by Penny Hayes
She mulled over what she had learned over the past two weeks. Aside from her success in finding the setup for the robbery, she had been pleased when Julia had sat with her at breakfast, disturbing though it had been. She couldn't remember feeling that good about seeing anyone since Seth had courted her. Neither could she remember experiencing that height of excitement at any time he had come to see her.
Suddenly angered with herself for her unusual feelings, for having revived such pleasant sensations from times long dead, she leaned back against a rock to doze until nightfall.
As soon as it was dark, Margarita left the buggy behind and, after collecting the carpetbag, mounted the horse bareback, hitched her dress to her waist, nudged the gelding into motion, and guided him onto the plains under the light of a pale moon.
At a steady trot, she returned to the rock pile, widely skirting Dusty Springs. She grunted with the effort of retrieving her gear. A quick check showed everything still in order except for her food. Something had crawled into the saddlebags and helped itself to at least half of it. The rest was only slightly nibbled on. She just wouldn't think about it whenever she ate.
She changed into men's attire, stuffed the clothing she had been wearing into the bags, then strapped on her revolver, securing the holster to her thigh with leather thongs. Exchanging the stable's bridle for her own, she saddled the horse quickly and expertly. After tying down the blanket roll and bags, she poked the extra bridle into the opening along with the carpetbag. Pausing only a moment to look into the black crack where the carpetbag holding her lovely clothing could not longer be seen, she sighed once, then shoved the rock fully into place. She brushed out her tracks, then mounted up in a single graceful movement.
It felt good to be in the saddle again. Drawing her hat low over her eyes, she kicked the horse into a trot, listening to the creak of saddle leather and enjoying the feel of the gelding's rhythmic motion beneath her.
Four nights later, she was safely back at the meadow.
Chapter Five
On the afternoon following her return from Colter, the men and Margarita gathered together in front of her cabin. In the warm sunshine Bill and Sam lounged against the building while Margarita and Bert straddled the log. Margarita had just spent the last half hour explaining in detail all she had learned about Colter.
"It sounds too easy," Bill growled.
"An' too risky if you ask me," Sam added. "Five days to get there, five back. All those folks runnin' around town durin' the holdup."
"I'm telling you it can be done," Margarita pronounced. "There is no guard, but no doubt the tellers have guns handy. Thursday, the town had the fewest people in the bank and on the streets. We'll take along extra horses; our fastest ones. It won't take five days getting home on those animals. Besides, we could stand the law off forever from the meadow if we had to. You know that."
"If we make it back," Bill spat.
"I don't know, Margarita," Bert responded slowly. "I never heard of a bank in a town of that size without some sort'a guard." He took off his stained hat and ran a knarled hand through matted hair. "There's gotta be somebody there someplace."
"There was no one," she answered emphatically, "except the tellers."
If the gang could take this bank, there was a good chance she would have all the money she needed to buy new land — and be rid of these men forever. Good Lord, even she would be caught or killed eventually if she kept on living like this. No one was lucky forever. She had to convince them. "Listen to me. I'll go back to Colter. My account is still open at the bank so I have a legitimate reason for being there. I can check the place again and then drive out to your hideout and tell you if a guard came in that day. If not, I can go back and be stationed inside the bank when you come in."
"That'll make it pretty late in the mornin'," Bill said uneasily.
"It can't be helped," Margarita answered. "Unless you just want to ride straight in."
"We better wait for Margarita to let us know," Bert advised.
Openly Sam asked, "What about gettin' shot?"
Margarita reacted with an impatient toss of her head. "Don't be stupid, Sam. I'm telling you we can pull this off."
"Well," Bill said, and grinned at her through his rotten teeth. "You'll be the first to go, won't you, if the whole damn deal falls through?"
"I may be first down. But you might be second, so you had better be watching your own back." She glared unwaveringly at him while he stared back in return, finally turning his eyes away. He had better know she meant it.
"I'd better ride up to Wagon Mound and take the stage from there," she said thoughtfully. "I can't go by way of Dusty Springs again, they'll be looking for me for stealing that horse and buggy."
They spent more time discussing their timing. She would arrive in Colter a day ahead of the rest. They would ride straight to the hideaway.
"What'll we do with the horses we ride there?" Sam asked.
"Leave 'em," Bert said practically. "We won't have time to fool with 'em. We can always buy more."
"Or rustle 'em," Bill laughed.
Margarita said, "I have the place for you to hole up all picked out. It has plenty of water and grass and privacy. I'll draw you a map."
Bert had a worried look on his face. "I'd hate to die richer'n hell right there in Colter."
"You won't die, Bert. None of us will."
"Well, Margarita," he said warmly, and put an unusually friendly arm around her shoulders. "You've been right for the past two years. I'm with you."
* * *
Six days later, under heavily overcast skies, attired in her yellow dress, Margarita drove out of Colter in a rented buggy- At a brisk trot she headed toward the amphitheater where the men and horses were resting and waiting. As a place of refuge, it was ideally suited just three miles from town, the pasture land used only by grazing cattle. The valley floor, thick with grass, gave the horses plenty to eat, and a small stream fulfilled their need for water. Tall thick stands of pine and cedar growing against the walls of the amphitheater offered shade and shelter from sun and rain.
Margarita arrived shortly after nine-thirty, following the well worn path of cattle that wandered in and out of the area. The sky looked like rain today, a very good sign; the buggy's tracks, as well as the horses', would be badly smeared in a good downpour. If not, it didn't matter anyway. The gang wasn't returning here. Margarita had already selected a second place to hide after the robbery, if it was needed. She thought she had covered every avenue of escape, every possibility of danger. She felt confident that she had done her best, that everything was completely under control.
The men came from behind the trees on either side of the amphitheater's entrance as she rode in to meet them. Holstering a prudently drawn gun, Bert asked, "What'd you find out?"
"I was just in the bank. There is no guard. And only two tellers. Look for my buggy out front."
After a few more minutes of discussion, Margarita left, arriving in town shortly after ten. The others would be along at any moment. Bert would bring her horse with him, saddled and ready.
It would be hard to ride in a dress. The robbery would also finally identify this gang as having a woman member.
That couldn't be helped. It wouldn't matter anyway if her share was enough for her to pull out.
Drawing to a stop in front of the bank, she looked down the street and saw the men riding in. They would be here within the next minute.
Her heart thudding, she went inside and walked to the back of the bank. She began to rummage through her pouchlike purse as if trying to find some elusive object. The purse, made of knitted wool and hanging with thin drawstring handles from her wrist, was awkward to carry, concealing as it did her heavy gun. As she continued pawing at imaginary objects, Bert opened the door and walked in, followed closely by Sam and Bill.
Two other people were conducting business at the windows. She saw her partners glance quickly about, che
cking for themselves that she had been right about the guards. Apparently reassured, each man took a position at the windows, Bert and Sam behind the customers, Bill standing alone. Covering them from the rear, Margarita remained at the back wall beneath the mural, continuing to look through her purse.
They all waited with nervous impatience until the townspeople left. As soon as the door had closed, Bert drew his gun and said with a growl, "This is a stick-up." Bill and Sam had drawn their own revolvers. Margarita had her hand on hers, still hidden within the purse, but was now beginning to draw it out.
At Bert's words, both tellers simultaneously disappeared behind the counter, dropping to the floor with lightning speed.
Sam turned toward Bert. "What the hell —"
Margarita had tightened her hand around the gun inside her purse and had already cocked the hammer. But her grip froze on the butt of the pistol as a shot rang out.
In wide-eyed and unbelieving horror she watched blood explode from the back of Bert's head. He was dead before he hit the floor. Another bullet hit Bill high in the back as he and Sam raced for the door. A volley of shots followed them. The door slammed loudly behind the outlaws before Margarita could think or act. Neither man had had time to fire even once in return.
Margarita looked around to see where the shots had come from. There were still no guards visible.
"You all right, ma'am?" a muffled voice from above and behind the wall of the painting called to her.
A molten chunk of fear filled Margarita's stomach. She looked up at the picture. The benevolent faces of the man and his wife were gone. So was one of the faces of the children. In their places were small square hinged openings. From two of the openings protruded gun barrels.
My God, the painting! She had never even considered it: a cleverly built false wall. And the picture was nothing but a trick ... a way to put watchmen high and out of sight on some type of platform. The guards must have been peeking through holes in the peoples' faces. A stranger would never know. Never guess.
Wisely, she eased the hammer of the gun home and slowly withdrew her hand from her purse, closing it tightly by its strings.
Heavy footsteps rapidly descended stairs she couldn't see. In a moment, two men came from a side door of the bank's interior. "You all right, ma'am?" asked a bearded young man in the same voice that had previously addressed her.
"I'm fine," she assured both guards, wiping a shaking hand across her face. Neither man seemed to have any idea that she was a part of this holdup.
In fact, she could walk away free. She could leave it all — and run! She could get out — right now! But could she? If she deserted the remaining gang, she would have to start all over again — find new people, tougher perhaps, than those with whom she now worked ... just to protect herself, because Bill, if he lived, would come after her eventually, no doubt believing that she had betrayed them. And worse, she would have to rebuild her entire stake.
She wasn't one bit willing to give up two years work. She must attempt to set things straight.
"Are ... are you going after them?" she asked in an unsteady voice.
It occurred to her that if the posse was lucky enough to catch Sam and Bill, then she wouldn't have to worry about them at all. Now or ever! Here or at the meadow. She would consider herself lucky to have lived through this and begin only with what she had right now — and be thankful it was that much. This failure had taught her in an instant that she had had enough of running outside the law.
"Wal, this here one's deader than cowshit," a grizzly bearded man pronounced as he unceremoniously rolled Bert over with the toe of his boot.
The tellers had come from behind the counter to stare at the lifeless man. "We get 'em every time, don't we?" commented one impassively.
Bert stared up at Margarita with unseeing eyes.
The second guard spoke with a smile. "Not this time. Afraid I got a little sloppy and missed that one fella. I bet his partner's gonna die, though." Calmly he refilled his gun, then whirled the barrel before sliding the weapon into its holster.
"I'll get the sheriff," a teller said. "There's probably a reward on him. Hope it's plenty."
Dead, Bert was finally worth money.
The first guard answered Margarita's question. "A posse will go after them. We'll catch them, too. Why don't you leave for now, ma'am?" he suggested. "Come back after we get this mess cleaned up. Shore sorry you had to see this."
Margarita smiled weakly, and wordlessly left the bank to climb shaking into the buggy. Her getaway horse still stood saddled and ready at the hitching post. The stallion nickered at her in recognition but she did not dare make a move toward him. She hated losing horses. It was no different than continuously losing faithful friends.
She looked toward the sheriffs office. Men were already gathering, forming a posse. She could at least ride over Sam and Bill's tracks with the buggy; it might confuse the law somewhat, and aid the men's escape. She might delay the posse a moment, too, with some flirtatious dupe. By then, riding like hell, the two fugitives should be miles away if they had any brains. She began her drive in the direction they had ridden.
She hadn't gone two miles when a cloudburst erupted — great thick, heavy drops of rain. She didn't want to take the time to stop the buggy to raise the top, but it wouldn't make sense when the posse finally reached her to find a strange woman openly riding in a downpour. It would surely raise unnecessary questions.
The top in place, rain landed with a slap on the thin, tough leather overhead and dripped from its swinging tassels, spraying Margarita unpleasantly. But she thanked God the deluge came when it had; it would help conceal tracks.
She had traveled only another quarter mile or so when Sam leaped from behind a large boulder, startling Margarita's horse. Hauling back on the reins, she struggled to bring the rearing animal to a standstill. Sam reached up and grabbed the bridle, assisting her. What in the world was he doing so close to town? When the gelding stood quietly, Sam walked to her side, rain dripping heavily from the brim of his hat, obscuring his face. "How's Bert?" he asked.
"Dead," Margarita answered. "He never had a chance. I came back to take the blame," she said, fighting a shaking voice.
"It's a bad deal, Margarita. How come you didn't see that paintin'? Bill said he's gonna kill you."
"I looked at everything, Sam. It just looked like a painting, nothing else."
Sam pursed his lips, studying her hard through the downpour.
"I'm sorry," she said. The words sounded stupid.
Sam grunted, whether in agreement or disagreement, Margarita couldn't tell. He said, "Come here and look at Bill. He's hurt real bad."
"Then you ought to forget Bill and get going," she advised. "The posse's coming."
"Look at him," he insisted as he half-dragged her behind the rock.
Bill lay on the ground, rain pounding his unprotected face. She knelt beside him. Pale and barely breathing, he rolled his head toward her. Only with great effort was he able to focus his eyes on her. Unsuccessfully, he tried to blink away the rain. "Get me some help, Margarita. I can make it. I know I can. Get the doc."
No death threats from him now. The man was finished. "This is no place to hide," she said, looking up at Sam. "You should ride."
"Bill wants help. He says he can make it." Sam stepped closer to her side.
"You're loco." She nearly laughed. "He's dying."
Quietly Sam said, "Not if he says he ain't dyin', and he says he ain't. You go on and get help. Meet us right here after dark. We gotta pull together."
Soaked with rain and chilled to the bone, he led her back to the buggy. She climbed into the seat.
Sam held his hand to the brim of his hat and looked down the road, squinting against the downpour. "I see 'em coming. You do somethin' to draw that posse off n our trail."
He ducked behind the boulder as Margarita brought the reins down on the horse in a stinging blow, urging hi
m into a dead gallop. She saw the lawmen gaining rapidly on her. Harder and harder she beat on the horse's rump, pressing him to run until his sides heaved. Just before the horsemen reached her, she released one rein and let it fly freely from the horse's bit and off to one side. She began to scream as if in mortal fear of her life — and realistically, she felt she was.
The four riders came galloping hard alongside the buggy two on each side. The leaders grabbed for the bridle of the runaway with loud yells of "Whoa, whoaaa," until the men were finally able to stop the out-of-control animal. Seemingly shaken and panic-stricken, Margarita said breathlessly, "Thank goodness you came along." She leaned heavily and helplessly against the tall man who helped her from the buggy.
He asked, "What'er you doin' out here in the rain?"
Margarita panted, "I... I thought I could take a drive before it came. I... lost a rein. I didn't judge very well, did I?"
"No, ma'am, you didn't." A thin reed of a man walked over to her. "You'd best turn yourself around and head straight back to town. The bank was just held up and the bandits came this way not long ago."
"My God," she gasped and fainted in the mud at the men's feet.
She opened her eyes a few minutes later. Ponchos, one under her and one over her, protected her body. A hat held by one of the men shielded her face. All four deputies squatted at her side. "Here, ma'am," a bearded man offered, and held her head while she drank from his canteen.
Slowly she sat up. "I'll be fine now." Soaked and dirty, she wished she were dead.
"You better get on back to town," a deputy advised, helping her into the buggy. "It ain't safe out here."
"Yes, of course," she agreed. "I'm sorry to have delayed you."
She turned the vehicle around, thanking and thanking them, stalling...stalling...stalling, then headed back to Colter. Glancing back through the gloom, she saw two posse members studying the ground around them, checking for tracks in the muddy road while the remaining two mounted up.
Eventually they would figure out that Sam and Bill had spent time behind the boulder three quarters of a mile behind them, but she was sure her deliberate delay, and the rain that hadn't yet let up, had given the two outlaws more than enough time to ride as fast as they were able to manage to some place of safety. In the continuing heavy downpour their chances of escape increased with each passing minute.