The Last Good Day

by John L. Lansdale

  “Marshal, I want that floozy arrested.” She pointed to a cut on her neck. “She tried to cut my throat! Told me to get out of town. Tried to kill me!”

  “Looks like you been replaced, Shirley,” Preston said and grinned. “Can’t help you. Not the marshal no more. Me and Charlie are leaving town.”

  Shirley looked at Preston’s shirt for the badge. “Well I’ll be damned,” she said. “Who’s the marshal now?”

  “Don’t have one yet,” Charlie said.

  “Where you goin?’” she asked.

  “Pinefield,” Preston said.

  The shotgun rider came out of the stage office toting his shotgun and saddle bags. “What you doin’ here, Shirley?”

  “Go away,” she said. “Buy me a ticket, Willie, for all those freebies I gave you.”

  “Can’t afford it,” Preston said.

  “You owe me, marshal,” she said, angrily.

  “I’ll buy you a ticket for a roll in the hay,” Charlie said.

  She looked at Charlie. “We’ll, can’t stay here,” she said. “I’ll pay up when we get to Pinefield.”

  Charlie smiled, took her bag and they walked in the office.

  Preston shook his head. “One born every minute,” he said.

  “You ord’not let that bitch go,” the shotgun rider said, holding the shotgun in the crook of his arm as he climbed into the seat.

  “She ain’t goin’ to pay up. Charlie wasted his money,” Preston said. “Another sucker.”

  The stage coach came rolling down the street with fresh horses and stopped in front of the stage office. Preston put his bag in the stage box and climbed in, laid the shotgun across his lap and took his whiskey bottle out of his coat pocket.

  Charlie and Shirley came out of the office hand-in-hand, getting on the stage. Patty busted air with his whip and the horses took off. Charlie and Shirley snuggled up together on the other seat. Preston grinned.

  14

  Pinefield was the biggest town they had come to yet. Even in the wee hours of the morning the saloons were still alive and people were wandering the streets.

  “Think they got any word here ‘bout us breakin’ out of jail?” Tommy said.

  “Maybe,” B.W. said. “Word gets around a lot quicker now with the telegraph.”

  “The skies are lightening up,” Rance said. “Be sunrise soon. We’ll move around easy-like, get some supplies and get out of town ‘fore most folks start starin.’”

  “I want some peppermint sticks,” Tommy said.

  “If they got ‘em,” Rance said.

  “Let’s find the livery and take care of the horses,” B.W. said. “Might have to push ‘em hard if the law gets after us.”

  A little further down the street they came to a livery stable with a sign on the door.

  “What’s that sign say?” Tommy asked.

  “Say’s they open at six,” B.W. said.

  “What time is it now?”

  “Don’t know,” Rance said. “Use to have a watch till a Yankee sergeant at the hospital stole it.”

  “Or you lost it,” B.W. said.

  “He stole it. I know he did,” Rance said. “My grandpa gave me that watch.”

  “Too bad,” B.W. said. “From the looks of that glow in the east I would say it’s five-thirty.”

  Rance glanced at the sky, tilted his head and looked at B.W. “Five-thirty, you sure ‘bout that?”

  “Pretty sure, yeah.”

  They rode up to the livery stable, dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching post.

  “Think I’ll partake of a little whiskey to warm the mornin’ air,” B.W. said. “Care to join me, major?”

  “Too early for me.”

  “That stuff made me sick,” Tommy said. “Don’t think I ever want any again.”

  “For the best.” B.W. reached in his saddle bags, took the whisky bottle out, screwed the cap off and took a big slug, shook his head, put the cap back on and put the bottle back in his saddle bags.

  A few minutes later, the sun was peeking over the hills and a big man getting up in years showed up wearing a dirty black hat and scuffed boots. He had to be sixty-something. You could tell by the way he walked he knew his age.

  “You boys here bright and early,” he said. “What you want me to do with them horses?”

  “Feed, water and and loosen the girths for a while while we get something to eat and some supplies,” Rance said.

  “Strangers, ain’t you? Be five dollars for the care.”

  “Kinda high. That your strangers price?” B.W. said.

  “Take it or leave it. I’m the only livery stable in town. Pay in advance.”

  “Check their shoes, too, we don’t want one of ‘em to throw one.”

  “I’ll do it. Cost another dollar for the three.”

  B.W. shook his head and counted out the money. “That shotgun on my horse disappears, you’ll pay for it. Where can we get some goods?”

  “It’ll be there. There’s a store down the street to your left,” he said. “You can get breakfast at the Emporium Saloon next door if you have a mind to.”

  They pulled the Henrys out of their saddle boots and looked up and down the street, saw a saloon with an Emporium sign and a mercantile store next to it.

  “My gut tells me there’s trouble here,” B.W. said.

  “Don’t know ‘bout your gut but the less contact we have here the better off we are,” Rance said.

  “Best we pick up what we need at the store and get back to the horses.”

  “Think so too,” B.W. said.

  They cradled the Henrys and headed to the store. When they walked in a mousy-looking little man with an apron was putting money in his register. He stopped and looked at them.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, glancing down behind the counter at a sawed-off shotgun.

  “Just need a few things,” Rance said. “And the boy wants some peppermint sticks.”

  ”I’ll get it for you and run a tally. Tell me your list.”

  “Okay,” Rance said. “You got some oats?”

  “Yep, fifty pound sacks in the back.”

  “Don’t need that much,” Rance said. “If you could put about twenty pounds in a gunny sack for us that would be good. Need some canned meats and beans, some beef jerky, coffee…”

  “And peppermint sticks,” Tommy said.

  “You got ammo?” B.W. said.

  “What you need?”

  “Six boxes for the Henrys. Three boxes each for the .44 and .45 Colts. Two for a twelve-gauge.”

  “That’s a lot of ammunition. Plan on startin’ another war?” the man said and smiled.

  “Might be,” B.W. said with a frown and the clerk’s smile disappeared faster than it came. He gathered the rest of the supplies and laid them on the counter.

  Tommy spotted the peppermint sticks in a glass jar and took the top off and grabbed a handful and laid them on the counter beside the supplies. “You got any licorice?”

  “We do.”

  “I’ll take some of that, too,” Tommy said.

  The clerk picked up several sticks of licorice from a jar and showed them to Tommy.

  “That enough?”

  “Yes sir,” Tommy said.

  “Anything else?”

  “That’s it,” Rance said. “How much we owe you?”

  “Let me get your oats and I’ll add it up.” He came back with the oats and started ringing up the goods on his register. “Looks like eight-fifty.”

  B.W. pulled a ten dollar gold piece out of his pocket and handed it to the clerk.

  “Ain’t seen one of those for a while.” He put the gold piece in the register, handed B.W. his change and closed the register. He put everything in sacks and they picked up the supplies and headed for the door.

  Three men stepped into the doorway with tin stars on their shirts, pointing rifles at them with six-shooters hanging on their hips. The man in the middle wore a sheriff’s badge and the other t
wo men deputy badges. They were all young, the sheriff the oldest. The one on his left was stocky, freckled-face with red hair. The one on the right was shorter, heavier, wearing a straw hat and knee-high boots, his pants stuffed in his boots. Probably more sod buster than deputy. The sheriff was the neater and slimmer of the three, with a white Stetson on his head, brown eyes and a neatly-trimmed black mustache.

  “Looks like they knew we were coming,” Rance said.

  “Yeah, got us cold,” B.W. said.

  “I’m Sheriff Russell Brim and these men are my deputies, Red and Bobby. You’re under arrest for robbing our bank. Put your weapons on the floor and step away from them.”

  Rance, B.W. and Tommy looked at each other. “Did he say bank?” Tommy asked.

  “Did you say we robbed a bank?” Rance said.

  “Yep, now put them guns on the floor like I told you,” Brim said.

  Rance and B.W. sat the goods down then laid the rifles and Colts on the floor beside them.

  The store clerk lifted the sawed off shotgun from under the counter, pointing it at them.

  “The tomahawk too,” Brim said.

  B.W. slid his hand under his tomahawk and looked at Rance.

  Rance shook his head no and B.W. laid the tomahawk on the floor.

  “Witnesses saw you ride out of town last night on a buckskin and a big black after you blew the bank safe. They couldn’t see you straight up but you got the same profile.”

  “Sheriff,” B.W. said. “You got the wrong men. We been ridin’ a train all night. Got into town just a couple hours ago.”

  “You’re lyin,’” Brim said. “Red here saw you talkin’ to the smith this mornin’ holdin’ them same horses.”

  “We brought the horses in on the train. Not the horses you’re talkin’ about,” Rance said. “We got a receipt.”

  “A load of cattle for the army did come in this mornin,’” Red said. Bobby nodded in agreement.

  “Let’s see that receipt,” Brim said. “Red, check their saddle bags.”

  Red lowered his rifle and walked out the door.

  “What’s in those saddle bags is ours,” B.W. said.

  “I’ve got to get the receipt out of my pocket,” Rance said. “Don’t anybody get an itchy trigger finger.” He reached in his pocket, took out the receipt and handed it to the sheriff.

  Sheriff Brim looked at the receipt. “Where’d you get them horses?”

  “Raised mine,” Rance said.

  “I picked mine up on the battlefield when his rider was shot off him at Gettysburg,” B.W. said.

  Rance looked at B.W. He didn’t know that.

  “What about the boy?” Brim asked.

  “That’s another story. You said it was two men,” Rance said. He makes three.

  Red came back in shaking his head. “Got some money but not enough to be the banks,’” he

  said.

  “Most of the cash from the bank was paper money the Yankees just brought in. Southern money ain’t really worth a shit right now,” Brim said. “Maybe we do have the wrong men. Be awful stupid for you to come back if it was. Hell of a thing, though, same kind of horses and all. Guess we’ll have to form a posse, see if the bank wants to put up a reward.”

  “Then we can go?” Rance asked.

  “Yeah, pick up your gear and be on your way,” Brim said. They lowered the rifles, turned and walked out of the store. The clerk let the hammers down on his shotgun and put it back under the counter. ”Sorry boys, the war has brought a lot of bad people our way.”

  Rance and B.W. picked up their things, left the store, stopped at the emporium, picked up a batch of biscuits and walked back to the livery stable.

  “Can you believe that?” Rance said, looking at B.W.

  “Nope.”

  “Me neither,” Tommy said. “They don’t know ‘bout us.”

  They paid the blacksmith and divided the biscuits, B.W. getting two more than Rance and Tommy.

  They gathered their horses and gear and rode out easy-like, Tommy chewing on a peppermint stick.

  “You know,” B.W. said, “it just occurred to me. The bank wasn’t the only one robbed. I think that deputy stole two ten-dollar gold pieces. Noticed they was gone when I paid the smith.”

  “You sure?” Rance said.

  “Yeah, that sonofabitch stole our money.”

  “Well we ain’t goin’ back,” Rance said. “May not get out of there again. We were lucky the first time. Let him keep it.”

  “Wonder where those bank robbers went,” B.W. said.

  “No way,” Rance said. “If you’re thinkin’ ‘bout robbin’ the robbers you can forget it. We’re goin’ to Texas.”

  “Bet we could take ‘em.”

  Rance looked away and kept riding.

  15

  They put a ride on and got several miles away as fast as they could before they slowed down to let their horses lumber along across a green meadow, snipping the moist grass as they moved along.

  “Is this pretty country or what,” B.W. said, his horse’s reins wrapped around the saddle horn taking a drink of whiskey and a bite of a biscuit.

  “Think we can relax a little now?” Tommy asked.

  “That train ride left Marshal Preston a long way behind, if he’s still comin’ that is,” B.W. said.

  “Unless he caught a train, too,” Rance said. “You thought out how we’re goin’ about Tommy’s problem when we get to Texas?”

  “If you mean the law, no,” B.W. said. “Have to get a license to practice there so it may not matter anyway. May have to figure something else out.”

  “I don’t care what you do,” Tommy said.

  “Probably just as well. He’s not goin’ to share his fortune with a kid he hasn’t seen since he was a baby, regardless of what a court says. May have to kill the sonofabitch,” B.W. said.

  “No-never-mind to me,” Tommy said.

  “You never intended to go to court with this did you?” Rance said. “We should have had this talk before we started.”

  “Meaning what?” B.W. said.

  “Meaning we ain’t no better than he is if we don’t do this right. We’re nothin’ but outlaws.”

  “Guess you could say that. You sound like you’re thinkin’ about what you’re goin’ to get out of it.”

  “Didn’t come for the money,” Rance said. “Trying to help the boy, that’s all.”

  The cracking sound of a rifle shot echoed across the meadow and clipped B.W.’s whiskey bottle, breaking it into a thousand pieces. They saw gun smoke rush out of a pine grove tree line.

  “Run!” Rance said as he spurred Buck and he was at a full gallop in two strides with B.W. and Tommy close behind.

  They rode into a small group of cottonwoods along a creek bank, dismounted, grabbed the Henrys from the saddle boots and hit the ground.

  “What’a we do?” Tommy said.

  “Wait and see who’s out there,” B.W. said.

  A bullet slammed into a cottonwood just above B.W.’s head and two riders rode out of a thicket like the devil was after them, firing their pistols.

  B.W. knocked the lead rider off his horse with his first shot some twenty yards away and Rance picked off the other one.

  The riderless horses galloped on toward them then turned and trotted off several yards away. One was a buckskin and the other one a black.

  When no more riders appeared. Rance took the spyglass off his saddle and scanned the trees but didn’t see anyone else. They walked out to the men on the ground, leading their horses. B.W. rolled one of them over on his back. He was dead. He didn’t look much older than Tommy.

  “I’ll be damned,” B.W. said. “It’s a kid.”

  Rance checked the other one. “This one too.”

  “Was awful dumb for them to charge like that,” B.W. said. “Had to kill ‘em.”

  “Couldn’t be more than fifteen,” Rance said. “Got on rebel pants and boots, might have been in the war. You notice the horses?”<
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  “Yeah, looks like we found the bank robbers. Too bad we had to kill ‘em.”

  “Must have thought we were the posse.”

  “Would think so.”

  “Kids. Why would they rob a bank?”

  “For the money, I imagine.”

  “You know what I mean. Kids!” Rance said. “They probably didn’t even have a family.”

  “Guess we’ll never know,” B.W. said. “I’ll check the horses.”

  “I’ll see what the boys have on them,” Rance said.

  Both looked like they had been wearing the same clothes for a while. One of them had a small pocket knife and the other one two aggie marbles and some gold coins in his pants pockets. They had pictures inside their hat brims of a middle-aged man in a Confederate uniform with a woman about the same age standing beside him. Rance compared the pictures, they were the same. Must have been brothers.

  B.W. appeared leading the boys’ horses. “These horses got four bags of money in the saddle bags from Pinefield State Bank,” he said. “Maybe fifteen or twenty-thousand dollars in them bags. Lots of federal paper money, some gold and silver coins, too. We’re rich if that federal money is good.”

  “It’s bad money. We would be bank robbers,” Rance said. “We have to give it back.”

  “Are you crazy?” B.W. said. “No way.”

  “It’s wrong, can’t you see that?”

  ”What did I ever do for a conscience ‘fore I met you,” B.W. said.

  “May not have had one,” Rance said.

  “Oh I have one, I just don’t get carried away with it like you do,” B.W. said. “Do you think anyone else in their right mind would give back that much money in these kind of times?”

  “Guess we just have a different view of what’s right and wrong.”

  “Don’t I get a say in this?” Tommy said.

  “Yes you do, partner,” B.W. said. “Let’s hear it.”

  “I think the major’s right,” Tommy said. “We don’t need another posse after us.”

  B.W. stared at Tommy “You stole pennies and dimes from Harden,” B.W. said. “Now you’re wantin’ to give up a fortune too?”

  “That’s what we have to do,” Rance said. “May be a town is close by. Take the money and the kids there and have them notify the sheriff in Pinefield. Don’t want to backtrack, may run into Preston.”