The Bounty Hunter

By J.R. Evers

A faint red glow donned itself over the heavy frost splayed around my bedroll, as the sun began to make its appearance on the horizon. Morning.

I emerged from the confines of my blankets.

A small spiral of leftover smoke rose from what remained of my coals. I rustled it up and unfurled a fire into the crisp cold air.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outlaws Publishing LLC
• Release date: May 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227785015

Book preview

Chapter One

The morning’s faint red glow cast an eerie shadow through the heavy frost onto my bedroll, as the sun began to make its appearance on the horizon. I rolled from the confines of my blankets. A small spiral of smoke rose from what remained of my fire. I stirred the coals and unfurled a fire into the crisp cold air.

I prepared coffee. The grounds settled to the bottom of my cup. The liquid bitter, dark, and hot, but oh so needed.

One week earlier, I’d brought in a Kansas City outlaw and collected another bounty. This was the first wanted man I had gone after whom I didn’t bring in alive. But he left me no choice. It was kill or be killed.

This incident started me thinking about home. I had envisioned a pine box many times being sent back to Casper, Wyoming. My mother draping over it, crying. A thought that I could hardly bear. 

I would have never known the man was there if not for the smallest pebble tumbling down the rugged incline.

I reckon the fact that I discovered his presence surprised him, because his aim was thrown off. I, however, didn’t miss.

A man dies when his time comes and there’s nothing he can do about it. But to die too soon, or to die out of time, is a mighty awful thing.

Somehow, I knew it was time to go home. At least for a visit.

It’d been seven years since I’d left home. I’d kicked the dust from my heels and left that place when I was seventeen. I felt I was choking back there in Casper. That, and my father’s crisp attitude toward me. I needed space—open country. Casper, I felt, was holding me back.

I had mailed letters to my mother. She would write me back, and every letter would end the same. When will you be coming home, Son? I kept making the promise that I would, but a year would pass before I knew it, then another. I had no idea how seven years could come and go so quickly.

That’s a long time to be away from the ones you love. I could only wonder how much had changed.

I had started this trek many times, only to change and go another direction. Most times a WANTED poster would grab my attention.

The hunt, the reward, and the satisfaction of capturing somebody who took advantage of others inspired me the most. I never wanted the recognition. I never hunted for fame.

Fame will hunt a man. Men willing to die for a good cause. Men who tempted fate, only to have it shine on them.

I flung the rest of my coffee and grounds into the fire—snuffing it out. Standing, I stretched my muscles. My joints achy from hard riding. 

Stormy, my horse or Storm as I like to call her, was tied to a picket line. She was rearing her head back, curling her lips to reveal stud-wood teeth. I gave her a small piece of bread from my pocket. She was a beautiful breed, a deep chestnut brown. Those long lashes strummed out from doe eyes. She was strong—fast.

I discovered our Kansas City outlaw had family down in Texas, so that’s where I headed. He had a particular flaw. He talked too much. All I had to do was ask about him in the next town’s saloon and I would know if he had been there. He was looking to build a reputation and that’ll bring any man down, eventually.

He robbed a stage coach, shooting the driver and guard from a distance. When the horses eventually came to a stop, he not only took the gold that was being transported, but also robbed the passengers and sent them packing, across the dry barren landscape. He left their possessions scattered about, along with the empty strongbox.

There’s a certain satisfaction in capturing a man so evil. I’d have done it even without the reward.

There was only a handful of bounty hunters in and around Kansas City at that time. A lot more wanted to carry the title, I suppose, for bragging rights. Those of us who had a history of having brought in the hardcore outlaws, didn’t need to brag. 

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