Sam’s head canted as he considered the younger man’s words. He smiled. "I like it, Jim." He clapped the boy on the back. "You’ve got a good head on your shoulders."
* * *
It was near daylight when Sam, Frank Jackson and Jim Murphy rode into the yard of Seaborn Barnes’ small farm just north of Dallas. Seaborn moved out to greet the men, his face clearly showing surprise as he spied Jim Murphy. Reaching out to stroke the neck of Murphy’s horse, he stared up at the ride. "So, the law ran you and your dad in, then let both of you go, uh?"
Jim Murphy shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, averting his eyes for a moment as he regained control. "They didn’t have anything on us," he said. "Hell, we didn’t do anything wrong, so they had to let us go." Murphy was hopeful his answer would satisfy Seaborn, as well as his companions, who appeared to be listening closely to what he was saying.
Seaborn himself had been arrested before and was suspicious of Jim’s claims they were allowed to go home without being charged. He waited to voice his opinion until Murphy led his horse across the yard to the watering trough, and then made his thoughts known. "I don’t trust Murphy, Sam," he began, keeping his voice low. "I never thought that he or his dad had the sand to have a part in something like this. I’ve seen him around town before, but I never seen the kid stand up to anyone. He always stood back as if he expected his pa to take care of things." Staring across to where Murphy was watering his horse, he shook his head. "The law never let me go that easy."
Angry, Sam glared at Seaborn. "You believe he would turn on us?"
Seaborn shrugged, "Just an observation, that’s all. I don’t know if he’s dependable."
Frank Jackson had been listening to the exchange between Sam and Seaborn. He decided to toss in his two cents. "I’ve known Jim Murphy most of my life," he ventured, his tone confrontational. "We grew up together. He wouldn’t do anything to bring harm to any of us."
Seaborn’s tone matched Jackson. "Well if he does, I’ll kill him!"
The four gang members rested at Barnes’ cabin until dark and then rode straight south, conscious of the fact that a roaming posse could still be about. They camped when daylight came then proceeded again at dark.
In two nights they had covered around fifty miles, and it was a little before mid-day when they arrived just outside the town of Waco. Sam handed out twenty dollar gold pieces to the men to finance their activities and to pay for their lodgings. "I think we left the law behind in Denton County," he declared, doling out the coins. "So there’s no reason why we can’t just rest up a couple days and see how things go."
They entered town two at a time, meeting up later that night at a corner card table in Mica’s Saloon. After several drinks, the conversation turned to some serious planning for robbing the bank there in Waco. It seemed an ideal setting, a small town with limited law enforcement, just a city marshal as far as they had seen.
Seaborn Barnes brought up the idea of stealing some horses so that they would have fresh mounts if a posse took after them.
Jim Murphy knew he would not have the opportunity to get word to the authorities in time to inform them of the gang’s intentions and decided to voice his disapproval of the plan. "I don’t think stealing horses is such a good idea," he reasoned. "Why get the local law stirred up or put them on the alert?" Certain they would get caught or killed, he implored Sam to not steal any horses or rob the local bank. "I think we should go further south," he suggested, "some place not so close to home."
Sam spent the night thinking over Murphy’s advice. The next morning after breakfast, he pulled the younger man aside and voiced his decision. "If you think there is too much danger here, Jim, we won’t hit the bank. We’ll go wherever you say."
Murphy answered right away. "I was talking to a fella last night that said on down south is a little town called Round Rock. He said it was a busy cattle town."
Seaborn, who had joined the pair, spoke up. "I’ve been there before and there is a bank there. I know that because I helped herd some cattle through there once. I spent some time in the Left Hand Saloon. Fella that owned the place didn’t have a left hand, so he called the saloon his left hand." He paused to concentrate on the cigarette he was rolling. "Town’s small," he said, spitting a flake of loose tobacco, "and it’s quiet. Don’t think they got much in the way of a lawman, either."
Sam nodded. "Fair enough," he said. "We’ll go on down there."
The next morning was Sunday, it was quiet in Waco. The four men were drinking coffee in the hotel café. Jim Murphy stood up and stretched. "I need to check on my horse. He’s been favoring a front leg," he said, and then left.
Murphy did go to the livery where his horse was stabled, but not before making a surreptitious detour into the telegraph office and sending a wire to the Grayson County Sheriff’s office. He informed the Sheriff the bank in Round Rock, a little town twenty miles north of Austin, would be robbed later that week.
Jim then went to the livery, making a fuss over his horse’s hoof and asking the stableman to take a look. When nothing wrong was found with the animal, Jim rejoined the others. He was hopeful he was beyond anyone’s suspicion as no one said anything other than Sam.
"How’s the horse?" Sam asked affably.
Acting embarrassed, Murphy shrugged. "The stable man said it should be fine, that it was probably just a stone bruise," he replied. The confession brought a round of good-natured teasing and laughter from the older men, about how the young man was a worrywart and prone to acting like a mother hen.
* * *
The gang stayed in town until the next morning before moving on south. They arrived outside Round Rock three days later and set up camp about a mile from town, near a cemetery. Their next move was to head into town to check things out. Once their curiosity was satisfied, they returned to their camp site.
Sam gathered the men around him, and laid out his plans. "We’ll sleep here, but I see no reason we can’t go into town as long as we don’t draw any attention to ourselves," he continued. "I sure could use a shave, a meal and a beer, maybe a hand or two of poker. Seaborn says there’s no guns allowed in town, so we need to keep them out of sight." He took his gun belt off and stuffed it in his saddle bag, but shoved the six-gun in his belt under his jacket. Then he and Seaborn mounted and rode to town. It had been decided Frank Jackson and Jim Murphy would join them later.
The men gravitated naturally away from the higher class end of town where the bank was, and on to the lower end of town where the saloons were. Jim Murphy and Frank Jackson went into Mary’s Café and had apple pie and coffee while Sam and Seaborn walked the streets to get a better feel for the town.
Round Rock was a small town that had sprung up along the Chisholm Trail, so called because of a large round-anvil shaped rock in the middle of Brushy Creek where there was a low water crossing for horses and cattle alike. It became a good overnight stopping spot for cattle men herding their cattle north. Like other settlements along the Chisholm, the only commerce came from nearby cattle ranches or from those driving herds through the area.
In the past few days, however, the town had begun to fill with Rangers. Major John B. Jones had been notified by the Grayson County Sheriff of the impending robbery of the Williamson County Bank. Ranger Captain Peak was also informed of the news but decided to wait in Denton in case this was merely a ruse. He in turn told Sheriff Egan, and both lawmen agreed that the distance was too far away to attempt an assault.
It was a bright Friday afternoon when several Rangers began congregating at the railroad depot in Round Rock. When they dispersed, some walked the streets while others entered businesses. Ranger Sergeant Richard Ware stepped into a barber shop to get a shave. Ranger George Herold was browsing next door in a saddler’s shop. Major Jones went into the telegraph office. It was late in the week and no gang activities had been reported since he had received the telegraph from the Grayson County Sheriff this Sunday past. Jones wondered if the information provided to him
had been false.
After two days of lounging at their campsite the four gang members rode toward town in the late afternoon to buy some tobacco and get a last look at the town’s layout before carrying out the robbery, which would occur the next day. When they came to the edge of town, Jim Murphy called out to Sam. "I don’t need anything at the store so I think I’ll go on down to the café and see if they got any more of that apple pie. Are you coming with me, Frank?"
Frank Jackson shook his head. "Nah, I’ll go on to the store with Sam and Seaborn.
Jim Murphy rode on down the street as Sam, Seaborn, and Frank walked their horses to a hitch rack in the alley beside Henry Kopel’s general store. The three men dismounted, tied their reins to the hitch rail and then walked through the alley onto the street. They turned left and went through the front door of Kopel’s store.
Deputy Sheriff Moore, whom had ridden into town with Major Jones, was across the street and had watched when the three men rode in. He stepped inside the sheriff’s office and addressed Deputy Sheriff Grimes, the resident Williamson County deputy. "I think one of those fellows that just went into Kopel’s store has a pistol under his jacket."
Grimes sat upright in his chair and then stood and walked to the window to look outside. "Let’s go over and see," he said. The two lawmen left the office and walked across the street. Deputy Moore waited outside to roll a smoke while Grimes crossed the threshold into Kopel’s store.
Sam, Frank, and Seaborn were standing in front of the counter when the lawman came in. Grimes stopped six feet behind them and asked, "Are any of you men carrying pistols?"
The three bandits turned to face Grimes. Seaborn had his hand under his coat. "Yes, we have guns," Sam said, but…" He was cut off in mid-sentence when Seaborn pulled his six-gun out and fired a shot into Grimes’ stomach. Deputy Grimes was in the act of reaching for his holstered six-gun when Seaborn shot him again.
Sam and Frank, startled by the two pistol shots, instinctively snaked out their six-guns and began shooting as well. Deputy Grimes, riddled with bullets, fell to the floor dead. When the first shot was fired, Deputy Moore, standing outside the store, immediately pulled his six-gun and opened the door. He fired five shots into the smoke-filled room before falling to the floor with a bullet in his chest. One of Moore’s bullets had struck Sam in his gun hand, lopping both middle fingers off. The three bandits lunged for the door.
Ranger Ware was sitting in a barber’s chair getting a shave when the shooting started. Ware bolted out of the chair and ran into the street with the soap on his face, his weapon drawn.
When he located the bandits a hundred paces down and across the street, Ware began firing his six-gun at them. Ranger George Herold rushed out of the saddle shop and began blazing away at the outlaws as well. Return fire from the bandits on the run riddled the air. Major Jones hurried out of the telegraph office and was only able to get off one shot at the bandits before they ducked around the corner of the store.
Sam, Frank, and Seaborn ran down the alley where their horses were tethered. Ranger Ware had run down the street far enough to peek into the alley. He was able to take aim at the three escaping men and fire. One bullet found its mark, Seaborn Barnes was hit in midstride, shot in the back of the head. He died where he fell. Nearby Ranger Herold turned his six-gun on the other two, Sam and Frank. Sam took a bullet to his lower back just as he reached his horse. He collapsed against the horse’s flank. Frank Jackson saw that Sam was hit and came to help Sam into the saddle before mounting his own horse. Jackson emptied his six-gun in the direction of the Rangers then tried as best he could to hold Sam in the saddle as he urged the horses away. Bullets were flying around the two men as they fled town. The run lasted only a short time before Sam began to fall out of the saddle. Frank Jackson was able to maneuver the horses to a wooded area beside an open field. He helped Sam down and propped him upright against an oak tree.
Sam knew he had been badly wounded by the shot to his back. Pain and blood loss had sapped his strength. His face was drained of color and he spoke in a halting voice, "You got to ride on . . . Frank!" he urged his younger companion.
Frank’s face was flushed red and his eyes were wide with apprehension. He took a deep breath, trying to sort out the conflicting urges inside him. He did not want to abandon Sam and leave him alone to deal with the pursing lawmen, but common sense told him he needed to get away. Feelings of loyalty were overwhelming the youth: Sam was his friend, they had ridden together, faced danger together and he would not leave Sam to the fates. Frank shook his head. "I’m staying with you, Sam!"
Grimacing in pain, Sam shook his head. "No, no, I want you to go!" he gasped. He reached out to clutch Jackson ’s arm. "They’ll shoot you, too! I’m done for, Frank," he ground out. "I can’t ride any more. Take my guns and my horse. He’s faster than yours. You’ve got to get away!" Sam passed his six-gun to Frank with his uninjured left hand. "Now go! Go!"
Sam was so insistent that Frank finally relented. He abruptly stood. "All right, Sam, if that’s what you want, I’ll go."
Sam nodded. "That’s what I want, Frank," he said softly. "They’ll be here soon. Now go!"
Frank reloaded his six-gun and then mounted Sam’s horse. He paused to look down at Sam through tear-filled eyes and jerked the reins to turn the horse about. He kicked the big bay to a run and rode off.
Contrary to Sam’s belief, the lawmen did not mount an immediate pursuit. When the Rangers had all gotten together in conference, Major Jones announced, "We’re not sure of the number of men in that gang. We saw only three in town but there’s a good chance that there are more at a camp nearby. Those men are desperate and will shoot to kill. They already killed Deputy Grimes, and badly wounded Deputy Moore. It’ll be dark soon and I don’t want any other lawman getting killed or maimed. We’ll get ourselves organized and begin the hunt at first light. I’ll get on the telegraph and we’ll have an army of men on the move tonight. Those bastards are not going to get away!"
* * *
As soon as Jim Murphy heard the noise of the shots coming from up the street, he figured that it involved Sam and the others and that something had gone wrong. He was immediately torn as to what to do. If Sam and the others had been recognized then he didn’t want to go running up there and get into the middle of the confrontation, nor did he want to get shot by the lawmen. It hit him then, that since he had been the one who had set the whole thing up, it wouldn’t take much for Sam and the others to put the pieces together and figure out what he had done. His chances of getting shot had increased twofold: the Rangers or his former friends, either faction could and would be capable of taking his life.
By the time the shooting had ended there were plenty of excited voices coming from the other end of town. Murphy, standing next to his horse and contemplating whether to mount and ride to safety or stay where he was, spotted a man walking hurriedly along the boardwalk in his direction.
Feigning ignorance, he called out to the man. "What was all the shooting about?"
The stranger hesitated. "The deputy’s been killed, and they think it was the Bass gang!" he blurted breathlessly. "One of the gang was killed too!"
Jim Murphy spent an agonizing ten minutes aimlessly walking the streets before deciding it was time to make his presence known. After all, it was done! Jim Murphy could now come out of hiding. He was grim-faced as he walked into the sheriff’s office where Major Jones and two other Rangers had just assembled. The three men glared dourly when he stepped through the door. He was uneasy when he announced, "I’m Jim Murphy, the one that sent the telegram about the gang!"
Major Jones rose up from behind a desk. He eyed the young man with scrutiny then held an open hand palm up in a gesture of uncertainty. "I never received a telegram from anybody but the Grayson county sheriff. He said there was someone working undercover as an informant. Would that be you?"
Jim Murphy nodded. "Yes, that would be me."
One of the Rangers stepped forward and
took Murphy’s pistol from his waistband.
"You know who the others are then?" Jones asked
Murphy nodded again.
"Good," Jones said. "Then you won’t have any problem identifying the one member of the gang who didn’t escape town."
Jim Murphy was accompanied by the Major and the other two Rangers to where Seaborn Barnes still lay. Barnes’ body was lying on its back, eyes open in a glassy death stare. Jim Murphy took one look and murmured, "That’s Seaborn Barnes. He was one of the Bass gang."
Major Jones grimaced. "How many more are there?"
Murphy’s chin dropped against his chest, his gaze still locked on the still body of Seaborn Barnes. "Two more is all," he answered. "Sam Bass and Frank Jackson."
Major Jones seemed astonished. "Just Bass and one other? Hell, we thought there might be a dozen or more! Well, one of them got himself wounded while running away, that’s according to a couple of our men. I’m surprised that anyone could survive that hail of lead that was thrown at them! Nevertheless, the fact that one of them is wounded is going to slow them down!"
"What do you want me to do?" Jim Murphy asked.
Major Jones looked to Murphy. "Right now nothing. I’m ordering that you be held in our protective custody until the others are caught and this matter is resolved. If those other two got wind of you coming forward they most likely wouldn’t hesitate to gun you down."
* * *
At first light, the hunt began in earnest. The Rangers spread out to make a sweep northwest of town, where the bandits had fled. They had traveled less than a mile when two Rangers spotted a man sitting against an oak tree on the edge of an open field. They approached on foot, with six-guns drawn.
When Sam saw them, he held a hand up. "Don’t shoot," he said in a weak voice. "I am the one you are looking for. I am Sam Bass."
A wagon was brought from town and Sam was loaded into the wagon bed. He was taken to a doctor’s office in town. Doctor Mortimer Davis examined Sam and did what he could to staunch the seeping of blood from the wounds. He discovered that the bullet had come out near Sam’s groin at an inordinate angle. Dr. Davis thought it odd that it appeared there were two entry wounds in the same hole in Sam’s back. The doctor examined the cartridge belt Sam had been wearing and determined that the bullet had first struck a cartridge and split apart. Part of the bullet had come out in the groin area and the other part had taken an upward angle and was still inside Sam’s body. Sam was so weak from trauma and the great loss of blood that the doctor deferred any probing for the bullet fragments. He attended the body wounds and then bandaged where Sam’s two missing fingers had been blown off.
West of the Big River: Boxed Set of Eight Western Novels Page 67