Chapter 1:

Coldgrass was a peaceful hamlet. It was named after the large fields of tall grass that surrounded it, the only land not being touched by the grass being the road that ran through the town and continued to run on the other side of town, leading away to other settlements like: Goble City and Smithsville Keep.

In the fields around Coldgrass, large buffalo's roamed, kept as work animals and livestock by the citizens of Coldgrass. Sometimes, the people, especially a few brave vaqueros would ride angered buffalo's during festivities, or fiestas, as they were called in the local dialect.

It was in this peaceful small town that The Bounty Hunter, found himself facing a gunslinger.

They were both standing in the main street at around three o'clock in the afternoon.

The gunslinger bent over a bit, his legs were spread and he held his right hand a bit higher than his left hand, close to the grip of his revolver. The look on his face the one of a hardened drifter.

The Bounty Hunter stood straight up and had his legs spread just a bit, his hands hanging down.

The sun, which was already travelling downwards towards the western horizon, cast reflections on his glasses, making his face look expressionless.

All of this because of a glass of milk, The Bounty Hunter thought.

A few minutes earlier...

It was a silent day in Coldgrass, the peaceful town. The wind blew across the fields of tall grass and bewildered the buffalo's fur. It was the day of the Sabbath which meant that nobody was out on the streets except for a few children and a vaquero or two.

It was on this empty day that The Bounty Hunter came riding into Coldgrass.

He rode a large, dark brown horse with long manes. At the side of his saddle hung a large holster that kept a rifle in it. A very expensive repeating rifle.

The Bounty Hunter himself wore a brown duster and a dark hat.

A pair of field glasses was dangling about on his chest in the rhythm of his horse.

Slowly, he rode into town, looking carefully around him.

Some of the children looked at him as he passed by. The two vaqueros who were playing cards on a crate didn't even notice him.

The Bounty Hunter stopped in front of a large building standing two stories high. IT had a large sign mounted on the front, saying: Saloon.

There were three hitching posts outside and the horses that were hitched there belonged to some of the vaqueros inside and a few travellers who were passing by.

The Bounty Hunter dismounted, hitched his horse and stepped onto the squeaky boardwalk in front of the saloon.

He leaned onto the doors of the saloon and looked inside.

It was emptier than the other saloons that he had visited had been. Only a few men were sitting inside.

The vaqueros, with their poncho's and sombrero's, were playing cards at their own table and the drifters were either sitting at their own table or standing at the bar.

A pianist was bashing the keys of his piano, producing something that resembled music.

The Bounty Hunter stepped inside, walking straight towards the bar.

Some of the vaqueros looked up from their card game, saw that nobody was drawing their revolver or anything and went back into their game again, muttering in their own language.

The Bounty Hunter walked up to the bar and laid his elbows on the counter.

The bartender, a sleazy-looking man by the name of Stanley, was cleaning a dirty glass with a dirty piece of cloth. When the Bounty Hunter approached he didn't say a word, but continued to clean the glass, which only seemed to get dirtier from the cloth.

The Bounty Hunter thought to himself that if the bartender would pour his drink in that glass, he wouldn't drink it.

The Bounty Hunter looked at the bartender, who kept his eyes downwards at the glass and said nothing, opened his mouth, and said: ''Good afternoon.''

The bartender looked up as if he hadn't noticed the Bounty Hunter before and for a moment they looked each other into the eyes, the Bounty Hunter's dark green, looking into the brown eyes of the bartender.

Slowly, as if in slow-motion, the bartender opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again.

''Howdy.'' he said.

The Bounty Hunter nodded as if the bartender had just answered a question right. ''Good.'' he said.

''What's good?'' The bartender asked.

''Life's good. You're good. Or at least okay.'' The bounty Hunter responded.

A puzzled look appeared on the bartenders face.

The Bounty Hunter who noticed the look on the bartenders face, shook his own head and said: ''Never mind.''

He smiled and shrugged.

The bartender looked at him for another moment, twisted his moustache as if he was thinking and then said: ''How can I help you?''

''I'd like a drink, dear sir.''

''What do you want? Whiskey, Gin, Tequila...'' the bartender started, but he stopped as The Bounty Hunter shook his head.

''No, no. no. I'd like a glass of milk, please.'' he said.

Suddenly, The Bounty Hunter heard a loud cry of laughter behind him.

He slowly turned around and looked at the man, one of the drifters, who had burst out in laughter.

''Milk, he says.'' the guy said, slamming the table. ''Haha, milk.''

''Is there something wrong with milk, sir?'' The Bounty Hunter asked.

He turned around to the bartender with a worried look on his face. ''There's nothing wrong with the milk around here, is there?'' he asked.

The bartender shook his head and kept twisting his moustache.

The Bounty Hunter turned back to the drifter who was still laughing and slamming his fist on the table.

''I don't see what's so funny, mister. Milk's good for the bones and it doesn't ruin your aim like alcohol does.''

The drifter stopped laughing, looked at the Bounty Hunter again and burst out in even louder laughing.

The vaqueros had stopped playing cards and the pianist had stopped playing. All were looking at the laughing drifter now.

The other drifters still weren't looking. They had been in countless saloons and knew that somebody who laughed that much was liable to catch a bullet sooner or later. They also knew that a wrong look could nominate themselves for a bullet too, so they kept looking forward.

The Bounty Hunter said nothing, but kept looking at the man. The drifter slowly stopped laughing as he saw The Bounty Hunter's look pierce through him. The green eyes of The Bounty Hunter stayed fixed on his face that slowly grew more nervous.

After a while, the drifter composed himself and said, angrily: ''Don't look at me like that.''

The Bounty Hunter smirked. ''Do I sense a bit of fear in your voice. I don't get it. What have you, great big drifter, to fear from me, a milk drinker?'' he asked sarcastically.

The drifter opened his mouth: ''Don't talk to me like that, boy. And stop that looking, or d'you want me to cut out your eyeballs?'' he asked.

The Bounty Hunter looked down. ''No, no, that won't be necessary. I really like my eyeballs. I don't want to lose them yet.'' he said.

Some of the vaqueros laughed and a few of the other drifters, who were now interested in the affair too, smiled.

The drifter now walked up towards The Bounty Hunter.

As he approached The Bounty Hunter, he noticed that the other man was actually taller than him, something he hadn't noticed before. He had to crane his neck a bit to keep looking the other in the eyes.

As he gazed up, he saw that the friendly and even a bit naïve look on The Bounty Hunter's face had made place for look that was of contempt and, yes, even a bit irate.

The drifter didn't like this new look and took a small step back.

''Bartender.'' The Bounty Hunter started in a voice that was much harder then the one he had used before. ''Can you get me my glass of milk, please?'' he asked.

Behind him, the bartender quickly went to the kitchen to get some milk.

He returned a moment later, holding a large cup of milk in both his hands. He laid it on the counter and said, in a voice that shook a bit: ''Your milk, sir.''

The Bounty Hunter turned around. ''Thanks.'' he said, using his softer voice again. ''How much?''

''I-It's on the house, sir.'' the bartender said, his hands really shaking now.

The Bounty Hunter laid his own hand on the bartender's hands.

''No, no, I insist on paying. How much?'' he asked.

''T-ten cents?'' he said as if he asked if it was an okay price. The Bounty Hunter suspected that heh ad already cut down the price by half.

''Here you go.'' he said as he laid a dime on the counter.

He took the glass in his hand, brought it to his mouth and then drank the whole glass in one gulp.

When the glass was empty he put it back on the counter and wiped his chin, before turning back to the drifter that had stood behind him all the time.

''Now where were we?'' he asked. ''Oh yeah, we were talking about why you shouldnt't try to cut my eyeballs out.''

''Why not?'' the drifter asked.

''Because you can't.'' Was The Bounty Hunter's answer.

The drifter squinted his eyes. ''What'd you mean, I can't?'' he asked.

''Try. By all means try.'' The Bounty Hunter said.

It seemed that the drifter looked down to consider for a moment, but the next moment he sprang forwards towards The Bounty Hunter, his hand holding a large, shiny knife.

A loud scream of anger came out of his mouth, changing in a scream of surprise as an iron grip locked itself around his wrist.

The Bounty Hunter, who hadn't seemingly moved, had grabbed his wrist with a lighting speed.

The drifter winced, partially out of anger, partially out of surprise and maybe even out of fear.

The Bounty Hunter just stood there, a half-smile on his face.

He twisted the drifter's wrist around and the knife fell onto the planks with a loud clatter.

I told you so, his eyes seemed to say.

The drifter moaned a bit. ''Let me go.''

''Okay.'' The Bounty Hunter released his grip around the drifter's wrist and the man stumbled a bit backwards, his other hand holding his wrist. He looked at The Bounty Hunter's face with a mix of fear and anger in his eyes.

The drifter now started smiling. ''You're a fast man. No hard feeling's okay?'' he said, extending his hand towards The Bounty Hunter.

The Bounty Hunter hesitated for a moment, then took the drifter's hand in his own and shook it, a big grin appearing on his face.

He started turning around. ''Well, now that we handled this...'' The drifter quickly went for the revolver he carried on his hip.

The Bounty Hunter turned back quickly, his own gun already drawn and cocked, ready to be fired and ready to make a huge hole in the drifter's belly which would surely change his intestines in fresh pasta.

''You want to shoot, we go outside.'' The Bounty Hunter said. ''We holster both our guns on 1... 2... 3...''

Both men holstered their guns and together they made their way towards the door.

One of the vaqueros got up and left before them.

Outside, the vaquero ran immediately towards the Sheriff's office.

He knocked on the door and shouted: ''Hey, Sheriff.'' with his vaquero accent. ''Two guys are going for a showdown out here.

The next moment the vaquero could hear the sound of a key turning around in the door. An instant later the door swung open, revealing a middle-aged, bearded man with a large rifle in his hands. This man was Sheriff Ruiz, the son of a vaquero and a prostitute from the East.

His greying hair was waving around In the wind as he stepped outside.

He looked around, looked at the empty street, the two men who stood in the middle of the street and the scared vaquero in front of him.

''Alright everybody, break it up. Break it up.'' Ruiz said, waving his arms around.

The two men in the middle of the street turned their heads and looked at him.

''You two, we're a decent folk here, so no gunning each other down without a referee, alright. I'll call the shots here. Alright, face each other.'' Ruiz took a step towards the men and cocked his rifle.

''Both of you, take five steps back.'' he said.

Both men stepped backwards.

Th drifter, who wasn't wearing a coat just raised his hand to his hip and bent over a bit, spreading his legs.

The Bounty Hunter took a part of his duster and stuffed it in his belt, exposing his large revolver.

Ruiz saw it was a large calibre, one they only made in The East. This man came from far away to have obtained such a revolver.

The Bounty Hunter just stood there, his legs spread a bit and his long arms hanging around his body like snakes.

The two men faced each other.

The Bounty Hunter looked at his adversary who stood a bit more than ten metre's away from him.

The Sheriff, who was now posted in between them took a step back and raised his rifle, aiming high in the air.

''Alright, when I fire my rifle, you draw... and you kill each other.'' he said.

The Bounty Hunter readied himself. This was something he had done many times before, but still he was a bit nervous.

He could see the sun high in his line of sight and imagined the reflection it would cast on his glasses.

Sweat was dripping down his forehead, into his eyebrows, who prevented it from entering his eyes.

His hands were a bit sweaty underneath his gloves as he waited for the starting shot.

His hat waved around a bit on his head, moved by the wind.

The Sheriff held his rifle above his head almost vertically now.

It was cocked and ready to fire.

The Sheriff looked from the left to the right to see if both men were ready.

The drifter's face had formed in an angry sneer and his movements were a bit shaky. The black hat on top of his head also moved with the wind.

The Sheriff moved his finger around the trigger. For one moment he put some pressure on the trigger without firing the shot. The next moment the bullet in the rifle flew out of the barrel with a loud bang, flying off into the hot air.

It was almost impossible to see, but a fast eye could have seen which one of the men had drawn first. It was The Bounty Hunter.

His hand had flashed towards his revolver, drawing, cocking it and aiming it in one fluid movement.

He fired. He felt how the revolver went up in his hand as the large bullet left the barrel and made it's way across the street towards the drifter.

The drifter had drawn a split-second later than The Bounty Hunter, a fatal split-second.

Just before he pulled the trigger, the bullet hit him in the stomach. He felt how it left his body on the other side, but not before puncturing some of his organs.

His arm went up as he pulled the trigger. The bullet flew upwards in the sky.

He fell onto his knees and knew it was done with him.

The man across the street looked at him, the sun still reflecting on his glasses, his revolver still drawn and aiming at him. A little bit of smoke came out of the barrel.

The Bounty Hunter cocked the pistol again and the drifter readied himself to feel the pain of another shot biting it's way through his body. Maybe through my heart, he thought, or my brains, or, if he's a sadistic prick, through my balls.

But the second didn't come.

The Bounty Hunter just stood there, his revolver ready.

The drifter had lowered his arm and his revolver touched the ground with it's barrel.

He tried to raise his arm, but failed to.

Then, the long awaited second shot followed, throwing him backwards onto the dirt road that led through Coldgrass, a peaceful town. Then he felt cold as the sun seemed to rapidly go under and everything became dark quickly.

The Bounty Hunter looked at the man who was lying in front of him for a moment, then holstered his revolver.

The Sheriff, who was still standing in the same spot and whose only move had been to lower his rifle, looked at him.

''Well, I guess that's that.'' Ruiz said.

The Bounty Hunter shrugged. ''I guess so. I hope you won't have to lock me up, Sheriff.'' he said.

Ruiz shook his head. ''No, no. It was a fair showdown. You will have to make a contribution to the burial fee, though.''

The Bounty Hunter walked up to the Sheriff, reached in his pocket and the next moment he held a large twenty-dollar gold coin in his hand. ''Is this enough, Sheriff?'' he asked.

Ruiz looked at coin in amazement. ''That's way too much, sir. That'll pay for the whole burial.''

''Then it's enough.'' The Bounty Hunter said.

He handed the Sheriff the coin and went back into the saloon again.

Inside, the drifters who had stayed inside looked up to see the winner of the showdown.

They saw The Bounty Hunter enter the saloon and they went back to their own business.

The Bounty Hunter walked back to the bar and looked at the bartender. ''Could I have another glass of milk, please?'' he asked, laying another dime on the counter.

The bartender said nothing, but immediately went to the kitchen.

A few moments later he came back, holding a glass of milk in his hands.

He laid the milk on the counter. ''Your milk, sir.'' he said.

''Thank you. I'd also like a meal if possible.'' The Bounty Hunter said. ''Some beans or something. Maybe a slice of bread.''

''I-I got a very good steak I saved for the upcoming fiesta, but you can have it.''

''No, no. Keep it for your fiesta. Beans are good enough. Some bread would be nice too.''

''Alright, sir.''

''Oh by the way... Do you have any vacant rooms by any chance?'' The Bounty Hunter asked.

''Sure, sure... It's fifty cents a night, mister.'' the bartender, slowly regaining his confidence, said.

The Bounty Hunter still believed the guy was cutting down on the price, but hey, who was he to object.

''I'll just go and sit at a table, okay.'' he said.

The bartender nodded, before disappearing into the kitchen again.

The Bounty Hunter sat down at a table and reached in his coat.

He took out a small book, opened it and began to read.

When the bartender came back out, he held a plate of beans in his one hand and a large, rusty key in his other.

The Bounty Hunter looked up from his book as the bartender laid the plate on the table.

The bartender then handed him the key, saying: ''Upstairs, room four. Cash in advance.''

He held out his hand.

The Bounty Hunter reached in his duster again and took out a small coin.

He handed it to the bartender. ''Keep the change.''

Then, he started eating his beans.

Half an hour later, he was finished and gestured at the bartender again.

The bartender walked to his table.

''Could I have some coffee, please?'' The Bounty Hunter asked.

The bartender nodded, and disappeared again. A few minutes later, the bartender came back with a large pot and a cup in his hands. He laid the cup on the table and then filled it with coffee from the pot, before leaving again. The Bounty Hunter handed him another dime and asked if it was enough.

The bartender just nodded. The dime fell on the table as The Bounty Hunter stood up and headed for the door. When he stepped outside, he immediately felt a breeze of hot air upon his face and he took another step forward.

He started walking, headed for the Sheriff's office. He crossed the street, dodging a passing cart and stepped up to the door that gave entrance to Sheriff Ruiz's office.

He raised his hand, held it in front of the door for a moment, and then knock on the door.

It was silent for a moment, but then a voice said: ''Come in.''

The Bounty Hunter opened the door and stepped inside the dim office of Sheriff Ruiz.

Ruiz was resting his boots on his desk and was reading an old book. Behind him, locked in a cabinet with a chain lock, were a few rifles and pistols, accompanied by a few boxes of ammunition.

On Ruiz' desk was a small stack of paper, wanted posters. A pen and ink bottle lay next to a telegraph receiver with small derringer lying on top of it.

Ruiz lowered his book and looked at The Bounty Hunter. ''Ah, if it isn't the gunslinger. One of the fastest drifter's I've ever seen.'' he said, rubbing his big, greying beard.

He had taken of his hat and had unbuttoned his vest. The rifle he had come out with now leaned against the side of his desk. Ruiz gestured at a chair in front of his desk. ''Sit down, son.'' he said.

The Bounty Hunter seated himself.

Ruiz, who had taken his boots from his desk and was now sitting straight up, opened his mouth and asked: ''So, how can I help you, son?''

The Bounty Hunter reached in his duster and took out a folded piece of paper and laid it on the desk. He gestured at Ruiz.

Ruiz looked at the paper for a moment and then picked it up. He unfolded the paper. He looked at it, straight into the wild-looking eyes of a man. He had long, dark brown hair that fell onto his shoulders and a beard to match.

He was looking at the mugshot of a wanted criminal. His eyes glanced down looking for a name, a price and a condition. The famous condition. Dead or Alive.

''It's just a picture.'' The Bounty Hunter said. ''His name's Johnny ''Goosebumps'' Kane. Don't ask about the nickname, I don't know. What I do know is that the bounty on his head is fifty-thousand dollars.'' The Bounty Hunter smiled while he said that. ''He's wanted for murder, and, as you might have guessed by now, I'm after him.''

''Fifty-thousand for murder. How much people did he kill?''

''One.''

''But... who...?''

''Lewis Clarke.''

Sheriff Ruiz' face went pale. Lewis Clarke, the leader and symbol of all law bringers and official Bounty Hunters in the whole Continent. From The East to The West. Also one of the fastest guns in the whole history. And now this man was dead, buried in the ground, turning into dust.

And this Bounty Hunter was following his killer, Johnny Kane.

''Why did this guy...'' Ruiz said, nodding at the picture. ''kill Clarke?'' he asked.

''I don't know, but I will ask him when I catch up to him.''

Ruiz noticed The Bounty Hunter's use of the word ''when'' instead of ''if''

''He's running West, with his gang of twenty men.'' The Bounty Hunter said. ''I'm going to get them all.'' he added. ''I have followed his track up to here. He passed by here... How long ago?'' The Bounty Hunter asked.

Ruiz searched his memory, but not for long. A gang of twenty ruffians was hard to forget. He opened his mouth and said: ''two weeks ago.''

The Bounty Hunter smiled. ''I gained a week, then.'' he said.

''How long ago did you commence your chase.'' Ruiz asked.

''A month ago.'' was the answer.

''Guess you're catching up to them then.''

The Bounty Hunter looked outside and noticed that the sun had reached the western horizon and was now slowly disappearing.

''I'd better get back to the saloon.'' he said.

Ruiz nodded and both men stood up. He held out his hand. The Bounty Hunter took Ruiz' hand in his own and shook it.

''Good luck.'' Ruiz said.

''Thanks. I'll need some.'' The Bounty Hunter said.

He left the office and went back towards the saloon, his mind razing with happy thoughts.

He was catching up to Kane, the killer of Lewis Clarke, his teacher, his father, his brother and his friend.

End of Chapter 1

 

 

2: Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

''Squeeze, don't pull.'' Clarke said, pointing at the gun. He fired. The target, a rusty bucket that was most left of all the lined up target emitted a loud tack before falling off the hay bale it had been positioned on.

Clarke lowered the pistol, a large calibre revolver and gave it to the boy next to him.

The boy took the gun and raised it, supporting his right hand around the butt with his left.

He aimed at one of the targets in the middle and cocked the revolver.

''Remember. Squeeze, don't pull.'' Clarke said.

The two were standing in a large courtyard of Clarke's house in the centre of Eastfield, the Capital of The East, where also the King and the rest of the Government housed. It was a large, large for their standards at least. The city was surrounded by large ends of plains where cows grazed, herded by the Cattlefolk and the cowboy's.

Clarke, the Royal Lawbringer, had a large house in the middle of the bustling city, where he trained future Lawbringers and Bounty Hunters.

Now, he was training a new boy, learning him how to fire a revolver.

The boy still held the revolver in both his hands, aiming at the middle target.

He fired.

The middle target, an old plush teddy bear, exploded in a large mush.

Clarke nodded in satisfaction. ''Good, but you need to learn to aim faster. If that had been a gunslinger, or maybe even a bounty, he wouldn't have waited for you to carefully take aim.'' he said. Shoving back his straw-coloured cowboy hat. It revealed his unkempt, brown hair and made him look younger than he was. If it hadn't been for his beard, he could have been twenty.

The boy lowered the revolver and turned his head towards his teacher. He looked at Clarke. Worried.

Clarke smiled and shook his head. ''Don't worry. You aren't bad. You're still learning and I have to say you're learning a lot faster than most other Bounty Hunter. Even faster than I can remember I did.'' he said.

The boy's eyes became big. He having more shooting talent than Lewis Clarke, the fastest Lawbringer in The East and The West. It was something he couldn't believe and so he didn't.

''Nobody's better than you, Lewis.'' he said.

Clarke looked down. ''I don't know kid. Maybe someday, somebody will come who's better than me.

One day when I'm old and used up. I'll lie in my bed all day long, enjoying my retirement. Until one day a fool may come who wants to make a name for himself by gunning down the fastest gun in The East and The West. By then, I don't think I'll be that fast anymore.''

Clarke shrugged and then said: ''But come on, let's continue your practice session.'' he said, waving his hand around in the known gesture of ''hurry up''.

The boy focused on the targets again, raised the pistol, which looked unbelievably big in his hands, and aimed at a target, this target being an old cup. He took aim for a second and then pulled the trigger.

The cup flew back a few metre's before clattering against the wall of Clarke's yard and falling onto the grass. Clarke shook his head. ''Have you already forgotten. Squeeze, don't pull.'' he said.

The boy lowered the pistol again and looked at Clarke with a sad look on his face. Clarke noticed the look and said: ''You know what? You set the targets back up and I'll show you the trick.''

The boy's eyes became bigger again and a look of excitement fell on his face.

He handed Clarke the revolver and ran off towards the hay bales.

First he picked up the old bucket and laid it back. Then, he put the remains of the teddy bear on the middle hay bale and went to fetch the cup that lay all the way back.

When he was finished, he ran back towards Clarke, who was now standing ready with his revolver in his hands, his brown vest waving around a bit in the soft breeze. The boy stopped next to Clarke. Clarke turned his back to the targets and took a step away from them. He holstered his revolver and took another step. Then, he quickly turned around and, in one motion, drew the revolver, cocked it, and fired six times, fanning the hammer with his free hand.

BANG, there flew the bucket. BANG, there went and old hat. BANG, there went the cup, this time flying over the wall. BANG, the remains of the teddy bear exploded again, leaving an even bigger mess of plushy stuffing. BANG, an old chess piece flew away. BANG, a straw basket broke up in small pieces.

Clarke lowered the smoking revolver and looked at the boy. ''You'll get there one day, son.'' he said.

The boy looked at him in amazement. ''I don't know if I'll ever be that good, Lewis.'' he said.

''You will son, now get those targets back on while I'll go get a new cup, okay.''

Clarke walked back into his house while the boy ran off and fetched the targets. While he walked back, he reloaded his revolver.

He reached his house, opened the back door and stepped inside. Inside, it was a lot cooler than it had been outside. Clarke softly sighed and enjoyed the cool. He went into the kitchen and opened the cupboard. He took another old cup, an ugly blue his mother had given him once. He didn't really like the cup and it would feel nice to shoot it to pieces. He laid the cup on the table behind him and took out his tobacco pouch.

He searched inside the pockets of his vest for some cigarette-paper, found some, and started rolling a cigarette. When he finished, he stuck the cigarette between his lips and lit it. He sat down at the table and smoked.

The boy outside was running around, picking up the targets and placing them back. After he had done that, he went back to his earlier spot and waited for Clarke. After a few minutes he saw his mentor's rugged figure emerging from the house.

Clarke walked up to the hay bales, placed the cup on the empty one and walked back to his student.

''Okay, let's continue.''

Clarke and the boy practised for a few hours more, the boy shooting the targets and Clarke giving him more advice.

''Okay, enough shooting practise for today.'' Clarke said after the boy had shot all the targets in row, similar to how Clarke could, but considerably slower and without walking away and turning around like Clarke did.

Clarke, who had lit another cigarette dropped it on the stone floor they were standing on and stomped on it with his boot. He then headed back to his house, followed by the boy. Inside, he went into the kitchen again, opened the cupboard, and took out a few things. A loaf of bread, a few slices of ham and a small block of cheese.

He laid them down at the table and he and the boy started eating. Lunch. They ate for a while without both saying anything. At one moment, Clarke stood up, picked up the things that were left on the table and put them back in the cupboard. They then went to the pump in front of Clarke's house and drank a bit of water.

Clarke wiped his chin and said: ''Training's over for today boy. You're free for today.''

The boy smiled and turned around half. Then, he turned his head back to his teacher and asked: ''What are you going to do, now, Lewis?''

Lewis smiled. ''I have some things to do at the court of the King.'' he said.

The boy smiled back and then walked away.

He immediately headed to the Eastfield General Store, run by a man named Allan Smith. The boy went inside and said to the shopkeeper: ''Good afternoon Mr. Smith.''

Allan, who was a man who liked children, in the normal fashion, smiled and said: ''Hello there, boy.

How's Clarke doing.''

''Still as fast as ever.'' the boy replied.

''Good to hear.'' Smith said. He then turned around and reached behind him.

The boy, who knew Mr. Smith was probably going to give him some candy, was surprised when he turned back with a small package in his hands.

''Can you give this to Lewis Clarke, please, boy?'' he asked.

''Certainly, sir.'' The boy replied.

Smith patted him on the head. ''You're a good boy. You'll make a fine Bounty Hunter one day.''

The boy smiled. His eyes looked dreamy. ''One day.'' he said.

''Now run along, boy.'' Smith said. ''Oh, but I almost forget.''

He turned back again, holding a handful of candy. ''Here ya go, boy.''

The boy left the store and walked through the streets of Eastfield. He passed an older cowboy who tipped his head for the boy. The boy nodded back and smiled, eating from the candy Mr. Smith had given him. He didn't think that the package for Clarke was that important.

After having roamed around the streets of Eastfield for a few hours, he returned to Clarke's house.

He found Clarke in the kitchen, smoking. He stood in the door opening for a moment, looking at his mentor, before walking towards him and laying the package on the table.

Clarke raised his eyebrows. ''What's that?'' he asked.

The boy shrugged. ''I don't know, Mr Smith from the General Store gave it to me.''

Clarke laid his hand on the package. For one moment the boy thought he would open it in front of him. But that hope was diminished when Clarke opened his mouth and said: ''Bedtime, boy.''

The boy's shoulders lowered. ''Lewis...''

Clarke shook his head. ''Bedtime. I'll tell you later.'' he said, still shaking his head.

The boy opened his mouth, closed it again, and turned around, walking to his bedroom. He turned his head one moment and saw that Clarke had already opened the package. He was reading a note he had probably taken out of the small package. Something was glistering on the table. The boy didn't see what it was. He craned his neck a bit, but at that moment Clarke noticed him.

''Get going, boy.'' he said angrily.

The boy turned his head back and went to his bedroom.

There, he changed into his pyjamas and laid down in bed. He thought about what he had seen lying on the table and he couldn't sleep. After lying in bed for a hour or more, the boy's curiosity got the better of him. He slid out of bed and walked out of his room, carefully avoiding the squeaking planks. He walked through the corridor, holding his breath as he passed Clarke's room.

He snuck into the kitchen and looked at the table in the middle.

It was empty. Of course it was. The boy slammed his hand against his head. How could he be so stupid. Of course Clarke wouldn't leave something like that lying on the kitchen table. He knew exactly that the boy would go take a look at it at night.

The thought had just razed through the boy's mind when a hand slapped on his shoulder. ''It's a bit early to get up, boy.'' He heard Clarke's voice say behind him.

He turned around and saw the Lawbringer standing behind him, still dressed and smoking a cigarette. He didn't look angry. Rather amused.

''I'm sorry Clarke.'' the boy said.

Clarke shook his head. ''Don't worry. I would have done exactly the same. Curiosity is a good trait for a Bounty Hunter, but also a bad one at times.'' Clarke stopped talking for a moment. ''You're good at sneaking. I didn't know you where there until I saw you enter the kitchen.''

The boy smiled. A compliment from Clarke was something quite special. Even people who normally were higher in rank than Lewis Clarke could expect a lecture if they made a mistake and compliments were almost non-existent with this men.

The boy looked at Clarke. ''Are you going to tell what was in the package now?'' he asked.

Clarke smiled and shook his head. ''No. Go back to bed. For real now.''

The boy turned around and headed for his bedroom the second time.

''I'll tell you later.'' he could hear Clarke say behind him.

Later. I'll tell you later, boy.

The Bounty Hunter woke up. He opened his eyes and for one moment, he didn't realise where he was. Then, he remembered. He was in a small village named Coldgrass, sleeping in an old bed on the first floor of the Saloon. He sat up in bed and reached for his glasses on the night stand next to him. At first, he couldn't find them, but then he felt one of the frames. He picked up his glasses and put them on.

He slid out of bed and stood in the middle of the chamber, only wearing his jeans. He didn't light the lamp, but walked through the room, looking for his clothes. He found them and dressed quickly. He put on his pistol belt and left the room quietly. He passed the room he had seen the bartender enter and snuck past it. It was dark outside as he walked out of the Saloon and walked towards his horse.

''Going already, I see.'' a familiar said behind him when he wanted to mount up. The Bounty Hunter turned his head and saw Sheriff Ruiz stand behind him. Ruiz' greying beard was slowly waving around in the wind. ''I understand.'' Ruiz said. ''You have to catch up to Kane.''

The Bounty Hunter smiled.

''I hope you have paid Stanley.'' Ruiz said. ''If not I will.''

The Bounty Hunter shook his head. ''No, no I paid all my bills.'' he climbed onto his horse and looked down at Ruiz once more.

Ruiz craned his neck to keep looking The Bounty Hunter in his face. He nodded slowly.

''I hope I see you ride back into town one day, Bounty Hunter. I hope you will and I hope you will then ride East, dragging the corpse of Kane behind you.'' he said.

The Bounty Hunter nodded back and said. ''I hope I will too. One thing I know for sure: I won't ever give up on Kane, even if we kill each other in a duel.'' The Bounty Hunter rode away.

Ruiz stared at The Bounty Hunter's back as he rode away and it slowly disappeared in the dark.

He looked down at his boots and sighed. Then, he went back to his office.

End of Chapter 2

 

3: Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

The Bounty Hunter rode through the desert. Three days after he led Coldgrass, the desert had begun to dominate the landscape, replacing the wide open plains. The animal life also changed. First, there had been cows and buffalo's and sometimes a few wolves. Now, the only animals The Bounty Hunter saw were the vultures who flew in the air, and sometimes a giant white beetle. It had now been more than a week since he had left Coldgrass and he continued his chase of Johnny Kane.

It was about noon and the sun stood right above The Bounty Hunter. A giant beetle scurried over the trail, just in front of the horse's hooves. He heard a loud crunch as the beetle was crushed under his horse. His horse almost tripped, but regained it's balance.

''Easy, boy.'' The Bounty Hunter said. The horse lifted it's head a bit as if it nodded. They rode on.

A few minutes later, The Bounty Hunter stopped at an oasis. He dismounted his horse and walked towards the water. There was a sign next to the pool of water. It had a white cross on it. It was safe to drink the water here. He fell down to his knees and bent over, his face reflecting in the water. He saw his glasses on his face for a moment as he moved his face to the water closely. He started to drink. He made slurping sounds as he gobbled up the water.

His horse next to him did the same. After his thirst was quenched by the cool water of the pool, he sat down in the shade of a palm tree and had lunch there. He ate a few slices of bread he had held out of a large brown bag in his saddle-bags and a few strips of dried meat. The bread was a bit hard and the meat tasted like rubber. But it was the only thing he really had to eat. He put the food back on his bag and sat down at the palm tree again, his duster spreading out in the sand. He thought about his chase, his quest, his goal. Catching Johnny Kane and avenging Clarke, his mentor and friend. Almost a father for him really. It was the only thing that mattered to him now. Catching Kane. Goosebumps Kane. Why he was called Goosebumps? The Bounty Hunter didn't know anymore, but he would remember it later. Probably.

Two weeks, he thought. That was about how far behind Kane he was. Two damn weeks, he thought.

He had gained a week over the course of one month. It would take a few months to catch up with Kane and it would take even longer to take down his gang members and Kane himself.

He sighed. He would avenge Clarke, but would he continue bounty hunting? That was what he was thinking about. Was it that great to go bounty hunting without Clarke, without his mentor. He didn't know, but he was doing it now, and he knew it wasn't as enjoyable without Clarke.

You can find a new partner, you idiot, He heard Clarke's voice say to him, deep inside himself. A partner like you?, he asked it. Clarke held it's mouth. So I thought, he said to him. He closed his eyes. Don't fall asleep, he thought for a moment. Then he fell asleep.

He woke up a few hours later, judging by the position of the sun, which was slowly climbing towards the horizon again. His horse was still standing in the same spot he had left it, but it was now chewing on some grass it had found somewhere.

''Sleep well?'' a voice asked. It sounded clear, but also as a soft whisper in the wind.

The Bounty Hunter immediately sat up, his hand sliding down towards is revolver.

''Hah! That peashooter ain't gonna work against me, son.'' the voice said.

The Bounty Hunter's eyes flashed around behind his glasses as he searched for the origin of the voice. He felt something was around, but couldn't quite put his finger on it.

''You can't see me, can you?'' the voice said. ''Not unexpected. They never see me.'' The Bounty Hunter heard a chuckle.

''You can stop looking, son. You won't find me. I'm invisible.''

The Bounty Hunter knew what it was. It was a spirit, somebody bound to this place or an item that was lying about this place. He looked around again and saw it.

A few metre's from the oasis away a large cross was sticking was out of the ground. Somebody was buried here.

''Yes, I'm buried there.''

It was definitely a spirit, although some would refer to it as a demon. This wasn't a demon. Demon's were evil and murderous beings. Normal spirits just hung around places and scared visitors. This guy was probably harmless. Probably.

''So what's your name?'' the spirit asked.

''Are names important?'' The Bounty hunter asked.

''Like I give a damn. I just want to know your name.'' the spirit said.

The Bounty Hunter didn't answer the question.

''Fine then, son. Well, I'm The... uhm The Spirit Of The Oasis. That's because, you know, this is a oasis, son. Not very original, eh?'' the spirit said.

The Bounty Hunter shook his head. ''What's your old name?'' he asked.

''Are names important?'' The spirit shot back.

''I see. Never mind.''

''It's Harris.'' the spirit said immediately.

''Pleased to meet you Harris.''

Another chuckle. ''Hah, you're the first person who has talked to me since a long time. Normally, people just ignore me and move on. One, a priest even tried to, uh, exercise, is that how you say it?''

''Exorcise.'' The Bounty Hunter corrected him.

''Yeah, he tried to do that. He moved on quickly though when I kicked him between the knees.

Say, son, how come you don't go away like all the other normal folks?'' the spirit asked.

''I'm not normal. I'm a Bounty Hunter.''

''Son of a-... A Bounty Hunter... It's been a while since your lot has passed by here. A Bounty Hunter.'' the spirit said dreamy.

''How long have you been here?'' The Bounty Hunter asked.

The spirit laughed again. ''Hah, I can't even remember.'' he said.

''Any guess?''

''Gee, maybe, five years... six? I actually don't know...''

The Bounty Hunter shrugged. ''I heard that before.''

''You met a spirit before, then?''

''Once.''

''How was he?''

''Who, the spirit?''

''Yes.''

''Evil. Evil and murderous. It tried to kill me. More than once...''

''But how did you banish it?''

''I didn't. I ran away. Quite hard.''

He heard the spirit laugh. After a while the laughing stopped.

''You don't know how to banish a ghost then?'' the spirit asked.

The Bounty Hunter realised why the spirit had made contact with him. ''You don't want to be here anymore, do you? You want to go. Move on, or whatever.'' he said.

No answer.

''Am I right?'' The Bounty Hunter asked.

Still no answer.

''Am I right?!'' The Bounty Hunter asked again.

He heard a whisper that sounded like a sigh.

''Yes.'' the spirit answered.

''I could help you.'' The Bounty Hunter said. ''If you want.''

The spirit was silent for a moment before saying: ''You can?''

''I can. I learned it from my old mentor, Lewis Clarke.''

''L-lewis Clarke...?''

''Yes. Now do you want me to banish you, or not?''

''Please! Do it.''

''Alright.''

The Bounty Hunter went to his horse and rummaged through the saddle-bags.

He took out a large stick and went back to his spot next to the pool of water.

He drew a symbol in the sand and looked up. ''You might not like the next part of the ritual.'' he said.

''Everything to get me away from this place.'' the spirit cried.

''Alright.'' The Bounty Hunter stood up and walked away from the symbol, heading towards the grave of the unfortunate spirit.

''Wait, what are you gonna do?'' the spirit asked.

''I'm gonna exhume your grave.'' The Bounty Hunter answered.

He heard something which mostly resembled a gasp. Exhuming a grave was a big offence to most people and some even believed it would invoke the rage of a spirit or demon. But The Bounty Hunter didn't believe that kind of thing. He thought it was something for little children to fear and for old people to tell stories about.

He sat down on his knees and began to dig away large patches of sand with his hands.

''Are you sure this is necessary?'' the spirit asked. He made a swallowing sound.

The Bounty Hunter said nothing, but continued to dig away the sand.

After a while, he felt a few hard things under the sand and he knew he was getting close to what he was looking for. He dug away a final few handfuls of sand and saw a bunch of bones sticking out of the sand in front of him. ''Hey there, good looking.'' he said.

The spirit chuckled a bit.

The Bounty Hunter pulled on of the bones, one from the arms he believed, and went back to the symbol he had drawn in the sand next to the water.

He placed the bone in the middle and sat down on his knees in front of the symbol. He spread his arms as if he wanted to hug the air and looked up in the sky. Strange, unknown words, remainders of an ancient language, started flowing out of his mouth. Words, sentences, whole paragraphs, left his mouth and flew into the hot desert air. Meanwhile, as The Bounty Hunter continued the ritual, the symbol in the sand started glowing. The single bone lying in the middle went up in the air, slowly. It was hardly noticeable, but after a few minutes it levitated a good few centimetre's above the sand.

''Is it worki-'' the spirit stopped in mid-sentence. The Bounty hunter sensed that the aura of the oasis had changed. Whereas he had felt a bit uneasy at first, he felt calm now. He was sure the spirit had departed, was heading towards the spirit world now. He stood up and threw some sand over the symbol, while the picking up the bone. He walked back to the grave of the unknown man. Harris is his name, he suddenly remembered. Harris... Is that a first name or a last name?, he wondered. Could be both.

He took his watch out of the pocket of his vest and looked at the time. Almost four. He put his watch back started throwing sand over the corpse again. When he had finished, he wiped some sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his duster. The sun was starting to get pretty low now. Better hurry, Or I'll have to set up camp here. He thought. But why not?, Clarke wondered why he didn't want to sleep there on the oasis. It was a better place than just somewhere next to the road. Maybe you don't want to sleep in the place where you just exorcised a spirit and where some guy is buried. That could be a reason. His mentor did have a point.

He walked to his horse and mounted up, changing his normal spectacles for a pair of tinted ones.

Like that he rode off into the sunset.

That night he slept at the side of the road, his hand on his revolver and his senses heightened. The moon shone on him as he lay in a small depression in the sand.

Suddenly, he felt it. A faint sensation of being watched. Slowly, he opened one of his eyes and peered through his eyelids.

He saw nobody, but noticed a faint glow not to far away from him. He opened both his eyes and looked towards the glow.

He stood up and started walking towards it, holding one hand in front of his eyes.

The glow was a bit bluish and the origin of it seemed to pulsate a bit. He squinted his eyes a bit and kept on walking towards the glow. It dimmed a bit. He moved his arm away from his face and looked straight in a familiar face. In front of him, sitting on a rock and smoking a cigarette, was Lewis Clarke. It looked like Lewis Clarke, except that he had a blue glow around him. Everything was there: His clothes matched, his hat matched, he even sat in the same way he always sat. The only thing wrong with him was the fact that the half of his face, including his left eye, missed. Also, he had bluish stains on his clothes. ''Morning there, boy.'' he said, drawing another puff of his cigarette and shoving his head back.

The Bounty Hunter looked at him with big eyes, reached in his vest pocket without looking away, took out his spectacles and put them on. ''Bu-'' he started again, but couldn't finish his sentence.

''Hmm? Something wrong, boy? Something about me?'' Clarke had always had that annoying habit of calling everybody boy, no matter the age, and in some cases even the gender, of the person.

''L-lewis?'' Was all The Bounty Hunter could mumble.

''Have you lost your tongue, boy?'' Clarke smiled. It looked strange with half of his face missing, even though his mouth was still intact, although covered in blood. His teeth were still white, which gave a strange contrast with his dark beard and the dark colour of the blood on his face.

''B-but you're not supposed to be here?''

''And yet here I am, sitting on a rock and smoking.'' Lewis smiled again. It gave him an unnatural look.

''You're dead.'' The Bounty Hunter said. ''You are dead, and you're back in Eastfield, lying six feet under.''

''Come on, boy, you know about spirits. You met one this afternoon. You even banished it from this place.'' Lewis lit another cigarette. ''Yeah, it doesn't matter how much I smoke now. I'm already dead.'' again the smile.

The Bounty Hunter slowly shook his head. ''This is different. The spirit from this afternoon, I couldn't see him. He could only speak to me. And, he was connected to this place. His grave was here.'' he pointed down the hill at the small cross sticking out of the ground, lit by moonlight.

''That's true.'' Clarke said. ''That's certainly true, boy.'' He threw away his cigarette and lit a third one. ''But,'' he said, striking a match and holding it to his cigarette. ''I am connected to this place. Or rather to something in this place.''

''Yeah, like what?'' The Bounty Hunter asked.

''Why, you, of course...'' Clarke said, smiling again.

''Me?'' The Bounty Hunter asked.

''Yes, you, boy. We are connected to each other. And so, I can go from Beyond to here, and only you can see me. Because, boy, we're connected.'' he smiled.

The Bounty Hunter looked at him in amazement. ''So, why are you here?'' he asked.

''For spiritual guidance.'' Clarke said. He burst out in laughing. ''Nah, see, boy, I am gonna go with you and I want to watch as you blow of Goosebumps' head. I want to see that, boy. Wouldn't want to miss the killing of the killer.'' he laughed again. ''The fall of Goosebumps. I think he might be able to see me too, you know, boy. I hope he does. I hope he can stare in the face of the man he killed as he lies on the ground, bleeding.'' Clarke looked down angrily and sighed. ''Son of a bitch.''

The Bounty Hunter said nothing. He just sat down on the rock next to his old mentor and looked at the moon. It was full and he looked around, wondering how many people would be torn apart by werewolves and vampires tonight. Like you care, Bounty hunter. You're just a hired killer. Why would you care about human life?, he heard Clarke's voice in his head.

I'm not just a hired killer. I work for the law, he shot back.

Ah, that's an old argument. A real old one, was Clarke's answer.

He hadn't noticed that the ghost of Clarke had disappeared. He looked around.

I'm back to the spirit world, boy. Don't bother looking. The Bounty Hunter heard Clarke chuckle. Say, you better go to sleep, boy, you need to get up early tomorrow. You gotta catch a killer.

The bounty Hunter felt how Clarke went away as if a certain entity left his body. Suddenly, he realised how tired he was. He went back to his camp and sat down in front of the cold remains of the died out fire. A bit of smoke was still coming out of the charred remains and ashes, but it was barely visible. The moon was considerably lower than when he had woken up and it was about to go under again, making place for the sun. The Bounty Hunter laid down again and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was just coming up and coloured the sky red. He stood up and looked at the rising sun, the light reflecting on his glasses. A small scorpion was crawling past his foot. He didn't notice it. Neither did he notice that it was one of the most poisonous scorpions known to man. He didn't notice, because he was too busy looking at the horizon.

Swiftly, he broke down his camp. He rolled up the overcoat he used as a blanket and put it back in his saddle-bag. The pan that had first been placed over the fire was hung back at it's regular spot, just next to his rifle.

When he had finished and only the ashes of the camp fire remained, he mounted his horse and started riding down dirt road again. He wondered if the apparition he had seen that night was real or whether he had just dreamt it. He decided the last. But was it really important if he was dreaming about Clarke or not? Wasn't it better for him to focus at his current task. Avenging said Clarke and killing Johnny Kane. And also collect a nice bounty, of course. He shrugged and kept on riding, his back towards the rising sun.

End of Chapter 3.

 

4: Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Goble City wasn't actually a city. It was a rather big village, but not a city. It was in the middle of a desert, but there were enough oases nearby for the people to survive. A few farms and ranches were just outside of town so food was not an issue either.

The Bounty Hunter rode into Goble City as slowly and inconspicuously as he could. This meant, of course, that he really stood out. Normally, drifters rode into town in bands of at least three and made as much noise as possible. Most who rode into town were either drunk or just plain stupid and first thing most drifters did was hitching their horses in front of the saloon and stumble inside to order some of the local brew. But the Bounty hunter just rode into town slowly, his head shoved a bit forwards and without wearing his duster. He had his revolver in it's holster at his side. That was the first thing most citizens of Goble saw. The second thing were his spectacles. Spectacles were uncommon this far west. He saw how most people were gazing at him, and how most quickly averted their eyes if he looked back. This way, being looked at everybody and sometimes looking back, he rode his horse towards a horse trough. He dismounted his horse and let it drink, patting it on it's side.

He thought about his encounter with Clarke, which had happened four days ago. Between then and now he had heard his mentor's voice a few more times while he was riding through the desert, a bunch of vulture's circling above his head as if they expected him to die. Not that it was uncommon for people to die in the desert. But not him. Not a Bounty Hunter.

His horse had almost emptied the trough now and the Bounty Hunter went to the pump to fill it again.

''That's a mighty fine horse you got there, stranger.'' a voice behind him said.

The Bounty hunter stopped pumping and turned his head. Behind him, an old man was standing, his hands on his back. The old man had a broad smile on his face, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth. It weren't the worst teeth the Bounty Hunter had ever seen though.

''Well, thanks, mister.'' The Bounty Hunter answered, also smiling, and started pumping again.

The old man walked up next to him and his horse and patted the horse on it's side, just like the Bounty hunter had done. '''What's her name?'' he asked.

''Oh.'' the Bounty Hunter couldn't hide his surprise. ''You know it's a her. Most people take a while to notice.'' he said.

''Well, I'm not most people. See, I tend the stable and the corral around here. The name's Jeb, but most call me the Horseman, because I like horses more than people.'' the old man said.

''Well, I understand you like horses more.'' The Bounty hunter said. ''They're a lot nicer than people in general.''

The old man burst out in a loud roar of laughter and slammed the Bounty Hunter on his back. The Bounty Hunter felt how some of the air in his lungs was squeezed out of his body. The old man was surprisingly strong.

The Bounty Hunter stopped pumping. The trough was almost full again. ''Say, uh, Jeb, was it right?'' he asked. The old man smiled and nodded. ''Or Horseman if you prefer.'' He laughed again.

''Nah, Jeb's alright.''

''Alright, Jeb. Could you take care of my horse for today?'' The Bounty Hunter asked.

''Sure I can. I'll take her to the stables right now.'' Jeb said.

''Thanks, Jeb. How much do I owe you?''

''You can pay me tomorrow.'' was all Jeb said. He took the horse by the reins and led it away.

The Bounty hunter also walked away, headed for the saloon.

''Ah darn it. Damn bastards.'' He heard Jeb curse behind him. He turned around and said: ''Something wrong, old man?''

''Those darned bastards are doing it again.'' Jeb said, looking at two men who were talking behind the saloon. ''That bastard Flint is at it again.'' he said.

The Bounty hunter walked to Jeb. ''What's going on?'' he asked.

''Bastards. See, that guy.'' he pointed at the man who was talking the most. ''He works for Flint. Flint runs the General Store here and he owns almost everything in town... and everyone.'' Jeb said grimly. ''That other man. He's a farmer. A peon named Juan. But the man's poor and the harvest hasn't been particularly good this season.'' Jeb stopped talking.

The debt collector started yelling now and making wide gestures.

Jeb took a step towards the two men, but felt a hand on his shoulder stopping him. He turned his head to The Bounty Hunter and said, angrily: ''Let me go. Let me go!''

The Bounty Hunter shook his head and pulled Jeb back. His glasses reflected in the sun. ''Let me take care of it.'' he said.

He felt how Jeb relaxed a bit. Jeb knew that his old appearance wouldn't really intimidate the debt collector, but the big figure of the Bounty Hunter would.

Jeb stepped back and The Bounty Hunter walked towards the debt collector, his hand resting close to his revolver. He approached the two men. The debt collector was really shouting now. ''...What'd ya think happens when Mr. Flint hears of this, ya sonofabi...'' he stopped talking as the Bounty Hunter approached them. ''What do you want?'' he asked, looking suspiciously at the stranger.

The Bounty Hunter smiled. ''I heard you trying to shake down this poor man.'' he said. His face nothing of the anger inside him and he could hardly control the urge to hit the debt collector in the face as a smug expression came upon the latter's face.

''And what about it?'' the debt collector asked, still smiling smugly.

''Well,'' The Bounty Hunter said, pausing for a moment. ''I don't like people intimidating poor farmers.'' he said.

''Well, this man hasn't paid his debt to Mr. Flint. I'm just the collector.''

''I know. And because of that you're in harm's way. If you catch my drift.'' The Bounty Hunter said, his hand slowly going downwards to his revolver as he said the last sentence.

The debt collector looked at his revolver for a while and his confidence diminished. He knew the revolver was from the East and there were only two kinds of people who'd travel this far from the East. Hardened criminals and Bounty Hunters. He didn't know which one he was dealing with here, but he knew he probably couldn't draw faster than him.

The Bounty Hunter touched the grip of his revolver and the debt collector took a step backwards.

''Uh... You know... I can go... uh... talk to, uh, Mr. Flint. Maybe we can arrange something.'' he said to thefarmer, reluctantly. He walked away past the saloon. Gonna warn his boss, I bet ya, boy, Clarke said inside his head.

The farmer, who had said nothing so far just started smiling and looked at the Bounty Hunter. Then, a whole load of words, half in his own language and half in what the Bounty Hunter called the vaquero language came, came out of his mouth. The Bounty Hunter did not speak the guy's language, but he knew they were probably words of gratitude. ''Muchas Gracias, Senõr! Thank you, thank you!'' the farmer continued.

The Bounty Hunter held his hand up and nodded. ''That's alright, mr...'' Jeb had told him the name of the farmer, but he had forgotten it.

''Juan, Señor. Juan Cortez.''

''Alright, Juan. Look. That Mr... uh... Flint... He isn't going to leave it at this. He'll send some guys over. So, my idea is we go to the saloon and wait it out. There'll be witnesses there. They might hesitate.'' The Bounty Hunter. ''I mean, they have a sheriff here, right?''

Juan nodded. ''Si, Señor. We also have a judge.''

''Good, then they can't act completely freely.'' The Bounty Hunter felt a bit relieved. ''Come on, let's go to the saloon.'' he said. He gestured at Jeb, who had watched the events in front of him, to follow.

The three men went to the saloon.

The debt collector felt uneasy as Flint stood up. Murphy Flint had the reputation of being completely calm at first before bursting out against his subordinates. He was very calm now. He started pacing around behind his desk, his hand on his back and his other hand rubbing his clean-shaven, broad chin. His red hair wavered around a bit as he paced around. Music was playing on a phonograph. The phonograph had imported all the way from Eastfield, travelling first by train and then by stagecoach all the way. That it had come that from far meant that Flint had had to pay a lot of money for it, but it had been worth it. Flint was a big appreciator of music and normally he would have relaxed at the sound of an opera coming out of his phonograph, but now he just went towards it and turned it off. He had his back to the debt collector now, who stood in the middle of the room, his hat taken of and being turned around in his hands.

''So... this guy came up to you, told you to go away. And you did, Tex?''

He heard Tex shuffle his feet behind him. He turned around and looked at his debt collector. ''You did?'' he repeated his question sharply.

Slowly, Tex' face went up and down once.

''So, some... drifter walks up to you and asks you to stop doing what I, your boss, told you to, and you listen to him. That guy took precedence over me, your boss, I guess.'' Flint said softly.

Tex opened his mouth. ''Well, boss... That guy... he had a... uh... a gun.''

Flint turned around now, his face was starting to get as red as his hair. ''He had a gun? A GUN? AND THAT SCARES YOU AWAY?'' Flint was shouting now. Tex shrivelled a bit, his hat twisting around in his hands at a high speed now.

''WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST BLAST HIM AWAY? NO WITNESSES! NOBODY! YOU COULD HAVE SHOT HIM!'' Flint shouted.

''Well, boss... his gun... it was an Eastfielder .47.'' Tex answered.

Flint looked surprised at the hearing of the name of the gun. He also knew that only the most hardened criminals and Bounty Hunters carried such guns this far West.

Flint looked as if he had calmed down a bit. ''An Eastfielder?'' he asked as if he hadn't heard it.

Tex just nodded, his hat still twisting around in his hands.

Flint sat down behind his office again, the only sign of his anger visible in the vein on his forehead which was throbbing quite fast. He stared down at his desk for a moment, then looked up at a man who had quietly been sitting in the corner of his office for the duration of his conversation with Tex.

''Go with Tex and go get my brother. Then, you find the stranger and teach him a lesson.''

Tex opened his mouth to protest, but Flint cut him off. ''don't kill him, just teach him a lesson.''

The other man said nothing, but nodded and stood up. He went walked towards the back door. Tex hesitated for a moment and then followed.

The Bounty Hunter, Jeb, the horseman and Juan, the farmer sat in the corner of the saloon. Jeb and Juan both had a glass of tequila in front of them and the Bounty Hunter a glass of milk. He took another gulp from it. ''So, this Flint, eh Murphy Flint you said?'' he said, looking at Jeb. Jeb nodded.

''He controls the town and most people are on his payroll you say. Even the Sheriff?'' he asked.

Jeb sighed and nodded again. ''Yeah, mister, it's darned unlucky, but it's been a good long while since we had any decent law 'round here.''

Juan said nothing.

The Bounty Hunter finished his milk and gestured at the bartender, an unsavoury figure wearing a bowler hat, to bring him another. The bartender, who had been cleaning his bar like all bartenders seem always seem to do, nodded and soon a new glass of milk appeared in front of the Bounty Hunter. He smiled at the bartender and gave him a coin. ''Well, I guess it won't be long 'till they come for us.'' he turned his head towards the entrance. ''Hmm, I'd already expected to come here by now, but nothing. He turned his head back and focused on his milk. For a while none of the three said anything and all went up in their own thoughts. The Bounty hunter listened to the murmur of the other patrons and the music the pianist played. It was a song he knew from many other saloons he had visited throughout the West. He took a gulp from his milk and waited.

When Tex and the other man left the saloon, the guy finally opened his mouth. ''So why didn't you just shoot the guy? I mean, there were no witnesses and you could just claim self-defence. We'd be getting no trouble at all. You know we got everybody on the payroll here, right?'' he said, shoving his black hat a bit backwards.

Tex scratched his chin and felt the stubble on it. ''Well, there was a witness. The Horseman was there. No way we could pay him off. And Judge O'Hara may be on our payroll, but he ain't stupid. A witness would ruin everything.''

''So? You could've shot him too.'' the other man replied.

''You think Flint would want to bust my ass out of begin sent North to one of those work camps if I'd created three corpses.''

''Three? I thought it was only the Horseman and the stranger?''

''Nah, That peon Juan was there too.'' They approached a house at the end of town.

The other man stepped forward and knocked on the door. After waiting for a while, he knocked again.

The door opened and a broad, red-haired man opened up. ''What'd ya want?'' he asked. His voice was sharp and a bit nasal.

Tex said: ''Mr. Flint wants us to teach a stranger a lesson.''

The man frowned. ''What did he do?'' he asked. Swiftly, Tex told him what had happened behind the saloon. When he finished the man in the door opening nodded. ''And now Cousin wants me to teach him a lesson.'' He took a step back. ''Okay, I'll be back in a minute.'' He disappeared into the house.

A few minutes later, he came back, this time carrying a revolver belt around his normal belt.

''Hey, we don't kill him, okay?'' the other guy said. ''We just teach him a lesson. Maybe we kick him outta town, but we don't kill 'em. Boss told us not to.''

The redhead patted the butt of his revolver. ''I won't kill him if ain't necessary. This is just in case. I mean, this guy comes all the way from Eastfield. He must have a good reason to be here and only two kinds of people come this far West from Eastfield.''

Tex nodded and said, irritated. ''Yeah, yeah we know. Let's just go.''

The three men went towards the saloon, ready to meet three other men.

The Bounty Hunter saw Jeb look up. Three glasses of milk since their conversations had ended and they had just been waiting for the Flint to send in the Cavalry. Now, they were there.

Jeb opened his mouth: ''uh...''

The Bounty Hunter didn't turn his head to look behind him. ''How many?'' he just asked. Jeb whispered: ''three.''

The Bounty Hunter heard a voice behind him. ''Scram, old man.''

Jeb opened his mouth to protest, but he saw the Bounty Hunter smiling at him: ''Do as he says, Jeb. I'll handle this.'' he nodded at Juan who now rose and walked away. Jeb waited for a moment longer before also standing up and walking away.

Flint's cousin, who was mostly called the Redhead, looked at the man in front of him who was sitting with his back to him. He saw that the man was not as scrawny as city fellas normally were.

This man, this outlaw or Bounty Hunter, the Redhead did not know which one, had a bigger figure than most.

The Redhead stuck out his arm and placed it on the stranger's shoulder. ''Hey, stranger. I've heard you've been causing a problem.'' he said.

The stranger did not turn his head, but said. ''You must have heard wrong. I have solved one.'' he said. Now, he turned his head and smiled at the Redhead. Somehow, the smile on the stranger's face sparked rage in the Redhead. ''Look, mister, I've been told by this man here.'' he gestured at Tex, ''That you prevented him from collecting money from one of my boss' clients.''

''What a nice way to name extortion, my friend. You almost sound like a lawyer.'' The stranger replied.

This really set of the Redhead. A vein started throbbing on his forehead, something that was really common in the family. He nodded at Tex, who had moved his hand in his coat. Tex took his hand out and revealed he had a large knife in it. He lifted the hand with the knife in it, ready to strike down onto the table, through the hand of the stranger. With all his strength and force he let the knife cut through the air into the table.

The Bounty Hunter had his instincts. He saw the knife coming out of the air and heading towards his hand. Just in time, he pulled his hand away. The knife struck the table and got stuck. Tex tried to pull it out, but stepped back when The Bounty Hunter stood up. Tex raised his hands in a surrendering motion.

The Bounty hunter's arm went back and went forward again with high velocity, smashing Tex' face.

Tex flew back a few centimetre's as his feet came off the ground from the blow that was dealt to him. He slammed into a table and fell down on the floor. He didn't move anymore. The Bounty Hunter fluttered his hand around a bit. Then, he turned his head to the other man who was accompanying the Redhead. The other man did nothing but throwing a contemptuous look at The Bounty Hunter. The Bounty Hunter smiled. ''Something wrong?'' he asked cheerfully.

The man just shook his head, but slowly his hand went down to his revolver.

The Bounty Hunter noticed this and in an instant the man looked right in the barrel of a large Eastfielder .47. The Bounty Hunter hadn't moved at all it seemed. The only difference was that between him and the man a large, cocked revolver was in his hand and aimed at the man.

The Redhead, the vein on his forehead still throbbing, placed his hand on the man's shoulder and started backing away. Together, they helped the downed Tex up and walked out of the saloon. The Bounty Hunter holstered his gun and sat down at the table again. The conversation of the patrons, which had ceased during the short encounter between the Bounty Hunter and the three men, started again and the pianist started playing a new song.

Jeb and Juan came back to the table.

The Bounty hunter looked up and saw that they were both smiling broadly.

''You handled that well, mister.'' his smile disappeared. ''But I'm afraid they might come back for you.'' he said.

The Bounty Hunter nodded. ''I know. And Normally I would move on as quickly as possible, but I think I might stay here for a few days, you know, see if I can do anything about the situation here.''

And as he said that he looked up and saw a red-haired man standing at the top of a flight of stairs.

End of Chapter 4

 

 

5: Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

The only light in the room came from the oil lamp that stood on the table. The Bounty Hunter rested his head on the pillow and looked through the window. The sun had almost gone down and outside was a dark blue colour of the twilight. He was lying in room above the saloon where he had dealt with the three men that afternoon. His hand was still hurting, but that didn't matter. His duster was hanging over a chair in the middle of the room and his hat lay on the table in front of the chair.

He still wore his pistol of course. A Bounty Hunter never took off his pistol belt, no matter where he was. I'll kill you myself if you ever take off that damn belt, boy, Clarke said inside his head. I'm not going to, Lewis, The Bounty Hunter thought. He moved his hand down on the butt of his revolver. He expected company tonight. The Bounty Hunter was sure that the scene he had caused that afternoon would have repercussions. That Redhead wouldn't just let him go after after what had happened to his buddy. They'd come for him this night, he was sure. The Redhead would come. That other guy would come. But the debt collector he wasn't sure about. Maybe the guy would still be knocked out or at least unable to come take revenge. He was ready for them. He took his watch out of his pocket and saw it was just past Nine o'clock. He put his watch back in his vest and got up.

He started pacing up and down the room, his hands on his back. What if they don't come, boy? Lewis asked.

If they don't, they don't. But you know they'll come, Lewis, was The Bounty Hunter's answer.

A floorboard creaked.

The Bounty Hunter was immediately ready for anything.

He legs moved a bit apart and his hand moved to his revolver, touching the butt.

Nothing happened.

He relaxed a bit. Must have been a mouse, he thought. Or a criminal, ready to plug some holes in you, boy, Clarke warned him.

He kept listening for a few minutes, ready to draw and fire his revolver, but nothing happened. No doors were kicked in by big, burly, angry redheaded guys or debt collectors who only dared to act tough against innocent farmers. Nothing happened.

He started pacing through the room again. His hand stayed on his revolver.

The Redhead, Tex and the other guy came walking into the saloon. Tex had a black eye and his nose was swollen and bluish. He looked angry. The three men headed to the bar where the bartender was still cleaning the counter like he had done all day. He looked up, his eyes squinted as always. ''He's upstairs. Room number four.'' he said.

The Redhead nodded. ''Thanks.'' he said. He walked towards the stairs, followed by his lackeys. Slowly, they headed up the stairs, the Redhead first. His hand hovered by his revolver. The Redhead thought about the stranger, of course he did. It was the matter at hand now. The stranger had messed up the way things normally were. And The Redhead couldn't allow that. He thought about how his cousin had acted. It had been just after Tex had been socked unconscious by the stranger. They had been at the Redhead's house, Tex lying on the couch, bleeding out of his nose and missing a teeth.

Flint had come too, angry and the vein on his forehead throbbing like crazy. He had been slamming his fist on the table until the table showed red marks and a few cracks. ''Tonight!'' Flint had shouted. ''You go after. No matter if he stays! You go after him and you won't rest 'till the undertaker has put him six feet underground!'' They had nodded in agreement, but The Redhead hadn't felt sure about it at all.

Tex came second, his black eye half closed, but his normal eye twitching with anger. He'd show that stranger, that fancy Eastern City-dweller, how people did it here in the West.

The third guy, silent as always, followed. He didn't wear a revolver around his belt. Instead, he had a small Derringer up his sleeve and a small revolver in a holster under his armpit, put out of sight by his dark coat. When the Redhead reached the top of the stairs, he drew his revolver and raised it, aiming in front of him. Tex did the same, but he held his revolver upwards. The other man didn't draw his revolver. He could draw his Derringer and fire within a second. His hand went up to his face and he started twisting his small, black moustache. He smiled a bit as they approached room number four. They walked towards the room in a line. The Redhead stepped on a floorboard, which gave out a soft cracking sound. All three froze and none of them moved for a few minutes. They continued their advance towards the room. The Redhead reached the door first. He moved towards it until he stood right in front of it. Then, he took a step back and gestured at the others to take up positions at each side of the door. They moved swiftly and silently, neither of the making a sound. As slowly and silently as he could, The Redhead cocked his revolver. Tex and the other guy, who had now also drawn his Derringer, did the same. Still, they made a little bit of noise, but the Redhead thought it would've been impossible to hear at the other side of the door. They waited for a few minutes. The Redhead nodded at the others. Tex nodded back and the other man just looked at him in a way that said ''What are you waiting for?''.

The Redhead didn't hesitate. He took another step back, almost reaching the other wall. He then stepped forward quickly, swinging up his leg and contracting his knee. He aimed to hit just next to the lock. He swung his foot forward as he extended his leg. His boot and boot heel slammed into the door just above the lock which broke with a loud crack of wood. Wood splinters broke from the area around the lock as the door swung open. The Redhead stumbled through the door, followed by the others. All held out their guns and waved them around. The Redhead looked around in to room. The room was empty.

The Bounty Hunter sat down at his table. He sat opposite the door and watched it closely. They can come any minute now, Clarke said to him. I know, was his answer.

A few minutes later he heard that his visitors were coming. He heard the soft clicking of the cocking of a revolver. He acted immediately. He grabbed his hat and put it on his head. He stood up quickly, but as silent as possible, and headed for the window. He opened it and stuck his head out. There was a small shed just underneath his window, built against the saloon itself. Without hesitation, he swung his leg through the window and stepped outside on top of the shed. There, he positioned himself next to the window, his revolver drawn and cocked. A minute passed where nothing happened. Then, The Bounty Hunter heard a loud crack. They were kicking the door in or they had already done it. He didn't dare look, but what he heard confirmed his idea.

''What the...? He ain't here.'' a voice said, belonging to the debt collector.

''I can see that, you idiot.'' That was the voice of the big redheaded guy. ''The windows open. He could've gone through there.''

''I'll take a look.''

A few moments later, the head of the debt collector came outside. His left eye was black and his nose was swollen and blueish. He looked in front of him, practically presenting his neck to The Bounty Hunter. The Bounty Hunter holstered his revolver and put his hands around the debt collector's neck.

The Redhead looked around in frustration as Tex went over to the window to check outside. The guy had escaped them. And his cousin would be really pissed off with them. Especially him. But what even frustrated him more was the fact that the stranger could have escaped unpunished. He cursed a bit. The silent guy, silent as his name suggested, looked around, his Derringer ready.

Tex bent over and stuck his head out of the window. The Redhead looked at the table. The stranger's bag still lay there. He hadn't taken most of his stuff with him.

The Redhead picked up the bag and started going through it. He felt something big in the bag when he heard Tex scream. He looked up and could just see Tex' behind disappear through the window.

The Bounty hunter pulled the debt collector through the window. The man screamed. He fell out on the shed with a loud thumping sound. The Bounty Hunter brought his leg up and stomped the man on the back. The guy groaned. He tried to get up, but at that moment The Bounty Hunter pushed him off the shed. Screaming, he fell into a stack of crates.

The Bounty Hunter glanced at him for a moment to make sure he wasn't any danger before taking cover next to the window again. He peeked around the window for a moment and was greeted with a volley of gunfire. He went back behind his cover and waited until the other two men had emptied their guns. Then, he flung out of cover and fired.

The Redhead saw the stranger peeking around the corner. Immediately, he raised his revolver and fired, fanning the hammer with his other hand. After a while he noticed that his gun was empty, even though he had kept on pulling the trigger. Hastily, he started reloading his gun. Another shot rang, sounding like a roar of thunder. The Redhead heard someone scream. He realised it him. The bullet from the stranger had went right into his shoulder and was stuck there. He dropped his half-loaded revolver and tried to find support at the table. He failed and fell onto his knees. Next to him he could see the silent guy calmly reload his Derringer and fire another shot. The next moment, he took a shot in the belly. Silent, as always, he looked down at his bleeding belly. Then, he fell down on the floor, his hands around his belly. He still said nothing. All he did was groan softly.

The Redhead looked in front of him again and saw the stranger climb back through the window, revolver still in hand. Slowly, he walked towards them. The Redhead groaned. The stranger said nothing, but raised his revolver at the silent man. The man looked at the stranger for a moment. Then, the stranger pulled the trigger. The silent man's head flew back and dropped on the ground with a loud thumping sound. The stranger looked at the dead man for a moment then lowered his revolver. He looked at the Redhead for a moment and then holstered his revolver. The guy's shoulder had been shattered. He wouldn't pose any danger.

Sheriff Avery of Goble City was, with his two deputies, the only lawman in town. Nothing really happened in Goble City and Murphy Flint, the guy who practically owned the town, paid him off. Only Isaac, his youngest deputy, wouldn't be bribed, no matter what promises, or threats, Flint threw at him. But Avery didn't care. He wasn't even from Goble. He had been born in the East, in a place called ''Mayfield'', not too far from Eastfield, the capital of both countries, The East and The West. Only through his father's influence, his father being the governor of Mayfield County, he had been assigned as Sheriff to Goble. It was a position that required little skill or brains, for little happened in Goble. Avery was content with that and most citizens of Goble, save a few, were content or didn't care at all. He wasn't a good Sheriff, so it wasn't a big wonder it was in bed, sleeping, that Deputy Isaac found him around 9.30. Isaac came rushing into the Sheriff's room without knocking. A serious breach of the law if you'd ask Avery. Isaac came storming in, his gun drawn. He tugged a bit at the massive body of the Sheriff.

''Wake up, Sheriff. Gunshots!'' Isaac was new to law enforcement and still quite nervous every time people started fighting.

Avery grunted a bit, but continued sleeping. All he did was turn around in his bed, his back to Isaac.

Isaac gave up on trying to wake up the Sheriff that way. Instead, he moved his head to the Sheriff's ear and shouted as loud as he could. ''Wake up, Sir!''

Finally, Avery opened his eyes and turned back, staring into the face of his young deputy. ''Isaac, that the...?'' he didn't finish his sentence.

''There's been a shootout at the Saloon, Sir.'' Isaac said, backing of again.

Avery sat up in his bed and rubbed his neck. He yawned. ''A shootout?'' he asked.

''Some stranger shot two guys up. One's dead, the other wounded badly.'' Isaac said.

''Where's the guy?'' Avery asked.

''He's in your office, Sir. In the cell.'' was the deputy's answer.

''Alright. Go on ahead. I'll be there in a minute.''

That minute became half an hour, as Avery dressed and made himself some coffee. With a cup of fresh coffee in his hand, Avery unlocked the door that connected his house to the adjoining building if the Sheriff's Office of Goble. He stepped inside his well-lit office.

Isaac, his hat on the table in the office, was leaning against Avery's desk.

The stranger, was lying on the cot inside the cell of the office. His eyes were open and stared at the ceiling, behind a pair of square-shaped glasses. When Avery entered, the stranger looked at him and Avery could see his face. The man was still quite young. Avery presumed he was in his mid-twenties, making him half as old as Avery himself was. He walked towards his desk and put his cup on it. Then, he opened his mouth and said to Isaac: ''So, what happened?''

At that moment the stranger said something: ''I can explain that, Sheriff.''

Avery looked at the stranger. He stood at the door of the cell now, his hands resting between the bars.

Avery walked towards him. ''Tell me.'' he said.

''Alright.'' The stranger put his hand in his pocket and picked a piece of cloth out of it. He took of his glasses and started wiping them. ''Well... This afternoon, I solved a dispute between a poor farmer and a debt collector for one Mr. Flint, a man you'll probably know.'' The Stranger paused.

''They paid me a visit in the saloon later and after a few words were exchanged between us, one of them tried to nail me to a table with his knife. Naturally, I defended myself against him and the other two. This night, the business escalated and they came visiting again, but with guns this time.'' The stranger finished cleaning his glasses and put them back on. ''That's how it went.''

Avery looked at Isaac who shrugged. ''I guess that's how it went. I just want to add that there are two guys shot up, one in his shoulder and one in the stomach and head.''

''Oh, three of them came. You'll find the third guy outside the saloon, amongst a few barrels. He should be alright, but he'll probably be unconscious.'' The stranger added.

Avery nodded. He thought about how he could solve problem as quickly as possible so that he could go back to bed again. He took another sip of his coffee. ''Isaac.'' he said, still pondering. ''Where are the other two?''

Isaac, who was now staring at the floor, said: ''At the doctor's office. One's being treated, the other... examined.'' At that last word, he looked angrily at the stranger who didn't notice or pretended not to.

The stranger, nor Avery, didn't know that Isaac was related to the man who had been shot that night, so he found that it had become a bit personal, even though Isaac tried to be as objective as possible as deputy and, maybe later, as sheriff. He glanced at the stranger again who, he judged, was only a few years older than he himself was. But the stranger seemed way older in experience than in years. Also, the guns he wore made clear that we was an expert shot. One could only handle an Eastfielder skillfully after years of training. Taken also the fact that those guns were so rare because only the Royal Bounty Hunters wore them. To obtain you either had to be a Bounty Hunter or you had to have killed one. Both cases were hard to achieve.

Avery looked up from his pondering and said: ''Isaac, stay here and interrogate this fellow while I go check on that third man.''

Avery left the office.

Isaac looked at the stranger again and said: ''So where you come from?''

The stranger looked up from his thoughts and answered: ''Eastfield.''

''So what's it like there?'' Isaac asked. His curiosity awakened.

''It's like this place, lots of wooden buildings huddled together, but it's a bit bigger and in the centre there are a few larger buildings made out of stone.''

Isaac, whose curiosity was quenched a bit now, managed to stay silent for a few minutes, trying to be angry at the strange for killing his distant relative, but found it hard to do so. ''And... And what about the Royal Palace. The place where the Emperor lives.'' he said, breaking the silence.

''You want to know about that?''

''Yes, please, tell me.''

''Maybe, I will. But it seems that the Sheriff is returning from his expedition to the Saloon.''

Isaac saw Avery through the window. He was coming back.

A few moments later, the door opened and Avery stepped inside. He walked to his desk and leaned against it. The desk gave a slight cracking sound but stayed in one piece. ''Well, the guy's alright except for a small cut in his forehead. I brought him to the doctor. Well Mister,'' he looked at the stranger ''Doc Jones will sure appreciate all the customers you bring in for him. But, back to business.'' Avery walked towards the cell door.

For one moment The Bounty Hunter thought the sheriff was going to release him, but the man stopped a few centimetre's before the door. ''We're gonna have to sort this mess out. I'm afraid you have to stay in the cell for a couple o' days. I'm sorry.'' Avery went towards the door that led back to his house, but turned around for a moment. ''Isaac? Will you see to it that he gets some breakfast tomorrow or something.''

Isaac nodded. ''Sure sure.'' He made an obscene gesture at the sheriff's back which was heading back to his bed.

The Bounty hunter laughed, although inside he felt angry. Staying in that cell for a few days meant that he'd lose the time he had already won on Kane. He suppressed the feeling and forced himself to smile at the deputy who brought him a cup of coffee, ''Thanks.'' he said. ''Now, since I'll be staying here for quite a while, I guess I can tell you about Eastfield and the Royal Palace.''

Isaac took the chair from behind his desk and sat down close to the bars of the cell.

The Bounty Hunter started talking.

End of Chapter 5

 

6: Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

 

The boy moved around town. Alone. Clarke had given him the day off on occasion of a special mission. The boy didn't know what this mission was about, but he had heard from the others that Lewis Clarke had been granted an audience with the Emperor himself. The Emperor himself, the boy thought to himself as he passed through all the people around him. Workers in shirtsleeves and suspenders, rich men in suits and bowler hats, ladies in fancy and not-so-fancy dresses, walked around through the streets, looking, talking, shopping. In the midst of this, the boy nimbly slipped through crowds of people, pondering about Emperors and Bounty Hunters. He was going to be a Bounty Hunter himself one day. A day that was not too far away now.

He had only two years of training to go, before he would be promoted from Student to Bounty Hunter.

Maybe, he'd also get an audience with the Emperor himself one day. Maybe if he caught a big bounty once. A mass-murderer like Bill Langley, or Will Hudson. Or a famous bank robber like ''Cash''. That'd be so great, he thought. The Emperor would greet him and he would bow before the throne. His Majesty would tell him to rise and he would oblige. Then, The Emperor would hang a Silver Cross around his neck and he'd thank His Majesty for it.

In the distance he could see the Imperial Palace, high on top of King Hill. There, the Emperor sat on his throne in the large, finely decorated throne room. The boy didn't really know what it looked like, but it had to be finely decorated. Everything of the Emperor was fine in some way. Well, that's what he thought at least. To him, the being of the Emperor contained everything that was magical and incredible.

Unconsciously, he was headed towards the Imperial Palace now. He walked through the busy streets, still fantasizing about his audience with the Emperor.

He stood in front of the large gate of the Palace, which gave entrance to the courtyard. As a student, he was officially a bounty hunter and was allowed entrance to the courtyard.

The gates were open and many people were walking in or out. Petitioners, businessmen, deliverymen, all kinds of people in all kinds of attires from simple shirtsleeves to fancy suits were walking around. The boy even spotted a bounty hunter, dressed in a tan-coloured duster and with a straw-coloured hat. The bounty hunter passed through the crowd swiftly, pushing people aside here and there. He shoved an old man pushing a cart full of fresh fruit out of his path, knocking the old man to the floor. Some said that Royal Bounty Hunters were above the common men and women and were allowed more privileges.

But Clarke always said that all persons were equal to him, from the poorest cattle-folk up to the Emperor himself. As a result, the boy had taken over some of his mentor's views and at the sight of the old man being knocked over by the bounty hunter, he stepped up to the bounty hunter and said: ''Hey, how'd you like it if I knock you down like that.''

The bounty hunter ignored him or didn't realize the remark was meant for him.

''Hey!'' the boy said, his voice stumbling a bit this time. His heart was beating a bit faster now. Arguing with an older bounty hunter could easily get him a beating or even worse, he could get kicked out of the Bounty Hunters and sent to a farm outside of town where he'd spent the rest of his life at some farm.

This time, the bounty hunter stopped and turned around. ''What ya want, kid?'' he asked. At the sight of his face, the boy's worries eased up a bit. This bounty hunter wasn't much older than he himself was. There was maybe a year or two difference between them. This bounty hunter had probably just been promoted from apprentice hood. Somehow, the boy thought that punishment would be less bad because the guy was just a kid, like he himself.

The boy pointed at the old man who had scrambled back to his feet now and tried to leave unnoticed. When he saw that the boy was pointing at him, he stopped.

''It ain't to knock down an old man like that.'' the boy said.

The bounty hunter shot a contemptuous look at the old man who shrank away and made another futile attempt to leave unnoticed, before the boy gestured him back. The bounty hunter now shifted his look to the boy and said: ''Who do you think you're addressing, apprentice? I'm a fully fledged bounty hunter and you're just a student. What I do is my own good and I don't need no snotty little boy to tell me what to do.'' he said.

The boy felt his cheeks redden. To be insulted like that, by a guy perhaps not even two years older than him. ''Look here, you... you...'' he paused for a moment, looking for a suitable insult.

A crowd was gathering around them now and the old men and his cart looked around for a opening in the crowd to escape and go on with his daily business. When he saw no opportunity to leave, he just lowered his head and kept standing there.

The boy, flushing badly now, whether out of anger or embarrassment now looked up and said: ''You can't just go shoving people around just because you got a badge now. And you call me a snotty boy? You ain't much older than me, I'm guessing.'' he said loudly.

Somebody in the crowd shouted: ''Aye, set him right, boy. I saw all of it. This ''bounty hunter'', the supposed law around here, shoved that old man right in the dirt.''

The bounty hunter looked around him, angry, trying to track down the owner of the voice. ''Well, I am the law around here, like you said, so I do what I want.''

At this remark the boy felt anger boil up inside him. He took a step forward.

The bounty hunter didn't notice because he was still looking for the unknown voice in the crowd.

He spotted the boy stepping forward and smiled arrogantly. ''Alright, show me what you got, kid.''

The boy took another step forward and then leapt forward, his hands in front of him. The bounty hunter didn't expect this move and found the boys hands on his collar the next moment. They both rolled around on the ground. Now and then, the boy was on top and then the bounty hunter was on top. Rolling around, they exchanged blows for a while. The bounty hunter was bigger than the boy, at least one head, but the boy was faster and, more importantly, not blinded by overconfidence. But after a while, the bounty hunter's bigger frame and muscles began taking it's toll on the boy. Slowly, the bounty hunter started getting the overhand. The bounty hunter stood up and dragged the boy with him. He shoved the boy back into the crowd who caught him.

''Show him. Show him good.'' a voice said the boy's ear as they caught him. The same voice as the one who had shouted earlier.

He straightened himself up and looked around in the crowd.

Some faces looked worried, but most had the excited look of people who witness a good fight.

The bounty hunter stood a few feet away from him, hands raised. The boy raised his hands too and advanced towards the bounty hunter.

The bounty hunter smiled again. ''Come on, kid.''

The boy stepped forward and threw a punch at the bounty hunter. The blow was easily deflected by one arm of the bounty hunter, whilst his other arm shot out and hit the boy in the eye.

It felt as if his eye exploded and the boy took a step back. That would surely become a black eye. How was he going to explain this to Lewis? The boy wondered. Punishment was probably inevitable now anyway. He stepped forward again and ducked, dodging his adversary's next punch.

He stuck out both his arms and grabbed the bounty hunter around his waist. He pushed and again they rolled on the ground together.

And just when the bounty hunter seemed to get the upper hand again, a voice thundered through the courtyard. ''Just what the hell is going on here?''

The boy and the bounty hunter stopped fighting immediately. The voice carried such authority that both let go of each other and stood up as fast as possible, just in time to see the crowd splitting and a figure passing through. A figure very familiar to the boy. Lewis Clarke was walking towards them now and he looked very angry. ''What is-?'' he started before a look of recognition came on his face.

He looked to the boy and from the boy to the bounty hunter. ''Come with you both!'' he said angrily, grabbing both the boy and the bounty hunter by their necks and dragging them away from the crowd, pas the old man who was now cowering behind his cart.

Clarke dragged the two through the courtyard to a more secluded spot and there he threw them down to the floor.

When both boys had climbed back to their feet, he exploded, in a metaphorical sense.

''What do you two think you're doing?! Fighting in front of the Imperial Palace. You, my student, and you, Johnny, my former student.'' he shouted at them, his face red with anger.

The boy looked at the bounty hunter named Johnny, who turned out to be his predecessor. Johnny looked down to the ground.

Clarke, breathing heavily, began again. ''You give the Royal Bounty Hunters a bad name. Especially you, Johnny, a fully-fledged bounty hunter. I assure you both consequences will follow. For the both of you.''

And consequences followed. Dire ones.

 

The Bounty Hunter stopped telling. The past two days he had been telling stories about his past, leaving out some details. Isaac looked at him in amazement. Lewis Clarke was a legend throughout The East and The West and to know him personally was almost like knowing the Emperor personally.

And this man, an official bounty hunter, was locked in the cell because he defended himself against a bunch of thugs. The thought occurred to Isaac suddenly and angered him.

The Bounty Hunter, meanwhile, laid back on his bunk.

Isaac leaned forward in his chair, a cup of hot coffee in his hands and a look of fascination on his face. ''Can you tell me another story?'' he asked.

The Bounty Hunter smiled and said: ''I'd love to, but I'm afraid your boss has returned from his inquiries.'' he said.

''Wha-?'' Isaac started, when the door opened behind him.

He turned around and saw Sheriff Avery walk in, dragging his big bulk in front of him.

''How did you-?'' Isaac asked.

The Bounty Hunter, still smiling, said: ''Training.''

Sheriff Avery walked towards his desk, opened a drawer and took out a whiskey bottle and a shot glass. He sat down behind his desk and looked at the shot glass for a moment. Then, he opened the whiskey bottle and started drinking directly from the bottle. He took a few gulps from the bottle before putting it on his desk, licking his lips.

''So, I've been talking to some people and... opinions are divided in town.'' he said, pausing for a moment. ''You see, I've been talking to Jeb, the horse guy and he says the guys attacked you first. That gives you some credit.''

The Bounty Hunter nodded. ''Good, and Juan?''

Avery's face went dark. ''Um, yeah.'' he said. ''There's some trouble there. See, we found Juan this morning...'' he said, but didn't finish his sentence.

The Bounty Hunter felt a pang of sadness inside himself. Poor Juan. The man had faced extortion and blackmailing, but now he had met the final challenge.

Avery nodded. ''I'm sorry. But this will stand out in the courtroom this afternoon.'' Immediately the Bounty Hunter was reminded again that he was the one on trial. It made him feel kind of angry.

''I am convinced of your innocence now. Most of your story hangs together and, honestly, this will be a nice way to weaken Flint. If we succeed in this, maybe we can take Flint out of business soon and free this town from his grip.'' he said, expressing a sudden fire in his words, something that was new to both of the others.

 

Meanwhile, the same Flint, who had the town in his iron grip according to the sheriff, was screaming at his men again, most specifically his cousin. ''You IDIOT!!!'' he screamed to his redheaded cousin, whose arm was stuck in a sling now. ''Why, for Pete's sake, did you kill that peasant?! You, YOU IDIOT!''

His cousin, The Redhead, was also angry and said. ''Why are you so angry, cousin? I took out a witness.''

''Yeah, I know you did! And everybody else probably knows too! You know how this will look in the courtroom this afternoon? Huh, DO YOU?!''

They were in his office above the saloon and Flint banged his fist on his desk, causing the oil lamp above it to swing around wildly.

Flint held a hand through his red hair. Why did his men have to be so incompetent? The only other competent man he had met was that stranger from two weeks ago who had left behind one of his men for him. That guy, Flint had already forgotten his name, had already warned him for the Bounty Hunter and the man left behind by the stranger had already pressed the point that the Bounty Hunter was to be killed.

The stranger had told him to sent his men after the Bounty Hunter, and Flint had listened to him. Why? Flint wondered. Why had he listened to the stranger, almost as if he followed orders. Murphy Flint didn't just follow orders. He was the boss. He, Murphy Flint! But on to more pressing matters now, he thought.

''Thanks to you, cousin, we need to something about that Bounty Hunter. What do you say?'' he asked, a bit calmer.

His cousin looked around a bit and wriggled his wounded arm around in his sling. It took a while for Flint to realize he was shrugging.

''It's easy.'' The Redhead said. ''We shoot him.''

Flint's fist slammed down on the table again. ''You IDIOT! We can't just go around killing everybody in broad daylight.'' he shouted.

The Redhead seemed to anger a bit now. ''Two days ago you ordered us to take him out.''

Flint nodded. ''Yes, the stranger persuaded me to do that, and I figured we could act self-defence. But now...'' he stopped and sat down behind his desk, looking at the men present there, all of his men.

There was his cousin, the Redhead, with his arm in his sling. There was Tex, arm also in a sling and with a black eye and bruises on his face, looking out of the window.

Then there were two other men, both big and sturdy with revolvers around their belt.

How was he going to get out of this mess, Flint wondered.

 

The Bounty Hunter sat in his cell. At the same moment that Flint was shouting and banging his fist on his desk in his office, The Bounty Hunter sat on his bunk, thinking thoughts almost identical. How am I going to get out of this mess, he thought.

Outside his cell, the deputy, Isaac, sat behind his own desk, writing something. The Bounty Hunter couldn't see what, but guessed it was a report of some kind. The deputy liked him, he knew, and looked up to him, even though he wasn't much younger that the Bounty Hunter, a year or three maybe.

The door opened and sheriff Avery came in, big and bulky as ever. He sat down behind his desk and also started writing something. Another report, The Bounty Hunter guessed.

Slowly time was ticking away on the clock in the office as hours went by in silence. Isaac and Avery were both writing reports while The Bounty Hunter sat in his cell, waiting for that afternoon in the courtroom where would be decided who was innocent and who was guilty. He couldn't guess his chances of being found innocent, but he hoped for the best.

He looked at the sheriff. Avery wasn't the most competent sheriff he had seen, but there was a certain fire in the man. The Bounty Hunter had seen it in his eyes during the past few days. Somewhere deep inside him was a fiery sheriff, wanting to be unleashed, but it was locked deep away.

Maybe, there'd be a chance to unleash the sheriff deep inside Avery, The Bounty Hunter thought.

 

End of Chapter 6