by J. T. Edson
‘How about it, Sheriff?’ Brady insisted, darting a warning glare at his nephew. ‘D...’
‘Yes, Sheriff!’ Cuthbertson put in coldly. ‘Don’t delay. There’s been enough of that already.’
Before the sheriff was forced to confess that he did not know who to recommend for the posse, the matter was taken out of his hands. The owner of the livery barn had arrived in time to hear—and heartily approve of—Brady’s suggestions. Having few, if any, illusions where the sheriff was concerned, Mueller had been selecting men who he knew would be suitable.
‘I’ll come, Sy,’ Mueller offered. These two gents, Ben Colley, Tom James, Orville Masker ought to be enough. If you boys’ve a mind to come along.’
‘Count me in,’ Masker stated and the other two gave their concurrence.
‘Can you supply me with a suitable mount, sir?’ Barnstaple inquired, showing that he was satisfied with the selection. ‘I’d like to accompany you. It’s not often that I have the opportunity to help capture a gang who have robbed one of our banks.’
‘Be right pleased to fix you up, mister,’ Mueller declared, figuring that a man with so much influence and right good common sense ought to be an asset in handling the sheriff should Minter start bungling. ‘I’ve got a hoss that’ll be just right for you.’
‘How about somebody to read the tracks?’ Barnstaple wanted to know, his attitude hinting that he fully understood the situation. It also implied that he doubted whether the three local peace officers were capable of such skilled work. ‘I’d imagine that we’ll need a man who can do it.’
‘My nephew’s a better than fair hand at reading sign,’ Brady offered, when the sheriff displayed agitation without actually admitting that he could not supply the required technician. Brady’s thoughts concerning Barnstaple and the sheriff were running parallel to those of the livery barn’s owner. ‘Go fetch our horses, Jefferson.’
‘Sure thing, Uncle Brady,’ Jeff replied, barely attempting to conceal his impatience. ‘I’ll have ’em here pronto.’’
‘You fellers fetch your hosses and guns, then meet me here in...’ Minter put in, feeling that he must make a gesture to prove that he was still in control of the situation. ‘In ...’
‘Ten minutes ought to be ample,’ Barnstaple suggested, when it became obvious that the peace officer was undecided as to how long the preparations would require.
‘More than enough,’ Cuthbertson agreed, his piggy eyes flickering around and his expression showing he was disappointed that there should be even a ten minutes’ delay. He also did not wish to appear to lack faith in Barnstaple’s judgment. ‘But, of course, preparations must be made.’
‘Fetch our hosses, Milt, Sonny,’ the sheriff told his deputies and they slouched away in the wake of the men chosen by Mueller.
‘I’ll saddle up a hoss and fetch it for you, mister,’ the barn’s owner told Cuthbertson’s distinguished visitor.
‘Thank you, sir, that’s mighty obliging,’ Barnstaple replied. ‘I don’t want to butt in, Gus—’
‘Go ahead, Arnold,’ Cuthbertson offered. ‘Anything you say will be well worth hearing.’
‘It might help if we formed a clearer impression of what happened in the bank,’ Barnstaple went on. ‘A description of the miscreants, things like that, while the victims’ memories are still fresh. And I think that the sheriff should telegraph his colleagues in the neighboring counties so that they can keep watch for the gang.’
‘I’ll tend to it right away,’ Minter promised, then confusion showed on his face. ‘Er—who do I tell ’em to look out for, Mr. Barnstaple?’
‘Three white fellers, one tall and lean, one thickset, one middle height and stocky.’ Brady supplied the answer, knowing that a longer description would be unnecessary for the time being. ‘They’ll have a tall, clean-shaven Mexican with ’em. They could change their clothes, but not that one of ’em’s a Greaser.’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Minter conceded, deciding that the stocky feller must have some pull as Barnstaple seemed to be very friendly with him, ‘I’ll tend to it right now.’
‘Perhaps we and the witnesses should go into the bank, Gus,’ Barnstaple suggested as the sheriff turned and gave instructions to the Overland Stage Line’s agent who was in the crowd. ‘We can talk more comfortably in there.’
‘Of course,’ Cuthbertson agreed, realizing that he did not want to open a discussion in public, ‘Come this way, Mrs. Kimber, Mr. Anchor and you, Dilkes.’
Chapter Four – They Used Each Other’s Names
‘Did they take everything, Dilkes?’ Cuthbertson asked his teller, after they were inside the building.
‘Only fifty thousand dollars, sir.’
‘Only fifty thousand dollars!’ Cuthbertson howled.
‘That’s all they wanted, sir,’ Dilkes pointed out. ‘All in bills. They wouldn’t take gold, or silver.’
Although the words might have aroused considerable interest amongst the crowd, they were not in a position to hear. Waiting until Mrs. Kimber, Brady and the sheriff had followed the bank’s officials into the building, Barnstaple had entered and closed the door.
‘Only fifty thousand dollars, he says,’ Cuthbertson groaned, sounding as if unwilling to believe his ears.
‘And my five thousand,’ Brady drawled.
‘Had it been deposited, Dilkes?’ Cuthbertson demanded, a crafty glint coming into his piggy eyes.
‘No, sir,’ the teller replied, in the tones of a man trying to show that a very dark cloud had at least one silver lining. ‘The gang came in before I could get around to doing it.’
‘You say that they asked specifically for fifty thousand dollars?’ Barnstaple inquired.
‘For that exact amount, sir,’ Dilkes confirmed. ‘And one of them stood over me while I was counting it out.’
‘Remarkable,’ Barnstaple ejaculated. ‘Don’t you find it so, Mr...?’
‘Anchor, Brady Anchor,’ the stocky man supplied, the question having been directed his way. ‘Sure. Reed remarkable.’
‘It must have been,’ Mrs. Kimber sniffed, annoyed that her opinion had not yet been asked. ‘The way both you men knuckled under to their every demand.’
‘These gentlemen were quite right in not resisting, ma’am,’ Barnstaple cut in coldly. ‘And they had your best interests at heart, I assure you. If they had resisted, the gang would have killed you as well as them.’
‘Mercy me!’ Mrs. Kimber croaked, being willing to accept the truth when it came from a person of obvious social prominence. ‘You’re right. They did act for the best.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Barnstaple agreed. That they did.’
There wasn’t anything else they could have done,’ Mrs. Kimber went on.
‘Have you any idea who the outlaws were, Mr. Dilkes?’ Barnstaple inquired, preventing the woman from continuing with her gushing agreement.
‘I—I don’t know,’ the teller replied. ‘It might have been the James Brothers, sir.’
‘Do you think it was, Mr. Anchor?’ Barnstaple inquired.
‘Nope,’ Brady confessed. ‘Not seeing’s how their gang got shot to doll rags in Northfield back in ‘Seventy-Six.’
‘The Jameses weren’t caught,’ Cuthbertson reminded the others.
‘I’m not gainsaying it,’ Brady conceded. ‘Only not one of them fellers fit in with any description I ever saw of Frank or Jesse James.’
‘Can you suggest who they might have been, sir?’ Barnstaple asked, studying Brady with considerable interest.
‘Not for sure,’ Brady admitted.
‘They used each other’s names,’ Dilkes pointed out.
‘Yes, they did,’ agreed Mrs. Kimber, unwilling to be kept out of the conversation. ‘I heard them.’
‘One thing I know,’ Brady drawled. ‘Whoever they were, they weren’t yearlings. I’ll bet on them being top-grade stock.’
‘In what respect?’ Barnstaple wanted to know.
‘Every way they went show
ed planning and was handled mighty slick,’ Brady answered. They had me fooled, way they were dressed. I never thought they might be together.’
‘They didn’t all come in at once,’ Dilkes injected, determined to exculpate himself of any blame if possible. ‘Each one arrived, gave me a good reason for seeing Mr. Cuthbert son and said he’d wait until you came back from lunch, sir. They all looked so respectable—’
‘None of us is blaming you, Mr. Dilkes,’ Barnstaple assured the teller, looking pointedly at Cuthbertson until receiving a grudging nod of agreement. ‘Will you tell me all that happened, please, Mr. Anchor?’
Quickly and concisely, Brady ran through everything that had happened. He also included what he had seen or deduced during the robbery. What few details he was unable to supply were given by Dilkes. While Cuthbertson moved restlessly and was clearly impatient, Sheriff Minter tried to look intelligent. Mrs. Kimber displayed disappointment at not being called upon to give her views. Barnstaple was taking in and digesting all he heard.
‘You say that they made you tear the wrappers from the money, Mr. Dilkes?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir. I dropped one bundle in, so that we could prove it was our—the bank’s—money if they were arrested outside the county.’
‘Smart thinking,’ Barnstaple praised.
‘Not really, sir,’ Dilkes confessed. ‘The man made me pick it out and take the wrapper off.’
‘I heard him tell you to do it,’ Brady remarked. ‘It struck me as a mite peculiar.’
‘Is all this important?’ Cuthbertson demanded.
‘What did you make of it, Mr. Anchor?’ Barnstaple asked, as if the banker had never spoken.
‘Could be like they said, they didn’t want anything to prove where the money came from, happen they got caught,’ Brady replied. ‘Although that wouldn’t make no never-mind if they should be. They weren’t masked, so any of us could say it was them who did it.’
‘The fact that they weren’t masked implies they felt that nobody would recognize them,’ Barnstaple suggested. It could have been their first robbery.’
‘Happen it was,’ Brady drawled, ‘they’d had a real good teacher.’
‘What makes you say that, sir?’ asked Barnstaple, and Brady knew that there was one person in the room who recognized his true character and worth.
‘They didn’t handle any part of the deal like beginners. Like I said, it was all planned out real good. Not just the big things, like leaving the horses where they wouldn’t draw notice. They’d even made up special sacks to carry off the money.’
‘They looked like ordinary Acme flour sacks to me,’ Dilkes objected.
‘Not with those draw-strings,’ Brady countered. They’d been fitted after the flour’d been sold. Made dandy loops. Just right to be hung over a saddle horn in a hurry and leave a feller with his hands free when he’d need ’em that way.’
‘It’s not a thing a beginner would think of,’ Barnstaple conceded. ‘Have you any idea of whom they might be, Mr. Anchor?’
‘They used each other’s names,’ Dilkes repeated doggedly.
‘Jaspers that smart don’t make fool mistakes like using their real names,’ Brady corrected.
‘Besides which,’ Barnstaple prompted, smiling. There is a ‘‘besides which”, isn’t there?’
‘Besides which,’ Brady confirmed, grinning at the further proof of Barnstaple’s shrewd judgment. ‘Spit Merton and his bunch, which all them names was aimed at making us think was meant, don’t have sense enough to pack sand into a rat-hole. Merton wouldn’t have had the brains to figure out a deal like that.’
‘They are a possibility, though?’ Barnstaple asked.
‘You could say that,’ Brady replied. ‘Merton has a Mex rides with him, Antonio Gonzales. Rest of his bunch are Billy Longbach, Rupert Ostringer and Benjamin Hickert. Fellers matched their descriptions, ‘cepting being cleaner and better dressed.’
‘Yet you still don’t think it was Spit Merton’s gang?’
‘Merton’s always rated low man on the totem pole where banditry, brains or figuring’s concerned,’ Brady stated. ‘If it was him, somebody’s taught him a whole slew of new tricks. Let’s hope he’s not got too smart.’
‘In what way?’ Barnstaple inquired.
Those horses his bunch were riding aren’t the best I’ve ever seen. Unless they’ve better stock staked out, we ought to be able to ride ’em down.’
‘I hope we do,’ Barnstaple declared. ‘I’m looking forward to catching them so that we can learn the answers.’
‘Now me,’ Brady said quietly. ‘All I want to do is get back the money they took from me.’
‘I’m sure we’d all like to see that’ Barnstaple answered.
Watching the banker’s sour expression, Brady doubted whether he shared his distinguished visitor’s sentiments on that aspect of the robbery.
‘Is there anything more you want to know, Sheriff?’ Barnstaple asked.
‘Huh?’ Minter grunted, then he shook his head. ‘Nope. I’ve heard all I need to know.’
‘Happen we’re lucky, you won’t need their descriptions,’ Brady remarked. ‘But, was I you, I’d have Mr. Dilkes and the lady here write them down while we’ve gone after the owl-hoots.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Minter agreed and received the couple’s promise of co-operation.
‘Can I see you in private for a moment, Gus?’ Barnstaple requested.
‘Come into my office,’ the president of the bank replied.
Leaving the bank, Brady found Jeff had arrived with their horses. Going to his powerful bayo-tigres ii gelding, Brady checked its saddle’s double girths. He did not expect to find anything wrong, but made the examination automatically. As usual, Jeff had shown a shrewd grasp of the situation. Knowing that they were faced with what might develop into a lengthy pursuit, at a fair speed too, he had made the necessary reductions to the loads their mounts would be carrying. While Brady’s heavy caliber Winchester Model of 1876 ‘Centennial’ rifle was in its boot, the war bag had been left at the livery barn and the bed roll cut down to a single blanket wrapped in his waterproof tarp.
Jeff’s low horned, double girthed Texas saddle carried a similar burden. Roman-nosed and rangy in build, his eleven-hundred pound mount showed the unmistakable signs of a Nez Perce buffalo-horse’s blood-line. It had a satiny pale blue-roan coat speckled with dollar size black spots, a long black mane and tail, and rock-hard black hooves.
Other members of the posse were assembling. Clearly Mueller had known the right kind of men to pick. Each of them had a good horse, with the means of sleeping out under the stars if the need arose, and a rifle booted on the saddle. Mueller had brought a second animal with a suitable load, for Barnstaple’s use.
Last on the scene were the two deputies. Studying their and the sheriff’s horses, Brady concluded that they would be the weak link in the chain. Their horses were not up to the quality of the other men’s, with the exception of the brown gelding ridden by the taller deputy. None of the peace officers had brought bedding. Sonny Briskow carried a Sharps Old Reliable buffalo gun in his left hand, but did not have a boot for it.
A hush fell on the crowd, who were still hovering in the vicinity, as the banker and Barnstaple came from the building. Cuthbertson looked sour, like a man faced with an unpleasant task.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the banker said, after darting a glance at his companion as if asking for permission to avoid something necessary but distasteful. ‘You are probably wondering how things stand at the bank—’
‘Did they take everything?’ demanded one of the crowd, putting all the depositors’ fears into words.
‘Only fifty thousand dollars,’ Cuthbertson replied. ‘I can assure you that there is still a sufficient reserve on hand to cover all your deposits.’
Watching the banker, Brady guessed that he hated having to be so frank. In fact, Brady was willing to bet that Cuthbertson was furious at having to make his exact losses know
n to the citizens. Barnstaple was still proving to be a tower of strength in the affair.
‘All right, boys!’ Minter said, becoming artificially brisk and efficient as he strode towards his horse. ‘Let’s go get ’em.’
‘Wouldn’t it be advisable for Mr. ... ’ Barnstaple began, glancing from the sheriff to Jeff.
‘Trade,’ Brady supplied.
‘For Mr. Trade to tell us what he wants from us before we start, Sheriff,’ Barnstaple continued. ‘After all, it is he who will be doing the tracking.’
‘Huh?’ grunted Minter, staring without any great comprehension at the speaker until realizing what had been meant by his comment. ‘Oh yes! Sure! I was just going to ask him!’
‘All I want is for you gents to keep well behind me and not to go tromping on the sign afore I’ve had a chance to look it over,’ Jeff drawled. ‘Only I don’t reckon I need to tell most of you that.’
‘Can I speak with you for a moment, Sheriff?’ Cuthbert-son called.
‘Sure, G...’ Minter agreed, chopping off the final word as he knew that the banker had an aversion to him making their relationship obvious in public; even though the whole town knew they were cousins.
Leaving the posse, the sheriff joined Cuthbertson on the sidewalk. They moved clear of the crowd. Respecting their privacy, although numerous curious glances were thrown at them, the citizens made no attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation. Instead, they devoted their attention to the preparations being made for departure by the members of the posse.
‘Is there anything else you’d like to say to us, Mr. Trade?’ Barnstaple inquired, glancing briefly at the peace officer and Cuthbertson.
‘Nope,’ Jeff replied.
‘You’ll be all right, out ahead of us?’ Barnstaple asked.
‘I reckon so. Uncle Brady’ll be riding alongside of me, watching ahead.’
‘That’s very sound,’ Barnstaple praised, and Mueller grunted agreement. ‘You can’t keep a watch out for an ambush and follow the tracks. So you need somebody covering you.’
‘Why him, though?’ demanded Briskow, eyeing Brady in anything but a flattering manner.