The Bank Robber Page 12

  The moon got up good and went to crossing the sky and I still sat there. I had a little makings with me and I rolled first one cigarette and then another and smoked ’em. I’d put my gun back in the holster, but I could sure feel its weight at my side. I tell you I was feeling miserable. I wondered if old Kid White had had much fun in his life. I wondered if he’d got his hands on most of the things he’d wanted. But then, I guess a man never does. There’d been the Kid, still wanting, wanting to go with us. Hell, he should have known when to quit. He should have known he was through. Why in hell had he had to go on like some old dog that doesn’t know he ain’t wanted until some kid in the prow of a rowboat sticks his daddy’s carbine out and shoots him?

  A man ought to know when to quit. He ought to go to searching for a little something better before it’s too late.

  I kept sitting there, trying to sort out what it all meant. Finally I became aware I’d stuck Howland’s drawing down in my belt. I got it out and smoothed it on my knee and took a look at it by the light of the moon. It looked like something a schoolchild might do, but it showed everything in the bank right enough. I kept staring down at it, trying to concentrate.

  The old fool had gotten so slow he hadn’t even had a chance. He’d drawn first and I still got him before his gun cleared leather. That’s slow, even fast as I am, that’s still real slow. Hell, even Tod could have killed him.

  The old fool hadn’t known when to quit. He’d stood there slouching like he knew his business and that was right enough; he just didn’t have nothing left to go with the knowing. He’d got down so far that he’d had to come to begging to go along on a job. That was a sorry comedown for a man. Not that I’d really known much about the Kid. I’d heard of him a few times, but he was considerably older than me and past his prime while I was coming up. He’d been just a name I’d heard every once in a while, in this saloon or that. Cattle rustler, bank robber, the whole sly game, and now he’d come down to begging.

  The funny thing was, I didn’t know if he was funning, meaning to show me how fast he was, intent on killing Howland, meaning to kill me, or what. All I’d known was I’d seen a man standing in front of me go for his gun and I’d pulled and killed him.

  Across the way I could see the boys turning in and settling down. Les stood, looking my way, undecided about coming out. Finally he went on to bed himself. He knows me well enough and knows there’s times I want to be alone.

  Well, the old fool should have known when to quit. He brought it on himself. A man that’s on this dodge has got to get his while he can and then get out with some of it. This kind of life ain’t no good over a long stretch of time. A man needs a good woman and a place, a few roots.

  I suddenly got up and walked over to the fire.

  “Listen to me!” I said loudly. Heads raised out of blankets.

  “We’re going in, in the morning. We gonna hit that bank. Let’s be up at first light and I’ll lay it out for you.”

  “Now you’re talking!” Howland said.

  I looked over at the direction of his voice. “Shut up, Howland,” I said. “You’ve done enough talking.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The Cattleman’s National Bank

  The bank opened at eight o’clock and we were there a little bit before. I had us come in by ones and twos in order not to attract much attention. There was a little alley right behind the bank that opened out on the street and I made that our rendezvous. We would go in the front door, then duck out the side and down the alley where Les would be waiting with the horses.

  “Let me go in the bank with you,” Les had said.

  “No. I want a good man holding those horses. We may have to leave in a hurry.”

  Me and Howland and Chico would go in the front door while Tod come in the side door just after we’d entered. Howland would see to getting the money while I stood by the front door, covering anybody in the bank with Chico just to my left and helping.

  There didn’t seem to be a soul on the streets. Up the block a storekeeper was sweeping the dust off his windows and a drunk was laying in front of the saloon, but that was all.

  We eased into the alley, dismounted, and then Howland, Chico and I set off up the boardwalk with Tod just a step or two behind. Howland would go in first, then me, then Chico. Behind me I could hear a low word from Les. I looked back and he give me a little salute. He was mounted on his black gelding holding the rest of the horses well back in the alley where they couldn’t be seen too easy.

  We passed the side door and Tod dropped off. He’d lounge around until he seen us go in, then he’d slip in himself. He was supposed to help cover and make sure the side door didn’t get jammed up.

  It was about five minutes after eight and we figured to be the first customers. Saturday mornings most folks don’t start showing up in town until a little later. I wasn’t worried about it being quiet; we’d figured it that way.

  I paused at the door and looked at Howland and Chico.

  “All set?”

  “Sure,” Howland said. “Let’s get on with it. Me and Chico’s okay.”

  I didn’t know if I was okay myself or not. I felt odd, not at all the way I usually do. Usually I feel pretty tense, but right then I was feeling kind of dead inside. I wasn’t nervous and excited inside the way I usually am.

  “Well,” I said, “let’s go.” Howland took hold of the door handle, opened the door and stepped inside. I took a deep breath and followed. Just as I stepped through the door it seemed that I thought of the girl.

  The bank was exactly as Howland had drawn it. Straight ahead and to the left was a long L-shaped counter that run from the back wall and then cut over and connected to the side wall. It had two high, barred tellers’ cages. Just behind that was a couple of offices and what I took to be the main safe. It was closed and locked.

  Tod stepped through the side door just as me and Chico got spread out. We still hadn’t drawn a gun.

  There wasn’t but one man that we could see behind the counter. He was, I reckoned, a teller, being in one of the cages. He was a young blond-headed feller, kind of tall and thin, wearing armbands. Howland walked up to him and leaned on the counter. I was roving my eyes over the back trying to spot any movement.

  “I’d like to make a withdrawal,” Howland said. He was kind of lounging on the counter, grinning. He seemed to be enjoying it.

  The clerk looked nervous. “Wha-what name, sir?”

  “Get on with it, Howland,” I said sharply.

  Howland grinned over at me, his face saying: “See, what’d I tell you? A real cracker box.”

  The clerk asked him again what name and Howland grinned and pulled his revolver.

  “Colonel Colt,” he said, “and I’ll take it all.”

  I don’t know what it was that bothered me, maybe the nervous way the clerk had of turning his head and kind of looking to the side and down. Whatever it was I got a yell out just before all hell broke loose.

  “Let’s git!” I yelled and went low and began to back for the front door.

  Then it happened. I didn’t get a straight count, but what looked to be five men suddenly came up from behind the counter and began blasting left and right. I snapped off a quick shot, felt something tear at my neck and then kicked out backward, knocked the door open, and scuttled through still shooting.

  Poor Chico never had a chance. He was wrong placed. Just as I went through the door I got a little side glimpse out of my eye of a big ranger raised up behind the counter and letting Chico have it with both barrels of a double-barreled shotgun. The blast knocked him all the way to the wall.

  Howland’s luck was in that he was standing so close to the ambush that they couldn’t get a clear shot of him right off. He dropped to the floor and scuttled across like a crab and went out the side door. He was coming out just as I came tearing around the corner running for the alley. Tod was running beside him, but I noticed the redhead had a big red splotch on the back of his shirt. As I dashed by t
he side door I snapped off a couple of quick shots to slow anybody up that might be coming. By then I was almost deafened by the boom of the gunfire inside the bank. I don’t know how many shots were let off inside, but it had seemed like one continuous explosion.

  Les had come out of the alley leading the horses. He’d heard the gunfire and knew something was wrong. Howland got to his animal first and mounted up and then began firing back toward the bank. Les had his rifle out and was shooting over Tod’s and my head as we came running toward them. I heard gunfire behind me and saw one of the horses Les was holding suddenly scream and rear and then began pitching around. It was the black Tod had stole.

  I came up on Tod just then and, as I started to pass him, he seemed to kind of stumble. He was blowing mighty hard for the little run we’d made. I put out an arm, steadied him, and then scrambled for my mare and swung in the saddle. Les threw my reins to me. My pistol was empty, but I carry a spare in my saddlebags and I jerked that out and began firing. A man was kneeling at the corner of the bank, firing at us, and I held my revolver in both hands, steadied against the movement of my little mare, and shot him in the knee. He let out a yell and fell backward. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Tod clutching at his saddle horn trying to mount up. He was trying to get on Chico’s horse and the animal was cutting around and turning pretty bad. I seen him get a foot in the stirrup and I yelled: “Let’s git! Ride!”

  We wheeled and started thundering up the street. Howland was out in the lead, then Les, then me and Tod was somewhere behind. I shot a quick glance behind and seen something was wrong with him. He was slumped over in the saddle, one hand kind of hanging down, and the horse was running sideways, spooked and frightened by the noise and the blood. I wheeled my little mare back, firing toward the bank as I went, for men were starting to tumble out the doors, and came up alongside Tod. I tried to support him in the saddle and get hold of his reins at the same time, but I couldn’t handle it. He was limp, like he was bad hit, and his horse was jumping around so bad I couldn’t get hold of a lead. I jammed my revolver back in my holster, intending to make a grab for the horse’s halter and then, suddenly, Les was there. He came up to the front of the horse, grabbed the reins and then turned on lead and spurred us up the road. I rode alongside, holding Tod in the saddle, and we went up the street, bent low and spurring, while the bullets just whistled around our ears. Howland was at the end of the street, rifle in hand, firing cover for us.

  “Hit it!” I yelled at him as we come up to him.

  We went down the road, Howland out in front and me and Les back with Tod, raising a cloud of dust you could see for a mile. After a little Howland cut off the road and started south across prairie. We swung right in behind him. I was still alongside Tod, supporting him as best I could, and quirting my little mare with my free hand. Les was strung out on that big black of his, leaning forward with one arm flung backward pulling that horse of Chico’s along, making him run faster than he’d ever thought he could go. Les took a quick look back and hollered something.

  “What?” I yelled at him.

  He shot me back another quick yell. “Here they come!”

  I looked back and sure enough I could see a little cloud of dust leaving town and coming at a kind of angle up on our right. I couldn’t see how many men it was, but they couldn’t have got too big a party together right away.

  Well, we was in a fix and no mistake. With a wounded man slowing us down we just couldn’t make the time we might of. And then we generally depend on a quick raid and then figure to get away in the confusion and build up a big lead before any posse can get organized.

  But they’d been ready for us and, what was worse, they was even more ready for the chase. It was looking bad.

  We tore along over the rolling land, mesquite and cactus and sagebrush tearing at our legs. Tod was acting worse, hardly giving me any help at all in keeping him in the saddle. I didn’t know how bad he was hit. Hell, I got to thinking, he might be dead already. But just then he kind of moved his hand and took a clutch on the saddle horn. He was alive, but looked to be bad hurt.

  Behind us, the chase party had seen they couldn’t head us and they’d swung in and laid into our trail. They appeared to be a half mile or so back, but I knew that we couldn’t keep up the pace. The country we were dashing through is terribly rough on a horse and we’d been running them hard for near four miles. Already I could hear my little mare beginning to struggle for breath. We had to do something and no mistake. Ahead and off to our left I could see a clump of trees with a little draw down in front. A few rocks scattered around might give us some cover. I yelled at Les and he looked back.

  “We got to fort up!” I yelled. He nodded, understanding, and I waved my arm toward the trees. He looked, saw what I meant, and then began angling toward it. It was still a good three quarters of a mile away.

  Howland was well out in front and I yelled at him as loud as I could, but he couldn’t hear me. I hadn’t expected him to. He’d see what we were up to. He’d have to swing back, but he could manage.

  We pounded along, closing on the trees. I watched Howland and he finally looked back. I pointed and he understood. He had to sweep his horse around in a big arc, being nearly even with the trees himself. We closed on the cover, us coming in from one direction, Howland from another. Behind I heard a faint rifle report. Somebody was showing out because they wasn’t going to hit anybody at the distance we had on them. I looked back and seen that the posse had made up a little ground on us. It was going to be a near thing, but I figured we’d have time enough to get in among the rocks and get cover before they came up to us.

  Just then, Howland’s horse stepped in a gopher hole. It was a bad fall, the horse going near into a somersault. Howland was thrown clear, but he landed hard on his chest and face. I yelled at Les and he pulled back and got hold of Tod. Chico’s horse was running all right now, so there was really no need to rein-lead him. I looped the reins around the saddle horn so the horse wouldn’t trip over them, then cut away and went to aid Howland. He was up on one knee by the time I got there. His face was all cut up and scratched and the shirt was nearly tore away from his chest, but I could see that he was generally all right. I skidded to a stop by him, flung myself off, pulling out my carbine as I did and got down behind his downed mount. The poor animal had broken two legs. He kept trying to rear up, not knowing in his dumbness that he’d never get up again. I put a quick bullet between his eyes.

  Howland was standing straight up, a kind of dazed look on his face. I grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him for the trees. “Run!” I yelled at him. “Run!” He was near out on his feet, but he finally took off in a kind of stumbling lope. He only had a hundred yards, maybe a little better to go.

  I turned my attention to the chase party. There appeared to be six of them and they didn’t seem to be aware of me. They seen Howland making for the trees and they bore down on him, riding along off to my right. I got a lead on the first rider and squeezed off a shot. The big Henry slug knocked him out of the saddle like he’d been clotheslined. I made the shot at a distance of about three hundred yards, which is no mean feat at a moving target. I got off another shot, but missed the second rider and then they became aware of me. Two riders split off and came barreling directly at me, firing as they came. Well, they wasn’t going to hit me, down behind Howland’s horse as I was, but my little mare was standing, like the good horse she is, just behind me, and they might hit her. I hated to do it, but I put the sights on the breastplate of the lead rider’s horse and dropped the animal. The bullet just cut the legs out from under the pony and sent the rider flipping over its head and tumbling through the sagebrush. Well, that give the second man pause, and he made to wheel around and light out, but I got him just as he came about. I didn’t hit him solid. He went over the side of his saddle and then come clawing his way back up, riding slumped over and low. He took out the way he’d come, his horse running crazy like an animal will with a rider sh
ifting and lurching around in the saddle.

  Meanwhile Les was putting down a good fire on the other three riders and they were milling around trying to get off a shot about a hundred yards short of the trees. Just as I looked Howland made it to cover with little puffs of dust kicking up around his feet. It was time for me to make cover myself. I mounted up and laid a few shots into the group. It was a long distance and my little mare was jumping around so I wasn’t too accurate, but one of the riders suddenly went down. I didn’t know if it was me or Les who’d got him. I figured it was probably Les. Well, that was the chance I was waiting for. I put spurs to my mare and made a bee-line for the trees. I was riding low in the saddle. I’d emptied my Henry, so I’d stuck that in the boot and had my revolver in my hand. Suddenly I felt something strike me hard in the left thigh. For a second I thought it might be a mesquite branch whipping up, but just then I heard the report. Off to my left, sitting down with his leg stuck out in front of him and holding a revolver with both hands, was the rider whose horse I’d dropped. I’d forgotten all about him. As I looked I saw smoke puff from his gun, then heard the boom and then the lead sang over my head. My thigh was hurting like hell. I looked down. Blood was soaking through my breeches leg. The sonofabitch had shot me!

  I wheeled my mare toward him, riding low in the saddle and aiming at his chest along my horse’s neck. I saw the puff again, trying to get my sights lined on him. I was gonna kill the bastard. Then, he was standing up, awkwardly, one leg at a strange angle, and I figured he’d broke it in the fall. I came on. He was still holding the pistol pointed at me, but then he drew it back as if he’d throw it when I got in range. He was out of cartridges. I came on, waiting until I was at a sure range and then fired. I got him point-blank in the chest and he went over backward. I fired again and then almost rode over him, swerving my little mare at the last second.