We untied him and carried him, as gently as we could, up to the base of the bluff and laid him down. Les was going to take the saddle off his black and put it under Tod’s head, but I cautioned him not to. “Unsaddle Chico’s horse,” I said. “And cover Tod up with the saddle blanket.”
“But it’s hot,” Les said, looking at me.
“I know it,” I said. “But that’s what that sawbones told us to do with that cowpuncher in north Texas.”
He got it done and then we switched breeches. Me and Les are nearly of a size and they were a good fit. He stood, looking at me, in his undershorts, my breeches in his hand.
“You better put them on,” I said jestingly. “I’m liable to be coming back through here in a terrible hurry and we won’t have time for you to dress.”
“Maybe I better go in, Will.” He looked worried.
“Oh, hell!” I said. “Les, ain’t nobody coming back here with me unless he’s a doctor. Anybody else tries it will be carrying about three pounds of lead. Now don’t worry about this.”
“Well,” he said. “Well—”
“It’s all right,” I said. “Take a rest.” I walked over and got on my mare. “I better not dally,” I said.
“Be careful, Will,” he said.
I touched my hat to him in a little salute. “Don’t you worry,” I said. “Ain’t nobody gonna fool with me, you just set easy and I’ll be back with a doctor for Tod before you can shake a stick at a polecat. We’ll pull him out of this.”
He gave me a salute and I turned my pony and worked her up the bluff and then struck off for Pearson. The prairie was rolling and smooth. It was cattle country and the rough places had been worked down smooth. I put my little filly into a high lope. I didn’t want to waste too much time.
The dim lights got closer and closer. Finally I turned off the prairie and struck the little dirt road that ran down between the row of buildings that made up the main part of town. I passed a blacksmith shop, then a general mercantile store and pulled up in front of the first saloon I came to. There were other lights down the street but I figured one saloon would do as well as another. I dismounted and loose-tied my filly. The town didn’t boast boardwalks. I paused just outside the door of the saloon and scratched at my neck until I made it bleed. The wound didn’t look deep and could easily pass for the ragged mark of a hay fork. I wiped my bloody fingers on Les’s breeches and went on in.
The place wasn’t much. They had a fair mahogany bar and a number of rickety tables, but there wasn’t much business in the place to speak of. A few men in tattered clothes that I took to be sheepherders were drinking at a back table and there were several cowboys standing to the bar. The bartender was a fat man with a heavy mustache and beard. He was leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. Except for the sheepherders everyone looked up when I came in. I went up to the bar and ordered whiskey.
The bartender pushed himself off the wall and set me up a glass. He got a bottle out from under the bar and poured me up a drink without a word.
I took about half of it down with him watching me. It was raw stuff, cheap corn whiskey.
“Two bits,” he said.
I dug for change and flung a coin on the bar. The price was high for the quality of the drink. I stuck my finger down into what whiskey was left in the glass and daubed it on my neck. It burned like fire, but I didn’t let on to wince. I figured the move would call attention to my wound and get somebody to asking questions so I could ask about a doctor, but nobody paid me the least attention.
“Gimme another whiskey,” I said. The cowboy nearest me, standing to the bar like a hip-sprung horse, give me a casual look and then went back to his drink. I watched him out of the corner of my eye and saw him say something to the other one standing beside him. I couldn’t hear what was said, but the far cowboy leaned back and give me a look over the head of his friend. I could see they were talking about me.
“Say,” I called down to them, “wonder if there’s a doctor around here?”
For a second they didn’t either one look at me, just went on drinking. They were both pretty hard case-looking lots, travel-stained and grimy. I figured they were both off a nearby ranch and just in town after Saturday chores. Finally the nearest one, still without looking at me, asked what I wanted a doctor for.
It was a rude question, but I just touched my neck and said I wanted to get something done about a cut.
“That little thing?” It was the bartender. He laughed. “What the hell you want a doctor for that for? That ain’t nothing.”
I come around on him and give him a look. “Infection,” I said.
He laughed again, his belly shaking under his white apron. “Put some more of that pop skull on it.”
I didn’t say anything else to him, but looked back down to the two cowboys. “No doctor?” I asked again. “Sure?”
The one lounged around and looked at me. He seemed to take an awful long time looking me over. “Reckon we’d know if we had a doctor.” He paused. “One in Uvalde.”
“I reckon they is,” I said.
“You not heading that way?”
“Could be. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing to me. You’re the one asking all the questions.”
Then his friend spoke up. I couldn’t see much of him except the brim of his hat. He said: “They’s a ranch about twelve miles east of here run by two brothers. I think one of ’em studied dentistry back east for a time. He’s generally pretty good about them kind of things. Barbed-wire cuts and what not.”
“Well thanks,” I said. I was suddenly not liking the looks of the set-up too much. For a Saturday night the place seemed awfully quiet, like maybe a telegram had come advertising a reward for some wanted men that might be headed that way and all the able-bodied men had gone out to have a look and try their luck. Motioned for the bartender to give me another drink. I was wondering mightily if there was a telegraph line into the town. I couldn’t figure out any good way to ask.
“How’d you say you got that little scratch?” the cowboy nearest me asked.
“I don’t remember saying,” I said. He was making me mighty uneasy. I took the drink the bartender poured and drank it off. After I got the drink down I looked at the cowboy. “If I had of said, I’d of said I done it with a hay fork.”
He just kind of nodded his head like he understood and motioned for the bartender to give him another. I studied him closely, wondering just how fresh the dust was on his clothes. It could be fresh from just riding into town or it could be fresh from riding around the boondocks looking for several bank robbers. I decided it was time to go on back to where I’d left Les. I paid the bartender and stood away from the bar. “Well, I’m much obliged for your help.” I turned to leave, but the near cowboy called to me.
“Don’t be in such a rush. Stay and have another drink.”
“Don’t believe,” I said. “I got to get kicking.”
“Hell, I’m buying,” he said. “Belly up.”
“Reckon not.” I was near the door and he’d turned on the bar, leaning against it, to watch me.
“Man can’t stay for a free drink must be in a hell of a hurry,” he said. “Must be in a powerful hurry.”
“No, I just don’t want any more.”
“Say,” the poke on the other side asked, “haven’t I seen you before?”
“That’d be up to you,” I said. I put my hand on the door, pushed it open, and half stepped out into the night. “I just couldn’t answer that for you.”
“Seems like I have,” he said. He rubbed one hand crossgrain against his whiskers and stared at me. “Not here, though.”
“I got to go,” I said. I stepped through the door, let it swing back and then grabbed up my little mare and took out of the town. As I rode I watched to see if they’d come out after me, but the door stayed closed. At the outskirts of town I pulled up and looked around. I wanted to see if I could find a line of telegraph poles leading into the tow
n. It was still good moonlight, but I couldn’t make out a thing. Pearson wasn’t a railroad town as far as I knew, but still, they might have a telegraph. I wasn’t sure. I just looked a minute, then put my filly into a lope and headed for the little creek where Tod and Les were. Every little bit I looked back, but couldn’t see anything. As I rode, I noticed clouds coming up from the south. They were big black thunderstorm clouds and they were drifting right for the moon. Every once in a while one of the little outriders from the main pack would drift across and cut off a little of the light. If it would come a real gully washer it would be a big help, not only in washing out our tracks but in covering up the moon. I wished for it to get as dark as the inside of a cow.
I pulled up near to the line of willows and let out a little whistle. For a second I didn’t hear anything, so I whistled again. Finally I heard Les come back at me and I rode on into the tree line and went down the bluff. My partner was sitting by the bank with his back up against a tree. Tod was laid out flat a few yards away. I pulled my mare up and got down.
“Les,” I said, “I’m sorry. They ain’t a doctor. They told me there’s some kind of dentist about ten miles west of here.”
“Never mind,” he said. He had his head kind of down and was playing with a handful of sand. “Tod’s done passed on.”
I squatted down beside him. “Tod’s dead?”
“Yeah,” Les said. He was still playing with the little handful of sand, picking it up and letting it run through his fingers. I could see he was feeling pretty bad about it. Tod had never been the kind you felt real good about, just being around him, but once he was gone you realized how long you’d rode with him and how much you’d been through together. I started feeling bad about it myself.
“Nearly ’bout right after you rode out,” Les said. “I had him laying over there about where he is now and I’d gone down to the creek to wet a rag and try to clean some of the blood off him. I got down there and I heard him say something, couldn’t make out what it was, and I looked around and he was trying to stand up.”
“Was he awake?”
“Will, I don’t know. I couldn’t tell in the dark. Before I could get back to him he kind of keeled over and then tried to crawl a little ways. When I got to him he was drawed up in a knot with blood coming out his mouth and nose. He was saying something, but I couldn’t make it out. I tried to straighten him out, but he flang around for a minute, waving his arms and yanking his head and then I reckon he just died.”
“I’ve seen it like that,” I said. “I think they see it coming.”
“See what? You mean like they teach in church—the archangel or the death angel?”
“Well, I don’t know,” I said. It made me uncomfortable to talk about it. “Something makes ’em thrash around. I don’t know as I could give it a name.”
He shook his head, slowly, from side to side. “He really took on. Made me feel pretty bad.”
“Well . . .” I said. “Well . . .”
We were both quiet for a moment. I looked over at Tod, but couldn’t see him too well. The clouds were gaining on the moon and the night was getting darker and darker. “I hate it, Les,” I said. “I feel real bad about it.”
“I do too,” he said. “I’m damned if I know what I’ll tell his daddy. He’ll blame me, I imagine. He never thought Tod could do wrong for one minute.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It damn sure wasn’t your fault. Tod’s string just ran out, that’s all.”
“It’s funny, ain’t it, Will?”
“What?”
“Aw, how me and you and Tod grew up together, was boys together.”
“That was a long time ago, Les.”
“That’s what I mean,” he said. “I mean, it went on so long you just figured—I mean ... Well, it’s just funny, queer funny, about one of us getting killed.”
I could see Les was taking it hard. He’s not generally much of a hand for long speeches. I didn’t say anything, just let him sit and think about it by himself. They’d been kin, so it was more his affair than mine.
Finally, I had to say: “Les, it’s coming on to rain. Don’t you reckon it’s time we buried Tod, if we are, and then got out of here?”
He nodded slowly, then stood up slowly and dusted the sand off his hands. “I reckon,” he said. “We can scoop out a little hole in the sand.”
Above us the thunderstorm was starting to get itself together. Away off little flashes of lightning were darting through the sky and we could hear the rumble of the thunder. It wasn’t going to be long before it was on us. We got down on our knees in the soft sand, scooping out a little shallow trench to lay Tod in. It would wash him out. We both knew it, but we went ahead anyway. It ain’t a question of what’s done for a body, it’s the attempt that’s made. It wasn’t the little hole we was making that was so important, it was the time we were wasting in doing it that counted. If it’d been just me I’m not too sure I’d of taken the time, but I knew Les wasn’t about to ride off and leave Tod without doing something for him.
The wind was getting up and beginning to whip the willows about. It was going to be a real storm. I figured the rain was about five minutes off. We got the trough finished and then started for Tod. Just as I took a step I heard a sound. I grabbed Les and pulled him down. We squatted in the sand staring at the line of trees for some movement, but it had gotten too dark and we couldn’t see a thing. The sound I’d heard had been that of horse’s hoof on rock. It’s the only thing that sounds that way and it couldn’t have been one of our horses, for they were standing in the sand. I leaned my mouth close to Les’s ear.
“Mount up,” I whispered. “We’ve got to run.”
He looked at me and then nodded.
“We’ll go south down the creek,” I said slowly.
We couldn’t ride up the bank, for I didn’t know from which side the sound had come. If there were men laying for us they might be on both sides and we’d be riding right into their guns. Besides, the sand was too soft for good footing for our horses.
Our mounts were just a few yards from us. I crouched and then suddenly burst for my filly, running low and having trouble in the sand. I frightened her a little, coming at her so wildly, and she shied, but I grabbed the pommel and swung myself into the saddle. Les was right behind me. Just as he got astride his black all hell seemed to break loose. Guns were exploding from both sides of the creek going boom, boom, boom, boom! We never made a move to fire back, just clapped on spurs and hit the water running, heading down the creek. All around me I could hear lead whistling, but there wasn’t nothing to do but ride and I crouched low over my filly’s neck and really laid into her with my spurs. Over the sound of the gunfire I could hear Les coming right behind me. The noise had frightened Chico’s pony and he’d torn loose and was running with us. There must have been a power of men out in the darkness, for the gunshots just kept blasting. I thanked our lucky stars for the rain clouds. If it hadn’t been for that and the little noise the horseshoe had made on the rock we’d have been laying right alongside of Tod. As it was it was still chancy going. The creek bottom was pretty smooth, but still rough riding. Chico’s pony had jumped past Les and had come up alongside of me. I grabbed his rein, holding him in tight for protection of that side. Suddenly I heard an awful thunk and felt him jerk and then veer off to the right. I let him go and he went down before I even got good past him. If he hadn’t have been there it would have been my little mare going down with me atop her. That Chico pony had been in bad luck all the way.
Suddenly there was a little bend in the creek and we swept around that and then jumped up on solid ground and took off cross prairie. Behind us I could still hear guns going off, their muzzle blasts looking like big fireflies, but the men behind them were just shooting in the dark. They couldn’t see a thing. Les pulled up beside me and we laid into it, forcing our horses to give us some breathing distance.
“Townspeople!” I yelled at Les. He nodded without look
ing at me. He’d known. Nobody but fools would have lined up on both sides of that creek and then fired across. I imagined they’d been a few of them hit by their own bullets.
We kept going, eating up the distance. I made my little mare run longer than she likes to and then gradually pulled her down into a hard gallop. I didn’t know how many posses might be in the neighborhood and our only real safety lay in reaching the Rio Grande. Beside me, Les was leaned over his black’s neck, pushing him up. We kept the pace, whipping along through the chaparral. Overhead the thunder was booming louder and louder. Suddenly, big wet drops began to strike me in the face. In an instant the drops had turned into a deluge and the rain was coming down in sheets. It was raining so hard that the water hadn’t time to be absorbed into the dry ground. I felt my little filly beginning to lose her footing on the slick ground and I slowed her, motioning at Les. We got the horses down into a trot and kept going, going right into the driving rainstorm. I’d got my wish; it’d got near about as dark as the inside of a cow and while that was helping us by making our track harder to follow it was also making it hard going in the rough country we were riding through. I could feel the chaparral and cactus tearing at my legs and I figured it was doing a fine job of scratching up my mare’s shoulders. But there was no help for it; this was where she had to earn her keep.
Les rode close and said something. The wind and the thunder were making so much noise I couldn’t hear a word he’d said. I yelled, “What?”
He leaned in toward me and yelled, “Reckon they’re coming?”
“I don’t know,” I yelled back. “I doubt it. I don’t believe they were a posse from Uvalde. I believe they were ranch hands out from Pearson. I think they telegraphed for us.”
He didn’t get the last. “What?”
“Telegraphed!” I yelled back. “From Uvalde, about us heading this way. I think they followed me out from town.” Rain was running down my face so hard that every time I opened my mouth I’d get a mouthful. In the flashes of lightning, which were right over us by now, I could see Les. Rain was pouring off the brim of his hat and his clothes were soaked. His shirt was sticking to him like it’d been painted on. I reckoned I looked the same. We were still going at a fast trot, the footing insecure, but that nothing we could do about. We had to keep the horses moving. Occasionally my mare or Les’s black would start to slip and then catch themselves. Limestone rock and sand is mighty tricky going in wet weather. It gets like riding on lye soap.
The Bank Robber Page 15