by A. T. Butler
Jacob nodded slowly, trying to will calm upon the younger man. “That’s my understanding. If Stone is still going to go through with the plan, it will likely be today. We can’t assume anything, though, so it’s best to be prepared any time.”
Thomas nodded. “I know. I know. I’ll just keep—”
He stopped himself shortly and looked in panic toward the windows. The sound of horses galloping up the street toward the First Bank of Olmos drowned out any further conversation.
Chapter Seven
As the sound of hooves drew nearer to the First Bank of Olmos, Jacob Payne drew his gun. He listened hard for any sound of gunshot or shouting. There should be something. If this was the attack, the defense should begin. Any moment now, the marshal or a deputy would step in to make the arrest. There were no fewer than four men outside the bank positioned to take down the Slippery Stone Gang before they even stepped foot inside the building.
Yells and indistinct commands cut the air in the street outside. The gang was approaching.
Beside him, Thomas and Wyatt stood frozen in terror. In his conversations with them over the previous day and a half, Jacob had learned that neither of the young men had been anywhere near violence or danger of this kind. He had gotten the impression that they both felt as though something was lacking in their lives, or that each was somehow less of a man because he hadn’t yet been shot at. This volunteering was meant to prove something, even if just to themselves. Jacob hadn’t had a chance to convince them otherwise, but maybe this whole adventure would fulfill their need.
The shouting in the street was unintelligible. Jacob couldn’t tell if it was the lawmen or the outlaws shouting commands. He hopped over the counter and crept closer to the windows to try to see what was happening without giving anyone outside a clear shot at him.
“What do we do, Mr. Payne?” Wyatt asked in a carrying whisper, as though they hadn’t already gone over the plan three separate times.
“Guns drawn. Take cover,” he answered brusquely. These were grown men who should not need his protection, but if he could keep them out of the fracas he would.
Trying to peer out the windows, he realized the streaks of grime and dirt that coated the glass made it difficult to see out of. He could roughly count eight—no, nine?—horses and riders stopped outside the bank, but from this distance, at this angle, through this dirt screen it was impossible to tell for sure.
Where were the deputies? Where was the marshal? Where was the firepower that Jacob was only supposed to be the back-up of?
As that thought flitted through his brain, the sound of a shot cracked through the main street of Olmos. If he was not mistaken, that was a rifle. Mostly likely Santos’s rifle shot from his window at the hotel across the street. The marshal had been keeping watch from Jacob’s own room, ready to strike at the first sight of the outlaw gang. Jacob redoubled his grip on his gun and watched.
This was the moment of truth. If everything went according to plan, the other four men would have the entire situation in hand without Jacob having to lay eyes on any member of the gang.
But when had anything ever gone according to plan for him?
Jacob had crept through the bank all the way to the front, near the windows. This put him only a dozen or so feet from the front door, and when the shouting voices outside grew closer, Jacob stood his ground.
More gunshots rang out, and Jacob ducked down below the edge of the window. More shouting. More horses galloping. A woman’s scream followed by a heavy barrage of gunshots. From the other side of the counter, a small yelp drew Jacob’s attention. One of the young men there in the bank was having difficulty keeping his fear to himself.
In the small moment Jacob had turned toward the back of the bank, the front door burst open. With the afternoon light, the men entering were only in silhouette—enough for Jacob to take aim, though not enough to be certain these were the outlaws he was waiting for.
“Hold it right there,” he shouted, standing abruptly and aiming his revolver.
“I’ll take this,” one of the silhouettes said to the others.
The man strode toward Jacob, and as he closed the few feet of distance between them, the bounty hunter felt a pang of recognition. The instant passed as the man, glaring at him under thick black eyebrows, drew back and swung at Jacob with closed fist. Jacob reacted immediately—using his forearm to block the punch, while at the same time drawing up his knee into the other man’s gut. The outlaw grunted, stumbled back a couple steps, but didn’t fall.
“I said hold it,” Jacob yelled.
The other two silhouetted men had entered the bank during Jacob’s brief struggle, ignoring the bounty hunter and making their way to the counter. They headed directly to the cash and the reason they were there.
Now that Jacob could get a good look at them all, he was surprised to notice that none of the attackers had bothered to cover their faces or disguise themselves in any way. They were either exceedingly stupid or exceedingly arrogant. Jacob memorized every feature and detail as quickly as he could; they wouldn’t get away with a thing.
“Give us all you got,” one of the men growled at the bank employees.
Thomas and Wyatt were still taking cover behind the counter, crouched down and out of sight. Wyatt stood, shaking but still trying to hold his gun steady.
“Drop it,” the outlaw said in an almost bored voice. “C’mon, kid. You don’t want to do this.”
Wyatt must have come to the same conclusion, because he dropped his gun without any argument.
All of this exchange occurred in the half a minute it had taken Jacob to again overpower the third man. The two focused on the money had neglected their friend, and while the black-haired man was doubled over, Jacob easily coaxed a loop of rope around him and knotted it. The man thrashed around as he realized what was happening, but Jacob had already trapped him, with his arms bound to his sides and the length of rope in the bounty hunter’s strong hands.
“Gah!” the man cried. “Let me go!”
The two others turned to look at their companion, which gave Thomas a small window in which to be brave. Out of the corner of his eye, Jacob saw the young man stand up from behind the counter and aim his own gun at the outlaws.
“D-D-Drop it!” he stammered. “Drop your weapons!”
Before either of the men could react, Thomas fired. Even at such a close distance, his shot went wide, the bullet embedding in the wall behind the men. Maybe it was the surprise, or maybe it was something else, but the man who had not yet spoken dropped his own gun to the floor and put his hands above his head.
“Wyatt!” Jacob called. “Move!”
The young man was cowering against the wall, frozen and watching the proceedings with wide eyes.
“You too,” Jacob said to the last outlaw, pointing his gun. “You’re outnumbered.”
Thomas continued to aim his weapon at the outlaw with his hands up. The last holdout glared at Jacob, then looked to his comrades in frustration. He recognized the truth of the situation. Maybe he could hold out to see if any more of the gang pushed their way into the bank, but if it hadn’t happened yet he couldn’t count on it.
The man cursed and dropped his gun, scowling at Jacob the whole time.
“Wyatt!” the bounty hunter shouted sharply.
Now that the outlaws had dropped their weapons, the young man was able to force himself into action. With Thomas still holding his aim steady, Wyatt gathered more rope that had been stashed behind the counter of the bank and brought it forward.
“Here. I’ll do it,” Jacob offered.
He handed off the length of rope to the bank employee and took care of the other two outlaws himself.
The three men glared at Jacob, but he had done his duty. The bank and all its deposits were safe. The men had been stopped, incapacitated and now bound for justice.
Chapter Eight
“I think we’re all set,” Jacob called out as he triple checked the knot on the
ropes binding the last man’s wrists together.
“Yeah, you’d better pray I don’t get free,” the man closest to Jacob said, before spitting in the dirt and just missing Jacob’s boot.
Jacob had been interested but not surprised to learn that one of the three men he had apprehended trying to rob the First Bank of Olmos was Colin Maloney. Judging from what Fitz had said about this man, he was sure to be on the front lines of the assault on the bank. The other two members of the gang—Miller and Escobar—were both familiar to Santos, though Jacob had not yet heard of them.
Truth be told, there were so many wanted posters in the marshal’s office at any given time, it was no wonder Jacob had not yet come across these two. Far too many men doing heinous acts were rampant through the Arizona Territory. Now, fortunately, three of those men were in custody.
The deputies Lowry and Little already had their hands on the men, ready to transport them to the Olmos jail, dragging them if necessary. The three outlaws were bound individually and then to each other; they wouldn’t be getting free.
“I can’t thank you enough.” Sheriff Gleason took hold of the third man, wrapping his hand around his upper arm. “I’m sure Mr. DeWitt and his colleagues back east would thank you as well. You sure it’s okay to keep these men together tonight?”
“We’ll be leaving in the morning,” Santos said. “The gang can all cool their heels in the jail overnight. I’m not riding in the dark for anything.”
“You’re going to let me buy you a drink, aren’t you, Mr. Payne?” the sheriff asked.
Jacob looked to the marshal. “Not just me, I hope. I was the last person to have any part of this. You all stopped the other half-dozen men. It was a group effort.”
“Oh, the others have already agreed. Once I get these bastards booked in the jail I’ll meet you all at the saloon.”
The deputies left with the sheriff, and Jacob and Santos made their way into the saloon, finding two stools at the end of the bar. A quick word with the bartender and they each had a cold beer in front of them.
“Sheriff can get the next round,” Santos said, as he took a big gulp.
Jacob wrapped his hands around his glass, thinking about the events of the day. He took a small drink of his own beer, allowing the two men to sit in thoughtful silence another moment before broaching the problem that had been bothering him.
“That seemed too easy, didn’t it, Marshal?”
Santos looked at him in surprise. “Did it? I have to say, Payne, from where I was standing it didn’t look easy at all. In fact, the great bulk of the gang got away, including the leader. No, I’d say that while we can claim success by stopping the robbery, we could have done a lot better.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Jacob responded thoughtfully. “Only … ”
“Spit it out, Payne. What’re you thinking?”
“Regardless of how many of Stone’s gang were out there, three of those men made it into the bank.”
“Yes?”
“Three. Now, Marshal, I’m good. I know you know that. I have no shame in saying I am likely one of the best, most diligent bounty hunters you got working this part of the territory. But even I should have a problem taking down three professional outlaws on my own in that short of time with the resources I had.”
“Now, don’t be—”
“No, hear me out.” He held his hand up. “Begging your pardon, sir. But I wonder if maybe those men wanted to get caught.”
Santos laughed. “Payne. You’re suggesting that members of the Slippery Stone Gang deliberately let themselves be captured by a U.S. Marshal? You do know why he’s called Slippery, don’t you?”
Jacob paused before answering. Said that way, it did sound outlandish. But so too did the idea that men of that nature gave in as quickly as they had. He nodded. “I think they might have, yes.”
“For heaven’s sake, why would they do that?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered slowly. “But you know we are talking about the Slippery Stone Gang. I know as well as you do that if these men know anything it is how to get out of a tight spot. Just like every other member of the gang that rode into town with them today.”
Santos took a long slow drink of his beer, draining the last drop. Jacob let him think, let him consider what was said. He would be the first to admit that he didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know why these men may have done this, but there was no denying it looked suspicious.
“Well,” Santos said finally. “I don’t know. But you might be right. We’ll tell the deputies and the four of us will just need to be on guard for any tricks. At the very least, these men did try to rob a bank and need to be held accountable for those actions.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Marshal,” Jacob said. “And I hope I am mistaken.”
“Mistaken about what?” Sheriff Gleason said, as he walked up behind them. “You already started without me?”
“We got room for another,” Santos said. He moved over one seat, to allow the sheriff the stool in between the two others. “I’ll get the bartender and Jacob can fill you in.”
The sheriff turned to the bounty hunter with a confused expression. As Jacob gave him the basics of his suspicions, the deputies arrived, finding seats on the other side of Santos and beginning their own drinking for the night.
“Nah, you’re wrong, Payne,” Deputy Lowry said. “Those men are just stupid. Look at how they gave up in the face of that kid in the bank with you. Plus everyone knows a man turns to a life of crime when he ain’t man enough to make it any other way. This is just the way these fellows is made. It might look peculiar or suspicious to us, but I guarantee you they’re just not as clever as Stone is.”
“Maybe,” Jacob said, nodding, though he kept his further suspicions to himself.
Having told both the sheriff and the marshal what he thought about the three men in custody, Jacob felt his conscience was clear. He had done all he could for now. He was only supposed to be the last resort for this job anyway. Jacob told himself everything would be fine. That the ride to Tucson the next day would be uneventful. That by this time tomorrow he could be back with Bonnie, even if it was just having dinner in her cafe.
He realized he had no idea if she would be at work or not the following evening. He hated this. He hated not having her be part of his life. He hated not knowing if she was safe or even where she was. The first thing he would do when he returned to Tucson would be to check on her.
The second thing he would do would be to again give himself a few days for his bullet wound to heal better. Jacob put a hand to his side. He had had the doctor of Olmos replace the bandage that morning, but already with the intensity of the scuffle, he could tell he was just about to bleed through the cotton. He’d have to have that taken care of.
“Have you, Jacob?” the sheriff asked.
He shook his head, slightly, surprised to be spoken to. His mind had been back in Tucson with Bonnie and he had forgotten where he was for a short while.
“I’m sorry, you lost me there. Have I what?”
“Have you had any other dealings with men of the Slippery Stone Gang,” Sheriff Gleason asked. “I know they seem to be spreading all over the territory, but they also seem to be better at evading the law than most.”
Jacob nodded. “I have. Or, at least, to my knowledge, men that had been part of the gang at one point in time or the other. Only Stone himself knows who all he associates with. Haven’t ever tussled with him directly, though.”
“Me either,” Sheriff Gleason said. He drained the rest of his beer and got the bartender’s attention. “Whiskey? I think events of today call for whiskey.”
“Are we celebrating or mourning?”
“Both, I think.”
The bartender laid out a row of shots for the lawmen. One after another they imbibed the woodsy, stinging alcohol.
The conversation around him turned to discussion of horses—Lowry had just gotten a stallion—and Jacob’s thoughts wandered
back to Bonnie, back to Tucson. Back to the surety of knowing who the bad guys were and what they wanted. The events of this day had unnerved him more than he cared to admit, and the fact that the others weren’t taking his concerns seriously only made it worse.
But Jacob pushed down his worries, ordered another beer, and trusted in the U.S. Marshal. He would enjoy the rest of the night and think about the three men sitting in the Olmos jail in the morning.
Chapter Nine
The men of Tucson slept off their beer and whiskey and were ready to be back on the road not long after dawn the following morning. The small matter of transporting three men without the requisite number of horses was solved by Santos purchasing an old wagon from one of the men of Olmos. It was rough and unbalanced, jostling constantly on the uneven road, but it did the trick. The three outlaws were bound, gagged and tossed into the back of the wagon.
Deputy Little drove the wagon, with Santos leading the caravan and Jacob and Deputy Lowry following behind, both keeping an eye on the captives. They kept their stops as short as possible, only allowing for enough time to take in the bare minimum of food and water required for the day.
As they rode, as Deputy Lowry tried to make conversation with Jacob about his stallion again, the bounty hunter’s suspicions of the previous evening returned. He rode forward until he was alongside the wagon and looked at the outlaws with interest. The black-haired outlaw—Colin Maloney—had not taken his eyes off of Jacob. While the other two men dozed off or stared out at the horizon without interest, Colin remained alert and glaring. When he realized Jacob was going to be riding up next to him, the outlaw sat up more straight and started speaking into his gag.
“You have something to say?” Jacob asked. “Some reason you think I should listen to you?”
“Don’t bother with him, Payne,” Deputy Little called back from his seat at the front of the wagon. “That one has been ornery all day. He don’t need any more attention.”