Bounty on a Baron by Robert J. Randisi

guess—”
    “I mean, real lawmen capture outlaws and don’t get to collect the bounty, right?”
    “That’s right.” “Who gets it?”
    “Nobody.”
    “So, if you catch the outlaw, you get the bounty, right?”
    “That’s right.”
    “That’s a lot of money sometimes, isn’t it?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “Is it hard work?”
    “Real hard.”
    “But I’ll bet you’re good at it, ain’t you?”
    “Yes,” Decker said.
    “You up here hunting somebody?”
    “Yes.”
    “Who?”
    Decker didn’t answer that one.
    “I guess that was a stupid question, huh?”
    “Not stupid…exactly.”
    “Yeah, it was dumb. I’m sorry. I’m just a real curious fella.”
    “And friendly.”
    “Oh yeah. Some people say I’m too friendly. You think that’s possible?”
    “For some people, I guess not.”
    “You seem like a real friendly guy. You mean you ain’t, really?”
    “Not so you’d notice,” Decker said.
    “You got friends, right?”
    “Some.”
    “Then that makes you a friendly fella. Hell, everybody’s got friends.”
    “I guess so.”
    “Hey, I got an idea!” Frenchie said, suddenly excited.
    “What?”
    “Maybe I could help you find whoever you’re trying to catch.”
    “I don’t think—”
    “Is he up here somewhere?”
    “All I know is that he’s somewhere in the Powder River area.”
    “Lot of area to cover,” Frenchie said. “I bet you could use some help.”
    “I usually work alone, Frenchie.”
    “Alone, huh?”
    Decker nodded, and Frenchie shrugged.
    “Ah, I guess I belong up here cutting down trees.”
    “I’ll bet you’re good at it.”
    “Damn good.”
    “Then I guess you should do what you do best, and I should do what I do best.”
    Frenchie thought about that for a moment, then started laughing.
    “Hell,” he said, banging Decker on the back hard enough to bruise him, “that’s damn near the nicest I ever been turned down.”
    “What was the nicest?”
    “Well, there was this little gal once…”
    When they pulled into camp Decker immediately noticed a man he assumed was Big Jeff Reno.
    “That Reno?”
    “That’s him.”
    As big as Frenchie was—and he surely topped six-three—he was dwarfed by Reno, who had to be six foot eight and probably outweighed the big logger by fifty pounds.
    “Jesus,” Decker said.
    “I told you, he’s a big man.”
    The woman standing next to Reno was young and pretty, and it was no insult to her that Decker didn’t notice her right away. Reno was the kind of man who dominated any scene, no matter who was there.
    “That’s Miz Boone,” Frenchie said. “She took over the camp when her father was killed.”
    “Accident?”
    “Nope,” Frenchie said, giving Decker a sideways look. “He was murdered.”
    “Murdered?”
    “Shot in the head.”
    “When?”
    “A couple of weeks ago.”
    “Anybody arrested?”
    “No,” Frenchie said. “There’s no law here, Decker. We sent word for a federal marshal.”
    “Who’s working Wyoming-Montana?” Decker asked.
    “Fella named Murdock. Heard of him?”
    Decker thought he had and nodded.
    “Anyway, we don’t know when he’ll get here.”
    “By the time he does the trail will be even colder than it is now.”
    “It’s sad,” Frenchie said. “Jack Boone was a good man.”
    As the wagon entered the center of the camp both Reno and the Boone woman looked their way. Frenchie stopped the wagon just in front of them and hopped down.
    “Who’s that?” Reno asked immediately.
    “A new friend of mine,” Frenchie told them. “Name’s Decker. He’s passing through and needs a place to stay. I offered him a bunk in my tent. Okay?”
    Reno studied Decker, who had stepped down, and then looked at Miss Boone. She, too, was studying the bounty hunter intently.
    “Do you vouch for him, Frenchie?” she asked.
    “Sure, I vouch for him, Miz Boone.”
    “All right, then,” she said. “Why not?”
    “Thank you, ma’am,” Decker said.
    She looked at him as if she was