“Well, that and kill him.”
“Sorry, kid. If you’d asked me five years ago, I would have happily helped you, but my bounty hunting days are far behind me.”
Without a word, the kid stood up and walked to his horse. Deadshot watched him, thinking that he was simply going to leave, but instead of mounting the spectacular animal, the kid removed the saddlebag and brought it back to Deadshot, handing it to him. Curious, Deadshot opened the bag and looked inside. His heart nearly leaped right out of his chest as his eyes landed on a stack of gold bars.
“You can have it all if you agree to help me,” the kid said.
Deadshot dragged his eyes away from the gold, still feeling shocked, and focused them on the kid. “Where did you get this?”
The kid sat down again and adjusted the wide-brimmed hat on his head. He looked tired and stressed. Deadshot could see how hard the last few weeks had been on him. No kid should have to deal with what he had gone through, but that was the way of life in the West.
“I believe that it belonged to Quincy.” The kid pointed at the horse. “I think it was his horse that I took that day. It was in the saddlebag.”
Suddenly, everything made much more sense. “That’s why his men came after you and why there were some of them waiting at the ranch. Quincy must have instructed them to bring back his gold.”
The boy nodded. “If I had taken a different horse, they wouldn’t have chased after me. I might have been able to get help in time.”
“Quincy and his gang are known to never leave anybody alive. It wouldn’t have made a difference whether you got help or not. By the time you returned, everybody would have been dead, and if the gang was still there, they would have killed you and the sheriff too.”
“You don’t know that,” the kid pointed out.
“I do, and I think you know it too,” Deadshot replied. “Don’t let the what-ifs dictate your life. Things would have happened differently, but they still would have happened no matter which horse you took.”
“Maybe...” the kid trailed off, kicking at the ground.
Deadshot handed the bag back to the kid. “I don’t want this.” He had no intention of going after Quincy, and he didn’t need the money.
He had enough saved up to last him a lifetime. “There are many bounty hunters out there. Go find a young, capable one. With all that gold, you’ll be able to afford the best money can buy.”
Chapter 16
Deadshot was done talking to the kid. There was nothing left to say, and his meat was burning, so he focused his attention on the pan. He removed it from the fire and flipped the piece of meat. It was a little crispy on one side, but that was okay. He liked it that way. Looking up from the pan, he saw that the kid had made no attempt to get up from where he was sitting.
“I’m not gonna help you,” Deadshot stated, just to be clear.
“Please,” the kid begged. “You’re the best. Sheriff Stewart said that he’s never seen or heard of another bounty hunter as good as you.”
Deadshot smiled at that. He wasn’t vain, but it was good to hear, nonetheless. He placed the meat on a plate and sat back in his chair. “Hire more than one,” he suggested. “Get two. Hell, get three or four to work together.”
“I don’t want another bounty hunter. I want you. I trust you.”
Deadshot sucked in his breath and shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry, kid.”
“You’re my only hope. They’re my only hope.” The kid’s voice was low, and Deadshot wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to hear the last part.
Quincy was a cruel man. Deadshot had heard the stories and seen the aftermath but had never considered going after him. He wasn’t afraid of him. No, what he had told the kid was true. If the kid had asked him when he was younger, he would have accepted the offer. Deadshot had simply never gone after him because he had a long list of outlaws he wanted to capture before he retired, and tracking them all down took a lot of time. Quincy had only really become infamous in the last couple of years before Deadshot had retired, and by then, Deadshot had already started taking on easier targets.
Deadshot stood up and grabbed the plate. “It’s a long way back home,” he told the kid. “You can stay here tonight. I’ll even share my supper with you, but you have to leave in the morning.”
***
That night, Deadshot did not sleep well. His dreams were plagued by memories of the day his family was massacred, images of the kid’s ranch being ransacked, and the kid begging him for help. He kept waking up, and the more it all worked on his mind, the more he wondered if it was possible that the kid’s mother and sister were actually still alive.
The amount of gold that the kid had accidentally stolen from Quincy wasn’t something to be laughed at. What if Quincy had taken the women with him and was keeping them hostage? Deadshot had never heard of Quincy doing something like that, but he wouldn’t put it past the man. Maybe he was just lying low and would later request his gold as ransom.
Deadshot wasn’t sure whether he should share his thoughts with the kid. Odds were that he was wrong and that their bodies were at the bottom of a lake or river somewhere. The possibility that they might be alive and in desperate need of help was clawing at his mind, though. If there was even the slightest chance that they were alive, he had to help them.
Feeling frustrated at the idea, Deadshot got dressed and made his way to the living area that functioned as a kitchen, dining room, and living room. His body felt tense, but his knee was pain-free since he had been resting it. That would soon change.
