The Dolan Girls

by S. R. Mallery

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant. After visitin’ the bank,” Wes said, trying to look indifferent as he fingered the notches on his gun handle.

  In order to do some home-brand reconnaissance, the Soltano foursome split up that morning. As two of them checked out the Holten Bank, José and Wes sauntered over to The South Benton, where Wes put on the appearance of ‘being all ears’ to José’s dictates.

  “Now, you pretend you wanna open an account to see how the cashier operates in this here bank, and I’ll check out the other employees and the safe. Let’s get a feel fer the place.”

  The morning stretched into the afternoon with both banks given the once over and the townspeople assessed. By evening, Wes was informed that the bank robbery would happen in two days’ time and laying low was of the utmost importance, or as José expressed it, “No knockin’ about, no jarrin.’ Fights bring in the law. Gist save part of your breath for breathin’.”

  He turned to Wes. “And Wes, no cattin’ around, if you git my meanin’,” José emphasized, his eyes scoping out his renegade bandit.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Wes replied, flipping out a one-fingered salute from the side of his head as he exited the door to a saloon he had passed by earlier that day.

  * *

  Corrigan had been smart. Recently, he had posted a discreet little sign next to the bar saying, “Friendly drinks served upstairs,” and his clientele had doubled. He hated to compete with Cora and Minnie, but business was business, and a little side step into their territory wouldn’t hurt anyone, now would it?

  He even thought of mentioning it to them at Miss Ellie’s engagement party, but a jolly good time and free likker got in the way, and now, seeing someone like Wes walk in, order a drink from the barkeep, and slowly point to the sign made him smile. Another customer willing to pay extra.

  After an exchange of coins and a visual sweep of the gals, Wes pointed to a young, dark-haired beauty named Evelyn. The barkeep shook his head by way of protest, but Wes stood firm. Fingering his mustache and swatting her bottom once, he slowly guided her upstairs.

  At the top of the stairs, Evelyn swiveled around, and with a frantic, pleading gesture, grabbed the top post and looked down at her employer––her eyes the size of saucers, the post gripped so tightly, even from far away, Corrigan could see the white spreading across her knuckles.

  With a short little yank, Wes took her elbow and maneuvered her down the second floor corridor, out of sight.

  “It’ll be all right, it will,” Corrigan tried to reassure the two saloon waitresses standing nearby. But his voice was shaky, and it was pitched higher than usual.

  Upstairs, Evelyn had trouble lighting the lamp, her hands were trembling so hard. When Wes chuckled and struck a match next to her, she jumped a good foot.

  “Hey, little gal, what’s the matter, huh? Ol’ Wes will give you a good time. Just relax.”

  She stepped back two paces, turned, and charged for the door, half-crying. “This is a mistake, Mister. I ain’t up to it.”

  He grabbed her arm and shoved her against the door. “Nobody tells me what I can or can’t do, you hear me?”

  Her breaths were coming in choppy waves, but strangely enough, instead of pursuing his prey, he stopped, leaned back, and belched.

  “Hmm. Maybe it ain’t your time yet, honey. Besides, I got bigger plans,” he added, releasing her. He watched her yank open the door and scurry down the hall. Within seconds, he could hear her boots thumping downstairs and recognizing the rhythmic pause of her taking two steps at a time, he threw back his head and let out a huge belly laugh.

  Exiting Corrigan’s, Wes banged the double-hung swinging doors outward and stood for a moment on the sidewalk, tipsy and determined, serenaded by a short round of applause from inside.

  The hell with them, he thought, as he made his way over to the destination he had dreamt about visiting for many years.

  * *

  Across town at the Cattle Saloon, Brett and Thomas were getting to know one another. Embroiled in numerous topics, after three rounds of whiskey, they were still discussing law and order, horse wrangling, the surge of outlaws coming out of Wyoming, and the Dolan ladies.

  “They sure are a unique little clan,” Thomas said, holding up his third whiskey glass, eyeing its golden hue for several seconds before downing it in a brisk gulp.

  Brett followed suit. “I knew the minute I met Ellie that not only was she the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, she was a force to be reckoned with.”

  As he proceeded to recount her stubbornness and determination regarding the books she had ordered, Thomas listened, a slight smile etched across his face. Suddenly, the detective paused, drew a deep breath, and shook his head.

  “Wish Cora was as receptive as Ellie,” he half-muttered.

  Brett hesitated. “I didn’t want to say anything but yes, I’ve wondered why she’s always giving you such a hard time. I mean, there’s no doubt she cares about you.”

  Thomas looked up, genuinely surprised. “You really think so?”

  “Of course, Thomas. It’s as plain as day. Ellie and I’ve even discussed it. In fact, we…” Brett’s mouth clamped shut with a little plop. “All I can say is some things are worth fightin’ for, Thomas,” he finished softly.

  “And some aren’t!” Thomas snapped. As more and more people sauntered in, they both rose, paid their bill, and together, exited to head back to the Dolans.

  * *

  Although Thomas had been careful to secure Madam Ana’s, a recent downpour on top of dry rot was enough to weaken the lock hold on the cellar door, so when Wes tried to wriggle the door free, he was surprised at the ease with which it opened.

  “Must be my lucky night,” he snickered, then shivered with excitement, remembering the last time he was there. He pushed the door inward slowly and tried hard not to let the squeaks and groans of the old door make too much noise. The dark murkiness instantly brought beads of sweat and, wiping off his brow with his hand, he quickly smeared the moisture on his pants.

  Had to keep his trigger hand dry ‘n ready, he chuckled, imagining how the night was going to play out. And the look on Minnie’s face when he aimed his gun directly at her head. Let’s see her try ‘n run him out this time. He felt his way through the basement toward the stairs he had once trudged up so long ago with Thomas, Cora, and Minnie, after getting some of Madam Ana’s famous preserves out of her special cellar larder.

  Driven, he snaked up the steps, listening to some female chatter, most probably coming from the saloon. He licked his lips, fingered his gun handle, and slowly opened the hall door an inch or two. With no one nearby, he inched it open even further. The piano was clunking out a jolly tune, and the soft clink of glasses was unmistakable.

  He pictured Cora and Minnie’s bedroom and wondered if they still might be sharing the same bed. Flattened against the wall, he slid his way in the opposite direction from the festivities and smiled. Like ol’ times, he mused, remembering Madam Ana’s office and chasing Cora from her bedroom into the kitchen, her face, so scared, so young, so vulnerable.

  The back of the house seemed silent, almost calm. Gist waitin’ for ‘ol Wes to lay in wait for Minnie. His Adam’s apple rose and fell in high anticipation. Peering around the doorframe, the bedroom hadn’t changed all that much from so long ago: one bed, two sets of pillows, matching dressers, lace curtains tied back with slim cords, an old rickety looking rocker––was that also there back then?––and a small mahogany desk off in one corner next to the window.

  He walked over to one of the dressers, picked up a petite tintype photo of some woman and scowled. Cora? Minnie? Don’t look that familiar, he thought, with a quick shrug and a single eyebrow lifted. He put it down again.

  The tiny rustle of a dress coming in from the hall had him slipping quickly behind the bedroom door, to create a full on surprise attack. Suddenly he had to control an urge to laugh––who would it be? Minnie? Cora? He sure hoped it was Minnie. Althou
gh reuniting with Cora wouldn’t be so bad at that.

  From the sound of the light humming, it was obvious a female had entered the room. It must be Cora, because of the gentle sound. He smiled. Minnie’s hum would definitely come out tough, masculine. He fought off another snicker as whoever-she-was opened one of the dresser drawers then closed it with a clunk, her humming never stopping for a moment.

  Closing the door behind him, he turned to face his victim. But she didn’t look familiar at all. Beautiful, but definitely not either Cora or Minnie.

  “Who are you?” Ellie cried, her hand up at her throat.

  “Who the hell are you?” Wes replied, grinning, licking his lips in sudden high anticipation. Maybe this was gonna be even better than he had thought.

  One step toward her, and she let out a shriek. Still, he took a hold of her shoulders, and with a fast tug, held her against his chest. His breath reeking of tobacco and whiskey, his body clammy with the foul sweat of the unbathed, she struggled against him, and as she raised her fist to strike him, he laughed. Grunting, he smacked her on the side of her head, spinning her across the room into a wall. After she sank down onto the floor, he charged over to her, yanked her up onto the bed and watched her wriggle over to the other side of the bed. Flashes of Cora raced through his mind, and he smacked her again, relishing her falling backwards, almost unconscious.

  Like a pent-up bull, he snorted and started unbuckling his belt, his pupils dilated, his face red. He hadn’t felt this excited since forever. A beautiful dove for the taking, he thought, bending over her and gulping hard. He hovered over his victim, savoring every detail of her body––her tiny waist, her pert bosom, her full, luscious lips. Not believing his good luck, he began to slowly pull down his pants.

  “You touch her, and I’ll blow a hole in you a mile wide,” Cora growled from the doorway, a Winchester rifle tucked squarely under her chin, aimed directly at Wes.

  Startled, he straightened up. “Cora! Hell, gal, good to see you!”

  She cocked the hammer and stepped forward.

  “Hey now, you know damn well you ain’t gonna fire at ol’ Wes.”

  He turned back to Ellie who was half coming to. “Look how pretty she is. She…”

  The Winchester pitched a bullet that whizzed a half inch from Wes’ ear and left a deep hole in the wall.

  Cora cocked it again. “Get the hell away from her, you son–of–a…”

  “Bitch!” Minnie finished for her, her eyes slit in hatred as she fired her Colt Single Action and carved out another hole in the ceiling.

  Outside, a half block away, upon hearing the double shots, Brett and Thomas started sprinting. At Madam Ana’s, they both took the front steps two at a time and lunged inside.

  “They’re in in Minnie’s and Cora’s room!” the doves screamed as the two men barreled back toward the Dolan’s bedroom, Thomas commanding, “Get the sheriff!”

  Once inside the room, he charged over to Wes, knocking him to the floor and holding his stepbrother down until he could pull his own belt out of his pants and tie the bandit’s hands behind his back.

  “Well, well, well, Thomas,” Wes started, his face pressed against the floorboards from his stepbrother’s boot.

  Thomas yanked him up to a standing position. “Shut up! Just shut up! You’re coming with me now,” he snarled, glancing over at Cora to see how she was doing. She was white as a sheet and trembling.

  On the bed, Brett had Ellie encased in his arms as Minnie came up front and center to land a wallop across Wes’ face.

  “You sorry sonabitch! I’ve half a mind to string you up right now. We got an old oak gist outside.”

  Wes cast a large ‘hell-with-you’ wad of spit onto the floor. “Minnie, you ain’t nothin’ but a man-hatin’ bitch.”

  “Enough!” Thomas barked, jerking his childhood nemesis down the hall, past applauding doves, and out onto the porch where the sheriff and his deputy had just arrived to take the prisoner to jail.

  As soon as they left, Thomas pivoted around and hurried back toward the bedroom. Brett was still holding a shaken Ellie, and Minnie was fisting her gun tightly and sputtering. Cora was off to one side, alone, rifle down, still shivering. When she spotted Thomas, she blinked back tears.

  Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he guided her into the office. Just inside the door, she clung to him, her chest heaving, limp and in shock, until Minnie handed her a large shot glass of whiskey. She shook her head.

  “Cora, honey, if you don’t take this, I’m gonna shoot you myself!” Minnie hissed.

  “She’s got a point there, Cora,” Thomas said, settling her into the large desk chair. “Take the whiskey, you need it. Hell, we all need it,” he added, signaling Minnie to pour him one as well.

  * *

  “Guess what I gist saw?” Frank asked José.

  “Don’t play games with me. Get it out, man.”

  “Well, gist a while ago, I saw our pal Wes goin’ off to the local jail with the town sheriff and what looked to be his deputy.”

  “Hell, now what’s he gone and done?” José grunted.

  “I knew somethin’ ‘bout him weren’t right,” Juan declared, gloating. “What are we gonna do about it, José? Do you think they know we’re here?” he added.

  Their leader seemed lost in thought for a couple of seconds. “One thing’s sure, I think this ain’t the town fer us right now. But I don’t wanna leave him in jail in case he talks.”

  “How we gonna git him out of there, then?” Frank quizzed.

  José grew pensive. “Juan, you ain’t got a price on your head yet. So you go in there, say you got a complaint about gettin’ yer wallet stolen, somethin’ on that order. Take a look ‘n check it out. We still have plenty of dynamite, you know.” He tilted his head and scratched his chin. “If they don’t have nothin’ but one man there at night, maybe we can corner him and make him let ol’ Clyde, I mean, Wes, out.”

  The next night it was all set. Juan walked into the jail at ten o’clock, feigning just the right amount of distress. “I gotta problem!” he blurted out, taking in the deputy’s legs lazily hitched up and crossed on top of a giant mahogany desk.

  “Don’t we all.” The lawman chuckled.

  Maybe this was gonna be easier than we thought, Juan mused. “I got my wallet stolen,” he continued.

  “You know who did it?” was asked in the midst of a yawn.

  “Nah. You pick up anyone recently? Maybe it was him.”

  The deputy sighed, annoyed at having to make any effort. “We do got someone in the cell right now. You kin take a look if you’ve a mind to.”

  Juan’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure thing,” he answered and followed the deputy into the next room.

  There was Wes, lying on a cot, picking food out of his whiskers. When he spotted Juan, he immediately sat up, his body on high alert. But his fellow Soltano gang member flashed a subtle ‘don’t recognize me’ hand signal, and he lay back down again.

  “Nope, don’t recognize him,” Juan muttered, eyeing the room set up and the deputy’s weapon.

  Back in the main room, the deputy pulled out a form from inside the desk’s top drawer. “Fill this out, gist for your name is all, and I’ll give it to the sheriff.”

  “Is the sheriff usually here at night? I wanna speak to him.”

  “Nah, he’ll come in only if need be. Otherwise…” he smiled conspiratorially.

  “Otherwise?”

  “He’s at home with the missus and them four brats.”

  Both men laughed as Juan carefully wrote down a fictitious name. José’s gonna love this, he thought.

  Sure enough, it was a piece of cake. When Juan returned with Frank and José, the deputy gave in so easily, it made Juan snicker. Leading the armed visitors over to the cell, the lawman’s hand shook as he opened the lock. And when Wes called out, “You sure took your time, fellas!” José let the prisoner out and shoved the deputy into the cell. Within seconds, the gunmen were gone, lea
ving the deputy with his face in his hands.

  Just outside the back of the jail, José handed Wes his gun and the reins to his horse, and, mounting their rides, they all galloped out of town toward the far hills. Halfway there, Juan suddenly held up his hand and reined in his horse.

  “What you stoppin’ fer?” Wes asked.

  “This is the end of the road for us.”

  Wes’ eyes widened “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means we don’t want you with us no more!” Juan sneered, his Colt already out and aimed at Wes’ head.

  “I ain’t askin’ you, cabrón,” Wes sneered, “I’m askin’ José.”

  The head man also had his six shooter out, aimed at Wes’ head. Cocking it, he was cold as ice. “Gist like he said, we don’t want you with us no more. Clear enough for you now, cabrón?”

  Wes gulped. “Well, I’ll be. Once a ‘greaser,’ always a ‘greaser,’ huh?” With a quick click, he reined his horse in another direction. “Adiós, amigos!” drifted back over his shoulders as the Soltano trio themselves turned and headed east toward Guillermo and Omaha.

  * *

  “Sheriff, no! It can’t be!” Cora cried.

  The sheriff glowered at his red-faced deputy. This had been the hardest news to tell anyone, and as the lawmen stood there, helpless, they could feel the full wrath of the entire household raining down on them.

  “What do you intend on doing, sheriff?” Thomas finally barked. “A search party, of course, right?”

  Brett stepped forward. “I’m in. No one’s gonna treat my future wife like that ‘n get away with it!”

  Thomas placed a hand on his new friend’s shoulder. “I agree. My stepbrother’s a menace, and we need to track him down as fast as possible. Sheriff, you can deputize a group of us for a posse, can’t you?”

  Nodding the sheriff muttered, “I’ll put a guard here at Madam Ana’s. Meanwhile, come with me, fellas,” and as he led both men out, the doves stood by silently watching them leave. Running toward the front, Marlena called out, “Go get ‘im, boys! God bless you.”