by JR Roberts
“Y-you do?” the man asked.
“Of course,” Clint said, “like you said, it’s a lot of money.”
“Yes, b-but—”
“Relax, Mr. Dwight,” Clint said, standing. “We’ll get out of your hair now.”
Roper stood. “We’ll see you in the morning, bright and early.”
“Please have the money ready,” Clint said.
“Oh, yes, sir,” Dwight said, “of course.”
Roper smiled at the man and said, “Have a nice day.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Did you believe him?” Roper asked, outside.
“He seems to be a fussy man,” Clint said. “I’d believe that his hands are always clammy. And could you see directing men to come after us?”
“Okay,” Roper said, “what if he’s nervous because he’s being coerced into helping somebody steal the money.”
“Why would they wait until we get here to get the manager of the bank to help them?” Clint asked. “They could get him to open the back door and the vault at night.”
“And the fact that they haven’t …”
“… means that he probably can’t be bought.”
“Okay,” Roper said, “so we just have to get from the front door to our horses.” He pointed.
“Or go out the back.”
Roper thought about that for a moment, then shook his head.
“No,” he said, “but we can make somebody think we’re going out the back.”
“How?”
“Have horses waiting out there,” Roper said.
“People know my horse.”
“Pack horses,” Roper went on. “Put a couple of pack horses back there, make them think we’re going out that way with the money. Or that one of us is.”
“Then we make a dash out the front …”
“ … mount up and ride.”
“Sounds good to me,” Roper said.
“Time for a drink?”
“Is that smart?” Roper said. “Going into a saloon?”
“Who’s going to hit us before we have the money?” Clint asked.
“Good point. I could use another beer.”
The stepped off the boardwalk and walked across the street toward a saloon called the Nickel & Dime.
Jason Tucker saw Clint Adams and another man entered the saloon, reached out and touched his partner’s arm.
“There they are,” he said.
Victor Coleman looked at them over his mug of beer.
“Who’s the other fella?”
“I don’t know.”
“You sure that’s Adams?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“I see him before, a few years ago.”
“How’d you know they’d come in here.”
“The bank’s right across the street.”
Victor nodded.
“So what do we do?”
“We watch.”
“Why don’t we take ’em?”
“You think they got a hundred thousand dollars in their pockets?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Jason said. “Don’t try to think, Vic. Just do what I say.”
“What about the others?”
“I’ll get to them,” Jason said. “As soon as we find out when and how they intend to get to the money.”
“You think your contact in the bank will come through?”
Jason smiled.
“She’ll come through if she ever wants to get fucked again,” he said. “I’m tellin’ you, this girl never had it before, and now she can’t get enough. Oh yeah, she’ll talk to me.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“So what do we do til then?”
“Watch,” Jason said, “and drink your beer.”
Chapter Thirty
Clint and Roper each ordered a beer.
“Eyes on us?” Clint asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Roper said, “but like you said, they won’t try anything until we have the money.”
“Let’s talk to the sheriff about having pack horses at the back door of the bank.”
“Can we trust him?”
“He’s the one person We’re going to take a chance on,” Clint said. “And then he can have somebody take the horses to the back door.”
“Okay,” Roper said. “We might as well drink these down and get that done.”
They finished their beers and walked out, seemingly without looking around.
“They’re oblivious,” Jason said.
“Huh?” Victor said.
“They don’t know what’s going on around them,” Jason said. “This should be easy.”
“Easy?” Victor said. “That’s the Gunsmith.”
“This is not the Old West anymore, Victor,” Jason said. “His time has passed. It’s our time, now.”
“Jason,” Victor said, “I don’t think—”
“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said today,” Jason said. “Don’t think.”
“You want to put two horses at the back door of the bank?” the sheriff said.
“Packs horses,” Clint said.
“No saddles.”
“We want it to look like we’re going to put the money on the pack horses.”
Sheriff Harlan sat back in his chair and regarded the two men.
“Sounds like a good plan,” he said, finally. “If anybody’s lookin’ to hit you for that money they be waitin’ at the back door.”
“We hope,” Roper said.
“But,” Harlan said, “the horses will have to be loaded down. If you’re really not takin’ them with you, what happens to the supplies.”
“They go back to the store,” Clint said.
“It’ll still cost,” Harlan said.
“We’ll pay for the supplies,” Clint said, “you see that they get back to the mercantile.”
“I can do that,” Harlan said. “And I’ll have Henry, over at the livery, put the horses behind the bank.”
“Can we trust him?” Clint asked.
“Can you trust me?” Harlan asked.
“I hope so,” Clint said.
“Henry’s my cousin,” Harlan said. “Don’t worry about it. What time are headin’ for the bank?”
“Eight a.m.,” Clint said.
“I’ll see you boys then.”
Clint and Roper turned in early. Early the next morning while he was dressing Clint looked out his window and saw the sheriff standing in front of his office, wearing his gun.
“Attaboy, Sherriff.”
The he saw a man walking two loaded pack horses past the hotel.
“Attaboy, Henry,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-One
Clint and Roper met in the hotel lobby and checked out.
“Hope you enjoyed your stay,” the clerk said.
“It was better than sleeping on the ground,” Roper said, then on the way to the door he added to Clint, “Just barely.”
Outside they saw the sheriff crossing the street toward them.
“Henry’s got the horses behind the bank,” he told them.
“I saw him walking them past the hotel,” Clint said.
“And your horses are waiting at the livery, saddled and ready.”
“Henry saddled my horse?” Clint asked.
“He’s good with horses,” Sheriff Harlan said, “and he’s missing two fingers, anyway.”
“We’ll meet you in front of the bank, Sheriff.”
The man nodded, and then went their separate ways.
“Are you sure about this?” Victor asked Jason.
“I heard it from Henry, over at the livery,” Jason said. “They’re having him take two pack horses behind the bank.”
“But I don’t think—”
“I do,” Jason said. “Have the other three boys meet behind the saloon. We’ll be able to see the back of the bank from there. When they come out, we’ll hit them.”
“Whatever you say,” V
ictor said.
Clint and Roper rode their horses over to the Trinidad bank and dismounted.
“I’ll go inside with you,” the Sheriff said.
“Good,” Clint said. He didn’t think the lawman was up to anything underhanded, but he was prepared. He knew Roper felt the same way.
The three men entered the bank, which had only been open for about five minutes. The bank manager was waiting, rubbing his hands together nervously.
“Good-mornin’, Mr. Dwight,” Harlan said.
“’morning, Sheriff.”
“These gentlemen are here to pick up their money.”
“Yes, sir. Right this way, gentlemen.”
He walked Clint and Roper to a teller’s cage, while other employees stood around and watched. The man behind the cage looked bored. He also looked like he’d been a teller for fifty years. He’d probably seen hundreds of these transactions.
“Mr. Wardell, would you count out the money for these gents?” Dwight asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“And put it all in these saddlebags,” Clint said, pushing his and Roper’s saddlebags into the teller’s cage.
“Yes, sir.”
The clerk started his count, banding the money into stacks, and then putting a stack at a time into the saddlebags.
“Evenly distributed between the saddlebags?” he asked.
“That’s right,” Clint said. He figured he and Roper should carry an equal amount of money.
Clint’s saddlebags grew fatter, and then the man started on Roper’s. All the while the manager, Dwight, was looking on nervously. The Sheriff stood behind Clint and Roper, keeping his eye on the front door.
“All done, Mr. Dwight,” the teller said. “We just need the gentlemen to sign.”
“Mr. Adams will sign,” Dwight said.
The teller pushed a piece of paper to Clint, who signed it and slid it back. The teller than pushed the saddlebags through to Clint, who handed one set to Roper, and slung the other set over his shoulder.
“Ready, Sheriff,” he said.
“Let’s go.”
The old lawman walked to the door, opened it and peered out.
“Looks like it’s working,” he said. “There may be some nosy folks watching, but nobody’s on the street, and I don’t see rifles on the rooftops.”
“I hope you’re right,” Clint said.
He looked at Roper. If the entire town got together to take this money off them, there’d be nothing they could do about it. Not against a whole town.
“Don’t worry,” Harlan said. “The whole town’s not gonna try to rob you.”
Clint looked at Roper, wondering if Harlan was a mind reader.
“Hey,” Roper said, “I’m encouraged.”
“Let’s just walk out, get on our horses, and ride,” Clint said.
Roper nodded.
The sheriff opened the door wide and stepped out first, then to the side. He kept his hand on his gun.
Clint and Roper stepped out, quickly went to the horses, tossed their saddlebags onto their saddles, and mounted up. They’d tie them off when they were away.
“Much obliged, Sheriff,” Clint said, giving the lawman a salute.
“Good luck.”
Clint and Roper turned their horses and rode out of Trinidad.
Behind the saloon, still watching the two packhorses behind the bank, Jason heard horses and said, “What the hell is that?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
They pushed the horses until they felt they were a safe distance from town, then reined in. They dismounted and tied their saddlebags off.
“Well, that went off without a hitch,” Roper said, looking behind them.
“See anybody?” Clint asked.
“No,” Clint said. “Nobody, no sign.”
“As soon as they realize we fooled them, they’ll be coming,” Clint said. “We better keep moving.”
“Keep running?”
“If we have to turn and fight we will,” Clint said, “but there’s always a chance they’ll give up.”
“I suppose.”
They mounted up and continued riding South. Segundo was about fourteen miles.
###
When they were outside of Segundo they stopped. Clint stood in his stirrups and looked behind them.
“No sign,” he said.
“You seem disappointed.”
Clint looked at Roper.
“I’m thinking maybe we should have taken care of this in Trinidad.”
“You mean gone out that back door and met it head on?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s too late to change that decision,” Roper said. “Maybe you were right, and they got discouraged.”
“A hundred thousand dollars is a lot of encouragement,” Clint said.
“We might as well face the problem that’s ahead of us rather than worry about the one behind us,” Roper said.
“You’re right,” Clint said. “How much further to Segundo?”
“I think when we top that rise ahead we’ll see it.”
Clint looked around.
“We need someplace to bury these saddlebags,” he said.
Roper did the same, looking around them for a likely spot.
“How about there?” He pointed to an outcropping of rocks. “We might be able to cover them with rocks, instead of actually burying them in the dirt.”
“Let’s go take a look.”
They rode over to the rocks and dismounted.
“Look,” Roper said, pointing. “There’s a hollowed out area there, perfect for a hiding place.”
“First let’s see if it’s so perfect other people have already used it.”
They got on their knees to look inside the hollowed out area.
“Doesn’t look like anything’s been in there for years,” Roper said.
“Except maybe an animal or two,” Clint said, pointing to some small tracks.
“Small animals,” Roper said. “And once we cover it no animal will be able to get in. Besides, we’re not going to leave the money in there for very long.”
“True. Okay, let’s see how the saddlebags fit.”
They both walked to their horses and grabbed their saddlebags. Clint stuffed his through the opening, then took Roper’s and did the same.
“Tight fit,” he said.
“All the more reason nothing else will be able to get in,” Roper said. “Let’s see how well we can cover it up.”
They looked around for stones and rocks that were the right size and shape, began to build a small wall in front of the opening. After a while they stood up to stand back and take a look.
“How’s it look?” Clint asked.
“Not very natural,” Roper said, “but a rider could bypass it without a second look.”
“Let’s put some brush in front of it,” Clint suggested.
“Good idea.”
They walked around, collecting loose brush and piled it in front of the rocks, then stood back again.
“That’s better,” Clint said.
“Yes,” Roper said, “a bit.”
They both stared at it for a while, then Clint said, “Makes me nervous leaving a hundred thousand dollars out here like this.”
“Temporarily,” Roper said, “but I understand.”
Clint brushed his hands off on his thighs and said, “Well, we’d better get going. The Greybacks are probably getting nervous.”
“If, like you say, this Colonel Wentworth is there, then they have an experienced officer to keep them in line.”
“He maybe experienced,” Clint said, “but I have no idea how good an officer he was.”
“I guess that’s something we’re going to find out.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
They rode into Segundo twenty minutes later.
By the time they did, one of the lookouts had announced the approach of two riders. Edward Gately was out in front of the hotel with six of his men, all wearin
g Confederate jackets.
“What if it’s not them?” Jed Morehouse asked. He was tall, in his thirties, with a Corporal’s stripes on his arm.
“Then we got set up out here for nothin’,” Gately said. “But I think it’s them.”
“What makes you so sure, Captain?”
Gately looked at his Corporal and said, “Because it’s time.”
Gately looked up the street as the two riders came closer . . .
Clint and Roper saw seven men waiting for them in front of the hotel.
“Looks like a welcoming committee,” Roper said.
“Been a while since I’ve seen that many grey uniforms,” Clint commented.
“Makes me itch.” Roper touched the extra revolver he kept in a holster that was sewn to his saddle.
“Anytime you feel like you have to make a move, make it,” Clint told him. “I’ll back you.”
“Same here.”
They rode up to the waiting men and reined in. One man, wearing Captain’s bars, stepped down into the street.
“Clint Adams?” he asked.
“That’s me?”
“And this gent?”
“Talbot Roper,” Roper said.
“A friend of mine.”
“You were told to come alone,” the Captain said.
“No,” Clint said, “I wasn’t. I was told to bring whatever I thought I needed.”
“One man,” one of the other Greybacks said, derisively.
“That’s all I need,” Clint said, looking at the man who wore Corporal’s stripes. “And you?” he asked, turning his gaze to the Captain.
“Captain Edward Gately.”
“Captain of what Army?” Clint asked.
“Do not be insulting, sir.”
“I’m not here to talk to a man who thinks he’s an officer,” Clint said.
“Where’s the money?” Gately asked.
Clint grinned rightly. “Certainly not on me. I need to speak to your superior … Captain.”
“I’ll demand your respect, sir,” Gately said, “if not for me, then for this uniform.”
“First of all,” Roper said, “you had a runny nose when that actually was a uniform.”