by Matt Braun
“Well, don’t you see—” Bob spread his hands in an expansive gesture. “Folks come from all over to do their bankin’ there ’cause it’d take a cannon to blow the door off that vault. The locals told me nobody’d ever tried a holdup. Not once!”
“Answer the question,” Cole said with weary tolerance. “You done told me and Jim. Now tell Jesse. How much?”
Bob swallowed, licked his lips. “I’d judge two hundred thousand. As God’s my witness, Jesse—not a penny less!”
Jesse shoved his chair from the table. He rose and without a word walked to the parlour, where he began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. Silence thickened at the table, and the men tracked him to and fro with their eyes. His head was bowed, thinking private thoughts, and a minute or longer passed before he suddenly stopped. Then he turned and moved once more to the table, standing behind his chair. His expression was sombre, and determined.
“I don’t like it.” He punctuated the statement with a vigorous gesture. “There’s got to be a reason that bank’s never been robbed. Somebody would’ve tried—especially with all that money layin’ around—unless there was a damn good reason. I say we scotch the idea right here and now.”
“No!” Cole’s jaw jutted stubbornly. “We’ve waited a lifetime for this kind of payday. Just because nobody else has busted that bank don’t mean it can’t be done. And that sure as hell ain’t no reason for us not to try!”
Jesse was very quiet, eyes boring into him. “Cole, I’ve spoke my piece. I say it’s a washout, and that’s that.”
Cole’s bushy eyebrows seemed to hood his gaze. “Last time we met, I told you the Youngers wouldn’t play tin soldier no more. That goes double after hearin’ what Bob saw at Northfield.”
“Suppose you spell that out a little plainer?”
“Since you asked—” Cole smiled with veiled mockery. “We’re fed up with nickel-and-dime jobs, and we’re through playin’ it safe. If you haven’t got the stomach for Northfield, then we’ll handle it our own selves.”
A stony look settled on Jesse’s face. “You sorry goddamn ingrate! I ought to kill you where you sit.”
“Maybe you ought to,” Cole challenged him, “but you won’t. The way it stands now, you’d have to fight all us Youngers—not just one.”
“Don’t tempt me! Haulin’ your ashes might make it worth it!”
Cole flipped his hand in scorn. “You love yourself too much for that, Jesse. So I don’t guess I’m gonna lose any sleep over it.”
“By Christ—!”
“Not Christ,” Frank interrupted, clearing his throat. “To quote the Bard: ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here.’ You two make the line sound prophetic.”
Jesse and Cole stared at him blankly. When neither of them responded, he went on. “Why in thunder do you have to fight? We’ve got enough enemies without turning on one another.” He paused, then continued in a temperate voice. “Jess, I’m not taking sides; but you have to face the facts. Unless you bend a little, Cole and the boys will take off on their own. Once it comes to that, we’ll likely never get it healed. So maybe you ought to make allowances. We’ve been together a long time.”
Jesse was white around the mouth, his temples knotted. Yet he held his temper, avoiding Frank’s steady look, and gave the matter some thought. “All right,” he said finally, squaring himself up. “We’ll lay out the job and get on with it. But once we’re in Northfield—if it don’t smell right or anything looks queer, I’ll call it off and no questions asked. That’s as far as I’m willin’ to bend, no farther. So take it or leave it.”
The Younger brothers swapped quick glances among themselves. At length, Cole nodded and swivelled his head just far enough to meet Jesse’s venomous glare. “I guess we could go along with that. You always said Bob was the best scout in the bunch, and Northfield didn’t give him the willies. Don’t expect it will you either. Specially when you get a gander at the vault.”
“If we get that far,” Jesse said, watching him with undisguised hostility. “Just remember, once we’re there, I call the tune as to whether or not we hit the bank. That’s the deal.”
“You want a blood oath?” Cole cracked a smile. “Or will my word do?”
Jesse let the remark pass. He seated himself, then reached out and pulled the map closer. “Bob, show me the layout. Let’s start with the bank.”
“Sure thing, Jesse.” Bob leaned forward, explaining various marks on the map. “The bank’s over here at the east end of the square. Sits right on a corner, where the square leads into Division Street. I figgered the best approach was to come into town from the east—that means we’d be headed west on Division Street—and stop right in front of the bank. That way we can cover the square without exposing ourselves, and we’ve got nothin’ behind us but a few stores. When the job’s done, we just turn around and ride out the same way we came in. It’s the shortest and safest route, near as I could tell.”
“The shortest, maybe.” Jesse studied the map with a critical eye. “Not necessarily the safest.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Your way we’ve only got one line of retreat. If we were discovered—and these shopkeepers back here on Division Street got up in arms—then we’d be caught between them and the ones on the square. In other words, they’d have us trapped in a bottleneck. I can’t say I’d care too much for that idea.”
“By gum, you got a point there.”
“Where’s the town marshal’s office?”
“Over here.” Bob pointed with a dirty fingernail. “Off the south side of the square, just round the corner.”
“Which means he steps out his door and he’s roughly kitty-corner to the bank.”
“Yeah, I reckon it does.”
“What’s along the other sides of the square?”
“Oh, just the general run of business and shops. Couple of cafés and that saloon I mentioned. A hotel over on the north side, right about in the middle of the block. Course, down here, on the west side, there’s not much of anything. Don’t you see, that leads directly to the bridge.”
“How wide is the bridge?”
“Well, it’ll take two wagons abreast. Looked like they built it specially for the farm trade.”
“Across the river”—Jesse directed his attention to the western shoreline—“you show a road headed south. What’s down that way?”
“Nothin’ much. The road generally follows the river, and a couple of miles south there’s a crossroads called Dundas. After that, you hit a long stretch of woods. Then maybe ten miles south there’s a fair-sized town called Faribault.”
“What’s west of those woods?”
“I brought back maps of Minnesota and Iowa. You want me to show you in detail?”
“Later,” Jesse said shortly. “For now, just tell me about those woods.”
“To the west, there’s more of the same. Broken woods, with marshy terrain and lots of small lakes. Due west—maybe thirty miles—there’s a town called St. Peter and southwest there’s one called Mankato.”
Jesse abruptly switched back to the Northfield Bridge. “From here, are there any telegraph lines runnin’ south?”
“No, there ain’t.” Bob pondered a moment. “I guess the towns are too small down that way. Near as I recollect, the poles all took a northerly direction—to Minneapolis.”
“Thought so,” Jesse said, almost to himself. “Now tell me about the bank. How’s it laid out inside?”
Bob took a stub pencil from his coat pocket. Turning the map over, he began sketching a diagram on the opposite side. Watching them, Cole marvelled at Jesse’s tactical genius. Always the guerrilla commander, he saw any job along the lines of a military raid. Before an actual date was set for the job, he would have worked out every detail, including their route to Minnesota and the order of retreat once they’d robbed the bank. However grudgingly, Cole had to admit there were none the equal of Jesse James when it came to planning a holdup. The en
d result would be a textbook study in how to rob a bank and make a clean getaway. All without losing a man or exposing themselves to unnecessary risk.
After studying the floor plan of the bank, Jesse flipped over to the map. He briefly scanned the drawing of Northfield, then nodded to himself in affirmation.
“Here’s the way I see it.” His finger stabbed out at the map. “That bridge is the key point. Once we occupy it and hold it, we have a clear field of fire that covers the entire square. On top of that, our best line of retreat is south along the road to that stretch of woods. So everything hinges on taking control of the bridge.”
“Lemme understand,” Cole said, hunching forward for a look at the map. “You’re sayin’ somebody posted at the bridge could keep the townspeople pinned down while we’re in the bank. Is that it?”
“Yeah, that’s the first step. Course, we’ll also need covering fire when we leave the bank and head back across the square. So like I said—that bridge has got to be held the whole time.”
“No question there,” Cole agreed. “What about the bank itself?”
“We’ll split up into groups.” Jesse tapped the map with his finger. “One at the bridge and another outside the bank. Between them, they’ll have the square covered in a crossfire from one end to the other. Once they’re in place, the third group will enter the bank and pull the job.”
“Hold on!” Cole protested. “That’ll split us up pretty thin, won’t it?”
“Normally it would,” Jesse said levelly. “Except I’m figurin’ on eight men altogether. Three at the bridge, two outside the bank, and three more inside. With the size of the town, and the way it’s laid out, I wouldn’t try it with any less.”
“So you’re talkin’ about three more besides ourselves?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“Well, I don’t like it! That means we’re gonna have to divvy out eight shares instead of five.”
“Either we do it right or we don’t do it at all. It’ll take eight men to make certain we hold that bridge. And without the bridge—I’m not settin’ foot in Northfield!”
“Whereabouts you figure to get ’em? There ain’t a helluva lot of men I’d trust to cover my backsides.”
“What about Clell Miller?” Bob suggested. “He pulled his weight on that last train job.”
“Don’t forget Charlie Pitts,” Jim added quickly. “He’s no slouch either.”
“I suppose they’ll do,” Cole grumbled. “Now try thinkin’ of another one that’s worth his salt! All the good ones are dead or else they’ve turned tame as tabby cats.”
“Not all,” Frank said with a slow grin. “The way Jim tells it, there’s a fellow down at Ma Ferguson’s who acts more like a bobcat.”
“Awww, hell, Frank!” Jim groaned. “I told you that private. Besides, he sucked wind quick enough when push came to shove.”
“Only because you had Cole and Clell Miller to back your play.”
“Wait a minute,” Jesse broke in. “Who’re you talkin’ about?”
“Some stranger.” Jim shrugged it off. “Him and me got into it over a girl, and he pulled a gun. Wasn’t all that much to it.”
“Tell me anyway,” Jesse persisted. “Who is he? What d’you know about him?”
“He’s a small-time horse thief. Alvina, that’s the girl, told me the law run him out of Kansas. Way he acts, he’s had lots of experience runnin’.”
“Bullfeathers!” Frank laughed. “You told me he got the drop on you so fast you never knew what happened. Anybody that handy with a gun, maybe we ought to consider him for the third man.”
“God a’mighty!” Cole blustered. “You got rocks in your head, Frank. The man’s an outsider.”
“Cole, answer me this,” Jesse said in a cold, dry manner. “What were you doing at Ma Ferguson’s in the first place? I thought we agreed you’d stay clear of there.”
“No such thing!” Cole muttered. “I told you I’d stay out of trouble—and I did!”
“The hell you did! A man pullin’ a gun sounds like the kind of trouble we could do without.”
“Jesus Christ! He pulled on Jim, not me!”
Jesse eyed him in disgust. “Maybe Frank’s right. We could use some new blood in this outfit. ’Specially a rooster that’d pull on the Youngers.”
“Whoa back, Jesse.” Frank gave a troubled look. “I was only joking around. Why take it out on Cole?”
“Why not?” Jesse said with heavy sarcasm. “Anybody Cole don’t like probably deserves a second look. You go on down to Ma Ferguson’s and check out this horse thief. He might be just the man we need.”
“You’re makin’ a mistake,” Cole said sullenly. “And you know goddamn well you’re only doing it to spite me.”
“C’mon now!” Jesse mocked him. “You mean to say you don’t trust Frank’s judgement?”
“That ain’t what we’re talkin’ about here.”
“What are we talkin’ about, then?”
“The same old thing.” Cole’s jaw muscles worked. “Who beats the drum and who winds up playin’ tin soldier.”
“Cole, I do believe you got the message.”
“You’re liable to thump your drum one of these days and nobody’ll answer muster.”
A ferocious grin lit Jesse’s face. “There’s lots of tin soldiers, Cole. But I’m the only one that’s got a drum … and I aim to keep it!”
CHAPTER 11
“You shouldn’t be so impatient, lover.”
“Hell, I need some action! Fun’s fun, but a steady diet of it don’t suit my style.”
“Thanks a lot!” Alvina crinkled her nose in a pout. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”
“Holy moly!” Starbuck rolled his eyes upward. “I done spent six nights in a row with you! If that don’t make you special, I shore as the devil don’t know what would.”
“A little sweet talk wouldn’t hurt. You were full of it up until tonight.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Starbuck’s tone was grumpy, out of sorts. “It’s just that a feller goes stale after a while. Not that you ain’t good company! I got no complaints on that score, none a ‘tall. But it’s like I’m gettin’ itchy—and don’t know where to scratch.”
“Ooo.” Alvina clucked sympathetically, kissed him softly on the cheek. “Don’t get down in the mouth, sweetie. I told you I’d talk to Jim, and I will. Cross my heart!”
“Probably won’t do no good,” Starbuck said glumly. “Them Youngers ain’t the friendliest bunch I ever run acrost.”
“You leave it to me,” Alvina assured him brightly. “Jim Younger thinks more of me than he does his own wife! One way or another, I’ll convince him to at least talk to you.”
“Well, I shore as hell wisht he’d show again! I’m plumb tuckered out with sittin’ on my duff.”
Starbuck’s gruff manner was no act. Seated beside Alvina on a sofa, he watched listlessly as the evening crowd began drifting into Ma Ferguson’s. The ivory tickler was playing a melancholy tune on the piano, and it somehow suited his mood. For the past three nights—since the evening he’d braced Jim Younger—he had planted himself on the sofa and waited. Some inner conviction told him the Youngers would return, and he’d kept himself steeled to take the next step in his plan. Yet tonight his conviction was waning rapidly. Unless the outlaws put in an appearance soon, then it was all wishful thinking. Not a plan but rather a pipe dream. He dully wondered if he’d sold himself a bill of goods.
“Don’t you worry, Floyd.” Alvina lowered one eyelid in a bawdy wink. “Where Jim Younger’s concerned, I’m the hottest stuff in Clay County! He couldn’t stay away if his life depended on it.”
“Looks like he’s making a pretty good stab at it.”
“Oh, pshaw! You know what my mama used to say?”
“What’s that?”
“She used to say, ‘Worry is the curse of those who borrow trouble.’”
“I ain’t worried,” Starbuck grumbled.
“It’s like I told you—I’m just tryin’ to scratch that itch.”
“Well, I can’t see why you’re so stuck on becoming a bank robber anyway. The notion probably wouldn’t have occurred to you in a thousand years if you hadn’t bumped into the Youngers the other night.”
“Who knows? I was lookin’ for a new line of work and they just happened along at the right time. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“From what Jim tells me, they’ve ventured a lot and gained a little here lately. Talk about a bunch that needs a rabbit’s foot!”
“He tells you all his secrets, does he?”
Alvina giggled and batted her eyelashes. “Honey, you just wouldn’t believe it! I told you he was sweet on me.”
“So their luck’s turned sour, then?”
“Let’s say they’re not exactly rolling in clover.”
“Hell, maybe you’re right,” Starbuck said guilefully. “Maybe robbin’ banks ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
“Feast or famine, that’s the way it looks to me.”
“I guess I could always go back to Kansas. Things have likely cooled off by now, and horse stealing ain’t all that bad. Least it’s regular work.”
“Floyd!” Alvina looked wounded. “You said you liked it here!”
“I do,” Starbuck said earnestly. “That’s why I asked you to put in the word with Younger. But now, you sound like you’re tryin’ to talk me out of it.”
“No, I’m not!” Alvina snuggled closer on the sofa. “You just put Kansas out of your mind. And stop worrying about Jim Younger! I’m one girl that doesn’t go back on a promise.”
Starbuck felt only a twinge of conscience. He had purposely set out to win her over, and six nights in her bed had proved adequate to the job. He’d treated her with gentleness and affection, and seen to it that their lovemaking was a thing of ardour rather than passionless rutting. All of which was like catnip to a working whore. She’d fallen for him very much in the manner of a schoolgirl surrendering her virginity. And recruiting her to his cause had been accomplished with surpassing ease.
Having failed in his approach to Cole Younger, he’d thought to hedge his bet with Alvina. Her assistance created a couple of intriguing possibilities. For openers, she was a veritable fund of information. As she herself had noted, men often confided more in whores than in their own wives. Apparently that was the case with Jim Younger, and whatever tidbits she gleaned would be a welcome addition to the file. Of greater import, she claimed some influence over Younger. In the event she persuaded him to vouch for Floyd Hunnewell, then the larger part of the problem would be resolved. One recommendation would lead to another, forming a daisy chain that would ultimately lead to Jesse James. From there, it would remain but a matter of time—and opportunity.
