“I am,” Aaron said, his voice harsh, his rage bubbling just beneath the surface. “If I am sure of nothing else, I am of this. We deserve our vengeance.”
Glancing from Elmer to George, Aaron found him staring not at the fire, but into the darkness, his head tilted to the side as though listening to something that only he could hear. “George?” Aaron asked. “You with me?”
Slowly, George turned his head to look at him, his eyes shadowed by the light cast by the firelight. “Yeah,” he finally said, his voice devoid of all emotion. “I’m with you.”
“Then tomorrow we ride west,” Aaron went on, feeling a faint chill at the deadness in George’s voice and eyes. “We need cash. On our way to San Antonio, we rob a few banks, using the Mexican disguises.”
George merely nodded, turning his gaze back into the darkness, Elmer saying not a word. That, too disturbed Aaron more than a little, for Elmer always spoke his mind, never held his opinions back. Hope he ain’t planning to ride off and leave us, to start a new life as he says he wants to do. He studied his brother as closely as he could, observing the same deadness around him that George had.
As though neither one of his brothers cared about anything anymore.
Riding straight west again, they headed toward the rocky hills, dark with distance, that marked the San Antonio region. Passing ranches with grazing herds of longhorn cattle, George’s rifle brought down a weanling calf. After roasting a haunch that evening, they spent the next few days curing much of the meat over a slow fire.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Aaron said as they sat their horses outside the small town of Gonzales late in the afternoon. “We make camp in those trees yonder. Early tomorrow, Elmer and I go into town dressed as Mexicans. We wait till the bank opens, rob it, then head south. Once out of sight, we strip out of the sombreros, then circle around and come back here.”
“You ain’t riding in Mexican saddles,” George said, his voice still emotionless.
“That might be noticed, Aaron,” Elmer added.
“And it might not be,” Aaron replied, testily. “Look, we have to get money. We stay out of sight as much as possible, hide our horses around the back of the bank. Then we ride out fast, and all people see are our backs.”
“All right,” Elmer said, turning his horse toward the grove of trees, his tone almost as dead as George’s.
Shortly after dawn, Aaron and Elmer rode toward Gonzales, leaving George to wait for them with the spare horses. Wearing their sombreros and serapes, dirt on their faces and hands, they once more appeared as Mexican. Once striking the main street of the town, Aaron almost continued on down, for very few people occupied it. Before they turned down a side lane, Aaron counted three people and a single horse tied to a rail.
“The bank may not have much of anything in it,” he muttered sourly.
Riding through the back alleys, Aaron kept a watchful eye out for the local lawmen and spotted only a tiny office that had the sign “Sheriff” over it. Like everything else in this town, it looked dead and empty. Very few people conducted their business, wandered into shops, or drove wagons to the general store.
“This town is hardly alive,” Elmer commented. “Does it even have a bank?”
Aaron reined in, his brother halting beside him. “It’s right there.”
He pointed down the alley. The bank stood on the corner of the main avenue of the town and a side street. He saw no movement within it, no one coming or going, and a single cowboy walked past it. “Let’s cross over the street a few blocks down, then come up behind it,” Aaron said.
Made uneasy by the sheer lack of humanity in this town, Aaron speculated about the reason they saw so few people. “Maybe the heat has them inside,” he muttered.
“That’ll make it easier on us,” Elmer agreed. “It’s hotter than an overloaded stove out here.”
Leaving the horses behind the bank building, Aaron and Elmer, their heads down, ambled lazily from around the corner to lounge for a moment. Looking around, Aaron found no one in the general vicinity much less anyone paying any heed to them. “This is almost spooky,” he muttered.
“Let’s get this done with and out.”
Opening the door to the bank, they walked in, pulling their revolvers from their holsters. The teller behind his window raised his hands instantly, his eyes widened with fear. A single customer stood in front of him, a man with a cowboy hat on his head and a gun at his hip. The man started to turn, his hand pulling his gun from its holster at the same time.
Aaron acted without thought. Raising the butt of his gun, Aaron brought the butt of it down on the back of the man’s head before he completed his turn. He collapsed, rolling onto his back, his face twisted in pain. The star on his vest made Aaron gape.
The local sheriff.
Not unconscious, the sheriff tried to still yank his gun from its holster, but Elmer quickly kicked it out of his hand. Neither of them dared speak, for their accents would give them away as white men, not Mexicans. Reaching down, Aaron seized him by his collar and dragged him up, the muzzle of his gun pointed at the sheriff’s face. The man raised his hands in surrender.
“Just don’t kill anyone,” he gasped, his face turned away from Aaron’s under the pressure of the gun pressed against his temple. Aaron didn’t answer, his eyes on the frightened teller.
Elmer threw open the door that led to the back of the bank, seizing hold of the man’s arm. “Don’t kill me,” the man begged. “I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me.”
Grabbing a sack, he gestured for the employee to fill it from the drawer. The trembling fellow obeyed him, then was forced by Elmer to the safe. Aaron dragged the sheriff back there as well, wondering what he was going to do to make sure the lawman wasn’t on their tail the moment they rode out of town with their loot. If he shot the man, the sound would bring the town down upon them.
The manager rose from his desk, his plump cheeks pale, sweat running in rivers down his face. Elmer jerked his revolver toward the safe, indicating he was to open it. Doing as he was told, the manager spun the dial, then opened the safe. Aaron almost gawked in shock. Elmer stared from the safe to Aaron and back again.
Stacks of cash in bundles, as well as gold bars, sat upon the shelves. A cuss word rose to Aaron’s lips and hung there, almost emerging before he managed to swallow it. He gestured with the barrel of his gun, then set it against the sheriff’s head again. Kneeling, the teller stuffed the cash and the gold into a sack and handed it to Elmer with hands that shook.
Glancing around, Aaron knew they needed to ride and fast right then if they were to escape with all those riches. But how to keep the sheriff quiet without killing him? Pulling his gun back, he reversed it and cracked the sheriff just behind the ear with the butt. The sheriff went down, his eyes rolling back in his head, and sagged immediately to the floor.
With gestures, Elmer got the other two to sit down, then Aaron and he backed through the bank, keeping their guns trained on the pair of employees. Once back in the front portion, Aaron and Elmer spun around, bolting through the front door with their prize. Triumph sang through Aaron’s veins as he and Elmer ran around the corner to their horses, putting their revolvers back into their holsters. We are rich. We’ll never have to steal again.
Elmer shoved the thick sack into his saddlebag as Aaron vaulted aboard his horse. Leading the way down the alley as Elmer swiftly mounted his horse behind him, Aaron kicked his mount into a gallop. “We did it,” Aaron said, half turning in his saddle toward Elmer. He froze.
At the bank’s rear door, the manager raised a gun in their direction and fired off several shots. Aaron ducked instinctively, making himself as small a target as possible. At his mount’s tail, Aaron heard a sharp grunt from Elmer, saw his brother’s eyes widen in shock. Just as Benji’s did before he fell from his horse.
“Elmer?” Aaron choked out, panic filling him.
“I’m hit,” Elmer gasped, squeezing his eyes closed. “My shoulder.”
; Needing to get them both out of town as fast as possible, Aaron galloped down side streets and alleys, keeping buildings between their bodies and any others who may want to shoot them down. From the main street, Aaron heard shouts and yells as the gunfire drew attention from the citizens. Still, he saw no one as they cleared the town limits, and turned toward the south. Only when Gonzales vanished from their sight did Aaron slow both horses.
Elmer slumped over his saddle horn, a hole torn in the serape over his right shoulder blade. He was conscious, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. “We need to stop for a minute,” he told Aaron, his voice hoarse.
Spotting a thicket of mesquite and prickly pear, Aaron stopped within its shelter and yanked off his sombrero and serape. Leaning out of his saddle, he lifted Elmer’s from his back, examining the bloody wound in his shoulder blade.
“Did it go straight through?” Aaron asked.
Elmer nodded weakly. “Yeah. I’m bleeding from the front, also.”
“We need to get back to George,” Aaron told him. “We can get you fixed up a bit, but then we have to ride. Think you can?”
“Have to.”
Hiding his disguise and Elmer’s hat in their saddle bags, Aaron led the way back east a few miles before turning north again. A hot brisk wind over the landscape helped hide their tracks, and Aaron watched for any signs of pursuit from the local Gonzales townspeople. Hopefully, he speculated, any posse would be delayed with the sheriff temporarily out of action.
George stood up from his never-ending card playing as Aaron and Elmer galloped toward him. “Is Elmer hurt?” he called out.
“Yeah.” Aaron trotted his horse into the shade, Elmer following without much guidance, then dismounted. Elmer cried out in pain as he and George pulled him from his saddle and sat him carefully on the ground. “Get the whiskey, George.”
Removing the serape from Elmer, he cut his shirt away with his knife, exposing both bloody wounds, one on each side of his shoulder. Washing blood away with water from his canteen, Aaron examined them closely. “Not too bad,” he muttered. “Clean in and out. It’s not really bleeding anymore.”
George returned with the whiskey, holding Elmer steady as Aaron cleansed the holes with the alcohol, Elmer trying not to yell out and not succeeding. “You’ll be fine,” Aaron muttered. “You’ll heal quick.”
Tearing a shirt into bandages, Aaron wrapped Elmer’s shoulder, then manufactured a sling for him to rest his arm in, tying the knot behind Elmer’s neck. Elmer blew out a gust of breath in relief as his arm hung nearly immobile. “That’s better,” he breathed.
Putting the serape back over his brother’s torso, Aaron handed him his hat. “We ride north again to skirt the town,” he said, leading Elmer’s horse to a tall rock. “If we aren’t being chased, we’ll ride in easy stages as we go west.”
With George’s help, Elmer climbed atop the rock, then mounted his horse. “Sounds good,” he replied, sweat running down the side of his head.
Riding out again at an easy lope, Aaron told George about the huge amount of cash and the gold taken from the bank. Where once George would have greeted the news with excitement, he merely nodded, his eyes on Elmer riding beside him. “That’s good.”
Puzzled, Aaron added, “We are rich. We may never have to rob a bank again. Once we kill Price, we have enough to make new lives that don’t involve stealing.”
George seemed not to hear him. Falling back into silence, Aaron led the way west, toward the distant hills, keeping watch for a pursuit that never materialized. Not bothering to wonder if it was the disguises that worked, or his disabling the sheriff, Aaron didn’t care. They now had miles between them and the town, their trail obliterated by the wind. They’ll never find us now.
As the miles and hours passed, Elmer’s skin turned a pasty white shade, his eyes closed, and his head bobbed loosely on his neck. Aaron grew more alarmed over the state of his health but dared not stop. Not until the cover of night could conceal them. Sunset lay a few hours ahead.
“Aaron,” George said at last. “We have to stop. He ain’t looking so good.”
“Yeah,” Elmer muttered, his voice barely perceptible. “I can’t go on. Must rest.”
Reining in, Aaron gazed at his brothers helplessly. “This is too open. We have to find cover before we stop. We need water, too.”
George rested his hand on Elmer’s brow. “He’s burning up, and it ain’t from the heat.”
Gazing helplessly around at the barren land they rode through, Aaron tried to spot anything that might conceal them as they let Elmer rest. “Let’s ride a little further,” he said at last. “We might find somewhere we can hole up for a day or two.”
Elmer managed a weak grin. “Let’s go.”
It took them until near sunset to find it. Beneath a line of short hills grew a dense cluster of willow, a heavy stream running under their branches. Under their concealing shade, a rider would have to be right on top of them to discover their presence. Aaron dismounted with relief as the shade was at least ten degrees cooler than the sun outside.
He and George helped Elmer down from his saddle, Aaron holding him up while George untied his bedroll from the cantle and spread it on the ground. Elmer breathed his own sigh as he lay down on it, his eyes closed. George squatted beside him for a moment, brushing Elmer’s hair back from his face.
“You’re gonna be all right,” he murmured.
Aaron and George unsaddled and watered the horses, then picketed them where they could graze. Elmer seemed to be asleep as they set up camp, building a small fire, George concocting a soup from dried meat, some wild onions and a few old carrots. A breeze pushing through the shade, making the willow branches shake, cooled Aaron considerably.
Taking a moment to gaze down at Elmer, Aaron said, “I’m gonna take a quick look around. Make sure no one’s sneaking up on us.”
George merely nodded, stirring the soup in his small cast iron pot. Returning into the sunlight, even if it was fading, was like walking into an oven. Aaron walked up the hill, frightening a jackrabbit into panicked flight. At the top, he stood high enough over the land to see quite far but found nothing alarming.
A herd of cattle grazed in the distance, as did a small cluster of deer. A hawk screamed from above him and to the south, a flock of buzzards circled over something dead or dying. Satisfied that he and his brothers were in no immediate danger, Aaron returned to their camp under the willows. George knelt beside Elmer as Aaron strode toward him, his hand on Elmer’s forehead, his expression a mask of anxiety.
“Aaron,” George said, frantic. “I can’t wake him up.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Setting the lantern’s flame down low, Tyler ordered himself not to go to the door to look outside. Whether Johnson was with them or not, he felt certain the Miller boys were out there, watching the sheriff’s office. The sensation of being followed had not left him even after he closed the door behind him.
He did, however, go to the locked jail cell to inspect his handy work. Under a thin blanket, straw-filled a shirt and made the semblance of a thin body under it. Wisps of hair taken from the tail of a palomino at the livery stable appeared in the near dark as dirty blond hair, but in reality, it covered a melon.
On the floor near the cell’s cot lay a covered tray, as though waiting for the occupant to wake up and eat. It held a pitcher of poppy laced water, cold meat and a loaf of bread. Mrs. Maple had added more of the herb to the bread with the hopes of setting Kevin and Ian to sleep once they ate it.
Returning to the office, Tyler set the keys to the cells on the desk by the lantern, then paced out his escape plan. If the boys started shooting at him from inside the cell, a fast duck around the door put not just a wall but a heavy oak cabinet between the bullets and himself. “If Johnson stays out here on watch, I could be in trouble,” he muttered to himself, trying to plan out every possible scenario. “All depends on how badly he got hurt today.”
Tyler suspected he was too b
adly injured to ride to Dennis’s rescue. He knew his shot caught the man in the upper back. Between that and his busted ribs from a few days past, Tyler doubted he could ride. Surely, he had gone into hiding, waiting for the boys to return and care for him.
Or so, Tyler hoped. Johnson was a wild card in this particular game.
He went over in his head the signals Harold and the others would pass him once the Millers were spotted. The office windows were wide open, and Harold had hidden himself on the roof. Various night bird calls would travel from man to man, with Harold giving the soft call of an owl once the Millers were spotted. He had chosen his own hiding spot – under Victor’s desk.
Seating himself, Tyler turned over and over in his head everything he could think of that might go wrong. He had his rifle leaning against the wall next to him, extra shells at hand, a six-gun in the desk drawer. Men were outside ready to jump in and help him should he need it. He just hoped none of them got killed this night, himself included.
An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance) Page 24