The big gundown

by J. A. Johnstone

  Drumm nodded at Clete Mueller, and he walked over to the vase, picked it up, then threw it on the floor, smashing it. There, in the shards of broken glass, was a packet of bills, tied together with a string into one neat bundle.

  “Ha!” Clete said, holding up the money. “Here it is!”

  “How much is there?” Drumm asked.

  Clete began to count. “Six hunnert dollars,” he said after a moment.

  Drumm smiled. “That’s a pretty good haul,” he said. “Two hunnert dollars apiece.”

  “That’s an entire year’s work,” Dumey protested. “If you take that, how will I feed my family?”

  “You won’t have to worry about feedin’ ’em,” Drumm said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’ll all be dead.” He shot Dumey down, and, laughing, Luke and Clete began shooting as well.

  Some time later, Chris Dumey came to. For a moment, he wondered why he was lying on the kitchen floor, then he remembered what happened. Looking around he saw his wife, and both his children, lying lifeless on the floor with him.

  There was blood everywhere, and dipping his finger into it, he began to write on the kitchen floor:

  WE WAS KILT BY DRUM AND MUELLER BR…

  From there the letters trailed off and that was far as he got before he died.

  Egan Drumm and the Muellers rode hard away from Dumey ranch, each with two hundred dollars in their pocket. They had ridden for a little better than an hour, when Clete spoke up.

  “What do you boys say that the next town we come to we go into town and get us a couple drinks and maybe a woman?”

  “A woman, Clete?” Luke replied, laughing. “You want us to all share the same woman?”

  “Well, why not? It’ll be cheaper if we share one.”

  “I ain’t sharin’ a woman with nobody,” Luke said. “What about you, Egan?”

  “I ain’t sharin’ ’cause I ain’t goin’ into town,” Drumm replied.

  “Why not? We’re far enough away, there ain’t likely to be nobody aroun’ here to know nothin’ about what we just done. Fac’ is, I doubt there’s anyone here ’bout who has ever even heard of the Dumeys.”

  “That ain’t it,” Drumm said.

  “Then what is?”

  “I aim to go out on my own, now.”

  “Damn, Egan, you don’t like us no more?” Clete asked.

  “No, it ain’t that,” Drumm said. “It’s just—well, think about it. We just kilt four people back there, and what did we get for it? Two hunnert dollars apiece. Two hunnert dollars, that’s all.”

  “Two hundred dollars ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at,” Luke said. “Hell, if you was ridin’ for twenty and found, it’d take you damn near a year to earn that much money.”

  “I know, I know. That’s why I don’t ride for twenty and found,” Drumm said. “But I think I want to go out on my own, nonetheless. No hard feelin’s.”

  “No hard feelin’s,” Luke replied.

  As Luke and Clete turned their horses in the direction of the small town, Drumm continued to ride on in the same direction they had been going.

  “Where do you reckon he’s a’goin’?” Clete asked.

  “Who knows? He’s got a burr in his saddle over somethin’,” Luke replied. “Ahh, we don’t need him. We’ll find someone else to work with the next time we do a job, and when we do, it’ll be a lot bigger than this one we just pulled.”

  “Yeah,” Clete said. “We don’t need him no more no how.”

  Brownville, Colorado, one month later

  Luke and Clete Mueller were in the Gold Digs Saloon in Brownville, Colorado. Luke was playing cards with three others, while Clete was talking with one of the bar girls. Talking was all he could do because he had already spent nearly all of the money he had gotten from the Dumeys.

  The man dealing the cards had only three fingers on his left hand. One of the others had a patch over his right eye, though a few minutes earlier he had removed the patch to scratch his eyebrow, and Luke saw that there was no eye there at all, just a puff of scar tissue. The man with three fingers was Ollie Terrell. Bo Caldwell was the man with only one eye, and the third man was Clarence Poole.

  The Muellers had never met Terrell or Caldwell, but they knew Poole because they had served a little time with him in the Missouri State Penitentiary in Jefferson City.

  “What the hell you dealin’ for, Terrell?” Caldwell asked. “Hell, you can’t even hold the cards proper.”

  “What do you care whether or not I can hold ’em proper? Hell, you got only one eye so you can’t see ’em anyway,” Terrell replied, and the others laughed.

  “I like it when he deals. With no more fingers than he’s got on that hand, that means he can’t deal off the bottom of the deck,” Poole said.

  “You can tell he ain’t a’ doin’ that,” Caldwell said. “The onliest one of us winnin’ is Luke Mueller. If I don’t win somethin’ soon, I’m goin’ to have to get me a job some’eres.”

  “I’ve got a job for you,” Luke said as he picked up the cards Terrell had just dealt.

  “What kind of a job?” Caldwell asked. “’Cause I tell you true, I don’t want to be shovelin’ no shit out of a stall or nothin’ like that.”

  “Believe me, it is nothin’ like that,” Luke answered. “It’s quick, easy, and there’s a lot of money in it.”

  “Ha!” Terrell said. “Where are you goin’ to find somethin’ that is quick, easy and has a lot of money? Unless you’re plannin’ on robbin’ a bank.”

  Luke looked at Terrell, but made no comment.

  “What?” Terrell asked. “I’ll be damned. That’s it, ain’t it? You’re a’ plannin’ on robbin’ a bank, ain’t you?”

  “Why don’t you just go out in the street and shout it?” Luke asked.

  Caldwell looked over at Poole. “You know this fella, Poole. Me’n Terrell don’t. Is he serious?”

  “You recruitin’ people to ride with you?” Poole asked Luke, without responding to Caldwell’s question.

  “I might be,” Luke replied. “That is, if I can find a few good men I can depend on.”

  A broad smile spread across Poole’s face. “You know you can depend on me. I’m in,” he said.

  “What?” Caldwell asked. “You really are serious, ain’t you?”

  “Are you in, or out?” Luke asked.

  “I’m in. Hell yes,” Caldwell replied.

  “Me too,” Terrell added, excitedly.

  “What about Egan Drumm?” Poole asked.

  “What about him?” Luke replied.

  “Don’t he ride with you and Clete? Where’s he at?”

  “I don’t have no idea where he is,” Luke said.

  “So, what you’re a’ sayin’ is that he ain’t a’ goin’ to be a part of this,” Poole said.

  “That’s what I’m sayin’.”

  “Good. I never liked that son of a bitch anyway. Don’t know why you and Clete ever took to runnin’ with him.”

  “When do we hold up this here bank?” Terrell asked.

  Luke fixed a stare at Terrell, then he looked back at Poole. “Does this dumb bastard not know when to keep his mouth shut?”

  “Who are you callin’ a dumb bastard?” Terrell asked angrily.

  “I’m callin’ you a dumb bastard,” Luke said, coldly.

  “Ollie,” Caldwell said, reaching over to put his hand on Terrell’s shoulder. “Don’t get carried away here. You know damn well you don’t want to get into a pissin’ contest with Luke Mueller.”

  Suddenly Terrell realized how close he was getting to making a very foolish mistake, and he forced a smile. “Come to think of it,” he said. “I guess I can be a dumb bastard from time to time.”

  Caldwell laughed to ease the tension, then the others laughed as well.

  “To answer your question,” Luke said. “It’ll be tomorrow, over in a place called MacCallister.”

  MacCallister, Colorado, the next day

&nb
sp; The Reverend Charles Powell and his wife, Claudia, were standing just outside the bank when the teller, Clyde Barnes, opened the door to let them in.

  “Good morning, Brother Powell, good morning, Mrs. Powell,” the teller greeted. “You’re here awfully early today. You must have some business to attend to.”

  “More pleasure than business,” Powell said. “We’re going to Denver to see our new great granddaughter, and I thought we might need a little walking around money.”

  “Walking around money? You mean you are going to walk to Denver? You aren’t taking the train?” Barnes teased.

  For a moment Powell didn’t get it, then when he did, he laughed out loud.

  “No train for us. I figured Claudia and I would just walk along the track ’till we got there,” Powell said. “No, sir, who needs an old loud, smelly train?” He laughed again.

  “You aren’t going to miss the dedication of Colonel MacCallister’s statue, are you?” Barnes asked.

  “Oh, goodness no, I wouldn’t miss that for the world,” Reverend Powell said. “But that’s some time away, yet. We’ll be back in plenty of time for that.”

  “I didn’t think you would want to miss that. I’ve heard you are giving the invocation.”

  “I will be giving it, and mighty proud to do so,” Reverend Powell said.

  “Come on up to the window, Reverend, and I’ll give you your money. Have you drawn the draft yet?”

  “Yes, I have it right here,” Reverend Powell said, pulling the draft from his pocket.

  “Well then, we’ll have you out of here in no time.”

  Suddenly the front door burst open and five men came charging into the bank. All five had their guns drawn, and they were so sure of themselves, that none of them were wearing masks. One of them had only one eye, and Mrs. Powell had to turn her head away in revulsion, rather than look directly at him.

  “Everybody, get your hands up!” one of the men shouted. He was a small man, but the gun in his hand made him look big enough. “This is a bank robbery. Teller, get behind the cage and give us all the money you got!”

  Barnes stepped around behind the counter, opened his drawer, and pulled out a couple hundred dollars. He handed it through the window to the robbers.

  “What is this?” the small man asked. “Are you tellin’ me this is all the money you’ve got in this bank?”

  “There is more money in the safe, but it’s locked and I don’t have the combination,” Barnes said. “Mr. Dempster only lets me have what he thinks I’ll need durin’ the day.”

  The leader of the group, the one who had given the teller his orders, turned his pistol on Claudia Powell and pulled the trigger. The woman let out a cry of pain, then fell.

  “Now, you open that safe or someone else dies,” the little man with the big gun said.

  “What have you done?” Reverend Powell shouted. Even though he was unarmed, he started toward the shooter.

  Calmly, and without changing the expression on his face, the little man fired again, and the good reverend went down, collapsing on the floor next to his wife. At that moment a young woman came into the bank, and the little man pointed his pistol toward her.

  “No!” Barnes shouted. “Please, don’t shoot her! That’s my wife! I’ll get the money for you!”

  The small, evil man smiled. “So, you’ve suddenly remembered the combination to the safe, have you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Mueller. Please, no more shooting.”

  “Luke, the son of a bitch knows us,” one of the other men said. He was only a little taller than Luke.

  Luke smiled. “What can I tell you, Clete? When you get as good at something as we are, people learn your name.”

  “That ain’t good, is it?”

  “It ain’t all bad. If the law in this one horse town knows that it was the Mueller brothers who held up the bank, they’ll be too scared to come after us.”

  Barnes returned from the safe, carrying a sack.

  “This is it,” he said. “This is all the money the bank has.”

  “Open the top. Let me look inside,” Luke Mueller said.

  Barnes opened the top, disclosing several bound packets of twenty dollar bills.

  “Now, that’s more like it,” Mueller said. He smiled, then took the bag. “It’s been a real pleasure doing business with you,” he said.

  Chapter 2

  The metal bit jangled against the horse’s teeth. The horse’s hooves clattered on the hard rock and the leather saddle creaked beneath the weight of its rider.

  When Falcon MacCallister rode into town just before noon, he knew that something had happened. It wasn’t just some sort of psychic perception, though the clues were so subtle that there are many who would not have picked up on them.

  There was no one pitching horseshoes alongside Sikes’ Hardware Store.

  No one was playing checkers in front of Boots and Saddles.

  There were no clusters of women shoppers, standing on the corners, laughing and talking.

  In fact there was a pall hanging over the town that was palpable. Wondering what was going on, Falcon stopped in front of the sheriff’s office, swung down from his horse, tied it off, and stepped inside. The sheriff and two of his deputies were looking at a map that they had spread out on a table.

  “Good morning, Amos,” Falcon said, greeting the newly elected sheriff, Amos Cody.”

  “Ah, Mr. MacCallister, am I glad to see you,” the young sheriff said.

  “I keep trying to tell you, Amos, call me Falcon.”

  “Yes, sir, I know you do, but it’s just that I grew up hearin’ about your pa’s exploits, then yours. Well, it just seems hard.”

  “You are making me feel very old, Amos,” Falcon said. He glanced out the window and saw a little cluster of people engaged in an intense conversation. The somber expressions on their faces reinforced his feeling that something bad had happened.

  “What’s going on, Sheriff?”

  “You mean you haven’t heard?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “The bank was robbed this morning,” Amos said.

  “And the Reverend Powell and his wife was murdered,” Deputy Bates added. Bates was a lot older than the young sheriff, and had been a deputy for many years.

  “What?” Falcon said in surprise and anger. “Brother Charles and Sister Claudia have been killed?”

  “Yes, they were in the bank when it was robbed.”

  “But I don’t understand. Why were they killed?”

  Sheriff Cody shook his head. “Who knows?”

  “It was Luke and Clete Mueller,” Deputy Bates said. “And from all I’ve heard about them two, they don’t really need no reason. Accordin’ to Clyde Barnes, the Powells were just standing there in the bank when the robbers came in. Next thing you know, Luke Mueller shot them. Then they got away, clean as a whistle.”

  “The Mueller brothers, you say?”

  “Yes. And three others,” Sheriff Cody said.

  “Have you ever run across the Mueller brothers?” Bates asked.

  “No.”

  Bates smiled. “I didn’t reckon you had. ’Cause if you had, both them bastards would be dead by now.”

  “Who were the other three?” Falcon asked.

  Sheriff Cody shook his head. “We don’t know. Barnes recognized the Muellers, but he had never seen any of the other three.”

  “Are you going after them?”

  “By now, they have more than likely left the county,” Sheriff Cody said. “That means that even if I found them, I would have to work with the sheriff of that county. But you hold a special deputy’s commission from the governor, which gives you authority all over the state, so, I was hoping you might take a personal interest in this. Reverend Powell was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was a close friend. He did the funerals for my mother and my father, and he baptized nearly every one of my nieces and nephews. I guess I’ve known the Reverend and Mrs. Powell for just
about all my life. They were among the earliest settlers of the valley, and they were good people.”

  “He had already retired when I came here,” Sheriff Cody said. “But I knew him, of course, and from what I knew of him, he was a good person. And I heard that he could give one stem-winder of a sermon.”

  “Yes, he could,” Falcon said. He remembered, as a young boy, sometimes getting very impatient with the length of the good parson’s sermons. Falcon was usually anxious to get to a fishing pond or some such place, and he would squirm until his mother or one of his older sisters would fix him with a steely glare.

  “Did anyone see them leave? Do we know which way they were going?” Falcon asked.

  “Yes, we had quite a few people who saw them ride out of town. The only thing we know for sure is that they were heading east when they left here. Bates and I went out lookin’ for ’em, but didn’t see anything.

  “I know you probably have other things to do, but I was hopin’ you’d take a look around for us, see what you could come up with.”

  “Sheriff, they killed two people who were as close as family to me. I would go after these men whether you asked me to or not. Yes, I will find them.”

  It did not escape Sheriff Cody’s attention that Falcon said I “will find” them, rather than I “will go after” them.

  “Thanks,” Sheriff Cody said.

  “I told you he would,” Bates said with a smile of smug satisfaction on his face.

  “Good, good. So, what do we do next? What can I do to help you?”

  “The teller was the only witness?” Falcon asked.

  “Clyde Barnes was the only witness to the actual hold up, though several saw them riding out of town.”

  “Let’s start with Barnes,” Falcon suggested.

  For the next half hour, Falcon gathered as much information as he could about the robbers.

  “Well, you know what the Muellers look like, don’t you?” Barnes said. “I guess just about ever’ one knows what they look like. They’re little short, dried up, evil looking men. As for the others, one of them has only one eye. That’s his left eye. There is nothing but a big old ugly mass of purple flesh where the right eye was. And another one had only three fingers on his left hand. Don’t know as I saw anything particular about the third man. I mean, he was pretty ordinary as men go.”