Dark trail wind river bo.., p.16
Dark Trail (Wind River Book 5), page 16
"I guess a lot of people want to do business here," Stanton said.
"Well, that's not surprising. It's more than a hundred miles to the nearest bank." The man adjusted his pince-nez, looked up at Stanton, and went on, "You were absolutely correct, sir. I make the amount one hundred and three dollars and eighty-nine cents. Does that sound correct to you?"
"Close enough," Stanton agreed. "Right on the money, I guess you could say."
The banker chuckled at Stanton's comment. He took a deposit book from a shelf underneath the counter and opened it, then reached for the quill pen in the inkwell at his elbow. "You wish to deposit the entire amount?"
"Sure, why not?" Stanton answered.
"And what will the name on the account be?"
"Colt. Samuel Colt." Metal whispered against leather as Stanton's revolver slid out of its holster. He cocked it as the barrel came up above the level of the counter and went on, "And I've changed my mind. I think this'll be a withdrawal instead of a deposit."
The banker blinked rapidly as he stared at the mouth of the gun barrel. He took several quick, sharp breaths. "Oh, my God," he said in hushed tones. "This is a robbery, isn't it?"
"You catch on real quick, mister," said Stanton. "What's your name?"
"N-Nathan. Nathan Smollett."
"Well, Nathan, you just go ahead and take however much cash you've got in that drawer and put it in this bag. One of my friends back there has got a bigger bag for what's in the safe."
Smollett finally tore his eyes away from the muzzle of Stanton's gun and looked past the leader of the gang. His eyes widened even more in fear, and Stanton knew he had seen the guns the rest of the men had drawn.
"No need to lose your head, Nathan," Stanton said, "and no need for anybody to get hurt. Just get on with what I told you to do."
Smollett nodded jerkily and began taking money from the drawer and stuffing it into the bag.
Stanton glanced over his shoulder, confident that the mousy little banker wasn't going to try anything. His men had spread out around the room, guns drawn and ready. He looked at Josh Garn and said, "You be the lookout. Anybody looks like they're headed here, sing out." When Josh hesitated, Stanton snapped, "Go on, blast it!"
Garn shrugged and moved over by the window, standing to one side so that nobody looking in would be able to see his gun. Stanton turned his attention back to the banker.
"That's it, Nathan. You're doing just fine. Now, don't forget to put that hundred I brought in back into the bag."
"All right," Smollett said. "That . . . that's the last of the money here in the drawer."
"Now for the safe," Stanton said. "You can open the safe, can't you, Nathan?"
The question seemed to offend the banker. He drew himself up to his full height and said, "Of course I can open the safe."
"Well, then, let's do it." Stanton gestured with his gun, motioning Smollett toward the heavy iron safe that sat in the rear corner, behind the counter. He had to grin as he moved around the end of the counter to join the banker. So far, everything had gone smoothly and quickly, just like he had planned.
Smollett was crouched in front of the safe, turning the dial of the combination lock back and forth until the door opened. Stanton motioned to Turner, who took a large, folded-up canvas bag from underneath his duster and brought it around the counter. Turner held the bag open while Nathan Smollett took stacks and stacks of greenbacks from the safe and placed them inside the bag. Stanton's grin widened as he watched the money disappearing into the sack. It took only a few minutes to empty the safe. Yes sir, the outlaw leader thought, this job was going just fine.
"Fit! Fumboys fummin!"
Stanton's head snapped around at the yell from Josh Garn. "What?" he demanded.
"He said somebody's comin', Goddamn it!" shouted the other Garn, and Stanton knew with a sinking feeling that he had appointed the wrong brother as lookout. He had mistaken Matt for Josh.
And that moment's confusion had given the old man with the shotgun time to reach the door of the bank, because it swung open just then and the man stepped inside, his eyes widening and the barrels of the shotgun starting to rise as he looked around and saw the armed outlaws scattered around the room.
Stanton jerked his revolver up and fired.
* * *
Rose's attack took Irene completely by surprise. Rose crashed into the blond prostitute, staggering both of them. The fingernails of her right hand found Irene's cheek and raked down the painted flesh, leaving behind furrows where blood welled up. Irene shrieked in pain and rage. She swung the bag in her hand at Rose's head.
"Stop it!" Lucy cried. "Stop it, both of you!"
Neither woman paid any attention to her. Rose threw up an arm to block the blows Irene was aiming at her head, and then she bulled into the soiled dove once more. This time both of them lost their balance and went down, sprawling on the floor of the aisle. Rose landed on top, knocking the breath out of Irene and stunning her. She stopped trying to claw the blonde's eyes out and clenched her hands into fists instead. She gave a little, inarticulate cry each time she lashed out at Irene.
Vaguely, Rose was aware of Harvey Raymond yelling, "Hey! Hey, stop that!" She ignored the storekeeper. Two years worth of grief, anger, and fear had exploded inside Rose, and she wasn't thinking anymore. She was just striking out at the woman who had become a symbol of everything that had gone wrong with her life.
Strong hands suddenly grabbed hold of Rose's shoulders and jerked her roughly to the side, toppling her off the fallen Irene. Rose twisted and kicked, her foot catching Lucy on the leg. Lucy was the one who had interfered, and all of Rose's rage was redirected toward the brunette, who hobbled back a couple of steps and held up her hands.
"Listen!" Lucy said urgently. "We don't have to do this, Rose!"
Rose got to one knee and glared at the brunette. "The hell we don't," she grated as she lunged to her feet and threw herself at Lucy.
Lucy tried to ward off the charge, but Rose was too angry, too out of control. She tackled Lucy, driving her back against one of the glass-topped display cases. Harvey Raymond let out a howl of dismay as the case swayed under the impact and almost fell over. Rose held Lucy pinned there, grabbing her hair with one hand and using the other to slap back and forth across Lucy's face. The blows jolted Lucy's head from side to side.
Then something landed on Rose's back and fingers jerked savagely on her own hair. Irene wrapped her arms and legs around Rose and screamed curses at her. The added weight of the blonde sent the display case toppling over with a crash of glass. Harvey Raymond shouted again. The small part of Rose's brain that was beginning to function rationally again heard him frantically telling someone to go find the marshal.
She rolled over on the floor of the emporium, ignoring the shards of glass from the shattered display case. The thought that Cole Tyler might find her here like this, thrashing around with a pair of trollops, sickened her.
She put her hands on the floor, pushed herself to her knees, then climbed shakily to her feet. She started toward the front door of the general store, still paying no attention to Raymond's anguished protests.
Rose had just reached the doorway when Irene shouted, "Bitch!" and crashed into her from behind again. Both women stumbled across the raised porch. Suddenly there was nothing but air underneath Rose's feet. She plummeted off the porch to land heavily in the rain-dampened street. Irene came down on top of her, and this time it was Rose who gasped for breath.
She was too stunned to fight back as Irene rolled her over, sat on her midsection, and began slapping her. Rose's head was jolted from side to side each time Irene's hand cracked against her face. All the rage that had fueled her attack on the prostitutes had fled, leaving her a husk with no will to stop the pummeling. Rose was barely aware that Lucy had come out of the store and was tugging at Irene's shoulders.
"Stop it!" Lucy screamed. "You're going to kill her!"
Might as well, Rose found herself thinking. She had nothing left to live for, nothing left in her future but more running and eventually death at the hands of John Drummond. Thunder rumbled and boomed, and Rose's face was wet from the rain that poured down from the sky.
But not all the explosions were thunder, she realized foggily. There were too many of them for that.
Some of them were gunfire.
* * *
Billy Casebolt's eyes took in the scene inside the bank immediately. He was about to open his mouth to call out a greeting to the manager, Nathan Smollett, when he saw the dozen or so hard-faced men standing around the bank lobby with guns in their hands.
A fella didn't have to be a genius to know what was going on. Casebolt didn't see Smollett and wondered fleetingly if the bandits had already killed him. At the same time he was jerking his shotgun level, intending to fire both barrels as he went back out the door.
Then the tall owlhoot behind the counter shot him.
The bullet took Casebolt in the left arm, midway between the shoulder and the elbow. It missed the bone but punched through the meat of the deputy's arm. The impact was enough to slew Casebolt halfway around.
He was still able to trigger the shotgun one-handed, but the recoil as both barrels blasted tore the weapon out of his grip. His aim was off, too. He had meant to go for the man behind the counter, who had been right in front of Casebolt. Instead, the charge caught one of the men who was off to the right of the door and considerably closer.
At that range, the buckshot blew the outlaw practically in half. He didn't even have time to scream.
More guns crashed as Casebolt spun back through the doorway, clutching his bullet-torn arm with his other hand. He didn't know if any of them hit him or not, but he managed to stay on his feet and throw himself toward the edge of the boardwalk.
He sailed off the walk, landing in the street and rolling desperately to the side as he grabbed at the revolver holstered on his hip. His wounded arm dragged limply behind him.
Inside the bank, Lew Stanton cursed luridly. He stepped over to Nathan Smollett and slashed at the banker's head with the barrel of his gun. Smollett cried out and flung up his hands, trying to protect himself from the blow, but the barrel of the Colt slammed into the side of his head anyway. The gun's sight raked a gash in his temple. He sprawled senseless on the floor in front of the open safe.
"Come on!" Stanton shouted to his men. "We've got to get out of here!"
Their horses were tied up in various places along the street, all of them close to the bank but not right in front. Any getaway they made would have to be a quick one, before the shooting roused the entire town. Stanton didn't waste time going around the counter. He put his free hand down and vaulted over it, the tails of his duster flying out behind him. He paused, turned around, and called to Turner, "Throw me the bag!"
The hillbilly tossed the canvas bag full of money over the counter. Stanton caught it, then spun toward the door again.
Lannigan had already burst out through the entrance, triggering his gun wildly. Alejandro Reyes followed him, also firing as fast as his finger could pull the trigger. One of the Garns was down, lying in a pool of blood with his belly blown apart by that old man's shotgun blast. The other one knelt beside his dead brother, his face twisted with grief and anger.
"Move, damn it!" Stanton snapped at the man, who looked up at him and mouthed incoherent curses. Had to be Matt, thought Stanton, then he didn't waste any more time worrying about it. He dashed past the Garns, the sack of loot held tightly in his arm, and his boots pounded on the boardwalk as he darted through the entrance.
Lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and a downpour slashed at Stanton's face. He didn't mind a bit. The sudden storm would make it more difficult for any of the townspeople to get a clear shot at him.
A gun boomed to his right, and he twisted his head in that direction to see the old-timer who had started this ball. The old man was crouched at the corner of the bank, using the building for cover while he threw shots at the fleeing outlaws. Stanton snapped a shot of his own that made the old man duck back hurriedly.
Stanton's horse was tied up in front of the next building. He wheeled toward it and broke into a run, his boots splashing water from the puddles that were already forming. He jammed his gun into its holster, jerked the horse's reins loose from the rack, and swung up into the saddle. It seemed like more slugs were whining past his ears, but he couldn't be sure with all the thunder and lightning going on.
As soon as he hit leather, he hauled the horse around and raked his spurs across its flanks. The animal lunged forward in a gallop that earned it back past the bank.
Stanton handled the reins as best he could with the hand that also held the bag of loot. With his other hand he fired twice at the old man as he passed. He couldn't tell if either shot hit its target, however.
The surviving members of the gang were all mounted by now, and Stanton caught glimpses of them through the driving rain as they pounded along the street with him. The storm was going to give them a chance to get away, but this wasn't how Stanton had wanted to leave Wind River.
His plan had called for them to slip out of town before the robbery was ever discovered, so they could get a big enough lead that no one would be able to catch them. As it had turned out, though, they might get out of the settlement safely, but there would be a posse on their trail right away. The last thing Stanton wanted was a running fight between his men and a group of angry, vengeful townspeople. What they needed was an edge, something to discourage pursuit.
And suddenly, up ahead, rolling around in the mud, he saw just what he needed.
* * *
Rose stumbled to her feet as Lucy pulled Irene off of her. The thunder of gunshots had turned into the pounding of hooves, and a huge shape abruptly loomed up in front of her. A man she had never seen before barely slowed his galloping horse as he leaned over, looped an arm around her, and jerked her off her feet. She felt herself lifted, then she slammed down on her stomach across the horse's back, in front of the saddle. She was too shocked to fight back.
"Get em!" shouted the man who had snatched her off the street. "Get those other two women!"
Rose heard someone screaming, heard more gunfire. Lightning flared, but there was nothing for her to see except the muddy street sweeping past underneath the flashing hooves of the horse she was on. She had no idea what was going on—
But once again Fate had grabbed her up and was carrying her along. She fought against the crazy impulse to laugh. Surely John Drummond hadn't had anything to do with this, but judging from the bullets that seemed to be flying around, someone else might take care of his problem for him. If one of the stray slugs hit her, she could die without even knowing the reason why.
Chapter 16
Cole Tyler had been at his desk in the marshal's office a few minutes earlier when one of the townspeople came in. The man seemed to be in a hurry, but he was chuckling and didn't appear to be alarmed. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and said, "You ought to go on down to the general store, Marshal. It's a sight to see."
"What is?" Cole asked as he pushed aside the reward dodgers he had been studying. It was something to do on a day that had turned rainy.
"Miss Rose, you know, from down at the cafe, is in a sure-enough cat fight with a couple of whores."
Cole bolted up out of his chair. "What the hell did you say?" he demanded.
The townie frowned and took a step backward, obviously surprised by the marshal's reaction. "I said Rose Foster's down at the general store fightin' with a couple of whores."
"Damn it!" Cole grated. He came out from behind his desk and brushed past the startled townie.
A finger of lightning crackled across the sky as Cole emerged from the jail. At the same instant he heard the boom of a shotgun, although it took him a second to realize he wasn't hearing thunder.
He looked through the rain at the emporium and saw three bedraggled figures struggling in the muddy street in front of the building. A second later, there were more crashes of gunfire.
Cole asked himself what in blazes was going on as he pulled his gun from its holster and started toward the center of town at a run.
Before he could get there, he spotted Billy Casebolt scrambling out of the street toward the corner of the bank building. Casebolt had lost his hat somehow and the rain had plastered his thin hair to his head, but there was no mistaking the deputy's tall, spare figure. He had his revolver in his hand and started firing toward the men who burst out the front door of the bank a second later. Their return fire forced Casebolt to seek cover.
Cole bit back a curse as he ran. Obviously, Casebolt had stumbled onto a bank robbery in progress. That was the only explanation that made any sense. Cole wanted to join the fight with his deputy, but he was still too far away for a handgun to do any good. Besides, the three women were still struggling in front of the general store, and they were in his line of fire.
Several of the outlaws had reached their horses. A couple of them raced down the street toward Cole. He dropped to one knee behind a water trough and squeezed off a shot at them. One of the owlhoots jerked in his saddle but managed to stay on his horse. The other man sprayed slugs at Cole and forced him to sprawl full-length on the ground behind the water trough.
The outlaws pounded past. Cole lifted himself to look down the street again and saw more of the gang galloping toward him. He started to scramble to his feet when suddenly one of the men veered toward the three women in front of the general store. Cole's eyes widened in surprise as he realized what was about to happen.
"Rose, look out!" he shouted, but he didn't know if she heard him or not. A moment later, the outlaw scooped her up deftly and kept riding. Rose's dress was covered with mud, but Cole could tell it was her because her bonnet had slipped down, revealing that unmistakable strawberry-blond hair.
Cole lifted his gun, instinct crying out for him to take a shot at the desperado who had just grabbed Rose. There was too much of a chance of hitting her accidentally, though, so he forced his finger off the trigger. The other two women were still stumbling around, but a second later two of the outlaws repeated their companion's maneuver, grabbing the women, hauling them onto the horses, and kicking the mounts into a gallop again.
