the loss real hard.”
“Is it a sure thing that those two boys are responsible for the girl’s death?’ Hunter asked.
“Lindstrom seems to think so. So do a lotta folks here in town. It sure as hell looked like they were guilty when they disappeared right after the fire,” said Watts.
There wasn’t anything more that Hunter could do. “I guess it’s all over except for the trial,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll see you around, sheriff.” Hunter walked over to Del O’Connell, who was talking to some of his friends in the crowd, telling them an exaggerated account of what had happened at Tilden’s way station.
“Did you see Avery at Donaldson’s Cafe?” Hunter interrupted.
“Yeah. The boss said he’s got our pay in the office. He’ll meet us there in about an hour.”
“Good. I’ll see you later.”
“Right.”
Hunter hurried up the street to the Lost Creek Hotel, went inside, and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. Two-thirds of the way down the hallway he stopped, turned the knob on the door marked “26,” and stepped inside.
Ella was standing by the window, straining to look down the street. At the sound of the door opening, though, she whirled around and the look of worry that had been on her face vanished, replaced by a smile of both joy and relief.
“I heard the stage go by and ran to the window,” she said breathlessly. “But by the time I looked out, all I could see was the back of the coach and a horse with a body tied over its back. I was scared.”
Hunter took off his hat and placed it on top of the bureau. “Nobody,” he said quietly, “is ever gonna keep me from comin’ home to you.”
“I wouldn’t have to worry about that if you never left,” she said seriously. “Why can’t you do something a little less dangerous than riding shotgun? Why not do something here in town so you wouldn’t have to be away one or two nights at a time?”
“You know why,” he retorted. “We’re broke. Riding shotgun brings in a good salary. Besides, what would I do here in town? Clerk at the general store?”
“You would look silly wearing an apron,” she conceded, “but think how easy it would be for you to collect on overdue bills? Nobody would want the famous War Hunter coming after him because he didn’t pay for his flour and beans,” she laughed.
“Collecting unpaid bills from little old ladies can be a damn sight more dangerous than riding shotgun,” said Hunter with feigned seriousness.
“I guess you’re right,” she said, knowing that arguing with him was pointless. “It was just that I missed you ... and that horse with the body—”
“Never mind that,” said Hunter reassuringly. “It’s got nothing to do with us.” And then, with a couple of strides of his long legs, he was across the room holding Ella in his arms.
She was soft and warm, and ever so yielding. The touch of her hands on the back of his neck filled him with desire. He kissed her and she kissed him right back. Breathing deeply in her growing passion, Hunter could feel Ella’s breast swell and press against his body.
His right hand tight around her waist, he gently lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bed.
“I thought we would be going out for dinner,” she protested mildly. “I just ironed this blouse.”
“And a fine job you did,” he said with a smile as he worked his way down the buttons, kissing her neck and then her breasts as he slowly undressed her.
“I guess I can always iron it again,” she murmured softly, sighing with every touch of Hunter’s lips ...
Bledsoe reached out, taking the money off Sheriff Watts’s desk.
“That’s all the reward money offered on the wanted poster,” said the sheriff, “but there’s more money due you from a private source.”
Bledsoe looked up in surprise. “A private source? What do you mean?”
“Those two fellers you caught are wanted for the killing of Mr. S. J. Lindstrom’s daughter. Mr. Lindstrom put up money of his own for their capture.”
“This Mr. Lindstrom a rich man?” asked the bounty hunter.
“As rich as they come in Lost Creek. He’s part owner of almost half the bigger businesses in town—the hotel, the hardware store, and the Feed and Grain, too, before it burned down.”
“How much of a reward was he offerin’?” asked Bledsoe, his appetite whetted by the news of Lindstrom’s wealth.
“Five hundred dollars for Bobby Winslow. A thousand for Dave Bennett. Altogether, you’re due a fast fifteen hundred, Mr. Bledsoe.”
The bounty hunter smiled. At that moment he was holding a mere four hundred dollars in his hands. It was all he had expected. Getting this extra fifteen hundred was like striking gold in a coal mine.
“Where can I find this Mr. Lindstrom?”
“I sent a man out to S. J.’s ranch right after you arrived. I figured the old man would want to see you as soon as possible. It’s my guess he’ll come into town tonight. Where will you be? I’ll send S. J. to you when he gets here.”
“You got a cathouse in this town?”
“Nothin’ to speak of. It’s somethin’ we could sure use, I’ll tell you that. There’s Bonnie Clemson at the north edge of town, though, if you’re really feelin’ the itch.”
“She any good?”
The sheriff shook his head.
“Tell Lindstrom I’ll be in the saloon.”