Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit. Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.
A Man of Few Words
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"No!"
At the frantic shout, Leroy Hopkins turned his horrified gaze from the downed man in front of him. The outcry came from the previously silent man seated beside the fire. Heedless of the pistol Jubal pointed at him, the unarmed gunslinger moved. Kid Curry, or Thaddeus Jones as his loquacious companion insisted, was halfway to a stand before the young bounty hunter picked up a piece of firewood and poleaxed him. The stick broke. Their prisoner fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Jubal's wide eyes met Hopkins.
"He… he… he didn't listen," protested the gangly twenty year old. Jubal dropped the remnant of the heavy stick from his grasp. "I tol' him not to move! Tol' him I was gonna shoot him jus' like you said, but I didn't shoot him."
Hopkins nodded his grudging approval at the pale faced young man. Most times, the wild youth didn't have a lick of sense, but Jubal followed directions. At least the Edna's boy hadn't shot his charge. Hopkins turned back to face the hardened man standing beside him. The grizzled man had always prided himself on bringing the men he captured in alive. Not for the first time this week, Hopkins regretted including Rufus Baxter in this hunt. The willful man had been pushing and prodding, second guessing him and balking at every decision Hopkins made.
"Did you have to hit him so hard?" grumbled the bounty hunter with a gesture towards the man crumpled on the ground before them. "He had his hands up."
"You wanted them subdued," reminded the cold eyed man.
Baxter lowered his rifle. Hopkins was surprised the stock didn't drip blood. The cruel bounty hunter's lips curled upwards in a smile as he looked at the man face down at his feet.
"Besides he talked too much."
"Talkin' too much ain't a crime," snorted Hopkins with a frown. "Or you'd be in jail."
Hopkins surveyed the ruined campsite. Early morning mist still clung to the cold ground. Just a few minutes ago the smooth talking, dark haired member of the pair had been smiling affably, earnestly telling them all they had the wrong men. Now Hannibal Heyes, or Joshua Smith as he claimed, sprawled face down in the dirt, motionless, worryingly quiet. The curly haired blond at least groaned. Jubal holstered his pistol. Hopkins swallowed. He should be feeling elated, his plan to surround and invade his quarry's camp worked. Mostly. Of course his plan didn't call for anyone, including their prisoners, getting hurt.
"Hoo wee!" The quiet was broken by Jubal's exuberant shout. The excited man grinned and raked his hand through his greasy brown hair, pushing it back from his face. "We done caught the two most successful outlaws in the west! We're gonna be famous!"
"We're gonna be rich," corrected Baxter. Gloating, he continued with a smirk. "Twenty thousand dollars, and they didn't even get a shot off."
"Well that fella did say they was peaceable…," began Jubal.
The rifle in Baxter's hands flipped suddenly. The volatile man took aim across the camp. Jubal backed away from the fair haired prisoner. The frightened youth stumbled, knocking over the coffee pot with a loud clang. The fire hissed. The aroma of brewing coffee dissipated as smoky tendrils of steam climbed upwards from the dampened wood. Jubal swatted at his warming backside. Baxter's rifle barrel followed Jubal's nervous movements. Jubal seemed oblivious to the fire, the smoke, and the now moving prisoner. The young bounty hunter's full attention was on Baxter's rifle.
"Don't you go pointing that thing at me!" protested Jubal Banks.
Baxter's rifle barrel trailed Jubal's movements for a moment longer. The brassy man gave a contemptuous sneer and then Baxter turned his aim to the struggling man on the ground. Curry pushed himself up on his hands and knees, shook his head as if to clear it, started to stand, swayed and thought better of it. The injured man fell back to his knees. Baxter's fingers twitched as the denim clad man crawled towards his friend. A shot plowed a furrow into the dirt mere inches from Curry's fingertips.
"Don't move," ordered Baxter.
"He's hurt," responded a soft spoken voice.
The determined blond pressed forward, only slowing due to necessity. Curry wiped the trickle of blood coming down his forehead away from his eyes. Beside Hopkins, Baxter shifted his aim.
"Stubborn ain't he," sneered Baxter with a sidelong glance at Hopkins. Turning back to stare at the crawling captive the bounty hunter raised his voice. "Next one's going in your head."
The stalwart man continued to crawl towards his partner. Baxter raised the gun and sighted down the long, gleaming black barrel.
"The reward money won't be paid if the law can't identify our prisoners," intervened Hopkins.
A disappointed sigh came from Baxter. The rifle barrel shifted to point at the crawling man's exposed back. Bark and ash streaked the once white shirt.
"And it's at least a three days ride to Wildwood," reminded Hopkins.
"So…"
Baxter's callous unspoken question shook Hopkins, but at least the brutal gunman didn't pull the trigger.
"I ain't picking them fellas up," declared Hopkins. He tucked his thumbs under his suspenders and nodded sagely. "Usually I leave my prisoners alive to get themselves on and off their horses. It's easier on the back."
"They both look awful heavy," chimed in Jubal, nodding in agreement.
Baxter frowned, but the man didn't lower his rifle.
"And dead bodies tend to swell, get unsightly…," Hopkins paused, letting his words sink in. "Which brings us back to the reward money. The bounty won't be paid if the law can't identify them. You probably already cost us ten thousand…"
"He ain't dead yet," interrupted Baxter.
Hopkins arched a bushy eyebrow upwards in disbelief. Baxter kicked the body of the brown haired man lying on the ground. As the unconscious man rolled onto his back, he let out an involuntary moan. Dirt marred his face and the Henley he wore, but there was no sign of the hard blow Heyes had received.
"Subdued, not dead," stated Baxter.
Baxter's rifle continued to point at Curry. Hopkins moved the chaw of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other and spat in disgust. The brown splotch landed at Baxter's feet. The fastidious man wrinkled his nose and did a back step.
"Can't get hisself up on a horse," Hopkins grunted in reply.
"We'll do it your way for now, old man," conceded Baxter. He lowered his rifle, bent down and dragged the lean bodied man up onto his shoulder. With a slight oomph, he rose to stand. "Don't worry, I'll get this one on his horse."
Hopkins' angry retort died as Baxter stalked off towards the tethered horses with his load. The insolent man glanced back at Jubal.
"Jubal you bring what's his name."
Curry raised his head. For the first time, Hopkins saw the quiet captive's blazing blue eyes. The gunman's gaze followed Baxter and his partner. Hopkins shivered. Had Baxter noticed the threat in those eyes? If looks could kill, Baxter would be dead. Jubal approached Curry.
"C'mon, let's get you up on your horse," coaxed the wary young man to the muscular blond. "You'll be able to see your friend then."
The younger man bent to pull the prisoner upright. Curry staggered as he rose, but Jubal swiftly ducked under his arm and headed Curry towards the horses, Baxter and Heyes. As the pair plodded past him, Hopkins realized he should have just gone after Curry and Heyes on his own. Bringing along a green youth like Jubal was a mistake. Bringing on a troublemaker like Baxter might get them all killed.
"Job ain't done yet," reminded the leader of the bounty hunters in a sour tone, all too aware that no one was listening. "We still gotta get them fellas to town and turn them in before we can collect the reward."
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