Cimarron Frost, Bounty Hunter: A Western Read online

  Copyright © 2017 by Dusty Saddle Publishing

  A special thank you to Giovanna Mandel at AMICI PHOTOGRAPHY

  The cover picture belongs to her and she has allowed me to reproduce it for the cover of this book. She was at one of our C-Bar movie shoots and took this wonderful picture.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Other Books & movies by Mark Baugher

  Six Bullets Series

  Volume 2

  Westerns

  C-Bar

  Motion-Pictures

  C- Bar

  Foreword

  Observing human behavior has always been my life. There is no better entertainment then watching people. The sociopath is an interesting personality. The sociopath is void of compassion, empathy and is only concerned about his own welfare. Probably because it’s the opposite of me, I have wondered about these people. I thought that I would put myself into this personality and write what I think motivates them in life. I spend a lot of time trying to understand people. If I see someone fall down, I hurt for them. Truth is it sounds kind of easer to be a sociopath. Here is my effort.

  ******

  Cimarron Frost,

  Bounty Hunter

  My name is Cimarron Frost. My chosen profession is hunting the most dangerous animals in the world—men. I am a born hunter. When growing up, I hunted and killed everything I saw. Just for the fun of it. Got bored with hunting animals and such, so I moved up to a much smarter prey. If you ask around about me and find anyone who knows me, you will hear, “Yeah, I know him. He’s a murderous, treacherous, good-for-nothing son of a bitch.” Truth is, they are right. I know what I am and like how I live my life.

  I was born to a Midwest Bible-thumping preacher. Every Sunday, my parents would drag me to the church and make me listen to his goings on. Honestly, it never made any sense to me. It contradicted everything I observed in the world. Big fishes eat the little fishes is how I see it all. Never seemed to me that the big fishes cared one little bit about the poor little fishes. So, needless to say, I was never close to my father. He tried everything he could to bring me around to his way of thinking, but nothing worked. His biggest threat was, “Cim, if you don’t accept the Lord, you will burn in Hell for eternity.”

  I even tried coming around to his ways, but didn’t get any change of heart on my end. One day, I got into the praying position and talked to the Lord. He didn’t answer. All I heard was the wind blowing in the trees. Seemed foolish and a big waste of time to me. Moving on seemed prudent.

  I was about ten years old when I ran away. It was like the weight of the world was off my shoulders. I sat by the old Mississippi River and lounged the day away. I ate the fish I caught and the animals I trapped. I had a camp deep in the woods and truly enjoyed myself. When I needed something, I would go to town and prowl the backstreets, stealing whatever I found. The clotheslines were always full of garments that fit me. If no one was home, I just slid in a window and ate what they had. I’m telling you, life was grand.

  Here’s what’s funny. The other kids in town wanted to be just like me. No rules to live by. Came and went as I pleased. They used to follow me around. I was right popular. When the sheriff came looking for me, I had the pure joy of hide and seek. One time I got caught and was sitting in the sheriff’s office. He was lecturing me and trying to scare me into his way of thinking.

  “I’m telling you, Cim, if you don’t start acting right, your life won’t amount to anything.”

  “Just why should I listen to you, you tub of lard?” Then he really got mad. Started shaking his finger at me. Yelling in my face. You know, stupid shit like that. He about hit the roof when I said, “I don’t care what you say or think, what are you gonna do to me anyway? Dumb ass.”

  The man came apart. “You little horse apple, I’ll show you just who’s a dumb ass!” He threw me over his knee and started whipping me.

  After he got tired and let me up, I looked at him and laughed out loud. “Better slow down, tubby, your heart may give out.”

  I thought he might explode, but he threw me in a cell and locked the door. I was fine with that; the bed wasn’t too bad. My popularity among my friends soared at that time.

  I heard a tap on the window. “Cim, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah, who are you?”

  “Bill Roberts, the sheriff’s son. I have the keys Pa keeps at home.”

  I jumped up in a flash. He passed the keys to me. Could this be any more fun?

  I waited for the heat of the day when the sheriff fell asleep. I unlocked the door and slipped out. On the way out the door, I lifted the sheriff’s watch and grabbed a pistol from his desk. And I was just gone. That’s when the fun started—there was an all-out hunt for me. The whole town was combing the area. I hid and they searched. Several times they walked within inches of me. Eventually, they gave up and the fun was over. So I waited a few days and snuck back to the sheriff’s office. Fat old bastard was sleeping. I stole his money, a rifle, his lunch and bag full of shells. I then tied his feet together. At the door, I gave a rebel yell and up he came and right on his face he went. I again disappeared into the woods. Could life be any better?

  Getting Betrayed

  The whole town was after me. Every adult man available was scouring the area. My father was even with them. Hell, I didn’t care. I never liked him anyway.

  I could hear him yelling, “Cimarron, you better come here right now. You and the Lord have some talking to do. Time to get right with Jesus.”

  I yelled back, “You, the Lord and Jesus can kiss my ass!”

  After that little comment, I waited for a lightning bolt, but it never came. If I were a betting man (and I am), I would bet this really horrified some of the townies looking for me. You know, the preacher’s kid and all saying that to Jesus. All I know is that if there is a Jesus, I’m counting on him having a sense of humor.

  They were closing in, and I wondered how they seemed to be coming in a straight line towards me, so I climbed a tree to see what was going on. Right up front was the sheriff’s kid. The rat was leading them to me. However, they had a problem. I lived in those woods. I could feel them coming. The forest animals told me. I slipped out just ahead of them. They were a bunch of pissed off old people.

  I was also a little peeved, and that night I planned my revenge. I slipped into the rat’s bedroom. Straddled him and put my hand over his mouth. He was all eyeballs. “Okay, Rat, if you say a word, I’m going to cut your balls off.”

  He nodded his head up and down. Seemed like a good idea to tie him up and gag his mouth. I threw him over my shoulder and took him to the jail. I still had the keys, so I locked him up and left. I could hear him pleading with me to let him go. Then I had the brainstorm. I went to the desk and found pen and paper.

  I wrote,

  Dear Sheriff,

  Your son gave me these keys. He is such a nice lad.

  It was all just pure fun to me.

  Moving On

  Things were getting a little too warm for me, so I drifted on down river. Found another town and played with them for a while. I could steal from the men and beg from the women. The women were the easiest. They felt sorry for me. Eating a big meal was as easy as looking hungry.

  Let me give you an example. I walked down a back alley until I saw a fat old woman doing her laundry. So I m
oved over. I had my head down and looked pitiful.

  “Excuse me, ma'am. I ain’t ate for two days. Can you help me?”

  “Well, young fella, why ain’t you been fed?”

  “My momma and daddy died of the fever, and I got no place to go.”

  She melted in an instant. Next thing I knew, I was eating fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Problem I had was that I was gaining weight and looking real good. I found that it didn’t really matter much—a sucker is a sucker. It wasn’t too long before I was well equipped for travel. Had stolen good clothes, a pistol and a good horse. The horse was kind of a big deal, so I decided to try my luck in another town. They seemed to take horse stealing more seriously than I did. I had no one to tell me what to do. This was my life for three years, and a damn fine one I might add.

  The people from whom I robbed and stole were the good Christians in the world. That left me with the not-so-nice types to socialize with. I wasn’t upset with this. At least I knew where they were coming from.

  Got into a fracas down Arkansas way. Man stopped me on the trail. “Boy, give me your horse. He’s too good for a young’n to ride.”

  “Well, no, sir. This be my horse. Bought and paid for with my own hard-earned money.”

  “I said, boy, get down off that horse. Don’t make me drag you off!”

  Of course, I told him to kiss my ass. So he tried to drag me off my horse. Just as calm and easy as you please, I blew a hole in his chest. Dead before he hit the ground. I looked at him for a while and felt absolutely nothing. My thought was, That ain’t no big deal. So I rode on. Wasn’t long before I heard a lot of horses coming my way, so I lit a shuck and ran like hell. From then on, I was a wanted man, and I will say life got a little bit harder. They put up a $1000 reward and this brought on the bounty hunters. There is a big difference between town Christians and bounty men. I was on the run for sure. I stayed one step ahead of them, and most gave up except for this one old coot. He dogged my trail for two months.

  One morning, I woke up to him standing over me with a gun in his hand.

  “You ain’t nothing but a boy.”

  “Boy enough to outsmart you for months.”

  “If I take you back, they is gonna hang you.”

  I was always mouthing off so I said, “Listen up, you old fart. You ain’t got me back there just yet.”

  The bounty hunter grabbed me and handcuffed me to a tree. He got to resting, and the hours slipped by. We actually hit it off. We got to liking each other. I told him my story, and it must have been similar to his. Pretty soon he took off the cuffs.

  “Well, Cim, I ain’t got the heart to take you back. Hit the trail.”

  I surprised him when I sat down beside him and started drinking coffee. We visited for hours.

  Then he surprised me. “I have a proposition for you, Cim. Come with me, and I will teach you the bounty business.”

  My first question was, “Any money to be made?”

  “Hell, yes! I made five thousand dollars last year.”

  I thought for a brief second and stuck out my hand.

  Kurt Wolff

  My mentor was an old outlaw called Kurt Wolff. He was more experienced than me, and that made him a lot wiser. I was soaking up every word he said. He had a lot of crafty schemes to get near a wanted man. This was interesting stuff. Our first adventure was a man wanted for murder. He caught his wife with another man and killed the poor guy. In my opinion, killing the wife made more sense, but who the hell cares? He had $1,500 on his head. We rode up to the wife’s house like two down and out cowhands. She fed us, and we asked her to work off the bill. She was good with that, and we did all her neglected chores. She kept feeding us and we kept doing her chores. We were putting the charm on her and getting her confidence. Kurt could charm a possum right out of a tree. I snuck up close enough to hear them talking one evening.

  “Ma'am, can I ask you a personal question?”

  “I guess so, if it ain’t too personal.”

  Ol’ Kurt had set this up just right.

  “Well, ma'am, you are beautiful, young and own your own farm. Why ain’t some young, rich, good looking fella found you?”

  It wasn’t long before she confided her problems to Kurt. I was sleeping alone in the barn from then on. I wasn’t real sure what they was doing, but I had my suspicions. The husband was a blind-to-the-world jealous man. Obsessed with her. Ol’ Kurt knew he wouldn’t be long coming back to see her, so we waited. About a week later, I looked out the barn window and saw a man pass by the kitchen window outside the house. Kurt and I had a call we did to warn the other. If the jealous husband caught Kurt with his wife, it would be a bad deal for Kurt. I slipped around by the back door and waited. It wasn’t long before Kurt ran out like his ass was on fire.

  “Cim! Cim, help me here.”

  The jealous husband was right behind him and pointing a pistol at Kurt.

  “You was raping my wife, you son of a bitch.”

  I put a gun to the back of his head. “Mister, don’t move a muscle. I don’t want to kill you, but I will.”

  Truth is that was a lie. I thought it would be easier to just kill him and throw the body over a saddle. I followed Kurt’s lead and took him alive.

  On the way to town, I asked Kurt, “He said you was raping his woman. What is that?”

  “It’s when a man takes a woman when she don’t want to be took.”

  “Okay, now I understand why all the howling was coming from her bedroom every night.”

  For some reason, Kurt thought that was funny. I was a little confused about this rape idea.

  It didn’t take but a few hours, and we were delivering him to the local sheriff’s office. We collected our money and life was good.

  Until the Money Is Gone

  Kurt and I holed up in a little Texas town to pass the time and spend our money. That’s just what we did over and over. Got busy catching an outlaw then wasted the time away until the money was gone. I was getting old enough to find whiskey and saloon girls, and good ol’ Kurt was a good teacher. As you probably know (and now I do also), whiskey, women and gambling are the magic tonic of life. Playing poker with a pretty gal on your arm and a little pain killer was as close to this Heaven thing as I will probably ever get. Makes for fine living.

  I got good at gambling. I considered myself a predator, and cheating a drunken cowhand out of his wages just seemed natural for me. Besides, it let us extend our little vacations. Sometimes I wondered if I’m brilliant and the rest of the world dumb as a rock. I guess it really don’t matter. I was young, wild and free. There is a lot of magic in this world, and I was trying to soak it all in. When I compared this life to my father’s, I shuddered.

  Here is my question: My father believes he is right. Everything in the Bible is true. I wonder if it ever occurred to him that people in them Bible days were just writing down horse shit to get attention. I’m betting they weren’t no different than people today. I asked him this question and got a big whipping for my effort. I guess he didn’t like the question. But then, conversations with him were always him talking and the other person listening.

  Time to Go Back to Work

  Well, the money was gone. Funny how unimportant we become when we are broke. I love being in a woman’s arms and drinking whiskey. I didn’t appreciate this poverty idea very much, so we were back at a sheriff’s office pondering which desperate man with a bounty on his head to chase after. This lifestyle seemed to be the fit-me size. Lie around with the ladies for a while and then start another adventure. Kurt came up with a doozie of a plan.

  “Cim, let’s join some gang. Run with them for a while, make some money then turn the whole bunch in for the reward.”

  “Brilliant, old chap, simply brilliant,” I said. I heard a foreigner say that once, and it seemed to fit the moment.

  We asked around enough to figure out their approximate location, so off we went. This was a patience game. Being an outlaw was a familiar experience
for us, so we knew to just act natural. For a month, we hung around the worst possible places. Dives and back alleys. We finally found someone willing to tell us a little bit.

  He said, “The boys you are looking for need a little help for a bank deal. I can put you in touch with one of their gang members.”

  “We sure need money right now. We are willing to do anything,” said Kurt.

  Weren’t no trouble convincing them we were desperate people willing to do anything to get along. The leader was a ruthless bastard named Jim. It just occurred to me that I called him a ruthless bastard. I had, in fact, been called that myself. Kind of made me like him a little bit. Jim had two more gang members but needed a couple more. We fit right in.