He and his brothers laughed out loud. Abe walked over and stood directly in front of her, gun in hand. “You got a mouth on you, lady. Stand up!”
“You can stick that gun of yours where the sun don’t shine, mister,” she blurted. “Right back behind you, there—where your brains are.”
He then grabbed her by the hair and pulled the woman up and away from her chair. She wrestled with him frantically, and in the commotion, her pistol fell out of the waistband of her trousers and dropped with a loud thud onto the floor. Abe saw it and immediately kicked her in the stomach, then grabbed her shirt about the collar and threw her back into the chair, striking her across the jaw with the butt of his handgun. He then stepped back and reached for the pistol on the floor.
“Well, looky-looky, here. Little miss feisty britches had a gun stashed in her pants. What were you planning on doing with this, feisty britches?”
Seated in the chair Lovella was slightly bent forward and in pain. She moaned softly, bleeding a bit at the corner of her mouth. “You kicked me, you bastard! You kicked a woman and smashed at her face with your iron—you’re the scum of the earth!”
“I’ll do more than that,” he responded. “I’ll stick this gun of yours in that smart mouth and pull the trigger, if you don’t button up that lip of yours!”
Across the room Margaret Warner clenched her fists. “You’re a horrible excuse for a man! Leave her alone!”
Abe turned toward her. “Butt out!” He looked at Don Warner. “Keep that wife of yours quiet!”
“Let’s all calm down here,” Don responded. “There’s no need for any of this. When the banker gets here you can take your money and leave town. In the mean time, we’re not giving you any trouble. We’re peaceful folk’s here—why can’t you just leave it at that?”
Abe smiled at his brothers. “Look, boys. We got us a—what do you call ’em? —A diplomat—that’s it! We got us a diplomat.”
“What’s that?” Tom Cutler asked.
“Just a man what tries to keep peace twixt folk’s,” Abe responded. He glared at Don for a moment, then walked over and stood in the door of the restaurant. Bill Cutler spoke at him from across the room.
“That girl’s time’s near about up, Abe. Let’s go on and shoot somebody now!”
Abe hesitated a moment. “Hold on. I don’t think she’ll let these people down. And she’s real pretty, too. I kinda’ like her. We’ll give her a little more time,” he breathed.
Misty had arrived at the Dawson’s place and had also spoken with Jim Dawson, the town’s banker, regarding the people being held at gunpoint in the restaurant. He was somewhat frightened by the event, but told his wife to stay put in the house, closed the door, and then he and Misty stepped off the porch and headed around the block and on down the street toward the restaurant.
The sun shone brightly on the streets of Lone Pine that particular morning, and in the cattlemen’s camp to the south as well. But high on the mountain to the west the dark clouds were on the increase, casting long, eerie shadows over the expanse of rocks far below, which bordered the Indian village. Within the village itself Little Swan entered the great teepee and talked with her grandfather. He was glad to see her.
“I spoke with a white man today, grandfather. I believe he is the man you seek. He said that he would be coming here tomorrow to speak with you.”
Bear Claw was taken aback. “This man you saw—how do you know he is the man I am looking for?”
“It was in his eyes, grandfather. His name is Michael. He came from the rocks to help Braveheart fight a great mountain lion. He is a fierce warrior, grandfather—I know this! Yet he is a kind and gentle man in heart, who rides a tall and spirited horse.”
The man smiled. “I take it Braveheart is the name you have given the red dog? This is a good name, my child. Tell me more now of this man who…”
At that moment Stalking Moon entered the teepee. He saw Little Swan sitting near to his father. He walked over to them and then squatted down beside her.
“Where have you been, my daughter? The cows in the pasture are ready for milking. The other girls have gone there—early this morning, but no one could find you.”
“I was out in the rocks, my father. There was something I had to do. Mother did not tell you?”
Stalking Moon shook his head. “I am sorry, my child—she did tell me of your journey.” He looked into her eyes and then rolled his eyes toward his father, unbeknownst to him, in a gesture to his daughter that he understood that she had gone to seek a precious gift for the old one, out among the rocks. “Did you find what you were seeking?”
“Yes, my father—and I met a white man who will come here tomorrow and speak with grandfather. He is a great warrior, with a gentle heart. And he rides a great horse, my father. Much like your Wind Spirit.”
Stalking Moon looked at his father. “Could this be the great horse you have spoken of—whose blood is that of Wind Spirit’s?”
Bear Claw smiled. “I did not see the horse, my son. But Little Swan’s words have stirred my heart, and I believe this man must be the one who rides the gray horse.”
“Yes, grandfather!” the girl spoke with excitement. “This man’s horse was gray—with a beautiful mane, and a tail that stood up, yet was curved at the top and fanned out like the yucca bush of the desert.”
The old man looked at Stalking Moon. “There are many things I must tell you, my son. But, I must ask that you both allow me to be alone for now.”
Stalking Moon nodded at this father. He then took hold of his daughter’s hand and they went out from the teepee.
Chapter Six
Abe Cutler was standing at the door when Misty and Jim Dawson entered the restaurant. The man had entered first, Misty walking in just behind him. The outlaw glared at Him.
“Who’s this nigger?”
Abe then suddenly threw his arm around Misty’s neck as she passed by him. She squirmed against his grip, attempting to break away, but he held tight, forced a slobbering kiss against her lips, then quickly removed his arm and pushed her further on into the room. He laughed out loud—a coarse laughter that sent a chill down her spine.
“You liked that, didn’t you missy? You like this rough ol’ jailbird kissin’ on you—yes you do.”
“You’re disgusting!” she responded.
The man immediately looked again at Jim. “I said—who’s this nigger? You mean to tell me you folk’s got an ugly ol’ nigger what’s runnin’ the bank in this town?”
Don Warner spoke up. “Watch your words—the color of a man’s skin has no reflection on the quality of the man himself—none whatsoever. We here in Lone Pine believe he’s a handsome man as well. I take it you’re a godless man, sir. Only godless men are prejudice.”
“Shut your face, Mr. Diplomat,” Abe spouted. He was then silent for a moment as he eyed Jim once again. “What’s your name, nigger?”
“Jim—James Dawson,” the man responded.
“And you run the bank, Jim Dawson?”
The man spoke out boldly. “I run the bank, and I’m also the circuit judge—duly appointed by law. And thirdly, I’m the educated son of southern Georgian slaves. But, when you speak to me, mister whoever-you-are, you can refer to me as Judge Dawson. Only my friends call me Jim. And I assure you sir, you are not at this point in time one of my friends.”
Abe cocked the gun in his hand and pressed it against Jim’s forehead. “Well, Judge, them’s mighty big words—but I’m the law right now, and you and me are goin’ to the bank. And this pretty little gal is gonna’ tag right along with us. You’re gonna’ get the money out of your safe for me, put it in one of those white money sacks you got in there, and then we’ll all come on back here. You fail me, and this pretty little girl that fetched you here is gonna’ die. You hear me—nigger?”
Jim glared at the man. “I suppose you have the upper hand—for now. Since this is the case, I am forced, reluctantly I might add, to proceed to act on your req
uest.”
Bill and Tom Cutler both laughed out loud. Abe chuckled a bit. “Well then, mister fancy-pants, —let’s proceed, as you put it, on over to the bank.”
He looked at Misty. “You take the lead, girl. And you follow right behind her—Judge.” He then laughed out loud as he lowered his gun away from Jim’s forehead.
“You two keep an eye on all these folk’s,” he ordered his brothers. “Nobody stands up and nobody leaves this room. If they have to use the outhouse, they can do their business in their pants.”
“Let me attend to Lovella’s face!” Margaret snapped, then abruptly changed her tone. “Please.”
“I’m all right, Margaret,” Lovella responded.
Margaret glared at Abe Cutler. “May I get her some water, please, and a cloth to clean her face?”
“Just sit still, woman,” he growled. “We’re goin’ over to the bank and we’ll be back in no time at all. Me and my brothers will be outa’ here and you can do as you please.”
He then pushed Misty toward the door and waived the gun at Jim. “Get movin, Judge.”
Misty walked out the door. Jim followed with Abe Cutler just behind him. They crossed the street and headed toward the Wells Fargo Bank, just north of the livery. There was no one else on the street. When they stepped up onto the porch Jim unlocked the door and the three of them went on inside. Cutler then closed the door behind them.
Jim entered the cage and opened the safe. He grabbed a moneybag from a counter and filled it with the currency that was stacked on the upper shelf of the enclosure.
“That’s all the bills,” he said. “About ten thousand dollars worth. Probably more money than someone like you has ever seen in their entire lifetime. There’s a box of silver coin in here—do you desire that as well?”
“You can keep the change,” Abe spouted. “Now get out from behind that cage—then step on over here to me and turn around!”
Reluctantly, fearful of what this man might do to him, Jim moved slowly out of the cage to where Abe was standing. He then turned about, his back toward the man. “What are you going to do? I’ve complied with your wishes—I’m now asking you in all decency not to harm me—or this woman.”
The very next moment Abe struck him in the back of the head with the barrel of his gun. Jim fell to the floor. He groaned in pain, then lifted a hand up and felt the blood on his scalp. Abe struck him once again in almost the same area, and he slumped over into unconsciousness.
“You’ve killed him!” Misty cried out.
“He ain’t dead!” Abe snapped. “But he’s gonna have a fine headache—maybe he won’t be able to talk so pretty no more. I always wanted to clout me a nigger!”
He then pushed Misty toward the door. “Get movin’. I’d like to stay here and kiss on you for a while—lord, I would, but me and my brothers need to get goin’.”
He then reached down and grabbed the moneybag from Jim’s hand. “There’s a fortune in this bag, and we can go wherever we please.”
He pushed her out the door and shoved the gun against her back. “Let’s go—move, woman! Right on back down the street to that fancy restaurant. I sure do like watchin’ you walk!”
Abe looked about him and saw no one on the street. He hurried Misty along, intermittently poking her in the small of the back with the gun barrel. They soon stepped up onto the walkway on the opposite side of the street and climbed the short stairway into the restaurant. One of his brothers stood near the door, the other just across the room keeping watch on those seated at the tables.
“What you got there in that bag, Abe?” Tom Cutler smiled.
Bill Cutler turned from the doorway. “Yeah—how much we get, Abe?”
The man held the bag up in his hand. “We got us near ten thousand dollars in here, boys. Now—Bill you go fetch that rope off your horse. We’re gonna’ tie all these folk’s to their chairs—back-to-back.” Abe then withdrew a knife from his belt, cocked his arm and stuck the blade into a tabletop. “Use that skinnin’ knife to cut you some short pieces.”
Bill Cutler went outside and returned shortly with a coiled length of rope. He and Tom Cutler then worked at the task of coaxing those in the room to move their chairs into the center of the dining area and to place them back-to-back. Once that was accomplished, the men cut lengths of rope to secure their hostages.
Abe watched over everyone in the room as they were being seated and tied up, nervously rubbing an index finger against the cylinder of his gun as he held it toward the group.
Sheriff Johnson was the last to be secured and was tied to a chair by himself, a few feet away from the others. Abe Cutler then walked over to him.
“You’re the odd man, sheriff. You get to sit all by your lonesome. You probably wonder why we put you over here by yourself—a few feet away from the others?”
“Let me guess,” the sheriff responded. “You’re plannin’ on doin’ somethin’ to me and you want everyone else to see it.”
“You’re pretty smart, sheriff.” He then waived at his brothers, who were at that moment standing near the chairs where Lovella and Misty were secured.
“C’mon back over here, boys. Get your lustin’ minds off them women.”
Bill and Tom Cutler moved across the room and stood near Abe. All three were then facing the sheriff, who was seated just in front of them. Abe holstered his gun.
“Holster you guns!” he barked at his brothers. The two men complied. Abe then squatted to where he was eye level with the sheriff, and looked right into his face.
“Now—you’re supposed to be real fast with a gun, Sheriff Johnson. But, you ain’t got no gun no more,” he laughed. His brothers then laughed as well.
“So,” Abe continued, “the three of us are gonna draw on you, and show you what it’s like to be on the losin’ end of a shootout. Ain’t that right, boys?”
“That’s right!” Tom barked.
“Yeah—yeah, that’s right,” Bill echoed.
Suddenly a deep voice spoke out from behind them. “And which end might you fella’s be on?”
The three men turned about immediately to face the cold yet confident stare from the eyes of a tall stranger. It was Michael, standing across from them in the front doorway of the restaurant. The man raised his left hand and tipped his broad-brimmed hat at them. His right hand hung just an inch away from the white-handled Colt Peacemaker in his holster.
He looked at the men—looked into each pair of eyes. There was fear in the eyes of both Tom and Bill Cutler. Abe on the other hand had crazy eyes.
“You can’t get us all, mister,” Abe sneered.
Michael clenched his teeth together—only his lips moved when he spoke. “You’re first, they’re next. You care what happens after that?”
Abe bit nervously at his lower lip. He rolled his eyes toward his brother Bill, to his left, then toward Tom, to his right. Their faces had grown pale. He knew they had no intention of pulling iron on the stranger. He continued to bite at his lower lip—a bit more intensely now. His eyes narrowed. Michael spoke once again.
“Even if you tie me you’ll be dead. But my guess is that you won’t clear leather—think on it.”
Abe hesitated not a little and grabbed for the gun at his side. In the twinkling of and eye there was an explosion—the bullet from Michael's Colt then struck Abe Cutler directly between the eyes. The man barely had a hand on the gun still in his holster. He shuddered from the bullet’s impact and fell backwards down onto the floor, his arms and legs both stretched outward as he lay dead on his back.
Michael then leveled the Colt in the direction of Tom and Bill Cutler, slowly swaying his gun hand back and forth at the two of them. “Your friend’s gone, boys. You can join him, or drop your pieces.”
“He was our brother,” Tom responded. “Abe was a bit crazy.” He then looked at Bill, whose sweat had beaded on his forehead. Tom’s lips quivered as he spoke again at the stranger.
“I think we’d be obliged if you’d allow
us to drop our pieces?”
“Go ahead,” Michael responded, watching them intently.
Both men slowly withdrew the guns from their holsters and dropped them onto the floor. They then simultaneously lifted their hands into the air.
Michael had a slight grin on his face. “Your hands won’t do you much good up there, boys. Go ahead and untie all of these people.” He then spun the Colt in his hand and holstered it as quickly as he had drawn it out.
Misty spoke almost immediately at Michael. “Our banker, Jim Dawson, was injured—he’s over across the street at the bank.” She then turned her head toward Margaret Warner. “Will you help me tend to him, Margaret?”
Michael spoke right away at the Cutler brothers. “Untie those women first—be quick about it.”
“I sure will,” Margaret nodded, responding to Misty about the same time Michael had spoken to the Cutlers. Margaret afterward looked at Michael.
“This town sure owes you a debt of gratitude,” she breathed.
At that moment Sam Waters entered the front door of the restaurant, stepping in just behind Michael, who politely stepped aside to give him room.
Sam then spotted the dead man on the floor and was taken aback. He spoke with a lump in his throat. “I heard the shootin’.” He then looked at Michael. “Glory be—is there anything you can’t take care of? You’re about the best thing that ever happened to this town.”
Michael nodded at him, then at the others, tipping his hat. “If you folk’s will be all right now, I need to ride out to the mountain for a bit. Oh—by the way, sheriff. Here’s your gun.”
Michael reached around and pulled the sheriff’s Colt from the rear of his waistband, then walked over and handed it to him. “It was out there in the corral—near your office.”
Ben Johnson looked him in the eye. “How’d you know this here gun was mine, and how in thunder did you know where it was?”
Michael winced a bit, then tipped his hat again, turned, and walked out of the restaurant without saying a word. He walked up the street a short distance to where he had tied his gray mount just before he confronted the men in the restaurant. The mount had been tied to the fence rail at the entrance to the corral, just south of the sheriff’s office. It was from there that Michael was able to silently approach the gunmen from nearly a block away.
Three Days In LONE PINE, An Untold Tale of The High Sierra Page 8