by John Davage
He swore to himself. ‘That bastard Pike! I was a damn fool to trust him; to trust any of the Pike gang.’
Louie returned after a few minutes. ‘Doc’s on his way, Mr Garrod,’ he said. ‘Sheriff Wickes, too. You gonna be all right? Can I get you anything? You don’t look too perky.’
‘I don’t feel too damn perky either,’ Harvey groaned. He nodded to a cabinet by the door. ‘Open it,’ he told the clerk. ‘There’s a bottle of whiskey in there. Pour me a slug.’
The desk clerk did as he was asked and Harvey took the shot in one mouthful. He held out the glass.
‘Again,’ he said.
There was a repeat performance by the two men, then Louie helped Harvey into the chair behind his desk where he sat holding his head in his hands. Moments later, Doc McFee, Tom Walsh and the sheriff arrived together.
‘Hell, Harvey, who did this to you?’ Floyd wanted to know.
Doc McFee held up a hand. ‘Hold on a minute, Floyd. Let me take a look at him.’ He examined the wound on Harvey’s head. ‘Nasty,’ he said. ‘You’re going to have a bump the size of an egg.’
‘Hurts like hell,’ Harvey agreed.
‘You could be suffering from concussion, Harvey,’ the doc said. ‘Best take it easy for an hour or two, maybe longer.’
‘I’ll be fine, doc,’ Harvey answered.
‘Tell us what happened,’ Tom said.
‘Look around you! A robbery, that’s what happened,’ Harvey said. ‘Emptied the damn safe.’
‘Go on,’ Floyd said.
By the time Doc McFee had patched him up, Harvey had told his story about an unknown raider robbing his safe and knocking him out. He said nothing about the money missing from the desk drawer.
‘How did he get in?’ Tom asked.
‘Reckon I forgot to lock the rear door,’ Harvey said.
‘Any idea who he was?’ Floyd asked.
‘No. Like I said, he was masked.’
‘What was he built like?’ Tom asked. ‘I mean, was he tall? Short? Fat? Thin? What was he wearin’, apart from the mask?’
‘How in hell do I know!’ Harvey growled. ‘The bastard hit me over the head almost as soon as he came through the door!’
‘When did it happen, Harvey?’ Doc McFee asked.
‘About eleven this morning, I think,’ Harvey told him. ‘I’m not sure.’ He looked at the sheriff. ‘What are you going to do?’
Floyd looked at the clock fixed to the wall of Harvey’s office. ‘He’s had a good two hours’ head start,’ he said.
‘You’re going after him, aren’t you?’ Harvey said. ‘You aren’t just going to let him get away?’
‘No, I guess not.’ Floyd looked at his deputy. ‘Tom, rustle up a handful of men to form a posse and we’ll go after him. Maybe we’ll get lucky.’
Tom hurried away. Floyd waited until he had gone, then turned back to Harvey. He frowned. There was something about the hotel owner’s story that didn’t ring true to Floyd’s ears.
‘So how did the raider know you’d accidentally forgotten to lock the rear door of the hotel?’ he asked the hotel owner. ‘You made it kinda easy for him to get in without the desk clerk or anyone else at the hotel being aware of it. Pretty damn convenient, don’t you reckon, Harvey?’
‘Eh? What’re you suggesting?’ Harvey retorted, pouring himself another slug of whiskey. He was still groggy from the blow Nate had given him, but thinking clearly enough to register Floyd’s suspicious tone.
‘I ain’t suggestin’ anythin’,’ Floyd said. ‘Just askin’.’
‘Well, I don’t have an answer,’ Harvey said, hotly, avoiding the sheriff’s eye. He glanced at Doc McFee. ‘I don’t feel so good, doc. Maybe you’re right, maybe I am suffering from concussion.’
Doc McFee turned to the sheriff. ‘Best to take it easy on him for now, Floyd. Maybe come and talk to him again later.’
Floyd nodded reluctantly. ‘Whatever you say, Doc. Guess I’ll go an’ see if’n Tom’s got that posse together.’
Half an hour later, Floyd, Tom and a posse of fifteen townsmen rode out of Solace, more in hope than expectation. Floyd and Tom rode side by side, the two men in conversation.
‘Did you feel there was somethin’ – I don’t know – odd about Harvey’s explanation?’ Floyd said.
‘Like what?’ Tom said.
‘Can’t put my finger on it, but there was somethin’ too pat about it all – the door bein’ left unlocked when there was money in the safe, an’ the raider knowin’ about it?’
‘What’re you sayin’, Floyd?’
‘I don’t know what I’m sayin’,’ Floyd admitted.
‘Well, let’s just catch the critter an’ then we’ll know,’ Tom said.
‘Critter’s had best part of three hours’ start on us, Tom,’ Floyd said. ‘I ain’t hopeful.’
Chapter Nine
Just after three o’clock, Eli and his three accomplices rode into Solace. They hitched their horses to the rail outside the bank. Then, moving casually but taking in the near-empty street and the overall quietness of the town, they removed the empty saddle-bags from their horses and entered through the front door of the building.
An elderly woman passed them in the doorway as she made her way out into the street. Eli turned his face away quickly. She looked surprised but walked on without looking back. Later, she would be vague about giving a description to the sheriff, other than to say the man was mean-looking with a beard, and that she’d paid no attention to the others.
Silas and Ray followed Eli into the bank, and Clay brought up the rear. Each man pulled up his neckerchief to mask the lower half of his face as he entered.
There were no other customers, just a single bank teller behind the counter and the manager in his glass-partitioned office at the back. The manager’s name was painted on the glass panel in the door – Mr Arthur Makin.
The teller looked up and saw the group of masked men. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and a small startled cry came from somewhere at the back of his throat.
‘Oh, hell. . . !’ he began.
‘Take it easy, mister,’ Eli told him, unholstering his six-gun. ‘Do somethin’ stupid and you’ll have a bullet through your head.’
‘OK, OK!’ The white-faced teller put his hands in the air and stepped back.
Clay closed both doors of the bank and leaned against them. He handed Eli his saddle-bag, then took out his .45 and held it loosely by his side. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest. He had never taken part in a bank raid. In the past, he’d only had the job of minding the horses whilst the others went into the bank. But today Eli had insisted that he take a full part in the raid. It seemed to be another ‘test’ of Clay’s mettle.
Eli and Ray went through the counter flap to the manager’s office as Silas leaned on the counter and pointed his six-gun at the teller.
‘Jus’ do like we tell you an’ nobody’ll get hurt,’ Silas told him. He put his saddle-bag on the counter. ‘Now fill that with cash. Pronto.’
The manager, seeing what was happening, had risen from his desk. He started to remove something from his desk drawer but Ray reached across and shoved his .45 into the manager’s stomach.
‘I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,’ he said, slamming the drawer shut on the other man’s hand and cuffing him across the face with his gloved fist.
The manager gasped with pain and fell back into his chair.
‘Now,’ Eli said, ‘this is what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take me an’ my friend up to the room out back where the safe is, an’ you’re gonna put all the cash into these saddle-bags. An’ any left over, you’re gonna shove into canvas moneybags. Got that?’
Arthur Makin nodded, nursing his injured hand. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Yes, indeed. Whatever you say.’ He wore black trousers, a chalk-striped jacket over a grey vest and a spotted tie. A damp patch appeared at his crotch as he eased himself from his chair.
‘Let’s go,’ Eli said.
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Across the street from the bank, Chester Green watched and smiled as his niece left the mercantile. It was a smile of contentment. A smile of satisfaction. It had been a real pleasure having Meg living with them this past year. And it had been nice company for Carrie, having another female around the place.
Chester and his wife had no children of their own, and Carrie had ‘adopted’ Meg as a daughter almost as soon the girl had arrived.
‘Meg gone to the bank?’ Carrie asked now, coming from the back room of the store.
‘Yes,’ Chester answered. ‘She won’t be long, now there’s no chance of her meeting with Tom for a chat. He’s gone with the posse.’
Carrie shook her head. ‘What a terrible thing to have happened at the Palace. Poor Mr Garrod, I hope he’s recovering.’
Word about the robbery at the hotel had spread rapidly once a posse had been formed.
Chester nodded. ‘Doc McPhee said Harvey took a nasty hit over the head.’
Carrie turned towards the back room. ‘I’ll make some fresh coffee for when Meg returns,’ she said.
Chester smiled. ‘She’ll appreciate that.’
Meg Thornton made her way across the street from the mercantile. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat to protect her face from the searing mid-afternoon sun. Her underclothes stuck to her body and her cotton dress was limp from the heat. In one hand she carried a reticule containing the last three days’ takings from the mercantile.
Still shocked by what she had heard had happened at the Solace Palace hotel earlier, and worried about Tom who was out somewhere chasing the raider, she barely noticed that the bank doors were closed until she had almost reached them. Surprised and a little curious, she pushed against them, only to feel a resistance from the other side.
‘That’s odd,’ she murmured.
She frowned and knocked loudly. It was too early for the bank to be closed, so what was happening? She was certain neither Howie Clark or Mr Makin had gone with the posse, but maybe one of them had been taken ill.
Her hand was raised to knock again when she noticed the four horses tethered at the hitching rail. Before she could reflect on the significance of this, the bank door opened suddenly, a hand gripped her arm and she was yanked inside, the door slamming shut again behind her.
A .45 was pressed against her head.
‘Wh . . . what. . . ?’ she began.
‘Jus’ relax an’ don’t do anything’ to. . . .’ The words trailed off and there was a sharp intake of breath, followed by, ‘M-Meg?’
Meg whirled round and stared at the masked speaker. She gasped when she saw the knife scar over his left eye and heard the once-familiar voice.
‘Clay!’
He released her and she stepped away from him, trying to take in what was happening.
‘Clay, what. . . ?’ she began.
Another masked man, with thick black hair and a lazy eye above the mask, was pointing a gun at a shaking Howie Clark, the teller, as Howie stuffed banknotes into a saddle-bag. The latter looked equally surprised that Meg seemed to recognize one of the raiders.
They’re robbing the bank.
The thought struck Meg like a physical blow, and she reeled under its impact.
‘Well, well, ain’t this a surprise!’ The raider at the counter was chuckling beneath his mask. He waved his six-gun between Meg and her brother. ‘You two know each other?’
Meg glanced at Clay but said nothing. She was visibly shaking and her mouth was suddenly dry as the desert. She looked towards the manager’s office and saw it was empty. Where was Mr Makin?
‘She . . . she’s my sister,’ Clay said. ‘Meg, what’re you doin’. . . ?’
‘Well, ain’t that nice.’ The other man laughed. ‘Wait a minute. She called you Clay. You been hidin’ behind a false name, Chet?’ He moved away from the counter and stepped towards Meg. He put an arm round her shoulder. ‘Anyways, ain’t this cosy? Howdy, Sis!’
Meg flinched and tried to move away, but his grip was firm. ‘Please!’ she said.
‘Leave her, Silas!’ Clay said.
The man with the lazy eye ignored him. ‘Kinda pretty, too,’ he said. ‘Too pretty to be a sister.’
‘Silas, I’m warning you!’ Clay said.
Silas paid no attention to the threat as, smiling, his hand slid from Meg’s shoulder and down under the bodice of her dress and chemise until it was cupping her breast.
She let out a gasp.
‘Quit it, Silas!’ Clay yelled. ‘Leave her alone!’
Silas gave a snort of derision. ‘Aw, come on kid. I ain’t gonna hurt her. Jus’ havin’ a bit of harmless fun, ain’t I?’
Clay levelled his gun so that it was pointing at Silas. ‘Get away from her!’
Still chuckling, Silas stared at Clay for several seconds then said, ‘Maybe I’ll take her with me when we finish up here. She’d be company for Becky. Now, let’s jus’ see . . .’ And with one swift movement, he ripped open the front of Meg’s dress and chemise, laughing loudly. ‘Pretty, eh?’
Whimpering and clutching her torn clothes, Meg somehow managed to pull away from him.
Silas reached for her again . . .
. . . and Clay shot him.
The bullet took Silas in the neck. His knees sagged, and with a choking sound and an astonished look in his eyes, he dropped to the floor. Blood seeped around the corners of his neckerchief mask, which slipped from his face as he clutched at it. There was a final gurgling noise, and then he was silent.
Out of the corner of his eye, Clay saw Howie Clark reach for and lift the six-shooter that had been concealed under the counter. Before Howie could take aim with his trembling hand, Clay whirled and shot him.
Meg let out a little scream.
Howie slumped to the floor, dragging the saddle-bag of money with him and scattering notes and coins around him.
‘Silas? Chet? What’n hell’s goin’ on down there? You OK?’
The shout came from the upstairs back room, followed by the sound of feet coming swiftly down the stairs.
A terrified Meg looked at Clay. ‘Who. . . ?’ she began.
He put a finger to his lips to stop her, yanked the door open. ‘Run!’ he said.
Chapter Ten
Floyd, Tom and the posse reached the narrow box canyon where the trail suddenly seemed to peter out. The rutted ground was baked hard as flint. Each man following drew his horse to a halt in a cloud of white trail dust and looked towards Floyd for further instructions.
Floyd took off his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead with his neckerchief. ‘Looks like our man decided to cover his tracks from here on,’ he said to Pete Deakin, Solace’s liveryman and the member of the posse who pulled up alongside of him. ‘Trail’s run out.’
Pete nodded his agreement. ‘Gonna take hours to pick it up again.’
Tom sat astride his horse a yard or two behind them, looking thoughtful. The air was thin and hot and he had the taste of dust in his mouth. He pushed back his Stetson and began to build a smoke. Something was bothering him.
‘But why leave it until now?’ he pondered. ‘The critter leaves a trail that’s so clear a kid could follow it. Then, suddenly, he decides to cover his tracks.’
‘Yeah, it’s strange,’ Floyd agreed.
‘Almost as though he’s been leadin’ us a dance up to now,’ Pete said.
The other men in the posse seemed to be waiting for Floyd to make a decision. They moved their horses to form a circle around him.
‘I’ve been thinkin’ this past mile or two. Guess he’d know we’d get a posse together to run him down,’ Tom said. ‘Wouldn’t ’xactly be a surprise.’ He drew on his smoke and rubbed a hand against the side of his face.
‘So?’ Pete said. ‘What’s on your mind, Tom?’
‘Suppose . . . he wanted us to follow him.’
‘Wanted us to?’ Floyd said. ‘Don’t make sense. What sort of owlhoot wants to be chased by a posse?’
‘One who wants us
to follow him this far, until we were best part of two hours from Solace, before losin’ us,’ Tom said.
‘But why?’ Pete said.
‘Yeah, what’re you sayin’?’ Floyd said.
‘Those tracks of his were too obvious,’ Tom said, looking up at the rocky side of the canyon. He drew on his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke. ‘No, the critter wanted us out of town for some reason.’
‘What reason?’ Pete persisted.
They were silent for several moments, pondering. Then Pete Floyd said, ‘You mean he’s been a . . . a kind’a decoy?’
‘Guess I do,’ Tom said.
Ty Brooks, another member of the posse who had been listening in on the conversation, said, ‘Jus’ supposin’ you’re right, then why was he so all-fired anxious to get us away from the town? What’s gonna happen in Solace today?’
‘That’s the big question,’ Tom said.
They sat in contemplative silence for several minutes, looking at the empty trail ahead and considering the next step.
‘Jeeze!’ Tom said suddenly. ‘The bank!’
‘What about the bank?’ Ty said.
Tom tossed his cigarette to the ground. ‘The payroll! The mine’s payroll!’
Realization swept over Floyd as his face paled. ‘A bank raid, that’s what’s goin’ to happen.’ He dry-swallowed. ‘We’re goin’ back!’
And he turned his horse around.
The others followed suit.
Chapter Eleven
Eli burst out of back stairs, gun at the ready. He took in the scene in an instant. Two dead bodies – his brother’s and the bank teller’s – and a white-faced Clay.
‘Jesus! What happened, Chet?’
‘The . . . the teller . . . he had . . . a gun under the counter,’ Clay stammered.
‘He shot Silas?’ Eli said.