Cole looked away and winced. Without knowing it, Casebolt was coming uncomfortably close to echoing what Duncan Blaisdell had said earlier. Cole said, "I think it's just good for folks to see us out and about and be reminded that there's no shortage of law and order in these parts."
"All right," Casebolt said, although his tone made it clear that he considered the idea unnecessary, if not outright foolishness.
Cole poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down behind the desk to drink it. Casebolt left the office a few minutes later. A few more minutes passed before the door opened again and a tall, broad-shouldered figure with arms like tree trunks filled the opening.
"Morning, Jeremiah," Cole greeted the newcomer. "Something I can do for you?"
Jeremiah Newton, Wind River's blacksmith and the pastor of the town's only church, which stood on a knoll just southwest of the settlement, came into the office and said, "I'm not sure, Brother Cole. Something's troubling me, but it seems to me that a man who spreads the Lord's word should always believe the best of people, rather than being suspicious and thinking the worst."
Cole sat up straighter. "If something's bothering you, Jeremiah," he said, "you should tell me. The Lord wouldn't want you to stand by and do nothing if there's trouble in the making."
"That's true," Jeremiah said with a nod. "A couple of men rode past my shop just now, and although it's not very Christian of me to say it, I just didn't like their looks. They reminded me of . . . well, of those hardcases who attacked me and burned down the church the first time we tried to build it."
Cole remembered the brutal assault on Jeremiah all too well. He stood up and said, "We never did round up all those gunnies who worked for Hank Parker. Some of them might have come back looking to settle a score with you."
Jeremiah shook his head. "I don't think these two were part of that bunch. They looked right at me, but I didn't see any sign that they recognized me. They were just the same sort of men, that's all."
"Gunmen. Hired killers."
"We should probably give them the benefit of the doubt . . ."
Cole stood up and came out from behind the desk. He said, "I understand how you feel, Jeremiah, but I want to have a look at those hombres myself. Can you find them and show them to me?"
"They were headed toward the general store. I'd be glad to walk down there with you."
"Let's go," Cole said. As he and Jeremiah left the office, he thought about grabbing one of the shotguns from the rack and taking along a handful of shells, but he didn't do it.
Despite what Jeremiah had said, he didn't really think he would need a scattergun on a beautiful autumn morning like this.
* * *
"Where are we going, dear?" Margaret Palmer asked as she walked beside Brenda.
"To the bank," Brenda told her grandmother. "I want to speak to Mr. Smollet."
"Are you sure that's wise? He seems to be doing a fine job of managing the bank's affairs."
Brenda looked over at Margaret and said, "How do you know I'm going to complain about his efforts?"
"You have that look about you, as if you're angry about something."
That was right, Brenda thought. She was angry. When she had first come to Wind River, she'd had words with Simone McKay about the large number of people who were behind on the payments they owed for land they had bought from William Durand and Andrew McKay. Simone insisted they were good for the debts and were paying what they could, when they could.
That hadn't been good enough to satisfy Brenda then, and it certainly didn't satisfy her now. She didn't own the land development company – that frontiersman of a marshal did – but she owned the bank and the bank held the notes on many of those land purchases. For the past six months Brenda had allowed things to go on as they were, but now the time had come to bear down. Either people paid what they owed, or they lost the land. Simple as that.
She intended to make sure Nathan Smollet knew how simple it was, too.
Both women were dressed elegantly, Brenda in a green gown and matching hat, her grandmother in a brown outfit that suited her. Wind River had a seamstress who would have been happy to make dresses for them, but Brenda insisted that all her clothes be shipped in from back east. Out here in the wilds of Wyoming Territory it was practically impossible to keep up with the latest fashions, of course, but Brenda did the best she could. She didn't intend to allow herself to start looking like some care-worn frontier woman.
Duncan Blaisdell had the right idea. He had mentioned to Margaret, and Margaret had told Brenda, that he would like to see the town build an opera house and become an outpost of culture in this heathen wilderness. That was just a start, Brenda thought. If the town wouldn't make the effort to become more civilized, she might have to finance it herself.
She put those thoughts aside as they reached the bank and went in. Several people were in the lobby, and customers were being waited on at both of the tellers' windows. Nathan Smollet was at his desk behind the railing to the left.
Smollet saw Brenda and Mrs. Palmer come in and immediately stood up. He smiled and said, "Ladies. What brings you here this morning?"
"We need to discuss some banking matters," Brenda told him.
"Of course." Smollet opened the gate in the railing and held it for them. "Please come in."
His tone held that infuriating smugness that always got on Brenda's nerves. He was the sort of man who didn't believe that a woman had any right to involve herself with business. If that woman was young and attractive, as she was, she ought to stay even farther away from any such sordid dealings.
As far as she was concerned, she was just as smart as he was, and since she owned the bank, he would pay attention to what she had to say . . . or else.
"Oh, there's Deputy Casebolt," Margaret said.
Brenda glanced over her shoulder and saw the lawman strolling into the bank. Casebolt caught sight of the two women at the same time and stopped short. For a second he looked like a deer, frozen in the sights of a hunter, unable to bolt no matter how much he wanted to.
For some reason that Brenda had never been able to understand, her grandmother was quite taken with Casebolt. Smitten, actually. She supposed the deputy had a certain crude, rough-hewn charm. And Margaret had been a widow for a long time.
"Go ahead and talk to him," Brenda said, her voice softening a little. "I don't need your help with this."
"Are you sure, dear?"
Brenda knew that as her guardian, Margaret liked to think that she was really in charge of things. Brenda didn't argue with her about that. It was easier to allow Margaret to believe that she was pulling the strings, whether she really was or not.
"I'm sure." Brenda added with a smile, "You'd better hurry. He might get away."
"I don't know what you mean, dear," Margaret said stiffly. But she started across the lobby toward Casebolt without wasting any more time.
Smollet held the chair in front of his desk for Brenda, then resumed his seat and asked, "What can I do for you this morning, Miss Durand?"
"You can force the people who owe us money to pay their debts," Brenda said.
Smollet winced slightly at the bluntness of her words and the sharpness of her tone. "We've discussed this, Miss Durand – " he began.
His patronizing tone made her angry. "No, you've offered me excuses as to why we have to be patient," she broke in. "Bad weather. Unexpected expenses. Those aren't good reasons for people not paying what they owe."
"If we start taking farms and businesses away from people, then they'll just sit there empty and won't generate any income at all," Smollet argued. "At least this way you're getting something out of the loans, even if it isn't the full amount."
"Wind River is a vital, growing town," Brenda pointed out. "You could turn around and sell those properties again."
And by the bank foreclosing, she would get them away from Cole Tyler, she thought, and that would thwart the intentions of that evil McKay woman. That would be an added benefi
t.
"I suppose there are a few accounts that are so far behind they'll never be able to catch up . . ." Smollet said.
"Start with them, then," Brenda said crisply. Despite her youth, she knew how to pick her battles, and she knew that she had won this one.
Smollet sighed, nodded, and moved around some documents on his desk. "I'll start going through the paperwork right away," he promised.
"Very good." Brenda smiled as she stood up. "Thank you for seeing it my way."
Smollet got to his feet as well. "Of course. If there's ever anything else I can help you with – "
"Oh, I'm sure there will be."
Brenda went out through the gate in the railing and started toward her grandmother and Deputy Casebolt, who stood on the other side of the bank lobby, talking. Well, her grandmother was talking, anyway, Brenda thought. Casebolt was listening, and rather nervously at that.
Both doors at the bank's front entrance opened. Several men came in, but Brenda didn't pay any attention to them except for a glance. Then she looked again as she realized that she recognized one of the men. He stopped short as his eyes met hers, but only for a second. Then he came toward her as the other four men spread out behind him.
"Miss Durand," Adam Maguire said. "This is an unexpected pleasure. I didn't suppose I'd see you in here this morning."
"I have every reason to be here," Brenda said. "I own this bank, after all."
Maguire seemed quite interested in that bit of information. "Is that a fact?" he said.
"Do you have business here?"
He nodded and said, "I surely do."
With that he pulled the gun from the holster on his hip, took a quick step forward, grabbed her shoulder, jerked her around so that her back was to him, and looped his left arm around her neck. As his grip on her tightened painfully, he pressed the muzzle of his gun against her temple and shouted, "This is a hold-up! Nobody move, or I'll blow the lady's head off!"
Chapter 6
A man had to be able to think on his feet, and that's what Adam Maguire was doing now. Fate had dropped an opportunity in his lap – a warm, soft, mighty attractive opportunity, he realized as he pressed Brenda Durand's body against his – and he was damned if he wasn't going to seize it.
Everybody in the bank reacted to Maguire's shout and the sight of his gun. The old woman screamed, the tellers let out startled exclamations, and a couple of the male customers cursed angrily. The skinny gent in a suit who had to be the bank manager started to reach down toward his desk, probably for a gun.
The manager didn't lack for courage, but he had some common sense to go with it. He stopped the motion before he grabbed iron. With Maguire's gun pressed to Brenda's head, he must have realized that he couldn't afford to start a gun battle.
Besides, Maguire's men had their guns out now, and the manager must have known that he'd be riddled with lead before he could get a shot off.
No, the only one they had to worry about was the deputy. Casebolt shoved the old woman to the floor, making her scream again, and clawed at the Griswold & Gunnison revolver on his hip as he tried to dart toward the scanty cover of a marble counter.
Two of Maguire's men fired at the same time, the sound of their guns blending into a thunderous roar. Their slugs smashed into Casebolt. Blood flew through the air and splattered on the counter as the bullets' impact spun him around. Casebolt had cleared leather, but the old Confederate revolver flew from his fingers as he crashed to the floor. He didn't move again.
Maguire's lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl as he said, "Now you know we mean business. You tellers! Start cleaning out your cash drawers. And you, Mr. Bank Manager, you go open the vault."
Brenda trembled against Maguire. "Please," she whimpered. "Please don't kill me."
"Kill you?" Maguire repeated as his snarl turned into a savage grin. "Hell, I wouldn't hurt you, darling. We're going to take you with us!"
Brenda moaned and slumped, and Maguire knew she had passed out from sheer terror.
At the same time, more shots blasted elsewhere in Wind River, telling the boss outlaw that the rest of the raid had begun.
* * *
Cole noticed two strange horses tied at the hitch rail in front of the general store as he and Jeremiah approached. There was nothing unusual about that; strangers came and went in Wind River all the time. But Cole nodded at the two mounts and asked Jeremiah, "Are those the animals those hombres were riding when they went by your place?"
Being a blacksmith, Jeremiah had a good eye for horseflesh. He nodded and said, "That's them, all right. The men have to be inside the store."
"You can go on back to your shop if you want, Jeremiah. I'll look them over, maybe ask them a few questions."
"If they're looking for trouble, you might need help."
That was a good point, Cole supposed. And even though Jeremiah didn't carry a gun, in a bare knuckles fight his massive size and strength made him a formidable ally.
"All right," Cole said. "I'm obliged for the help."
They climbed to the porch and loading dock and went inside. Two men stood at the counter in the back, talking to Harvey Raymond. Other than that, the store was empty at the moment. Cole didn't see any guns being waved around, but he thought the storekeeper looked upset about something. He had a hunch that Jeremiah's instincts were about to be proven right.
Before Cole could walk along the aisles of merchandise to the back of the store, guns suddenly went off somewhere else in town. The shots were muffled by building walls but unmistakable despite that.
One of the strangers at the counter glanced around, spotted Cole, and yelled, "It's the marshal!" He clawed at the gun on his hip.
"Jeremiah, get down!" Cole snapped as he reached for his revolver. Swift and smooth, the Colt .44 came out of leather. Cole thumbed back the hammer as the barrel tipped up. The gun roared and bucked against his palm.
At the same time, flame gouted from the muzzle of the other man's gun. Cole felt as much as heard the hot whisper of lead as the slug passed within a couple of inches of his ear.
His shot was more accurate, slamming into the man's chest and throwing him back against the counter. The man was able to stay on his feet, though, and trigger another shot at Cole. This one went low, gouging splinters from the floor.
The second man had his gun out, too. He reached across the counter and smashed the barrel against Harvey Raymond's head. Raymond collapsed. The gunman darted aside and threw himself behind a pickle barrel. As the first gunman pitched to the floor, Cole snapped a shot at the second one. The bullet plunked into the barrel. Brine spewed out through the hole.
Cole ducked as more slugs whipped around his head. From the corner of his eye he saw Jeremiah moving along one of the side aisles toward the back of the store. The big blacksmith crouched low so maybe the gunman behind the barrel wouldn't see him.
Cole wanted to warn Jeremiah to get back, but that would just draw the gunman's attention to him. As Jeremiah advanced, Cole tried to keep the gunman occupied by throwing two more shots at him.
At the end of the aisle, Jeremiah broke from cover and lunged forward to wrap his long arms around the barrel. It took a lot of strength to budge that barrel full of pickles and brine, but Jeremiah managed, shoving it back hard so that the gunman was crushed between the barrel and the counter. The man groaned in pain and dropped his gun as the barrel trapped him there.
Cole sprinted up to the first man, who lay face down on the floor in front of the counter. After kicking the man's fallen gun out of reach, Cole hooked a boot toe under his shoulder and rolled him over. The man's sightlessly staring eyes told Cole that he was dead.
Jeremiah picked up the other man's gun. He said, "I think I heard some of his ribs break when I pinned him like that, Cole. He shouldn't be any more trouble."
"Keep him covered anyway," Cole said. "I heard shots somewhere else."
"Go," Jeremiah told him. "I'll check on Harvey, too."
Cole nodded a
s he thumbed fresh bullets into his revolver. Usually he left one of the chambers empty so the hammer could rest on it, but not this time.
If there was a whole gang of outlaws raiding the town, as seemed likely from the sound of the gunfire, he would need a full wheel in that .44.
As he ran out of the store, one of the townspeople pointed and shouted, "Some shots came from the bank, Marshal!"
"Anybody seen Deputy Casebolt?"
Another man said, "I think I saw him go in there just before the shootin' started."
Cole bit back a curse. It made sense that the outlaws would hit the bank, too, and it sounded like Casebolt might have gotten caught right in the middle of the robbery.
The old-timer was tough, though, Cole told himself as he leaped down from the porch and sprinted along Grenville Avenue. If Billy had any chance at all, he would put up a good fight.
Cole was halfway to the bank when a big man in a brown tweed suit and a derby hat stepped out of an alley and cut loose at him with a rifle. The closest cover was a water trough. He dived behind it and heard bullets thudding into the trough.
At least people had sense enough to get off the street when the shooting started, he thought as he glanced around. The boardwalks had cleared in a hurry.
He stuck his .44 around the end of the water trough and triggered twice, coming close enough with his shots to drive the rifleman back into the shelter of the alley. But when Cole tried to leap up, another round from the Winchester burned past his ear. He hit the dirt again. His mouth filled with grit and the bitter realization that he was pinned down.
He knew he couldn't expect much help from the citizens. The people of Wind River were good, decent folks, but they weren't gunfighters. For once he wished Kermit Sawyer and Sawyer's crew from the Diamond S were in town. Cole and the cattleman might not get along that well, but that bunch of gun-handy Texas cowboys knew how to fight. They would make short work of the outlaws.
It didn't do any good to wish for things, Cole told himself. Besides, he had more trouble right now.
Ransom Valley (Wind River Book 7) Page 3