Long John by D.D. Lang

Author:D.D. Lang [Lang, D.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Robert Hale
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THREE

The sun crept over the balcony and lit up the room in a bright glare. Already traffic was moving on the street below.

Henry John opened his eyes and looked around the room. The ceiling, painted white, looked a long way off. His back was stiff, as was his shoulder. He sat up, easing his aching muscles, working his stiff shoulder.

Breakfast was a solitary affair. The small cafe was deserted. Downing his second cup of coffee, he paid the bill and went back to the hotel room. The stiffness in his joints was still there. He tried to ease them as he walked but the muscles wouldn’t respond.

He paused at a hitching rail – had to – the pain in his chest was more ferocious than he could remember. Breathing deeply through his nose – thanks mother – he calmed himself down. He didn’t notice, but people gave him funny looks as they passed. Some of the women out getting the daily stores crossed the street rather than walk past him.

Breathing steadily again, he entered the hotel lobby, rang the bell on the counter and waited for the clerk. He paid for his night’s lodging and went back to his room to pack up.

The horse had been well-groomed. His coat shone in the early morning sun. They were pleased to see each other. Sliding his saddle-bags over the back of the saddle, Henry John mounted. He sat tall for a while, feeling good, letting everyone see this was no ordinary cowboy on no ordinary horse.

Slowly, he set off. Past the Yellow Rose Hotel, past the banks and general stores until he was level with the sheriff’s office-cum-town jail.

The window was plastered with Wanted posters. An idea lit up in his head. Bounty Hunting.

It had never occurred to him before. He wasn’t a man who sought out violence or danger, but of late it had seemed to find him.

Tying his horse to a hitching post he walked over to the window. The rogue’s gallery of hand-drawn likenesses seemed to fit most people. Some so ugly, you couldn’t possibly miss them on a dark night with your eyes shut.

Henry John smiled to himself. People’s imaginations sure went haywire when trying to describe someone who’d just robbed a bank, or rustled some of their cattle.

He entered the office. The sheriff, a small, squat man, was leaning back in his chair. A mug of coffee was steaming on his desk, but the sheriff was intent on polishing his handgun. The man didn’t even look up as Henry John closed the door behind him.

‘Mornin’, stranger,’ the sheriff said.

‘Mornin’, Sheriff.’

‘What can I do for you?’

‘Aim to collect me some bounty,’ Henry John said.

The sheriff raised his eyes and took Henry John in.

‘You caught somebody?’

‘Nope.’

‘Got somebody in mind?’

‘Nope.’

‘Then what do you want?’

‘Figured you might let me have copies o’ some o’ them Wanted posters you got in the window. Maybe I can find one or two o’ them.’

‘You done this before, stranger?’

‘Nope.’

The sheriff looked Henry John up and down once again.

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