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A source of mine told me he was here.
A town built from crumbling mud and shriveled grasshopper carcases, Daughterty was nothing to behold.
Layers of white dust coated my legs, and mixed with the frothing sweat on the flank of my mount. I was lucky to have such a good horse. It made for a smooth ride, and I was sure there was some percentage of Paso Fino in his blood. He moved with the confidence of a Spanish bullfighter.
We walked easily into town, and I busied myself, knocking off the layers of mud that accumulated on my vest. I dismounted slowly and led him to a trough, letting him drink deeply until he was finished.
We had ridden hard since sunup for most of the day.
A vaquero friend of mine had galloped over to my camp that morning, his face flush with news.
“He’s not a day’s ride away - Daughterty. Angel Eyes.” He had quickly blurted out.
Angel Eyes. To me, he was simply “Sentenza”. A bounty hunter known for his cruelly brilliant tactics. Despite his despicable reputation, he really did have the eyes of an angel - when the light hit them, it was like golden silt at the bottom of a creek.
He had wronged many men, and I had only seen him once - only I was too young to kill him then. Once, in pursuit of information about a target, Sentenza had commandeered a Confederate POW camp when the true general grew sick. Through inside connections, he gained control. He led the camp with an iron fist and would kill soldiers (some not older than 15) for minor infractions. He got away with it since he used an alias, and no one dared to stand up to him.
He wasn’t wanted by the law, but I knew many men who would pay a pretty price to see his head.
I intended to retrieve it.
A female bounty hunter was uncommon, but in my 10 years of killing men, I had never failed. Sentenza was a skilled marksman and a fast hand. I might have bested him in a duel, but he would never duel a woman. He was known primarily for hunting rapists. He would never kill a type he usually avenged.
I tucked my blonde hair under my bandido hat and smudged more dirt on my face. If I kept my head down, I usually could pass for a man.
After tying up my horse to the outside post, I walked through the saloon doors.
There were only three men inside - the bartender, a drunk slapping at piano keys, and… him.
I didn't need to see his face. His hat was enough - a black bolero.
It seemed that evil manifested in a smoky haze around him.
I kept my gaze down and strided to the bar.
“Whiskey,” I ground out, igniting a match with my thumb. I brought it to a nubby cigar, inhaling deeply, and letting my breath curl out of my nostrils. The bartender didn’t question my gender - in his eyes, I was just a small cowhand, tired from moving cattle.
My plan was this - now that I had found Sentenza, I would return to my horse, pull out a dress, and seduce him into one of the rooms upstairs. If he didn't comply, I had a sleeping powder in my breast pocket and-
“Light?” A voice came from beside me.
Sentenza lazily looked over at me, leaning on the bar. His eyes caught the candlelight as he held a pipe to his lips.
My heart sped up only slightly, and I turned to face him. Instead of lighting another match, I removed the cigar from my mouth and pressed the butt into his pipe chamber. I rotated it, making sure to thoroughly heat the tobacco. I looked up from my task to see he was watching me with narrowed eyes.
He inhaled and blew the smoke in a plume to the right.
“Much obliged.” He said. I nodded and faced the shot of whiskey now on the bartop. I downed it easily, letting its burn soothe me.
He was still there, watching.
“Can I help you, friend?” I asked, slightly perturbed. I held the glass, letting the light angle through it.
“Don’t know.” He said. I could tell there was a sly and knowing smile on his face by the way he talked around his pipe. He tapped the bartop a couple of times with his middle finger. When I looked down, I could see that the third joint was missing. My head spun with the fabled stories that explained it - a freak horse accident, a knife fight…
He noticed me staring and chuckled softly.
“Cutting apples. Must have sharpened it too much.”
I gave him a sidelong glance and motioned to the bartender to refill my shot.
The quiet of the saloon was only broken by Sentenza’s soft ‘putt-putting’ on his pipe.
When the bartender returned with the bottle, Sentenza’s arm extended, deftly seizing it. He flipped a coin to the man and took my glass, walking back to his table. His gait was just barely stiff, as if he were masking an old injury. Lowering himself into a wooden chair, he refilled my glass.
“Don’t parch yourself. Have a seat.”
I eyed him, but eventually gave in, my tongue longing for another drink.
He looked me over as I sat.
“I’ve seen lizards less coated in clay than you,” He said, sliding the shot over to me.
“S’pose I am mud-caked,” I noted, grasping the glass.
He leaned back, watching me down my drink, his head tilted slightly.
I wiped my wet lips with my shirt sleeve, and he patiently waited.
After a moment of silence, he leaned forward, bringing a cloud of smoke with him.
“You’re that lady bounty hunter.” He looked at me very closely, gauging how I’d react. “Alice Morton, isn’t it?” He took a long drag from his pipe.
“I ain’t no gunslinging chickadee, mister. You’re mistaken. I’m just moving some cattle.” I scowled at him, as any man would, considering he’d been called a woman.
He nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair once again.
“My mistake.”
Suddenly, he made a move for the pistol on his belt. In a blink, my gun was drawn and aimed at his dick.
But instead of reaching for his weapon, he simply dusted some clay off his boot.
He looked up at me with an arched brow.
“You’re quick for a cowhand.”
I sighed.
“What do you want, Sentenza?”
He flinched at his real name, but played it off by dragging my glass toward him.
“Nothing. A little company, that’s all.” He filled the glass and placed his pipe on the table before delicately sipping the whiskey.
I still had my gun drawn at him, and he eyed it coolly.
If I put it away, I might not have had another chance to kill him.
In a quick motion, I spun my pistol around my finger and holstered it.
Sentenza rose to his feet, grinning as if he had bested me in some way.
“Suppose I have a proposition for you. Something better than killing me.” He saw the question in my eyes. “I could tell you wanted to kill me from the moment you prowled in. All killers prowl.”
He motioned upstairs. “My room is more private.”
My gaze turned inquisitive, and a smile toyed at the corners of my lips.
“I’m sure it is.”
His suite was very nicely furnished. Paintings of the Texas countryside lined the walls, and the large bed was framed with lace curtains.
We sat at a small table, and he crossed his legs, thoughtfully enjoying the last of his smoking tobacco.
I waited for his proposal.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Carson gang. They were a serious threat in their time. Raping and pillaging…”
“I’ve heard. They’re still alive?”
He took notice of my interruption. “Barely. It's only Carson and a couple of bandits now. Their ‘gang’ hardly deserves the term. Still, they're causing a ruckus in the next town over - Rockport.”
“And?”
“This is probably the last time he’ll turn up. His whereabouts have been unknown for the last ten years.”
“What’s he worth? $15,000 now?”
“Twenty, if you count his friends.”
It was hot in the room. I got up and unlatched the window, letting the warm breeze stir the air. I removed my hat and let it cool my brow.
My hair fell past my elbows, and I glanced at Angel Eyes. He was quietly observing me with his golden brown namesakes.
“So,” I said from the window. “Your proposition?”
“If you kill them with me, I’ll let you keep five. But - ” He paused. “It also means you cannot kill me.”
I scoffed.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of my reputation. I don’t kill ladies.” He said.
“Anything under eleven is a joke. I could blow you away right now and hunt down Carson myself.” I said with a laugh.
“I could also put a bullet through your leg. You wouldn’t die, but it would sure slow you down.”
I stopped laughing.
“Ten.”
“Six.”
“Ten, Sentenza. I’m not budging on this.”
He stepped out of the chair and strolled over to me.
“Seven. I won’t go any higher. That’s very generous.”
I stepped closer to him and lowered my voice.
“Ten.”
He smelled like leather and aftershave. Unlike most men, he was very well-groomed.
“Seven, Alice.”
He stood much taller than me. He looked down with a hint of mischief.
I would have to make him budge.
I slipped one finger in his belt loop, and his hand went to his pistol protectively.
“You’re quick for a cowhand,” I said, smiling softly.
I pulled him closer to me.
“Ten.”
He bent down and pressed his lips gently to my collarbone. His mustache tickled and whispered against my skin.
I released a gasp.
“Seven.”
I repositioned his lips to mine.
He softly pressed himself against me, and I became intoxicated by the faint fire of whiskey on his tongue.
I planted both hands on his strong chest and pushed him back until he fell against the bed.
He leaned back on his elbows as I stood before him.
I slowly unbuttoned my dusty shirt, never breaking eye contact.
At the last button, he exhaled shakily. “Ten.”