The piano music lilted pleasantly about the saloon, the smooth dance floor mostly empty since dusk had only begun to fall in shades of mauve and burgundy. Calvin Campbell's long-legged shadow stretched across the rickety saloon porch as he walked up the creaking stairs and through the door, the jingle of his spurs mingling with the chime of the doorbells. His dusty mare was tethered to the hitching rail out front, twitching her long gold tail and eyeing him disapprovingly; she was accustomed to her master entering such houses as these and not coming out again until daylight just as she was accustomed to having attempts on the lives of both she and master every day in his line of work. Bounty hunters were not popular folk; there was no glamour in their job as viewed by the general public. However, it was a tough breed of people out in the uncharted lands settling the rough country of Texas and bounty hunters were among the toughest of them, and Cal Campbell didn't lend those tut-tutting public folk his ear long enough for them to tell the way they saw him.
He entered and swept his hat off to the barmaid as he sat his lean frame on a stool and loosened the bandana around his neck. Propping an elbow on the bar, his lazy eyes surveyed the dance floor, where a few couples drifted about, and tapped the counter once for a whiskey. Business hadn't picked up yet for the night and the barmaid lingered as she meticulously poured his shot, casting surreptitious eyes at him from under her lashes. He was tall and angled with deeply tanned skin contrasting with the deep-set green eyes and dark brown hair (flattened from his Stetson) and mustache, the typical cowboy in his faded jeans and high- heeled boots, fringed chaps and enormous belt buckle. Vain lot, those rangers, the barmaid observed with a stifled smile that indented a dimple in her right cheek. "So," she spoke up pertly, leaning over the counter as she slid him his whiskey, fully aware of the effect this position had on her low-cut bodice. "Did you hear about the kidnapping?"
Cal perked up at this and he raised his eyes to look into hers as he sipped the glass and tried not to pull a face at the vile stuff. Setting it back on the counter with a clunk, he shook his head. "No, don't reckon Ah have. What's it about, missy?" he drawled in a pleasant baritone.
The girl tossed her black curls coquettishly and perched on the edge of the counter over him, "You haven't heard then?" she feigned surprise. "Well, cowboy, that nasty fellow called Jack Ingleby done gone and kidnapped Whitley's brat. His daughter, I mean," she amended quickly, eyes sparkling with the delight in such a scandal and at being the first to convey the news to this new stranger. "And he stole Whitley's best stud- horse too. I don't know what the boy wanted that good-fer-nothin' tart, though. You DO know who I'm talking about, don't you?" she asked, knowing full well that he did not.
One side of Cal's mouth lifted his mustache in an amused smile at the barmaid's gossip. "Don't believe Ah do, madam," he replied, finishing his drink and keeping one eye on her face despite the manner in which she flaunted other areas of her fully feminine anatomy.
"Ooh! Well, the gal's name is Jocelyn Whitley, but everyone calls her Josie. She's a tart, she is, the rascally girl." She did not notice Cal's subtle lift of the brow as he wondered, if this Josie was a tart, what that made the barmaid relating the story. The barmaid continued, "She goes around in her bloomers, hear me! Riding that wild stallion of her daddy's astride like a man with her hair all down and blowing. And she carries a gun! Would you believe that? Though 't ain't so surprising; iffen not for those painted lips and long hair you might mistake her for a man, she ain't no beauty. But she wears paint like a.." The girl cast glances to either side of her and leaned over closer, "Like a lady of the night, ranger! And she'll just waltz around like she's the queen of the world because her daddy's the largest landowner in the county and," she paused for breath before continuing in a rush, "And one time a bunch of those hooligan boys she hangs around with dared her to ride around for two hours in JUST her bloomers..that's right, stark naked from the waist up! Not just that, but she did it too! Loads of nice folk saw her, though they'd not say because her daddy'd never believe it. He sees her through rose-colored glasses."
Cal's face was showing far more interest than when this rendition of the crime had begun, mouth wiggling slightly in attempt to fight back the grin that would preceed a howl of laughter. "Ah'd shore like to meet this startling young lady," he announced.
The barmaid looked scandalised. "On no you wouldn't! You'd best stay away from her, she's a tart, I swear! She's got a face like one of them tanned boys she rides with but's got so much practice on them not a man's real safe around her."
Cal looked as though he'd rather like to be around her for a while, all alone, but he did not say so. "Well," he said as he rose, finding a room for the night no longer foremost on his mind, "I'll be going now. Shore was nice talking to you." With that, he laid his money on the counter and strode out again, a peculiar expression on his face as he mounted his mare and nudged her into a lope that carried him to the sheriff's office.
The sheriff was sitting at his desk, readying the place for night while he was readying himself for a night at Madame Catherine's saloon, the same that Cal had recently departed from. When the tall, leggy cowboy entered, the sheriff sighed and prepared himself for a long delay. "Yes?" he grunted as soon as Cal's spurred boot crossed the threshhold.
"Howdy, officer," Cal offered as he entered, leaving his broad- brimmed hat on his head. "Ah've got a question or two for you, if you kin spare the minute."
With his drawl it'll take twenty 'spared minutes', the sheriff thought to himself, disgruntled. "Sure sure, make it quick as I'm on my way to supper."
Cal nodded companionably and sat in the chair in front of the desk, stretching out his long legs and crossing them, the spur on the upper boot jingling each time he moved in a way that the sheriff was certain would drive him insane long before the meeting was over. "Ah'm a bounty hunter by trade, sheriff, and Ah heard tell about a certain Jack Ingleby who's abducted a little female ruffian, am Ah right?"
The sheriff, remembering Jocelyn Whitley, found his face redden slightly as he tugged at his collar and fumbled for a reply. "Ah, right. Josie Whitley. Most of the town is thankful for that rogue, Jack, actually. But yes, she's a..prestigous daughter and we certainly will exert ourselves to try and.." He looked up sharply, suddenly registering the words Cal had said. A bounty hunter! Thank the stars. Now he'd be spared of sending out a halfhearted little posse after the infamous rascal Jack and be able to say he tried when Cal was found dead afterwards. "You're a bounty hunter! Oh excellent, that scoundrel has a high price on his head. He took two horses, presumably one for the, uh, lady and the other his own personal horse. They headed into the brush hills north of here. I wish you all luck, here's for you the wanted poster with further details, now I'll excuse myself for dinner. Pleasure talking to you." The sheriff stood and tipped his hat before clumping out the door on his way to Madame Catherine's, where he'd be greeted by girls who pretended to be pleased to see him.
Cal studied the wanted poster for a moment, remaining comfortably reclined in the chair as he mulled over the details.

Wanted: Jack Ingleby

Cal scanned his photo, the portrait showing a smiling young man with a large cowboy hat crushing black curls and shadowing two light eyes, presumably blue. His list of offenses, Cal noticed in surprise, was mainly for that of horse theft and abduction. Josie was the second woman he'd abducted, the first had returned home, evidently. He had stolen a good deal of horses and had shot several men for reasons undisclosed. "Well, Jack, Ah aim to get that thousand-dollar bounty, fella," Cal murmured to himself as he folded the wanted poster and tucked it up under his hat before exiting the sheriff's office, thoughtfully shutting and locking the door behind him as he made his way down to Madame Catherine's again, where he'd be greeted by curious girls sincerely pleased to meet him.