himself in a cluttered room dominated by a huge table that was covered with papers. Off in one corner was a cot, and on a potbellied stove sat a pot of coffee.
“Take off your jacket,” she said, “and have a seat. We have something to talk about.”
There was no note of hospitality in her voice, and her expression was stern. She had sent for him, and she had expected him to come.
Then she walked to him and handed Decker a cup of coffee.
Accepting the hot cup gratefully, he asked, “Who says we have something to talk about, Miss Boone?”
“Frenchie does.”
“Do you listen to everything Frenchie says?”
“My father trusted Frenchie completely,” she said. “If Frenchie had taken the job, he’d be foreman instead of Reno.”
“How does Reno feel about that?”
“He knows it and accepts it.”
“I don’t know how a man can accept knowing that if another man wanted his job, he’d have it.”
“Reno does,” she said with certainty. “But I didn’t send for you to discuss my business.”
“You didn’t send for me at all, Miss Boone,” he said. “As I understood it, you asked me to come here and talk.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and said, “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
“All right, then. What does Frenchie say we have to talk about?”
“You know that my father was killed two weeks ago?” she asked sadly.
“Frenchie told me.”
“We believe that a hired killed did it.”
“I see,” Decker said, and he was starting to. Frenchie was in the saloon tent when Decker asked the bartender about the Baron. After that, Frenchie took a sudden interest in John Henry, which allowed him to meet Decker.
“Who do you think did the hiring?”
“I have no idea. That’s what I want to find out.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Frenchie says you’re a bounty hunter.”
“So.”
“He says you’re the best at what you do.”
“That’s a lot to say about someone you’ve just met.”
“He says he’s heard of you.”
“That’s news to me.”
“Decker, I would like to hire you to find the man who killed my father, then find out who hired him. I’ll pay you well.”
“Sounds like a job for a Pinkerton detective, not a bounty hunter.”
“You have more at stake here than a Pinkerton detective would have.”
“Like what?”
“You’re already looking for the man.”
“Am I?”
“We believe that the man who was hired to kill my father was the Baron.”
“I see,” Decker said thoughtfully. “So that’s why Frenchie told me I could stay here.”
“I apologize for his bringing you up here on false pretenses.”
“He didn’t, really. He promised me a meal and a place to sleep. I’ll have those, won’t I?”
“Of course.”
“Even if I don’t accept your job?”
She bit her lip before answering. “Of course.”
Decker sipped his coffee, considering what had happened. No matter how you looked at it, Frenchie had lured him up here on false pretenses, but Decker was not the kind of man whose feelings bruised easily. In fact, he felt vindicated that he had questioned Frenchie’s apparent friendliness and had now been proven right.
“Your father’s been dead two weeks, Miss Boone,” Decker pointed out. “Seems to me the trail is pretty cold.”
“You and I both know that the Baron is up here somewhere around the Powder River.”
“Why would he take a job so close to where he hangs his hat?”
“I have no idea.”
“What makes you think that he’s the one who killed your father?”
“It would take the best to kill my father,” she said.
“That’s fine, Miss Boone. It makes a nice epitaph, but what proof do you have?”
“I don’t…have any real proof.”
Decker stood up and put his empty cup down.
“Miss Boone, I can’t accept your offer. It would constitute a conflict of interest.”
“But you’re already hunting for him.”
“If that’s true, then when I find him and bring him in, I’ll
“Take off your jacket,” she said, “and have a seat. We have something to talk about.”
There was no note of hospitality in her voice, and her expression was stern. She had sent for him, and she had expected him to come.
Then she walked to him and handed Decker a cup of coffee.
Accepting the hot cup gratefully, he asked, “Who says we have something to talk about, Miss Boone?”
“Frenchie does.”
“Do you listen to everything Frenchie says?”
“My father trusted Frenchie completely,” she said. “If Frenchie had taken the job, he’d be foreman instead of Reno.”
“How does Reno feel about that?”
“He knows it and accepts it.”
“I don’t know how a man can accept knowing that if another man wanted his job, he’d have it.”
“Reno does,” she said with certainty. “But I didn’t send for you to discuss my business.”
“You didn’t send for me at all, Miss Boone,” he said. “As I understood it, you asked me to come here and talk.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and said, “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
“All right, then. What does Frenchie say we have to talk about?”
“You know that my father was killed two weeks ago?” she asked sadly.
“Frenchie told me.”
“We believe that a hired killed did it.”
“I see,” Decker said, and he was starting to. Frenchie was in the saloon tent when Decker asked the bartender about the Baron. After that, Frenchie took a sudden interest in John Henry, which allowed him to meet Decker.
“Who do you think did the hiring?”
“I have no idea. That’s what I want to find out.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Frenchie says you’re a bounty hunter.”
“So.”
“He says you’re the best at what you do.”
“That’s a lot to say about someone you’ve just met.”
“He says he’s heard of you.”
“That’s news to me.”
“Decker, I would like to hire you to find the man who killed my father, then find out who hired him. I’ll pay you well.”
“Sounds like a job for a Pinkerton detective, not a bounty hunter.”
“You have more at stake here than a Pinkerton detective would have.”
“Like what?”
“You’re already looking for the man.”
“Am I?”
“We believe that the man who was hired to kill my father was the Baron.”
“I see,” Decker said thoughtfully. “So that’s why Frenchie told me I could stay here.”
“I apologize for his bringing you up here on false pretenses.”
“He didn’t, really. He promised me a meal and a place to sleep. I’ll have those, won’t I?”
“Of course.”
“Even if I don’t accept your job?”
She bit her lip before answering. “Of course.”
Decker sipped his coffee, considering what had happened. No matter how you looked at it, Frenchie had lured him up here on false pretenses, but Decker was not the kind of man whose feelings bruised easily. In fact, he felt vindicated that he had questioned Frenchie’s apparent friendliness and had now been proven right.
“Your father’s been dead two weeks, Miss Boone,” Decker pointed out. “Seems to me the trail is pretty cold.”
“You and I both know that the Baron is up here somewhere around the Powder River.”
“Why would he take a job so close to where he hangs his hat?”
“I have no idea.”
“What makes you think that he’s the one who killed your father?”
“It would take the best to kill my father,” she said.
“That’s fine, Miss Boone. It makes a nice epitaph, but what proof do you have?”
“I don’t…have any real proof.”
Decker stood up and put his empty cup down.
“Miss Boone, I can’t accept your offer. It would constitute a conflict of interest.”
“But you’re already hunting for him.”
“If that’s true, then when I find him and bring him in, I’ll
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