Sidetracked in Silver City: Honey Beaulieu - Man Hunter, #2

By Jacquie Rogers

Honey Beaulieu, the heroine you always wanted to be!

Wanted: Boyce McNitt, $500, Last seen in Winnemucca, Nevada

That money would sure help buy the farm Honey needs, and she plans to capture McNitt and claim the bounty.

She’s Determined
But Mama's in jail! Honey has to do some fast talking to head out of Fry Pan Gulch to chase after Boyd McNitt....

She Defies the Odds
Honey's not about to let the handsome deputy U.S. marshal, an obnoxious ghost, or her own stubborn mule get in her way.

She’s Daring
Sam's in trouble! Honey's good with a gun but how many men can she best?

Don't miss the second installment of Honey Beaulieu - Man Hunter!

Other books by Jacquie Rogers

Hot Work in Fry Pan Gulch (Honey Beaulieu - Man Hunter #1)

Hearts of Owyhee novel series

Hearts of Owyhee novella series

And more at jacquierogers.com!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Camp Rogers Press
• Release date: Nov 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540169150

Book preview

Sidetracked in Silver City

Honey Beaulieu – Man Hunter #2

by Jacquie Rogers

Chapter 1

Fripp’s Free Pokes

Two weeks after the events of Hot Work in Fry Pan Gulch

Honey Beaulieu, I’m gonna shoot your scrawny ass.

Budge Walton teetered on his hind foot as he tightened his right arm around Emma’s neck and waved his pistol at me. 

We was standing in front of my mama’s whorehouse, the Tasty Chicken Emporium.  Marshal Fripp had gone in for his free poke not five minutes past, so there was no chance that the law would be any help to Emma or me. 

Go sleep it off, Budge.  Get out of town and leave Emma alone.

I inched my hand closer to the holster just in case I had to pull, hoping my skirt didn’t get in the way.  I didn’t trust him sober, which wasn’t often, and he sure as hell wasn’t sober now.  He was a righty, but had to shoot with his left hand on account of I’d shot his right hand a while back.  We wasn’t exactly friends.

His older brother, Clem, had free rent at the territorial prison up in Rawlins for murdering a man at my mama’s poker table.  I put him there.  That was after he’d knocked up Emma, a sweet young country girl.  I didn’t have no use for such as him or either of his brothers, both of which I wounded a few weeks back.

I hear tell Clem’s going to be a daddy, and I aim to collect my family.  Budge shot in the air, and Emma flinched.  I didn’t give him the pleasure.

You don’t have no family here, I hollered back.  Clem didn’t want no part of raising a young’un, which is some of the best luck that baby will ever have.  You let Emma go right now and go on about your business.

I ain’t about to, and after what you done to my brother, I’ve a mind to blow a hole in you just for the pure-dee pleasure of it.

All I’d done was bury a bullet in Clem’s shoulder and collect the hundred-dollar bounty.  Budge’s little brother Orville wasn’t no better than the other Waltons, but their mama was a right fine woman.  You gotta wonder how a woman like her ended up with three no-good-for-nothing sons.

We finally agree on something, for I feel the same damn way.  A little perforation would look damn good on you.

I’ll go with him, Honey, the girl said, half strangled what with Budge squeezing her throat with his arm.  I’ll go with him, but I couldn’t stand it if you got hurt on account of me. Sixteen-year-old Emma Johnson had tears in her eyes but she kept her head up and I was right proud of her, even being knocked up and all.

Budge had me at a disadvantage what with the afternoon sun glaring into my eyes, but I could see well enough to blast the bastard if need be.  Which suited me fine, ’cept I didn’t want to kill no one—just slow him down a mite like I done before.

I’ll get his attention, Roscoe said.  You inch over to the boardwalk in front of the Tasty Chicken where the awning shades your eyes.

That was Roscoe Peevey’s voice, a ghost who, for whatever dadburned reason, had attached himself to me.  Sometimes he helped out—most times he was a nuisance.  No one could hear or see him or his three-legged horse but me most times, although on occasion he’d let himself be known to others.  This could be one of those times.

Keep Sassy out of the way, I muttered without moving my lips much so’s folks didn’t think I was talking to myself. 

I’ll have Luther see to it.

I didn’t know who or what Luther was, but now wasn’t the time to ask.  I took a slow, short step to the left, then when Budge looked away, likely on account of something Roscoe done, I took a couple more.  Budge shrugged his shoulder to his ear and I moved even closer to the boardwalk, where the sun didn’t hinder my sight.

He must’ve noticed on account of he aimed square for my heart.  Hold it right there, Honey.

My heart pounded like a herd of pronghorn with a cougar on the chase, and I stopped stone still.  Thought I’d fetch me a bite to eat whilst you make up your mind.

My mind’s made up.  This gal’s coming with me and if you get in my way, I’ll shoot you both.

Then he yelped.  Don’t cut me!

I saw Mama behind him with her parasol jammed in his back.  Put down your iron right now or I’ll gut you.  Her eyes sparked fire as if she was a natural redhead instead of having hennaed hair.

He dropped his pistol on the ground and Emma took the chance to wrench out of his hold.  She had the good sense not to get in my line of fire, running in an arc and not stopping until she stood behind me, panting like a thirsty dog on an August day, and whimpering just a mite.

Mama put up her hand and crooked her finger.  Dottie, one of the working girls who Mama was training to run the Tasty Chicken, came running out with rope.  Meantime, I’d pulled just to make sure Budge didn’t get no ideas.

Tie him up good, Mama told Dottie.  And when the marshal’s done with his business, tell him to arrest this piece of shit.

Once Budge couldn’t move for all the rope Dottie’d wrapped around him, Mama gave him a good sharp kick in the butt.  You are banned from the Tasty Chicken for the rest of your days, asshole.  She snapped open her parasol and held it over her head as if she was going on a Sunday stroll.

I holstered my Peacemaker and turned to Emma.  Go on back to the Golden Ruhl now.  Budge won’t be pestering you no more.  Me and Mama will make sure of it.

A wagon came down the street, headed straight for Budge.  We’d better move him, lest he get run over.

Mama nodded.  We wouldn’t want anyone to bust a wheel over the likes of him.  She waved at the bouncer, who stood at the door watching.  He came out and she directed him to drag Budge to the other side of the street by the water trough.

I reckon you don’t need me now, I said.  I have a poker game waiting for me and supplies to buy if I’m to get on that train tomorrow.

After earning three hundred and fifty dollars of bounty money in a week—a hundred of that for Clem Walton—I’d quit as Fry Pan Gulch deputy, which only paid seven bucks a week.  From now on, I aimed to make my living hunting bounties like my Pa did.  I had my next man all picked out—Boyce McNitt.  The reason being my sister was having a baby in Silver City, Idaho Territory, and McNitt was in that direction, only a couple hundred miles south.

Mama clucked like an old hen.  I still ain’t keen on you traipsing all over the West hunting men.

It’s a living.  Pa’s been doing it for as long as I’ve been alive.

Not always.  Sometimes he lawdogs.  She headed for the Tasty Chicken.  Don’t be late for supper.  I’ll feed you good, for you might not get a decent meal until you get to your sister’s place in Silver City.

I’ll be there at six sharp.

*  *  *

I fold, the feller across from me said as he tossed in his cards face down. 

We was having us a little afternoon poker game at Bougie’s Saloon.  I’d had a few bucks left over after paying my bills, putting a hundred dollars in the bank, and holding out another hundred to chase after the next big bounty, so I joined in on the fun.  Mama had taught me plenty about poker from the time I could see over the table on my tippy-toes, and I enjoyed a game now and again, long as everyone played square.

The first few hands didn’t go my way, but the last hand favored me enough to break even, and this hand would put me over the top.

That’s when Wheat, who owned Fry Pan Gulch’s finest livery, stuck his head in the door.  Is Honey Beaulieu in here?

I’m here, helping these fellers get rid of their money.

The others at the table kind of laughed and sort of groaned at the same time.

Wheat strode in, turned a chair backward, then sat astraddle it, which creaked under his weight.  He leaned his muscular smithy arms on the back.  Fripp arrested your mother.

"The hell you say.  Mama’s in jail?"  I held two pair, queens over deuces, and I wasn’t in no mood to leave a perfectly good poker game, especially since luck had finally paid me a visit.

Wheat nodded.  That’s what a customer said when he picked up his horse that I’d shod.  He’d just come from the gunshop—Wakum sent word.  You need to get your butt over to the marshal’s office right now and bail Agnes out. He glowered at the other players until they all threw in.

Best we get this matter settled.  I stood, adjusted my gun belt over my blue calico skirt, for I didn’t wear britches unless I was on the trail, then gathered up my winnings and left the game.  Sorry fellers.  Maybe we can take back up in an hour or so.

You’d have really cleaned up on that one, Honey.  You should’ve stayed and bet a few rounds.

It was Roscoe speaking—I couldn’t answer him out here in public, but if I could’ve, I’d have told him to shut his pie hole.  By the other players’ tells, I already knew that pot would’ve been mine.  But so it went.

I followed Wheat to the door.  My donkey Sassy, and Pickles, my black racing mule, met me as soon as I stepped outside.  We’re headed to the marshal’s office, I told them.  It won’t take long to spring Mama—Fripp don’t want the expense of feeding prisoners and he’s already got Budge in custody.

Wheat shook his head.  You know those animals can’t understand one damn word you say.

Seems to me like they understand more than half the people in this town, including Fripp.

Fripp was Fry Pan Gulch’s town marshal and my former boss.  He had a high libido and all his brains seemed to be concentrated in his man parts, so why he’d arrest the madam of the Tasty Chicken Emporium was beyond me.

I have work to do. Wheat smacked the hitching post.  Let me know if I can help.

Wheat was the best blacksmith in Wyoming Territory, and he always had wagon wheels to fix and horses to shoe, so I didn’t doubt but what he was too busy to talk more.

I shouldn’t need any help.  Fripp will want money, which I got, and Mama’s gonna be back at the Tasty Chicken in less than an hour.

Chapter 2

Not One Red Cent

Halfway to the marshal’s office, Wakum caught up with me.  He owned the only gunshop in Fry Pan Gulch and we’d first made friends when I’d shot his hat off when I had to collect his taxes.  Did Wheat give you the news?

Yep. What did Mama do?  Why’d the marshal throw her in jail?

Your guess is as good as mine, but Dottie’s beside herself.  She ran over to my shop, huffin’ and a-puffin’, and told me to find you right away.  I couldn’t leave right then but one of my customers was heading to the livery, so I told him to tell Wheat, which he did.

Dottie can take care of the place just fine until we get Mama back.  Don’t know what she’s all het up about.  Mama’s assistant had worked at the Tasty Chicken Emporium for nigh on to five years and had a good head for business, as well as being a good whore.

The whole thing’s a mite disturbing, Wakum said, shaking his head, Fripp up and arresting Agnes like that.

It don’t make a lick of sense.  It’s his own pecker that’s gonna be sorely lonesome.  Near as I knew, Fripp’d had the privilege of three free pokes a week, sometimes more, since the day he took office.  What man would put a boon like that in jeopardy?

Maybe she shot someone, Wakum suggested. Lord knows she ought to now and again.

Naw. She wouldn’t do that on account of it would be bad for business.  And Mama didn’t do a thing that wouldn’t make a profit.  Nope, she’d want to keep the Fry Pan Gulch lawdog happy.

It only took a few minutes for me, Wakum, Sassy, and Pickles to walk to the marshal’s office.  Every step of the way, I wondered what possessed Fripp to arrest Mama.  It didn’t make no sense to me—then again, common sense and Marshal Fripp never did see eye to eye.

I guess we’ll find out. Wakum opened the door and I walked in ahead of him.

What’s the problem? I asked Fripp, who leaned back in his chair and had his boots plopped on his desk.

Arrested for running a house of prostitution.  He took a puff of his cigar.  Make sure your damned animals stay outside.

I shooed Sassy away from the front door, then shut it.  Since when is whoring against the law in Fry Pan Gulch?

Since I said it was.

Wakum motioned for me to go on back to the cells.  My guess was he planned to stay in the front office to make good and sure Fripp didn’t bother me and Mama.  I didn’t hesitate and walked right past the marshal to the holding cells.

Mama sat primly on the cot with her hands folded on her lap.  You’d have thought she was at a church social or some such.

I’ll get you out of here, Mama.  How much is bail?  I had plenty of money, what with the money in savings from catching Roxbury and Clem Walton.  Doc had said Clem would live so I got the whole hundred. 

My next big expense was to buy a house, so I was still watching my pennies.

Don’t you pay that lowlife one single nickel.  Mama pursed her lips, but other than that, she didn’t even blink an eye.

What’s eating him so much he arrested you?  Pickles looked at us through the cell window.  Sassy wasn’t tall enough for me to see her, but I knew she’d be right by the mule.

I cut off his free pokes.

What? I couldn’t believe she’d done that, but it explained a whole lot.  The town marshal spent a good share of his time partaking of the ladies at the Tasty Chicken—mostly Sour Sal.  In fact, he frequented the whorehouse every dang day, including just a few hours ago.  Very seldom did he not show up. Why in tarnation did you go and do such a thing?

It bothered me that he was trying to cheat my baby girl out of your bounty money.  The way he carried on, he reckoned part of that money was rightfully his.  The selfish yellow dog.  And then he had the nerve to let Budge Walton go, free as a bird, after the son of a bitch tried to abduct Emma, and pulled on you.  Now that pissed me off.

It pissed me off, too, but I had to talk Mama into paying the fine so he’d let her out of jail and I could get gone.  But Mama, he leaves you and the Tasty Chicken alone in trade for three pokes a week, plus he’s at the Tasty Chicken more than he’s here at the office.

He don’t do a damned thing to protect the Tasty Chicken or this town.  He can pay for his pleasure like everyone else, the double-barreled jackass.

Sassy brayed.

She didn’t mean it that way, Sassy, I called.  Sassy hadn’t seemed to care when Mama called the marshal a yellow dog, though.  To Mama, I said, Well, now we have to pay to get you out of here.  Fripp ain’t worth the bother.

I’m sitting it out.  Just bring me a few things to make the stay more at ease.

For how long?

A week.  Dottie can handle the Tasty Chicken.  She already knows how to run the brothel section, and I’ve been showing her more about the restaurant and gambling sides of the business so’s she can take over while I’m in Silver City.

Mama planned to visit my sister Louisa in Idaho Territory for the birthing of her baby—Mama’s first grandchild.  Louisa ran a whorehouse there, which she called a high-class bordello in order to charge more money. 

I’d be headed Louisa’s direction, too, on tomorrow’s train, but I planned to capture Boyce McNitt first.  He was wanted for murder and horse thieving, and had a five-hundred-dollar bounty on him.  That’s why I wanted to be on the train to Winnemucca in the morning.

All I had to do was bag him, collect the bounty, and ride north to see my sister.

Simple.

"Let me pay your bail, or fine, or blackmail money, or whatever he’s