by Don Winslow
Neal watched the armored car come up the hill. Come on, baby, he thought. Keep coming … keep coming …
The armored car’s driver didn’t see the truck hidden off the side of the road, not that he was looking for it, anyway. He was idly talking sports with the guy in the passenger seat. It made the time pass. The guard in the back contributed a few ignorant comments about zone versus man defenses, but the driver decided that the guard didn’t know squat about either.
“What the hell difference does it make?” the passenger asked irritably. He sipped his coffee where he carefully had torn a crescent in the plastic cover. “The Giants can’t throw against either.”
“I dunno,” the driver answered. “If they get single coverage on man—
“Sure, if the man is Franklin Roosevelt or Ray Charles or maybe … look out!”
The driver was already looking. A lumber truck was headed straight for them. Sideways. The driver knew that the silly son of a bitch had taken the curve too wide and lost it. He knew it was going to jackknife the moment he heard the awful whine of the hydraulic brakes.
The driver slammed on his brakes.
The lumber truck jackknifed, just as the driver had expected. What he didn’t expect was that the trailer would flip and spill out its load of logs, which came bouncing and barreling straight for the armored car.
“Holy shit!” the driver yelled. “Get down!”
He and the passenger hit the floor just as one big cedar bounced over the hood and rolled into the windshield. They felt four more jarring thumps before the barrage stopped.
The passenger looked at the driver.
“Look at these slacks,” he said with disgust. They were soaked with spilled coffee.
The driver got back up in the seat and looked out to see three rifle barrels pointing out from behind the overturned trailer.
“Stay down!” he yelled to the passenger. He threw the car into reverse and started looking for a place to do a K-turn. He was one hot driver, but he knew he wasn’t going to make it to Ione going backward. He looked in the rearview mirror and knew he wasn’t going to make it to Ione at all. A big old pickup was roaring up the road in back of him. The pickup went into a controlled skid and slid sideways across the road.
I’ll give them a run for the money, anyway, he thought. He squared the armored car up on the pickup and punched the accelerator.
“You think he’s going to stop?” Randy asked Cal as the armored car bore down on their truck.
“Bail out!” Cal yelled. He grabbed Randy by the collar and hauled him out the passenger side a moment before the armored car slammed into the driver’s door. It shoved the pickup a couple of feet back but didn’t clear it out of the road. Randy reached over the side of the truck bed, grabbed the gasoline can, and ducked.
“You got ’em behind you!” the driver yelled to the guard. The guard scrambled to pick up the rifle he’d dropped in the collision.
Neal fired his pistol in the air and Craig Vetter jumped from the boulder onto the car’s roof. He landed hard, fell forward, got up quickly, and fixed the lasso in his right hand.
Cal and Randy scrambled in a crouch toward the armored car. The guard in the back stuck his rifle out the gun slit and drew a bead on Cal. Craig tossed the lasso over the gun barrel, tightened the rope, and pulled it to the left. Cal stuck his pistol in the gun slit and pointed it at the guard’s head while Randy lifted the gas can he was carrying, shoved the rubber tube through the gun slit, and poured the gas into the back of the armored car.
“I’m coming out! I’m coming out!” the guard yelled as he saw Randy strike the match.
Just like we practiced it, Neal thought. He watched the back door open and the guard step out. Cal grabbed him and put him on the ground.
“Stay there,” Cal said.
“No problem, no problem,” the guard answered. He was pissed off. This was supposed to have been an easy job.
Neal edged Midnight to the side of the road. He pulled his pistol and pointed it at the passenger door.
“Keep your damn hands off the radio! Those rifles pointed at you have jacketed rounds, so forget about your bullet-proof windshield!”
“What bullet-proof windshield?” the passenger yelled.
“Are you the boss?” Neal asked.
“The supervisor!”
“Open the cash compartment, supervisor!” Neal yelled.
The guy in the passenger seat reached under the dashboard and flipped a toggle switch. The compartment unlocked with a loud metallic click.
“Open the door and come out, supervisor!” yelled Neal.
“I have a gun! I’ll toss it first!”
“Okay!”
So far so good, Neal thought.
The door eased open and a Colt .45 dropped to the ground. Neal backed the horse up to give himself some room and pointed the gun at the door. The supervisor came out with his arms in the air. He looked at Neal on the horse and asked, “Which one are you, Butch or Sundance?”
“Get down on the ground, smart guy,” Neal ordered.
The guy grinned crookedly and let himself down slowly onto the road.
“Now you!” Neal yelled to the driver. The driver eased himself out from behind the wheel and dropped to the ground.
Craig jumped down and he and Randy went into the back of the armored car. They pulled five large white canvas bags out of the cash compartment and carried the sacks over behind the pines, where Billy, Craig, and Jory had brought the horses. They loaded the stacks of money into saddlebags.
“Hurry up!” Neal yelled.
They finished loading the horses, then walked them up through the pines and out onto the road above the lumber truck.
Neal walked over to the supervisor and gave him a little kick in the ribs. “Get up.”
“Take it easy.”
“I’m taking it easy,” Neal said. “Walk toward the lumber truck. You do anything else, I’ll put one in your back.”
“You won’t have to, son.” He started walking toward the truck. Dave came out, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him to the back side of the truck.
Randy and Cal ran back to their pickup and headed down to Ione. They’d take a roundabout route to Austin when they were sure they were in the clear.
“You boys like your boss?” Neal asked the guard and the driver.
They nodded.
“I have him as a hostage,” Neal said. “If I even see a plane, or a helicopter, or any member of the law enforcement community, I’ll leave him for the vultures. Now get up and get your coats out of the car.
He held the pistol on the two men as they got their coats and put them on. Then he lifted the pistol, shot the radio, and took the keys out of the ignition.
“Just to make sure,” he said. “Now don’t you boys get all-of-a-sudden stupid. No bank’s worth dying for.”
“You got that right,” said the guard.
Neal stepped to the side of the road and threw the keys over the edge.
“Start walking for Ione,” Neal said.
“Aw, come on!” the driver protested. “It’s freezing out here!”
“It’s a lot colder six feet under,” Neal answered.
The guard turned and started walking. The driver took a second to give Neal a dirty look and then started down the road after him.
“It’s been a pleasure robbing you!” Neal yelled. He jumped back on Midnight and rode back to the lumber truck. “Let’s get going!” he yelled.
The boys hopped into the two pickups they had waiting up the road and drove over the top of the hill as Neal, Craig, Jory, and Bill trotted behind. The hostage was tied and gagged in the back of the first truck. A few minutes’ hard driving got them to the base of the hill, back in Reese Valley.
Three big horse trailers were parked on the other side of the hill. The captured mustangs snorted and stamped in two of the trailers. The gang started to off-load their own horses from the back of the third.
Neal pointed
to the hostage. “Untie him.”
Dave looked startled. “Neal, are you sure?”
“Well, he can’t ride like that, can he? Besides, he’s one of us.”
“What?”
“I said it was an inside job.”
Dave grinned as he hurried to untie the prisoner. “Neal, boy, damned if you ain’t something else …”
Damned if I ain’t, Dave boy.
“He can ride with me,” Neal said, pointing to the supervisor. “Help him up.”
Dave pushed the man onto the horse in back of Neal.
“We all ready?” Neal asked. Then he gave a signal and the men opened the trailers. The mustangs poured out and milled nervously in the snow, waiting for their leader.
He was a big young bay stallion, and he reared and kicked as Bekke led him away from his mares and young ones. The cowboys held the herd in check while Bekke pulled the stallion along until there was a space of a hundred feet between the stallion and his herd. The rest of the cowboys eased their horses into this space as Bekke held the stallion, who was trying to crush his handler’s head with his slashing hooves.
“Hold on tight,” Neal said to his passenger. He nodded to Dave, who gingerly slipped the rope off the stallion’s neck, then fired a pistol in the air. The stallion whinnied and reared, saw the way clear to the broad valley to the north, and took off. His mares and young ones followed at a gallop, while the cowboys in the middle hung on to their mounts and tried to stay ahead of the stampede, which was even now obliterating their tracks in the snow.
Midnight surged forward and both riders almost fell off before righting themselves.
“I told you to hang on!” Neal yelled.
“Did I ever tell you I hate you, Neal?”
“Many times, Graham! Many times!”
Joe Graham hung on to Neal’s waist as if it were a life preserver. This wasn’t far from reality; their horse was laboring under the double weight and losing ground. If either rider fell off he would be crushed by the stampeding mustangs before he could even get to his feet.
Graham closed his eyes.
Neal looked ahead and saw Dave chasing the stallion on, galloping right behind him and keeping him headed south. The stallion was trying to cut, turn around, and get back to his herd, but it was too soon for that. Neal could hear the hooves behind him, what people called a thundering herd. But it wasn’t like thunder, the sound was more like a heavy hail storm, like when the sky opens up and beats the earth with hard balls of ice. He risked turning his head and saw the mustangs pounding just behind him. He gripped his knees harder into the horse’s side and kicked his heels into the animal’s ribs. His left foot slipped out of the stirrup and he fell forward onto the side on Midnight’s neck. He could feel Graham’s one hand trying to grab his jacket and pull him back up, but Graham had no leverage and they were both slipping.
He gripped the reins tightly in his left hand as he tried to feel for the stirrup with his foot. He got a toehold, then grabbed the horse’s mane with his right hand and pulled himself back up.
And then they were just galloping, flying across the sagebrush with the north wind in their faces, and the horses kicking up snow and snorting and the cowboys gasping for breath. One long, beautiful ride on The High Lonely and then it was over. Craig, Jory, and Billy, their saddlebags full of the loot, cut to the east and trotted toward the Toiyabe Mountains, and Dave slowed to a canter and then stopped. The stallion turned, watched him for a wary minute, made a wide circle around the cowboys, and galloped back to his herd.
Neal watched the stallion gather his mares, his fillies, and his colts, snort greetings, and then lead them in a dash back to the south, back to the hard task of surviving winter.
Then Neal looked east and saw the cattle herd a mile in the distance. He watched the three riders cross in front of the herd, which would soon trample their tracks. The riders were headed for the creek. They’d ride their horses up the creek bed for about ten miles, then take them up into the hills where they could see the Hansen ranch. If everything was all right they’d come in at dusk.
The rest of them would join the cattle herd and make their way slowly down to the ranch.
If anyone was looking for armed robbers, they wouldn’t think to suspect a bunch of cowboys bringing in their cattle.
Vinnie Pond stamped down the road. He was not a happy man.
“I’m a driver,” he said, “not a walker.”
Hell of a driver, thought the guard. He’d hit the pickup perfectly—not enough to move it out of the way but hard enough to look real.
“What I want to know,” the guard said, “is where Neal got that shit-kicker accent.”
“You know Neal,” Vinnie said. He blew on his hands to keep them warm.
“Not always a day at the beach,” the guard agreed.
They trod on down the hill.
When they reached the cattle herd Neal got off Midnight and helped Graham down. “Take a break,” Neal said.
Joe Graham sat down in the snow. “How do you keep from banging your balls when you’re riding?” he asked.
“You don’t,” Neal answered. “You just get used to it.”
“No thanks. How much farther do we have to go?”
“About ten miles,” Neal answered, hopping back in the saddle. “It’s not so far on a horse.”
“1 think I’ll walk.”
Neal reached down and helped Graham back into the saddle. He maneuvered the horse to the back of the herd, out of earshot of the others.
“It went well,” Neal commented. “How much money did we get?”
“Three hundred large plus change.”
Neal whistled. “Pretty generous of The Man.”
“He wants it back.”
That’ll be a cute trick, Neal thought.
Graham said, “Nice touch with the logs. You could have told us.”
“It was an afterthought,” said Neal. “I didn’t know it was going to be you.”
“I had something to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“I think Cody McCall is alive.”
“So do I,” Neal said.
“But I think I know where he is.”
Cal and Randy had driven to Ione, then on up to Fallon, and now were working their way home on Route 5O. They’d picked up a couple of six-packs in Fallon, seeing as how alcohol was in short supply back at the ranch.
They were close to the Filly Ranch when Cal said, “You know, we oughta really celebrate.”
“How do you mean?” asked Randy.
“Thinking of saddling up a filly.”
Randy looked at him in disbelief. “Jesus, Cal, we robbed that place!”
“We had masks on!”
“Still and all.”
They were still arguing about it when they reached the Filly Ranch and something Cal saw made the discussion moot.
It was a woman standing by the road with her suitcase by her feet and her thumb out.
“Pull over,” Cal said. “I mean, why pay for it?”
Randy pulled the truck over and Cal rolled his window down.
“Awful cold to be standin’ out there, ma’am.”
“You’re telling me,” she answered.
She’s pretty, Cal thought. Long legs, big tits …
“Where you headed?” he asked.
“Anywhere away from here,” she answered. “This is no kind of work for a white woman.”
“We can take you as far as Austin,” Cal offered.
“That’s a start.”
Cal hopped out, threw her bag into the back of the truck, and helped her into the cab.
“My name is Cal, he’s Randy,” Cal said. “Course, I’m randy too, but my name is still Cal.”
She laughed politely but was starting to get a little nervous. “I’m Doreen,” she said.
“You sure are pretty, Doreen.”
“Hey, I just want a ride, okay?”
It’s okay, Cal thought, we just want
a ride, too.
A little way down the road he asked, “You don’t suppose you could contribute some gas money, do you, Doreen?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have no money. That bitch back there wouldn’t give me my pay. Said I owed her for rent and towels and shit.”
Cal and Randy looked at each other and laughed like banshees.
“Well, that’s too bad, Doreen, but maybe we could work something out?”
Randy pulled the truck to the shoulder.
“You goddamn men are all the same,” Doreen said. “All right, who’s first?”
Cal looked at Randy. “Wait outside.”
“It’s colder than your momma’s heart out there. Are you kiddin’?”
Cal took his pistol from his waistband. “I ain’t kiddin’.”
“At least let me have a cigarette and a beer,” Randy grumbled. He lit up, popped open a beer, and got out of the truck. He leaned against the passenger door.
Cal pushed Doreen down on the seat. “You’re going to love me,” he said.
“I’ll bet.” She wriggled her jeans down to her boots. “Come on, lover.”
A couple of minutes later she said, “Is there something special I can do to help you …”
“It’s the cold,” he said.
“Sure, baby, it’s the cold.”
Randy rapped on the window.
“I ain’t finished!” Cal yelled.
He ain’t even started, Doreen thought. It might be quicker to walk to Austin.
Randy rapped again. “Cal!”
Cal looked up. “What?”
“A car’s pullin’ up!”
Cal zipped himself, tucked the pistol back in his waistband, and backed out of the cab. A big man in a black cowboy hat and shades was getting out of an old Cadillac and coming toward them.
Doreen kneeled on the seat and looked out the window. “Shit, it’s Harold!”
Cal thought he recognized the man as the bouncer at the whorehouse, but he asked her, “Who is Harold?”
“What are you doing with my woman!” Harold roared, answering the question.
Randy giggled and Cal answered, “I was just about to make her the happiest woman in America before you interrupted.”
“Get out of there, you whore!” Harold yelled. “Your ass is coming back to the ranch! You think I’m paying your bill?”