When they went together to tell her father of their intention to marry, the old man at first ordered Jordan off the farm and forbade the union of his only daughter to a hired hand. Had it not been for the intervention of her mother, the young couple might have been forced to elope. As it was, Myra Wheeler was able to persuade her husband to allow a marriage there at the farm, hoping she could at least keep her daughter close to her. When the prideful young man insisted that he would seek land of his own, she persuaded Jonah to offer him part of the farm. Like her daughter, Myra saw a sincere quality that showed a genuine strength of character in the young man. Suddenly shaking his head to rid his mind of thoughts of the past, he looked around him at the sorrowful ending of his marriage. How, he wondered, could he ever be forgiven for this?
He thought about the last time he saw her. She had walked arm in arm with him to his horse, cheerfully going on about the shirt she was going to sew for little Jonah. Smiling warmly, she had kissed Jordan and stood back while he stepped up in the saddle. “I’m going to make you a pie with the last of those apples,” she had said. Knowing her well enough to see through her casual facade, he knew she was afraid to be left alone. He didn’t want to leave her, but Winston Moffett had sent Johnny Spratte with word that he needed Jordan and his rifle.
Bringing his mind back to Winston Moffett, he felt no necessity to wait for the sheriff to assemble another posse. It would be a waste of time. Without a backward glance, not even a final look at his wife’s grave, he stepped up in the saddle and gave the chestnut his heels, guiding the willing gelding toward the road to Fort Smith.
Chapter 2
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Leach uttered, his words trailing off as he spotted the young man pausing at the swinging doors of the saloon.
Following the direction of Leach’s gaze, Roach grinned. “He said he would meet up with us here. I swear, though, I thought it was just the whiskey talkin’. Johnny somethin’—what was it?”
“Spratte,” Leach replied, a smirk forming upon his face. “Johnny Spratte—Deputy Sheriff Johnny Spratte.” The irony of it amused him.
Always the stoic realist, Snake commented dryly, “Maybe he ain’t come to join up with us. Maybe he’s got that posse right behind him.” He set his half-finished glass of beer on the table and rested his hand on the handle of his knife.
Leach gave the half-breed’s concerns no credence. He fancied himself a fair judge of a man’s character, and he was pretty sure of Johnny’s. “He ain’t with no posse.” He glanced over at Snake. “He’s just tired of tryin’ to make an honest livin’ in a flea-bitten little town, same as you or me—just like he said. Hell, he led that posse off on a wild-goose chase, didn’t he?”
“He did at that,” Roach chimed in and raised his hand to catch Johnny’s attention.
Johnny’s face lit up when he spotted the raised hand on the far side of the crowded saloon. He immediately pushed through the doors and made his way across the noisy room.
“Well, now, lookee here,” Roach greeted him, a broad smile plastered across his face, “if it ain’t the deputy sheriff.”
Johnny grinned back. “I told you I’d be comin’ to join up with you fellers. This is the third saloon I looked in. I knew you’d be in one saloon or another.”
Leach studied the ex-deputy as he pulled up an empty chair, smiling like a kid at Christmastime. When Johnny had seated himself, and signaled the barkeep for a glass of beer, Leach asked, “You think you got sand enough to ride with us?” His eyes now cold and searching, he didn’t pause to wait for an answer. “This ain’t no Sunday picnic. A man’s gotta have a belly full of guts to ride with us.”
The smile remained on Johnny’s face, although it had lost a considerable amount of its original shine. He realized that all three were now staring at him, sizing him up. Looking from the steady, lifeless eyes of the half-breed to the frozen smile of Roach, he realized that they all questioned his commitment to ride on the other side of the law. Returning his gaze to lock onto Leach’s, he said, “I reckon I’ve got as much sand as it takes.”
“You ride with us, and you’ll damn sure find out how much sand you’ve got. Ain’t that right, Snake?” Not waiting for an answer from the somber half-breed, Leach continued to stare the young man down. Shifting his eyes momentarily to the Colt .45 in Johnny’s holster, he asked, “You ever use that gun on anything bigger than a snake or a rat?”
Johnny hesitated. He considered lying about it, but Leach’s penetrating gaze seemed capable of seeing through a lie. No longer able to match Leach’s stone-cold gaze, he shifted his eyes down to the glass of beer before him. “I ain’t never had to,” he finally answered. “But I reckon I damn sure can.”
Leach made no comment for a long moment, his eyes still locked on Johnny’s. Then his stone countenance was finally broken by the hint of a grin. “Well, I reckon you’ll damn sure get a chance to prove it.” The hazing over, he drained the last swallow of beer from his glass. “Won’t he, boys?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Roach commented, his grin back in place. “You might get like ol’ chief here”—he nodded toward Snake—“and go outta your way to shoot somebody.” Not amused by the comment, the half-breed only grunted in response.
“We take what we want,” Leach said. “Sometimes folks get in the way, but that’s just their hard luck.”
Feeling as if he had been accepted, Johnny relaxed. “That don’t bother me none. I’m done with hiring my ass out for twenty dollars a month.”
“That’s good,” Leach said, “’cause you know a little too much about us to back out now.” It was a serious threat, even though he was smiling when he said it. That bit of business concluded, Leach proceeded to the next subject on his mind. “It’s a good thing you caught up with us when you did ’cause we ain’t gonna be here very long. You notice that bank across the street when you walked in here?” Johnny nodded, although he had really paid no attention to what was across the street. Leach continued. “That’s the First Mercantile Bank of Fort Smith. When they open in the mornin’, we’re gonna make a withdrawal.”
Johnny’s pulse quickened; he was excited by the immediate promise of wealth. He assumed he would be given an equal share of the money, and whatever the amount, it would be a hell of a lot more than his previous twenty-dollar wage. In truth, the only one of his new partners who begrudged a new split in the spoils would be the somber half-breed.
“We was through here last month,” Roach said. “They got one old man that opens up ever’ morning and two women that come in about thirty minutes later.” He chuckled as he added, “They might as well set the money outside the door and let anybody who wants it just pick it up.”
“We best keep a sharp eye, though,” Leach was quick to warn, lest their new recruit think the bank robbery a virtual cakewalk. “This town’s got a mean son of a bitch for a deputy marshal. His name’s Jed Ramey, and he’s got a reputation for runnin’ off all the outlaws that ever set foot in Fort Smith.” That said, he added, “That’s the reason there ain’t no guard at the bank. But we’ll have to do our business quick and get the hell outta town.” He paused to gauge Johnny’s reaction. “How’s that sound to you?”
“Sounds just right to me,” Johnny answered with a cocky grin. “Count me in.”
Leach nodded, then glanced at his other partners briefly before reminding the newest member of his little gang. “In for a penny, in for a pound—if the goin’ gets rough, you’d best be willin’ to use that gun you’re wearin’. If you don’t, Snake here might cut out your gizzard.” Leach’s face was dead serious for a few long moments before breaking into a smile, as if he were joking.
The half-breed did not smile, looking at Johnny with a cold stare. “Maybe I cut it out, anyway,” he said.
“Maybe you ought to try,” Johnny responded, his hand dropping to rest on the handle of his pistol. He was unsure of the belligerent attitude exhibited by the sullen half-breed, but he knew better than to let Snake
intimidate him.
Snake simply grunted, unimpressed by the ex-deputy’s show of bravado. Leach and Roach both laughed, accustomed to the sour disposition of their half-Choctaw partner. “Don’t let ol’ Snake buffalo you,” Roach said. “He’s always got briars in his britches.”
The brief tension of the moment over, Johnny relaxed, relieved that he had not been challenged in earnest. “Why, sure,” he blustered, “no hard feelin’s.” He managed a grin, but Snake never changed his stoic expression. Already bored with the game, Snake ignored Johnny’s outstretched hand, pushing his chair back to fetch another glass of beer. Left red-faced with his hand stuck out, Johnny looked at Roach, bewildered. “What the hell did I do to rile him?”
“It don’t take nothin’ to rile Snake,” Roach said with a chuckle. “He stays riled all the time. I ain’t ever seen him crack a smile.” The thought nudged his curiosity, and he looked over at Leach. “You ever see Snake smile, Leach?”
“Come to think of it, I ain’t,” Leach replied, grinning as he scratched his chin thoughtfully. “He came close the other day when he carved that woman up that tried to scratch his eyes out.”
Roach shook his head, picturing the scene. “He sure cut her up good and proper. I kinda felt sorry for the poor woman.” His brief flicker of compassion went out as quickly as it had sparked, and he got to his feet. “She was a fair-lookin’ woman for her age,” he said, nodding agreement with his own statement. “I got to go to the outhouse. All this beer is about to bust out.”
Johnny didn’t ask—he could easily assume the woman in question was probably Frances Thompson. She had been viciously slashed about the face and neck when they found her lying near the front steps of the cabin. He remembered Sheriff Moffett’s remark as they picked up the body. Now what kind of animal would do a thing like that to a woman? It was not a pleasant thought. And at the time, it had caused him to question his intention to join the men the posse searched for. The incident had quickly left his mind, however, crowded out by the prospect of easy money and high adventure. Sitting at the table now with Leach as Roach made his way toward the back door, he told himself that he had made the right decision. Lost in his thoughts momentarily, he glanced up to find Leach studying him intensely.
“You ain’t lettin’ Snake bother you, are you?” Leach asked.
“Hell no,” Johnny quickly responded. “I ain’t bothered by no man.”
Leach smiled. “Good. Just don’t get crossways with Snake unless you’re ready to fight. He ain’t got no sense of humor, and it don’t take a helluva lot to touch him off.” He got up from his chair. “I reckon it’s about time to call it a night. We got to go to work in the mornin’.” He winked at Johnny, then left to follow Roach out the back door. “Tell Snake we’re leavin’.”
Johnny followed him with his eyes until he disappeared out the door. Then he shifted his gaze to the bar, where the scowling half-breed stood drinking his beer. It was a motley bunch he had chosen to ride with. He wondered again if he had made a mistake. If he had doubts, now was the time to change his mind and walk out. The Indian was absorbed with his beer, and Leach and Roach were out back. His indecision dwelt for only a moment, replaced by the thought of a pocketful of money, courtesy of the First Mercantile Bank.
* * *
Wilson Barnett glanced up at the clock over the teller’s cage and checked it against the time on his pocket watch. One minute to nine—even though Ethel and Polly were waiting outside, he would not unlock the front door until the minute hand stood precisely on twelve. The bank opened at nine, not one minute to nine, and not one minute after nine. It had been that way for fourteen years. Wilson felt it of utmost importance that the people of Fort Smith could depend upon the bank to be consistent in its hours as well as in all other services.
“Good morning, ladies,” Wilson said as he unlocked the door and held it for Ethel and Polly to enter.
“Good morning, Mr. Barnett,” both women returned, a ritual repeated every day of the workweek. This day would prove to be a departure from the routine of hundreds of days before, however. “Good morning, Mr. Barnett,” a gruff voice echoed right behind the women.
Startled, Wilson almost closed the door on Leach, but Leach pushed his way through, causing one of the women to stumble. Leach was quick to catch her arm and prevent her fall. “Easy, there, little lady. You don’t wanna fall and bump your head.” He flashed a wide friendly smile to Wilson.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Wilson immediately began to apologize. “I didn’t even see you in the door.” Accustomed to seeing many strangers pass through the busy little settlement, Wilson was not surprised that he didn’t recognize the man. He had to admit that this one looked a good deal rougher than most who visited his bank. “Can I help you? We’re just opening up,” he started.
Before Leach could answer, Roach stepped inside the door behind him. Without glancing toward his partner, Leach said, “Yes, sir, me and my friend here wanna make a withdrawal, and we’re kinda in a hurry.”
“A withdrawal?” Wilson asked, certain the man was confused. “What kind of withdrawal are you thinking of? Do you have a note from another bank? A check?” He was beginning to fear his day was going to start with a troublesome problem with a saddle tramp hoping to get a loan. His irritation turned to concern when Roach, still smiling at him like he was a rabbit in a trap, moved over to position himself beside the two ladies. A movement near the front window caught his eye, and he glanced up to discover the back of another man outside. The realization of what was about to occur struck him with a numbing paralysis.
Noting the sudden fear in the banker’s eyes, Leach drew his pistol. “Yes, sir—a note, that’s what we’ve got. Take a look at it,” he said, enjoying the look of cold terror it caused in the banker’s face.
The sudden appearance of a weapon caused an immediate squeal of horror from both women. Roach quickly stepped between them and placed a restraining arm around the shoulders of each. “Just keep quiet and do what I tell you,” he commanded. Then softening his tone, he told them, “We ain’t lookin’ to hurt you pretty things. You just behave yourselves, and you’ll be all right.”
Leach took one quick glance to satisfy himself that Roach had the women under control; then he shifted his gaze back to lock onto the quivering eyes of Wilson Barnett. “Now, then, I expect it’s time to open that safe, unless you want a couple of holes in that fancy vest you’re wearin’.”
Wilson’s knees sagged perceptively as his legs threatened to fail him. Still, he tried to make an appeal to the bank robber’s sense of decency. “The money in that safe belongs to the hardworking people of this community. I don’t have the authority to open the safe.”
The front door opened, and Snake’s voice insisted, “We ain’t got all day.”
“That’s a fact,” Leach said and cocked the hammer back on his forty-five. Holding the muzzle only inches from Wilson’s face, he threatened, “This here’s your authority. I’m tired of pussy-footin’ around with you. Start workin’ the combination on that safe.”
Wilson took a frightened step backward. Grabbing him roughly by the shoulder, Leach spun him around and gave him a shove toward the safe behind the counter. The terrified banker stumbled to his knees before the safe. With the muzzle of Leach’s pistol against the back of his head, he fumbled with the combination. In his nervousness, he missed one of the stops, and the safe failed to open on the first try.
“I swear, I’ll blow a hole in your head if you don’t get that damn thing open, and I mean right now,” Leach threatened. He took a quick glance over his shoulder toward the front door, then another at Roach, still with a frightened woman under each arm. Showing no urgency, Roach smiled at him, but Leach was impatient. “Damn you!” he spat at the fumbling banker and was about to administer a rap on the head with his pistol when the safe opened, revealing two cashier’s drawers resting upon a stack of paper money.
The sudden sight of all that money captured Roach’s atten
tion. He released the women and stepped forward to get a better look. Hysterical with fear, one of the women bolted for the door. “Snake!” Roach yelled.
The warning was unnecessary for the stolid half-breed met her as she pulled the door open. With one hand, he grabbed her by the throat and backed her into the bank. She attempted to scream, but the force of the steel grip was crushing her windpipe, preventing her from breathing. With cold, dispassionate eyes, he watched her as he clamped down harder and harder until her eyelids began to flutter and her body went limp. Still he held her for several long moments before releasing his grip and letting her fall lifeless to the floor. “She ain’t gonna make no more noise,” he commented dryly.
The horrifying sight of her fellow employee being strangled by the half-breed before her eyes—as casually as if he were wringing a chicken’s neck—was too much for Polly’s already terrified brain. She crumpled to the floor in a dead faint. Roach looked from one woman to the other, then back to the expressionless countenance of the half-breed. “Damn, Snake,” he said, “you sure are hard on women.”
Leach, his mind never straying from the business at hand, was occupied with stuffing several canvas bank sacks as full of money as he could get them. He tossed the full bags toward Roach while he swept up the remaining bank notes, all the while keeping one eye on the stunned banker crouching against the wall. “I thought there’d be more in here,” he complained to no one in particular. “But I reckon it’ll do for a good while.” Without turning his head, he asked, “Is Snake watchin’ that street?”
“Yeah,” Roach replied, “nobody’s comin’.”
His task almost completed, Leach tied off the last sack. “Where’re the horses?”
“He’s already bringin’ ’em around,” Roach answered, seeing Johnny rounding the corner of the building, leading the horses. He watched Leach pack away the last of the money, then glanced at Barnett cringing against the wall. “What about him?”
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