Bounty hunting is an unsavory business, albeit a profitable one. Though there is always the danger of those being hunted fighting back, there’s something about making sure a sad sack of horse shit gets what’s coming to him, as well as paying damn well.
And damn, did Eugene Miller need that money.
However, after a while, you don’t question who you’re hunting, why you’re doing it, and if the money’s worth it. The targets begin to blur together; a man who hasn’t paid his debts, a wife running away from her man, petty thieves…the jobs come in from local law enforcement and average civilians alike. It becomes repetitive, a mindless habit, job, after job.
“Please, don’t take me back there, I-I’ll give you whatever you want,” his latest bounty, a snivelly man with balding hair begged, stumbling as Eugene pulled him along by his lasso. Lewis Carter was his name, and supposedly, he’d embezzled $400 from the local bank he’d worked at, and now the lawmen wanted him in the hoosegow. “I can pay you, o-or how about my wife-”
“I don’t want yer damn wife,” he growled back, pulling the chiseler harder by the rope, till he almost fell on his face. “Now I’m gonna take ya back to Graydale so I can get paid, and then yer gonna spend a long time in a box. Now, I’d hate to see ya swing, so ya might as well acknowledge the corn when ya get there. Now get a wiggle on, ya slowpoke.”
Carter finally picked up speed, following Eugene as he approached his horse, a tall Palomino.
“I suppose I’ll be riding with you?” the other man asked, looking up at Eugene’s tall figure.
“Nope,” the bounty hunter replied, before swinging up on the stallion, the end of his lasso still gripped in his hand. “I think it’d be best if ya walk.”
He blinked, staring at Eugene with wide eyes. “Walk?!” Carter exclaimed, surprised. “But I- my feet are cramped, and my back is bad-”
Rolling his eyes, Eugene unholstered his Smith & Wesson, lazily pointing it at the target, who immediately stopped speaking, holding up his hands as much as possible. However, that’s quite difficult to do when your upper arms are bound with a lasso.
“Quit yer yappin’,” Eugene said coldly, staring at the embezzler with emotionless eyes, a sea of chestnut brown interrupted by a crescent of blue in his right eye. “Now shut that wobblin’ jaw of yours before I blow it off.”
Carter gulped, before quickly nodding his head. “Alright…alright, mister.”
The bounty hunter sighed, returning his gun to its holster, before spurring his horse into a slow trot. “C’mon, boah,” he encouraged the stallion, lightly tapping its flanks with the heels of his boots.
The Palomino began to move, trotting leisurely as Lewis Carter struggled to keep up, his boots scuffing in the dusty earth. Eugene was tempted to make the animal go faster but thought better. He couldn’t help but smirk as the chiseler tripped, looking up at the bounty hunter, face red with anger and embarrassment.
“You could go faster if I was up there with you!” Carter protested, stumbling over his own feet.
“Yeah…but that ain’t as fun,” he replied, holding back a chuckle.
“Come on, let me ride!”
It was hilarious to see a grown man begging and whining, especially a ten-cent man like Carter, who was thick enough to rob the bank he worked at. The complaints went on for hours, the target speaking up once every five minutes to ask if he could ride if Eugene could slow down, or if he could stop and piss.
Finally, the town of Graydale came into view, the buildings beginning to slowly light up and make the town glow a warm orange as the sun began to sink under the horizon.
Carter, seeing that his fate was about to be sealed, began to panic, tugging on the lasso as he dug his heels in the sand. “Please…I promise I can pay you, just don’t take me back to-”
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Eugene spurred his Palomino more, which nearly knocked the other man off his feet, forcing him to start walking again. “Yer goin’ whether ya like it or not,” the bounty hunter growled.
“Oh, please, please, please-” the embezzler begged, attempting to stop again, only to actually fall on his ass this time, landing on the dusty ground. The horse kept walking, dragging Carter behind Eugene.
“See, now ya’ve gone and done that,” he rolled his eyes, watching as the criminal tried to get back on his feet, only to fall again. “Now quit bein’ a baby and get back up, ‘less ya want me to burn the breeze.”
Carter finally stood back up, hastily catching up to the bounty hunter, his pants covered in dust. “I-I promise I can pay you,” he said, breathless, attempting to catch Eugene’s cold gaze. “Double. Double whatever they’re paying you. Maybe even triple-”
“I ain’t lettin’ ya go even if ya promise to pay me $1,000,” Eugene grumbled, glaring down at the target. “And besides, I know ya ain’t got anythin’ good on ya, so it ain’t a good deal, anyways.”
“But if you’d just-”
“Shut it.” Was Eugene’s harsh reply, his eyes speaking an unspoken message; ‘Say another word and you’ll get one in the head.’
Carter gulped, before lowering his head as the bounty hunter stopped his horse outside of town, jumping off the animal. “That’s a good boah,” Eugene whispered to the Palomino, petting its snout for a moment before turning back to the bounty, pulling hard on the lasso.
“C’mon, ya varmint,” he chided, leading the criminal under the gates of the town, tugging him along if he ever slowed down.
Townspeople watched with wide eyes as they saw Carter being dragged into their home, having known who the man was before his crimes and flight from the town.
Though Eugene didn’t know it at the time, Lewis Carter was, in reality, a respected man in Graydale, working in the bank day in and day out, helping the folks with their money.
He was an ace-high gentleman, thought to be a proper fine businessman and broker, making the town prosper after they found coal under the dusty earth. But the truth had been revealed when it was discovered that Carter had in reality been stealing money from the bank itself, leaving the town to suffer.
And now the town was fit to be tied.
Insults were suddenly being thrown Carter’s way, Eugene’s face immovable as tomatoes were thrown at the other man’s clothes. He just wanted to get him to the sheriff as quickly as possible so he could get his money and get on his way.
Finally, a small, wooden building came into view, three barred windows dotting the back wall, and a sign above the door. Sheriff.
“C’mon, now,” Eugene pushed Carter up the stairs, before opening the door, revealing a man sitting at a desk. Feet propped up on the wooden surface, reclined in his chair, hat tipped over his eyes, it was clear the sheriff was dozing.
“Wake up,” Eugene tapped the desk with his toe, startling the lawman awake.
“Martha-” he gasped, before realizing who was there. “Oh…Mr. Miller. I see you found Mr. Carter?”
The bounty hunter only nodded silently, pushing Carter up to the desk. “You can have ‘im, flannel mouth that he is,” Eugene grumbled.
“I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything!” Carter protests, before the sheriff snaps his fingers for a deputy to take him into one of the cells.
The sheriff nods his head towards Eugene, adjusting his belt buckle around his waist. “We’re very grateful for you bringing him back to us, Mr. Miller. As promised, I have your payment right here.”
Pulling out a small crate, the sheriff gave Eugene a bundle of bills, his payment for the job. “$200, as promised,” the sheriff reassures him, but the bounty hunter counts it anyway.
“Pleasure doin’ business with ya,” Eugene tipped his hat, giving the sheriff one last look, before he left the building, making his way through town again to enter the saloon. He wanted to wash his mind of Carter’s whines and complaints of the last few hours, and a drink seemed like the right thing to nurse his sore ears.
Pushing open the wooden doors, Eugene’s eyes scanned the patrons of the bar, most drunks who frequented the place, and the rest being businessmen relaxing after a long afternoon.
The bartender looked up as the bounty hunter sauntered in, boots clicking against the floors. Eugene leaned against the bar, tilting his head as he watched the man working it dry out a glass.
“What would you like to drink, sir?” the worker asked.
“Just whiskey,” came the bounty hunter’s reply. A moment later, he was passed a glass of the stuff. “Thanks.”
Swirling his drink, Eugene stared into the brown liquid as he contemplated the last job. Carter was an annoying bastard, that was for sure, but he’d given the poor hunter a run for his money, too. Eugene had chased that criminal from Graydale to Turpentine before he finally caught the man with his lasso.
His back ached now, a combination of age and life on the move constantly. Eugene had to be what, thirty-seven now? He’d stopped keeping track a long time ago, though he knew he hadn’t reached forty yet.
His feet ached underneath his leather boots, and he feared if his hair had been a darker color, a few grays would begin to show. Luckily, it was a dirty blonde for now.
‘You’re gettin’ old…’ he thought to himself, before sipping his whiskey, grimacing at the bitter taste.
Eugene’s thoughts were interrupted, however, by a man already roostered from whatever the hell he was drinking. “Say…yer the outlaw, huh? Eugene Miller?”
The bounty hunter eyed the man for a moment, before returning to his drink. “Afraid ya’ve got a case o’ mistaken identity, my friend…”
“Oh, it ain’t no mistake,” the drunk continues, “Yer Eugene Miller…you killed my pa.”
He felt his fingers curl around the glass of whiskey in his hands, before he relaxed them, letting out a deep breath. This was no place for a fight. “Look, I’m just tryna drink here.”
“You’ll have plenty o’ time to drink…” the man said, before standing up, “...when yer drinkin’ yer own blood.”
Now, Eugene stood up, slamming the glass down on the bar with a clink. His right hand hovered over the handle of his Smith & Wesson, staring the other man down. “Ya really wanna do this?”
“Ya killed my daddy…” His opponent repeated, looking angry and vengeful. “I don’t let that slide, old man.”
The bounty hunter growled in turn, eye twitching as he prepared for a fight. “Don’t disrespect me, boah…I’m a quick draw.”
But the drunk was too big for his britches, however, smirking as he bragged, “I bet I could take ya down.”
“Ya don’t wanna do this…” Eugene warned, hand hovering over his Smith & Wesson.
He didn’t have time to even blink as he watched the other man reach for his gun, but the bounty hunter didn’t even think, just acted. He drew his Smith & Wesson faster and shot the drunk in the chest.
The man stopped, staring down at his chest with wide eyes, mouth bobbing like a fish’s before he fell backward on the ground, eyes glazing over with death.
Eugene took a deep breath, returning his gun to its place in his holster, staring down at the man he just killed with cold eyes. A tiny amount of guilt churned in his gut, thinking of the boy’s words, but he pushed it down.
He asked for it.
Casting a glance at everyone in the bar, the cowboy slowly walked out of the saloon, pushing the swinging doors open and closed again.
So much for a peaceful drink.168Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEBc4hbeILH
