The Marshal and the Bounty Hunter

By William J. Sawastuk

North Bend, Kansas, 1863: Marshall Hughess daughter disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving behind a husband and three young ones. Marshall is going to get to the bottom of it one way or another, as long as it goes along with the law that he so much believes in and lives by. The problem is, the only person who can help him is an ex-convict turned bounty hunter, John Gates. Gates is a vulgar drunk with the manners of a snake, and he believes the law doesnt apply to him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543473087

William J. Sawastuk

Since I was a boy I remember watching Westerns with my dad and grandfathers. We watched Rawhide, Bonanza, and Gunsmoke, then John Wayne and Clint Eastwood movies when I got older. This book came about because I was sitting around drinking a couple beers, and I had a good idea for a short story. Every time I had a few beers, I'd write more. Three years, one month, and eight days later I was done. I'm a cook by trade and live in a small town, with my loving wife and five beautiful daughters.

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 by William J. Sawastuk.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2017919252

ISBN:                Hardcover                    978-1-5434-7306-3

                          Softcover                       978-1-5434-7307-0

                          eBook                            978-1-5434-7308-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 12/29/2017

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

747248

CONTENTS

The Bounty Hunter

The Negotiation

The Meeting

Tracking

The Town

Bandits

The Blackfoot

The Mormons

The Bandit Camp Revisited

The Rain Comes

Nick Zurich

A New Partner

The Snow Storm

The Ride to Station Town

Station Town

The Sheriff

Hot on the Trail

Ms. Ann

Catching Up

Back to Station Town

Fortune Teller

The Plan

Sheriff’s Office

O’Brian

An Unexpected Event

This book is dedicated to

the most interesting man in the world,

my friend John Zurich.

R.I.P. my friend.

Also to my wife Audrey and beautiful daughters,

and to my good friend Greg Bell.

Also to my good friend Jill Brock,

thanks for fixing all my mistakes, Jilly.

The Bounty Hunter

John Gates was born in 1819 in North Bend Kansas. Now he was forty-four years old, and it was mid-summer and hot as hell. John Gates sat quietly at a table in a dusty, rundown saloon at the edge of town sipping a beer. He never drank whiskey, not because he didn’t like it, but because people ended up fertilizing the soil when he did. He was and still is one of the meanest son-of-a-bitches that ever walked on this earth. He was an ex-outlaw that served his time for murders he said he never committed. Since there wasn’t enough evidence to hang him, a ten year sentence was handed down for other accounts: attempted murder, assault on marshals and deputies alike, vulgar and offensive to women—they were merely there for his entertainment—and countless others. Five years out of prison he turned bounty hunter. Some say it wasn’t for the money but just for the thrill of the kill. He probably wouldn’t disagree.

Another beer, Gates told the grey haired bartender.

Sure, the bartender said.

And bring me one of your whores too, I want to see some titties.

Sir, them are my daughters.

All the same, laughed Gates.

The bartender looked under the bar at his shotgun but knew he wouldn’t stand a chance. Everybody respected Gates, out of fear. Even Marshal Hughes hated the sight of him and tried not to stir the bees in the nest, so to speak. But the bees were about to start buzzing.

The Negotiation

Where’s that filthy son-of-a-bitch Gates at? asked Marshal Hughes to the bartender.

He left about an hour ago after insulting my daughters, replied the bartender.

Know where he went?

Probably to that shit-hole shack he calls a home. Why do you ask?

No reason, Marshal Hughes said, then he just walked out.

Hughes is a rugged marshal, and doesn’t take shit from anybody, but Gates always left a bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t trust him, kind of like a bad storm coming across the plain at night, and no one knows if there’s going to be a tornado.

Hughes could see Gates’ shack in the distance. It actually did look like a tornado just went through, with debris and old jugs of brew all about the place. Gates’ black stallion was tied to a post near his shack so Hughes knew he was home. As he approached, the stallion started to kick up dust and snort a bit.

The shack’s door flung open, almost coming off the hinges. Gates with both pistols at his side and a double barrel shotgun in his hands stood aiming his shotgun at the marshal.

What the fuck do you want, Gates yelled, coming up here, pestering me while I’m trying to tie one on?

Believe me, if it wasn’t important I would not be here at this shithole, talking to a no good, drunk, belligerent asshole such as yourself, yelled Hughes.

I could plug you right now and not give two shits about it, said Gates, but then I’d have to bury your old ass so you wouldn’t go smelling up the place, plus I’d have wasted an good shell for nothing. So again, what the fuck do you want here?

Like I said, I need to talk to you and it’s very important, can I get down off my damn horse?

Well get the hell down. I ain’t going to invite you in though.

That’s okay, said Hughes, I’d rather stay outside anyway.

So what is it? Gates asked.

Well we have a situation on our hands—

Your hands, not mine, Gates interrupted.

Well, maybe so, but I know you’re a bounty hunter and the best damn tracker known to man. I need your help, Hughes said.

Why should I help you? asked Gates, looking bored.

My thirty-year-old daughter Beth was taken, not just from me, but from her husband and three kids.

Why would anyone take her? Gates asked. There’s no Indians in this territory, so it’s not them. A ransom makes no sense because you have no money for ransom. Her husband’s poor, a loser crop-farmer. So why the hell would someone take your daughter?

I don’t know, replied the marshal, that’s why I’m here. I figured you might know how these bastards think, since it doesn’t make sense. Only a piece of shit like you could possibly understand what these fuckers are thinking.

Go fuck yourself, Gates said as he slammed the door behind him.

I have money, the marshal called out, Not a lot, but I have two thousand dollars. It’s all yours if you do this. I have no other choice, believe me. I can’t stand you, but I know your character. All you care about is money and getting drunk.

And whores, Gates yelled from inside. And where the hell did you get two thousand dollars?

It’s my life savings, Hughes yelled back. You know I don’t get paid very much for this job.

You were really never good at your job anyways, yelled Gates.

Fuck you, are you going to help me or not? The two thousand is all yours, after you find her.

I’ll find her, dead or alive. Agreed? Gates yelled from behind the door.

Marshal Hughes hesitated for a moment before answering, Dead of alive, you filthy bastard!

Gates opened the door. Well hell, come on in, let’s talk.

The Meeting

Hughes entered Gates’ cabin. It looked just like the outside, with clothes and empty jugs of brew strung about. A table in the corner with a lantern in the middle for light was the only real furniture. A small wood-burning stove that seemed to be unused except during the winter months was in the corner. Gates’ bed made of four hay bales covered with a blanket was in another corner.

Have a seat, said Gates as he lifted the lantern