A Bounty Hunter’s Deadly Vendetta (Preview)

Wyatt Wright glanced across the table at the young man in the white suit complete with a white gambler’s hat. He studied the handsome dark-haired dandy as the man looked at his cards.

There! A twitch of the lip! A tell! He’s got something, but he’s not sure it’s a good enough hand to win, Wyatt thought.

He didn’t allow himself to smile as he saw the dandy flick his eyes from player to player, as though attempting to decide the risk he faced.

The well-dressed man’s eyes rested longest on Wyatt, who had a stack of greenbacks beside his right hand.

“I’m all in,” the young dandy said in a tone meant to intimidate the other players as he pushed a stack of gold coins into the center of the table.

The banker wearing a dark suit and derby hat shook his head. “I’m out, Ben. It’s too rich for my blood.”

Ben Fry glanced at the rancher wearing a string tie and felt hat.

The rancher shook his head, “I’m out too, Ben.”

Finally, Ben’s dark eyes rested on Wyatt Wright again. “Which way is the man in black going? In or out?”

Although Wyatt earned a living as a bounty hunter, he could just as easily make his living as a professional gambler. When Wyatt wasn’t chasing wanted men across the country, he spent his time at a poker table. And during his long hours playing poker, he had learned to read people, especially people under pressure like the young, well-dressed man across the table from him.

The young man in the gambler’s hat—as though wearing such a hat would make him a professional gambler—had been losing to Wyatt all night. The stacks of bills beside Wyatt had mainly come at the expense of the young man now staring at him.

The side of Ben’s mouth twitched again. “Well? Are you in or out?”

His facial expression not changing, Wyatt pushed all the bills into the center of the table alongside the stack of gold coins. “In.”

Ben’s mouth twitched twice as he looked at the center of the table.

Wyatt waited.

The banker cleared his throat. “Throw ’em down, fellows.”

Wyatt waited.

“Beat this,” Ben said as he spread his cards onto the table to reveal three aces.

I thought he was bluffing a little, Wyatt thought as he turned his cards face up on the table. “Four deuces.”

Ben’s eyes flicked up to meet Wyatt’s, but he didn’t speak.

“Another hand, fellows?” Wyatt asked as he reached out and raked in the pot.

The banker shook his head. “Nope.”

“I’ve got to get home. Iffin’ I don’t, the wife will greet me with a frying pan in her hands,” the rancher said, tightening his string tie before he stood.

“Ben?” Wyatt asked.

The young dandy didn’t respond as he pushed his chair back and stood. He headed toward the door without uttering a word.

“Ben don’t usually lose, and never so much,” the banker said.

“I’m surprised,” Wyatt said as he stuffed the bills and coins in his pockets.

The banker arched his eyebrows. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s got a tell,” Wyatt replied.

“Hmm, I hadn’t noticed one,” the banker said in a disappointed tone.

“Stick to banking.” Wyatt stood. “You ain’t no gambler,” he added before turning and heading to the bar.

“A shot of whiskey, Joe,” he called out to the bartender.

“The name is Trent,” the skinny man with a knife scar on his left cheek said.

“Right, Joe,” Wyatt said and didn’t smile. “And from a bottle with a sealed cork. I don’t cotton to watered-down whiskey, makes it taste like horse piss.”

The bartender put the whiskey bottle back on the bar and reached under it. When his hand reappeared, it held another bottle of whiskey, slightly darker in color with a seal over the cork.

“Yup, that’ll do, Joe,” Wyatt said as he watched the man fill a shot glass.

“You’re just drifting through town, I hope,” the bartender said as he pushed the shot glass toward Wyatt.

“What? You don’t like the color of my money?” Wyatt said as he lifted the shot glass.

“Your money is fine. It’s the trouble I see in those cold blue eyes that bothers me. I don’t like gunplay in the saloon.”

Wyatt shrugged. “Don’t allow guns.”

“I wouldn’t have no business if I did that,” the bartender declared.

“Then don’t complain,” Wyatt said as he pushed his glass toward the bartender. “Hit me again, Joe.”

The bartender shook his head as he filled the shot glass. “What business are you in?”

“Minding my own business,” Wyatt said. “When I’m not bringing in outlaws with prices on their heads,” he added after a pause.

“Bounty hunter,” the bartender said. “I should have known. You’re dressed in black and wearing a double-action pearl-handled Army Colt. Is the black outfit to intimidate the men you hunt?”

“Nope. Black is my favorite color,” Wyatt said.

“Why? Because you’re black-hearted?” the bartender asked.

“To outlaws, yes.”

“I ain’t got no price on my head,” the bartender said.

“Hmm, too bad,” Wyatt said as he pulled some bills out of his pocket and laid the money on the bar. “I’ll take the rest of the bottle.”

The bartender slid Wyatt’s change toward him.

“Thanks, Joe,” Wyatt said.

“The name is Trent,” the bartender corrected him.

“Hmm.” Wyatt grabbed the bottle by the neck, turned, and headed toward the door.

After he pushed through the butterfly doors, Wyatt uncorked the bottle with his teeth and took a long drink before he walked over to Coal, his big black gelding.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said when Coal nickered. “I’ll take you to the livery stable and give you some oats.”

Wyatt didn’t know when he’d started talking to Coal. It just happened on one of the long rides in hot pursuit of some outlaw and had become a habit.

“Nice piece of horseflesh,” said a wrangler leaning against one of the porch’s supports, smoking a quirly.

“Yup, I won him in a poker game in Wichita, Kansas. He’s a Canadian Pacer and Quarter horse. He’s the best horse I’ve ever saddled,” Wyatt replied.

“He’s certainly better than my nag,” the short, stout wrangler said before he took the last puff and tossed his butt on the ground.

“Get a better horse,” Wyatt said.

“Yup. Soon, real soon,” the wrangler said.

“Wyatt!”

Wyatt glanced past Coal and into the street. Ben, the dandy from the poker table, stood twenty feet from him.

“What? You want to play another hand, double or nothing?” Wyatt asked as he continued to pat Coal’s shoulder.

“You cheated! That’s the only way you could have won so many hands!” Ben yelled. “And I don’t cotton to card cheats.”

“Are you calling me a cheater, son?”

“Yup, he is,” the wrangler on the porch said. “I heard him.”

“He’s right. I’m calling you a no-good card cheat,” Ben said as he pulled back his white jacket to reveal a Navy Colt in a silver-trimmed holster. “The only way you are going to see the sunrise, Wyatt, is to forfeit the money you won at the table tonight.”

“Hmm, is that a fact?” Wyatt wasn’t concerned.

“Yes, and you darn sure had better take me serious. I have four notches on my Colt’s handle of men that have crossed me.”

“Kid, go and dunk your head in the water trough and sober up,” Wyatt said.

“I ain’t drunk,” Ben shouted. “I’m calling you out!”

“I guess dunking your head in the water trough won’t make you any smarter, kid.”

“Stop calling me a kid!”

Wyatt glanced up at the wrangler. “Don’t he look like a rich, spoiled kid to you?”

The wrangler shrugged.

“Either you step out from behind your fancy horse, or I’ll shoot him first,” Ben warned.

Wyatt stopped patting Coal. “You shouldn’t have threatened my horse, kid,” he said as he walked out from behind Coal.

“I’m going to take your horse for my own after I send you to the undertaker’s,” Ben said.

Wyatt stepped to the side so that Coal was out of the line of fire. “Whenever you’re ready, kid,” he said as he dropped his right hand down until his fingers touched the hilt of his Colt.

“You could just fork over the winnings,” Ben said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“You reach first, kid,” Wyatt said.

Ben glanced over at the wrangler watching him. “You heard him. He’s goading me into drawing first.”

The wrangler waited until he finished rolling another quirly. “Yup, he wants you to reach first,” he said before sticking the smoke between his lips and lighting it. “Go ahead and oblige him.”

“This is your last chance Wyatt,” Ben warned.

Wyatt didn’t respond.

Ben’s mouth twitched. “I don’t want to kill you. Just give me the money.”

“Shut up and draw your pistol, kid,” Wyatt said.

Ben Fry snatched his Navy Colt partway out of his holster before a shot rang out. A look of surprise flashed across Ben’s handsome face as his pistol dropped back into his holster. He took a stumbling step backward before falling.

“You’re plenty fast, mister,” the wrangler said, keeping the quirly between his lips.

Wyatt holstered his pistol. “Faster than Ben Fry, at least.”

“Nope, you’re faster than anyone I’ve ever seen,” the wrangler said as men poured out of the saloon to investigate the discharge of a pistol.

Someone ran into the street and knelt beside Ben. “Call the undertaker, not the doctor,” the man said.

Trent, the bartender, pushed his way through the crowd; he spotted Wyatt and shook his head. “I knew you were nothing but trouble.”

“What in tarnation is going on?” a middle-aged man shouted as he ran toward the saloon.

“Howdy, Marshal Thompson,” Wyatt said.

“You. I was hoping that you had left town after I paid you the bounty money,” Marshal Thompson said.

Wyatt shrugged. “I decided to play a game of poker.”

The marshal shook his head. “Did anyone see the duel?”

“I did,” the wrangler said as he flipped his butt into the street. “The dandy drew first.”

Marshal Thompson glanced at Wyatt. “You could have winged him.”

“Yup, but he threatened my horse,” Wyatt said. “I couldn’t let that stand.”

“What did you and the dead man argue about?” the marshal asked.

“I cleaned him out at the poker table,” Wyatt said. “He wanted his money back.”

Marshal Thompson shook his head. “Did he now?”

“Yup.”

“It was a fair poker game, Marshal,” the banker from the poker game spoke up. “Ben just didn’t play well tonight, and Wyatt played better.”

The marshal nodded at a husky man. “Bill, you and Joey take the body over to the undertaker.” He sighed. “And as far as you, Wyatt, you’ve overstayed your welcome. Hit the trail.”

“Sure thing, Marshal Thompson. First thing tomorrow morning,” Wyatt said in a cold tone, staring straight at the marshal.

Marshal Thompson cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s getting close to dark. Tomorrow will be fine.” He glanced at the men hanging on the saloon’s porch. “The show is over. You all get back inside.”

Wyatt untied Coal as Marshal Thompson walked over to the hitching post.

“Wyatt Wright, I do hope I don’t see you in my town again anytime soon,” Marshal Thompson added before he turned and walked away.

“Looks like they’ve pulled in the welcome wagon, Coal. Now, let’s go over to the livery stable for your oats.”

Chapter One

The Arizona sun bore down on Wyatt relentlessly. The heat drove him to seek out the shade of a drooping desert willow as he followed the horse tracks of one Dan Murphy, wanted for robbing a stagecoach and killing the wife of the owner of the Indian Wells Bank while she returned from Flagstaff.

A posse had arrested Dan later that same day. However, being a slippery fellow, Slippery Dan had overpowered a deputy sheriff and escaped from jail in Indian Wells while awaiting trial.

Wyatt, visiting Prescott at the time, had seen the wanted poster on Dan while jawing with Marshal Louis Thacker and decided the three hundred dollars reward was enough to track Dan down and return him to Indian Wells.

The other reason Wyatt had for taking on the job of hunting down Dan Murphy was a certain schoolmarm named Rachael Meadows that he had seen several months ago in Indian Wells while resting up after a grueling chase to bring in a bounty. He had noticed Rachael standing in the doorway of the schoolhouse as he rode past on his way to the saloon.

Her image had been burned into his mind. After months of chasing fugitives and outlaws, the image of Rachael in the doorway of the schoolhouse still lingered. He had asked the bartender at the Silver Nugget Saloon about the schoolmarm and had discovered she was single. That information had prompted him to wait at the schoolhouse the following day for Rachael.

Rachael had smiled at him when she walked past Wyatt but hadn’t stopped to chat, even though she had looked as though she wanted to exchange greetings. Then, the children arrived, and Wyatt had left. He had meant to stay a few days and get to know Rachael a little better, but a telegram had arrived and he had to leave Indian Wells to track down the notorious outlaw Joel Bradly, who had killed the sheriff of Winslow when the sheriff attempted to arrest him. The five-hundred-dollar reward, dead or alive, for Joel Bradly was too much to ignore, and he had left town to track the outlaw down. He still regretted leaving Indian Wells without spending time with Rachael.

“The tracks are fresh, Coal. We’ll catch him soon,” Wyatt said as he took a deep drink from his canteen. That Dan Murphy had circled back toward Indian Wells told Wyatt that the fugitive must have a good reason. The stagecoach had been carrying a strongbox with new currency for the bank in Indian Wells. Wyatt figured Dan must have stashed the money before the posse had caught up with him. And since he had been pursued moments after his jailbreak, he hadn’t had time to recover the money.

“Yup, Coal, he’s heading back for the money,” Wyatt said as he urged the big black gelding out from the shade. “Enough rest time, Pard,” he added as he glanced in the direction the tracks led. The tracks disappeared among the blue palo verdes trees nearby. Beyond them, Wyatt spotted a couple of desert ironwoods.

Wyatt loved the desert around Indian Wells, especially when the blue palo verdes were in bloom, which they weren’t right now. Still, the desert trees appealed to him. He saw traits of himself in the sparse vegetation, loners withstanding wind and the blazing sun while remaining strong.

Tracking Dan Murphy’s horse in the sandy soil didn’t take a knowledgeable tracker; heck, a child could have followed the tracks. However, arresting the six-foot-six bear of a man would take a salty character like himself to tackle.

“Too bad the wanted poster doesn’t stipulate dead or alive, Coal,” Wyatt said as they started climbing a dry wash lined with foothills palo verdes and saguaro cactus. Out of the dry wash, Wyatt kept climbing, and as he did, the landscape changed. The sandy soil gave way to rocks and screwbean mesquites. The rocky soil turned tracking Dan Murphy from child’s play to taxing even for a seasoned tracker like Wyatt.

When Wyatt reached the San Pedro River and Dan Murphy just forged across without trying to hide his tracks, Wyatt knew he was, in fact, heading straight for his buried loot—the outlaw didn’t realize he was being tracked.

Wyatt paused to let Coal drink his fill from the river before he continued. Although Dan’s tracks kept growing fresher, Wyatt decided it would be dark or after before catching up with the outlaw. If the ground hadn’t been so rocky, he could have trotted Coal and caught up sooner, but with faint tracks, he could only proceed at a slow walk.

The terrain flattened out as the day grew to an end—that pleased Wyatt. If Dan made a fire, he would spot it. Getting the drop on an outlaw in the dark was easier than during the day, as it usually meant less possibility of a shootout. Even though Wyatt knew how to handle a big iron, many a gunslinger had died by the bullet from a dying man he had outdrawn.

Finally, the light faded to the point that Wyatt couldn’t see the horse tracks; however, since Dan had been keeping to pretty much a straight line east, Wyatt continued blind in hopes of catching side of the outlaw’s campfire.

His decision paid off. Half an hour later, Wyatt spotted the flickering glow of a fire. He continued on Coal until about two hundred yards from Dan’s campfire before he dismounted.

Wyatt took his time sneaking through the sparse trees and cacti while approaching the campsite. He stopped every so often to listen for movement; however, he didn’t hear any sound. Maybe Dan is asleep, he thought. Or perhaps he knows I’m coming and is setting a trap for me. The last thought gave Wyatt pause.

Dan had ridden over high ground, and if he had bothered to look back on his trail, he would have spotted Wyatt or his dust. I think he’s sitting waiting for me, Wyatt finally decided and changed course; instead of heading directly toward the campfire, he circled it and continued approaching the fire from the opposite side. I bet you ain’t got eyes in the back of your head, Dan, Wyatt thought as he sneaked near enough to the campsite to see Dan’s horse tied to an iron tree sapling. Beside the fire lay the figure of a man with a horse blanket draped over it and its head resting on the saddle.

Except it wasn’t a man.

Wyatt smiled as he realized that what resembled the figure of a man was just brush stuffed under a horse blanket. He picked up a rock and threw it to the other side of the fire.

A pistol shot followed the thud of the rock against the hard soil. Wyatt spotted the flash and moved silently toward it. As he walked slowly forward, he spotted the outline of a man holding a pistol.

Wyatt tossed another rock to the right side of the man to keep his attention focused elsewhere as he stepped up behind Dan Murphy and poked the barrel of his Colt in the small of the outlaw’s back.

“Drop your pistol and raise your hands, Dan. You are under arrest. Iffin’ you as much as twitch, you are a dead man,” Wyatt said.

“You can’t be a lawman, you’re too smart,” Dan said as he dropped his pistol and raised his hands.

“Bounty hunter,” Wyatt said before he whistled for Coal.

“Smart horse, too,” Dan said when the horse trotted up.

Wyatt didn’t respond as he took a pair of handcuffs out of his saddlebags. “Put your hands behind your back,” he ordered.

“Are you taking me back to Indian Wells?”

“Yup,” Wyatt said after he clamped the handcuffs onto Dan.

“I can make it worth your while to let me go. I’ve got a fortune in new bills stashed away near here,” Dan said.

“Yup, I figured you were heading toward your stolen loot.”

“Is it a deal? I’ll give you half of the money to let me go,” Dan said.

“It ain’t your money to give away. And even if it were, I wouldn’t let you go. You robbed a stagecoach and killed one of the passengers, a woman. For that, I reckin you’ll hang,” Wyatt said. “Now, mosey over to your bedroll, remove the brush from under the blanket, and lie down.”

“I ain’t never met an honest bounty hunter,” Dan said as he walked toward the fire.

“I reckin you don’t get out much,” Wyatt said as he walked over to Coal to fetch a rope.

“What’s that for?” Dan asked.

“To tie a noose around your neck so you’ll get used to one since you’re going to hang,” Wyatt said. “I’ll tie the end of the rope to the handcuffs. It’s an easy way to hog-tie a man.”

“But what if I have a call of nature?” Dan asked.

“Hmm, it’s your pants; fill them up if you want to,” Wyatt said after he finished tying the end of the rope to the handcuffs.

“That ain’t right!”

“Robbing stagecoaches and killing folks ain’t right either,” Wyatt said, and he walked over to Coal to retrieve a can of pork and beans.

“I ain’t eaten,” Dan said.

“You should have,” Wyatt said as he cut the top off the can with his pocket knife. “It ain’t good to go to bed on an empty belly,” he added as he used the blade of the knife to spoon the beans into his mouth.

“I don’t like your sense of humor one bit,” Dan said.

Wyatt didn’t respond. When he finished eating, he tossed the can aside and fetched his bedroll and unsaddled Coal.

“Ain’t you going to hobble your horse?” Dan said. “I don’t want you taking my horse tomorrow and making me walk to Indian Wells.”

“Coal don’t stray. Hmm, let’s make a deal. I’ll let you ride back to Indian Wells iffin’ you’ll take me to where you buried the money.”

“I’ll walk,” Dan said.

“Barefooted?” Wyatt asked.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Yes, I will. And it’s over ten miles to Indian Wells,” Wyatt said. “Anyway, you can’t spend the money while you’re in jail or after you hang. And walking barefoot to town is going to mess up the soles of your feet something terrible.  I reckin you’ll be crying like a baby by the time we arrive in Indian Wells.”

“No wonder you wear black. You’re as black-hearted a coyote as I’ve ever come across,” Dan said.

“Nope, a black-hearted man robs stagecoaches and kills women, not a man that makes another man take off his boots,” Wyatt said as he laid on his bedroll with his head resting on his saddle. He pulled his black hat over his face. “Sweet dreams, Dan.”

Chapter Two

“Ouch! Ouch!” Dan shouted as he hopped around on one foot while holding the other. He grimaced as he pulled a thorn out of the bottom of his bleeding right foot. “Okay, you win!” he said in a defeated tone. “Heck, we ain’t come a mile, and both of my feet are bleeding like a stuck pig! Give me my darn boots. I’ll take you to the money.”

“You sure? It’s only about nine miles further to Indian Wells?” Wyatt said.

“Just toss me my boots!”

“Okay, actually, I’m glad to get rid of them; your socks stink worse than a skunk.” Wyatt reached behind him and pulled the boots from one of his saddlebags. “My saddlebag is going to stink to high heavens now,” he added as he tossed the boots toward Dan.

Dan quickly pulled the socks out, slipped them on, and tugged on his boots. “What you did is torture! Plain and simple!” he said as he walked over to his horse. He had a little trouble mounting with the handcuffs on but managed to get into the saddle.

“Report me to the judge,” Wyatt said as he stared across at the outlaw. “Now, if you want to keep your boots on and stay riding, you’ll lead me straight to the money.”

“We have to double back to twin rocks. I buried the strongbox between the rocks.”

Twin rocks were two monolithic boulders at the head of a dry wash. Wyatt smiled. Dan had picked an excellent location to bury the loot. Twin rocks wasn’t a site someone would forget even after spending several years in prison. Of, course getting hanged would wipe out the memory.

“Okay, lead the way. I want you in front of me at all times,” Wyatt said.

“What, afraid I’ll escape?” Dan asked.

“Nope, afraid I’ll have to shoot you. And I don’t want to have to put you down like a mad dog before I recover the strongbox. After that, if you want to make a run for it, be my guest.”

They reached twin rocks in about twenty minutes. Wyatt reined Coal to a stop overlooking the dry wash. “Since you don’t have a shovel, I reckon you’ll have to dig up the strongbox with your hands.”

Dan shrugged, “The sand is soft, and I’ll use the flat rock I dug the hole with that I hid nearby.”

“Okay, go down and fetch the loot,” Wyatt said.

“Remove the handcuffs,” Dan said, holding up his arms.

Wyatt shook his head, “Nope, you can dig up the strongbox wearing them. I’m just going to sit up here with my Henry rifle, and iffin’ you try any funny business, you can answer to Henry.”

Dan shook his head as he dismounted. “If my hands were free, and I was wearing my pistol, you would pay for acting so high and mighty.”

“In that case, I would kill you,” Wyatt said.

“You might be fast with an iron, but there’s always someone faster,” Dan said.

“Maybe, but that person ain’t you, Dan Murphy. Now, get down there and dig up the strongbox!”

Sure enough, Dan had stashed away the flat rock he had used to dig the hole. He located it and started working. It took him half an hour to uncover the strongbox and pull it out of the hole.

“Lug it up here,” Wyatt ordered.

Dan drugged the strongbox across the dry wash and up the bank. He pulled it near Coal and glanced up at Wyatt. “I ain’t got no key. I took it off the stagecoach driver before I shot him, but I threw it away when I got caught ’cause I didn’t want the sheriff to find the key. You’ll have to shoot the lock off.”

“Nope, I’ll let the sheriff in Indian Wells open it,” Wyatt said. “You mount your horse.”

Dan looked disappointed. “I wanted to get one last look at the money.”

“Get on your horse!” Wyatt ordered.

Wyatt waited until Dan had mounted before he got off Coal and tied the handle of the strongbox to his saddle horn. He climbed into the saddle and nodded his head toward Indian Wells. “Let’s get going.”

They rode in silence until they neared Indian Wells.

“It ain’t too late to take the money and turn me loose. I’ll even let you keep all the money,” Dan said as he turned in the saddle to glance back at Wyatt.

“Knowing that he’s facing a hanging sure does make a man talkative,” Wyatt said as he nodded for Dan to continue toward town, and he urged Coal to follow him.

Someone on horseback they passed in the street recognized Dan Murphy, whipped his horse around, and galloped away shouting. Within moments, Wyatt had a crowd following him.

“What’s in the box, mister?” a towheaded kid yelled.

Wyatt ignored the boy’s question, and others offered up by the crowd as he headed toward the sheriff’s office. Sheriff McGraw, along with two deputies, walked off the porch and out into the street to meet Wyatt.

“I see you caught Slippery Dan,” Sheriff McGraw said. He nodded at the strongbox. “Ah, is that the strongbox from the holdup?”

“According to Dan, it is, Sheriff,” Wyatt said as he dismounted.

“Pat, you and Matt take Dan inside and lock him up,” Sheriff McGraw ordered as he watched Wyatt untie the rope holding the strongbox. Wyatt didn’t make any effort to ease the strongbox to the ground; he just let it drop.

The box hit with a loud thud as folks pressed forward to get a better look.

“You all get back!” Sheriff McGraw ordered as he waved his hand. “This ain’t no sideshow.”

Wyatt watched the deputies pull Dan Murphy off his horse and drag him toward the porch. “I’ll be over at the Silver Nugget later, Sheriff, and you can bring the voucher for my bounty money to me,” Wyatt said as he reined Coal around and headed down the street.

When he neared the schoolhouse, Wyatt slowed Coal. He glanced through the window and spotted Rachael looking out to see what had caused all the commotion. When their eyes met, Wyatt touched his fingers to the brim of his hat and received a smile in return. His heart quickened as he kept looking back until he lost sight of the pretty schoolmarm.

“Coal, you walked too fast!” he complained.

Since he didn’t see any free spots at the hitching post, Wyatt dismounted next to the saloon’s porch and ground-tied Coal, knowing the big gelding would remain at the same spot until he returned.

A couple of prospectors lounged on the porch smoking. One nodded at Coal. “Mister, I’ll give you two-hundred dollars for your horse.”

Wyatt shook his head. “He ain’t for sale,” he said and kept walking. He had heard someone had found a mother lode of silver in the hills near town, and that prospectors were streaming in by the droves, changing Indian Wells from a cow town to a boomtown.

The Silver Nugget showed the effects of the newcomers. Wyatt didn’t see an empty table and only a couple of spots at the bar. He headed for the bar but had to stop and circle an old man that jumped up from his chair and started doing a jig in the center of the room—well, until he fell face down on the floor.

Wyatt spent his time looking around for a poker game in progress while he waited for the bartender. He didn’t see anyone playing.

“What will it be, mister?”

“I’ll take a shot of whiskey from a new bottle, Joe,” Wyatt said.

“The name’s Buck,” the bartender said.

“Okay, Joe,” Wyatt said.

The bartender shook his head as he reached under the bar. “Hey, ain’t you the bounty hunter that brought in Dan Murphy a little while ago?”

“Word travels fast,” Wyatt mumbled.

“You were in here a couple of months ago. Yeah, I remember you. You kept calling me Joe even though I must have told you my name a dozen times.”

Wyatt watched the bartender break the seal on the bottle and fill a shot glass.

“So, why do you call me Joe?” Buck asked as he slid the shot glass toward Wyatt.

“Heck, do you expect me to remember the name of all of you bar dogs?” Wyatt asked. “You’re all Joes to me.”

Buck shook his head but didn’t respond as he moved down the bar to serve a glass of beer.

Wyatt held the shot glass up and looked at its contents before tossing the whiskey down his throat. “Another shot, Joe,” he said as he held up his shot glass and nodded at the bartender.

“How much money did you take from the strongbox before handing it over to Sheriff McGraw?” a wrangler asked as he pushed his way up to the bar.

Wyatt ignored the wrangler as Buck filled his glass.

“Are you hard of hearing, mister?” the wrangler asked.

“Maynard, I don’t want no trouble,” Buck said as he slid the shot glass toward Wyatt.

“I’m just asking a question. A man’s got a right to expect an answer,” Maynard said.

“Don’t ask again,” Wyatt said as he lifted the shot glass. He drank the whiskey slowly, letting it roll over his tongue. He let out a sigh as he put the glass back onto the bar.

“Well, I’m asking again…”

Wyatt struck the wrangler in the nose with his elbow.

The powerful blow caused a cracking sound as Wyatt’s elbow collided with the man’s nose. He dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. The wrangler’s head flopped to the side after that; he didn’t move.

“You knocked out Hal Fry’s foreman! That ain’t good,” Buck said, shaking his head.

“Fry?” Wyatt said.

“Yup, do you know him? He’s one of the richest men in the state and runs thousands of cattle. He got more wranglers than God has apples.”

“Nope,” Wyatt said as the image of the rich young dandy he had killed in a duel flashed through his mind. “Never heard of Hal Fry.”

“Boss!” a tall drink of water shouted as he sprung up from a nearby table and ran to kneel beside Maynard. “Are you all right?” the man added. He glanced up at Wyatt. “Mister, you’d better burn leather getting out of town before Maynard wakes up, or there’s going to be hell to pay!”

“I ain’t going to be the one paying,” Wyatt said as he turned his back on the wrangler and Maynard. “One for the road,” he said and nodded at the bartender.

Buck shook his head. “I wouldn’t bet two bits on you living to see the sunrise, mister.”

“Joe, since we’re friends, you can call me Wyatt,” Wyatt said as he watched the bartender pour the whiskey.

“What in blazes is going on in here?” Sheriff McGraw shouted as he pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered around Maynard.

“Nothing. My elbow slipped,” Wyatt said after he tossed down the shot of whiskey. “Did you bring my money voucher, Sheriff?”

“Yup, you’ll have to go to the bank to get your reward money,” Sheriff McGraw said as he handed Wyatt an envelope.

Wyatt took it and stuffed it inside his shirt.

“Ain’t you going to ask me how much money was in the strongbox?” Sheriff McGraw said.

“Nope, it don’t make no never mind to me,” Wyatt said. Then, without a word, he headed for the door.

“You can’t go around coldcocking folks,” Sheriff McGraw shouted after Wyatt.

Wyatt raised his hand to signal that he had heard the sheriff.

---

“A Bounty Hunter’s Deadly Vendetta” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Wyatt Wright is a famous bounty hunter known as The Undertaker, the one who brings in his bounties more often dead than alive. On a fateful night at a poker table, an ugly confrontation leaves Wyatt with no choice but to take someone’s life. Little did he know that the incident would come back to haunt him the day a powerful cattle baron starts a vicious feud, thirsty to take revenge…

Will Wyatt manage to escape from his troubled past, or will he find himself literally running for his life?

Things become more complicated when Wyatt realizes that he is not the only one whose life is at stake; he has to protect Rachel Meadows, a beautiful school teacher Wyatt has taken a shine to. Soon he will find himself fighting off the rustlers and bushwhackers threatening his ranch, with his quick thinking and powerful gun as his helpful weapons. Will Wyatt defend his land and the woman of his dreams even if he has to ride straight into hell to do it?

There can only be one winner in a relentless vendetta with no end…

Bullets fly in all directions, and Wyatt fights to survive against a man rich enough to hire a dozen assassins against him. In the final battle, will Wyatt’s gun skills do the job, making everyone regret messing with him? Will the fearless bounty hunter manage to turn over a new leaf and settle down in his ranch with his new love?

A pulse-pounding drama, which will make you turn the pages with bated breath until the very last word. A must-read for fans of Western action and romance.

“A Bounty Hunter’s Deadly Vendetta” is a historical adventure novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cliffhangers, only pure unadulterated action.

Get your copy from Amazon!