Way of the Gun (9781101597804)

by West, Charles G.

  Seemingly amused by Bob’s comment, the gunman prodded Larry in the back with the barrel of his rifle. “You just ease on down there, and we’ll see if it’s worth our time or not.”

  Realizing just then what Larry was trying to tell him, Bob said, “I reckon you’re right. I don’t recall ever seein’ Sam Bass up close enough to know if it was him or not.”

  Inside the coach, the passengers were now very much aware of what was taking place. Mary Bishop’s two daughters moved in close to their mother’s sides for protection, their faces tense with fear. “Ever’body just stay calm,” Wilbur Bean whispered, and slid off the seat to crouch at the door, his rifle ready. A second later, he felt the impersonal barrel of a Colt .44 pressed hard against his back.

  “I’ll take that rifle, unless you’re ready to meet your Maker right now,” Mr. Smith informed him, and Wilbur released it immediately. Smith, whose real name was Cotton Roach, then addressed Travis Grant. “I’ll take that pea shooter you’re carryin’ in your inside coat pocket too. And while you’re at it, you can come up with the key to that strongbox—save us the trouble of havin’ to break it open with a cold chisel.”

  His face drained of color, Grant hurried to do as he had been directed, knowing that the nightmare he had feared was even now unfolding before his eyes.

  As the stage pulled slowly to a stop, the three men on the ground immediately surrounded it, brandishing their weapons and yelling orders for everyone to get out. Bob and Larry both locked their eyes on the door, anticipating some move by Wilbur Bean, expecting the possibility that he might come out firing. Neither of them had been relieved of their handguns, so they were poised to act when Wilbur surprised the bandits. They were almost stunned when he opened the door and calmly climbed down, Mr. Smith right behind him with a gun in Wilbur’s back. A firm tap of the rifle barrel on the back of Bob’s neck then reminded him that the gunman was still there. “Now, with your left hand, reach over and pull that pistol out of the holster and drop it on the ground,” he ordered. “One at a time!” he scolded when Larry started to do the same. When Bob dropped his weapon, the gunman told Larry to do likewise. “Now, both of you get on down.” He remained standing on top of the stage while he watched Bob and Larry climb down to stand away from the coach with their hands raised. “Have any trouble in there?” he asked Cotton Roach.

  “Nope, no trouble,” Roach replied.

  “Where’s the man with the key?”

  “He’s comin’,” Roach said. “He’s peein’ his pants right now, but he ain’t gonna give us no trouble.”

  The outlaw still on top of the stage nodded to the man standing at the door of the coach now. Motioning toward Bob Allen, he remarked, “He said he recognized you.”

  Sam Bass nodded slowly, then turned to address Bob. “You think you know me?” he asked.

  “I told you we shoulda wore them masks,” one of his men said.

  “Shut up, Joel,” Bass responded while never taking his eyes off of Bob.

  Knowing he might have placed them all in jeopardy by his earlier remark, Bob tried to lessen the damage. “What I said was I thought you favored Sam Bass a little bit. Hell, I don’t have no idea who you are.” He glanced at Larry, who rolled his eyes heavenward in response. Both men shifted their gaze to the weapons lying in the dirt a dozen yards away.

  Reading their thoughts, Bass said, “You wouldn’t make it halfway there before we cut you down.” Getting back to the business that prompted the holdup, he ordered, “Get yourself outta that coach!” When Travis Grant placed a trembling foot on the step, Bass grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked the terrified man out of the coach to land on his hands and knees. “Cotton,” Bass called, “you got that box open yet?”

  “Yeah, I got it, but we got some more folks in here.”

  “Well, tell ’em to get on out here,” Bass said. He stood by the door then and politely helped Grace and her sister down from the coach. He then extended his hand to offer Mary Bishop his assistance, but she ignored it.

  “I can manage myself,” she commented curtly, and climbed down to join her daughters.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sam said with a wide grin, “you surely can.”

  At that moment, Cotton Roach sang out from inside the coach. “It’s all here, just like Ike said. I ain’t counted it yet, but it sure looks like as much as we thought.”

  It was then that Wilbur Bean made his decision. Standing closer to the coach than Bob and Larry, he could see the barrel of his rifle on the floor where he had been forced to drop it. With the bandits distracted for the moment by Roach’s announcement, he suddenly dove for the rifle. It was a brave but futile effort. The gunman still on top of the stage cut him down before he could reach the door. The reaction of the outlaws was immediate, with guns trained on Bob and Larry before they could even think about making a move. The two young girls screamed and pressed closer to their mother. The frightened Mr. Grant shrieked almost as loudly as the girls.

  “I had a feelin’ he was gonna try somethin’ like that,” the shooter said nonchalantly. He glanced up then to catch a scalding look from Sam Bass. “Hell, Sam, I didn’t have no choice. I couldn’t let him get to that rifle.”