Even the Corrupt Deserve Redemption

Chapter Two: The Bounty

The paper had begun to turn yellow. Hanging on the wall for almost two years now, there were times she almost gave up hope of ever bringing home the bounty. The face on the wanted poster had begun to seem more like that of a ghost, rather than a human being. Perhaps he really was a ghost. Wouldn't that be something? Imagine spending all this time on a manhunt, only to find out your prey wasn't really real at all, only a figment of the imagination.

Sometimes she doubted herself, then realized there was no reason to. She was the most famed bounty hunter in the states. There wasn't a soul alive who didn't know the name of Mercy Nace. Ever since she'd captured her first outlaw at the age of fifteen, she'd become known as a legend. All the hard jobs were left to her. She could catch the uncatchable, find the unfindable, and outwit the smartest of them all. She'd killed probably a hundred men and just as many women in the past twelve years. Many more had stood trial after she'd captured them. She'd seen her life flash before her eyes on many occasions, but somehow she'd managed to make it out of even the toughest spots alive and kicking. Some claimed she was untamable herself, as wild as the wind, never letting anyone get close to her. Others claimed that, underneath the rough exterior, she was still a woman underneath, with a heart that beat just the same as anybody else's. She could shoot better than any man, but love as tenderly as any other woman. Still others claimed she'd as soon go to bed with a man as shoot him.

Most of it wasn't truthful, of course, but she never told anybody otherwise. She enjoyed having an air of mystery about her. In reality, she wasn't that smart, and most of the fugitives she fought were lousy shots. She'd been married the past six years to a town marshal, and he was the only man she'd ever loved or would ever love.

"Why don't you stop staring at the face on that poster and stare at mine instead?" Speak of the devil.

Mercy turned to face her husband. He grinned down at her mischievously. "Now ain't I much better to look at?"

She smirked. "I suppose."

He pulled her close to him and kissed her on the lips. "How about now?"

"I couldn't see," she smirked back at him. "Had my eyes closed."

He reached out a finger and lightly tweaked her nose. "You really think you're funny, don't you?"

She shrugged. "I suppose."

He let her go and sat down at his desk. She turned her attention back to the poster, analyzing it for the eight hundredth time.

"I've a good mind to rip that paper off the wall and burn it," he eyed her.

"I'm going to catch him, Andrew," she replied, not bothering to turn and look at him. "Mark my words."

"You've been saying that for seven years now. Ever since I've known you. That poor sucker's probably dead by now anyway. Either shot or died of starvation while hiding out someplace. Why don't you focus your energy on catching some other ruffian, rather than wasting it all on that bastard?"

He was wrong. That man on the poster was still alive somewhere; she could feel it. And she would bring him down if it was the last thing she did. It very well might be. The life of a bounty hunter was one fraught with danger. You never knew when your next job might be your last.

"I refuse to let a criminal go," she said, her face growing hot with rage. "Dead or alive, he must be brought to justice."

Andrew had just been trying to help, she knew that. But nevertheless his words had made her angry. Who was he to doubt her? He should know better than anyone that she did what she set her mind out to do.

Andrew, not wishing to experience his wife's ire, began to back down. "I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean—"

She didn't let him finish.

"Mercy Nace always gets her quarry. Always."