“Well,” Cory said, “somebody has to.”
“You’re right,” Thomas said, “but after this is all over.”
They started walking away from the telegraph office. The telegram from Ron Hill was in Thomas’s pocket. He was not only surprised that his father had left Vengeance Creek, but that he had left it in the hands of Ron Hill.
“What do you think of my idea?” Cory asked.
“I think it’s the only way for us to go,” Thomas said. “It makes sense to me, especially when you said we had to consider who we were dealin’ with.”
“Right,” Cory said. “A man who has never treated anyone fairly, a man who has probably double-crossed everyone who ever trusted him.”
“It’s a surprise somebody hasn’t killed him by now,” Thomas said.
“Well, with a little luck,” Ralph Cory said, “maybe we can change that.”
Thomas and Cory had each taken their own room, and that night they sat on the bed, cleaning their weapons, alone with their thoughts.
Thomas wondered where James was, and where his father was. He wondered what tomorrow or the next day would bring. He wondered if, when all was said and done, he’d actually be able to talk to his father—and have his father talk to him—so they could put aside the barrier that had been between them for the past year.
Ralph Cory wondered if Bloody Dave Macky was really gone for good. Had he ever been gone at all? With all the names he’d chosen to live under, was Ralph Cory the one that was going to stick? Or, after these weeks on the trail—back on the hunt—would he be able to go back to working in a store, or could he go back to being Dave Macky—not Bloody Dave, but just plain Dave?
While Thomas and Cory cleaned their guns and searched their minds—or their souls—Ben Cardwell led his men into Denver, after a long day’s ride from Colorado Springs.
He reined his horse in and turned in his saddle to look at the rabble behind him. They stopped, except for Dolan, who rode up on him and waited for orders.
“Tell them to spread out and get lodgings for the night,” Cardwell said, “and only for one night. We’ll be leaving right after we hit the bank.”
“Right.”
“Tell them not to stay anywhere in more than twos,” Cardwell went on. “I don’t want anyone rememberin’ us. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“All right,” Cardwell said.
“What about the bank?” Dolan asked. “Can you tell us where it is?”
“Sure I can,” Cardwell said. “After waitin’ this long, I remember exactly where it is.” He gave Dolan the intersection where the largest of the Bank of Denver branches was located.
“So do we meet there?”
Cardwell nodded. “Right in front. At noon.”
“We’ll attract attention that way, for sure.”
“We’ll have the element of surprise on our side,” Cardwell said. “You boys dismount, five of you come inside, six of you cover the street, watch for the law.”
“And where will you be?”
“I’ll already be inside the bank, waitin’ for you,” Cardwell said. “I’ll already be there. You boys come in with your guns out, and we’ll clean the bank out.”
“Right.” Dolan put just the right amount of enthusiasm in that one word.
Cardwell leaned over, put his hand on Dolan’s shoulder and said, “This will be the biggest haul any of us has ever seen.”
“Sounds good to me, Mr. Cardwell.”
“Get the boys bedded down, Dolan,” Cardwell said, “and I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
He watched as Dolan rode back to the others, gave them their instructions, and then rode off with them. He hoped they’d split up before long or else they’d attract too much attention. He just needed them to stay out of trouble until tomorrow, and then the hell with them. They’d be on their own, and so would he—with more money than he could spend in one lifetime.
69
Dolan led the gang of riders up to the front of the Bank of Denver. As agreed on, he and four others dismounted while the remaining six men remained mounted, but turned their eyes in every direction—except up.
Dolan led the others to the front door and they drew their guns. People on the street saw what was happening and scattered for cover. Dolan looked at the other men, they all nodded to each other, and he slammed the door open so they could all run into the bank.
Once inside, the six men looked around, but there was no sign of Ben Cardwell. Dolan was confused as to what to do next. While he was trying to decide, a security guard drew his gun and the bank employees hit the floor.
“Watch it!” Dolan shouted, spotting the guard, but before any of his men could do anything, four uniformed policeman stood up from behind the teller’s cages and let loose with shotguns.
Outside, three policeman stood up on the roof and let loose on the six mounted bank robbers with shotguns.
When the shotguns were empty, inside and out, the policemen picked up rifles and continued to fire.
The bank robbers got off a shot or two, but the element of surprise worked against them. By the time the gunfire stopped, every last member of the gang was on the floor of the bank or on the street, good and dead.
Lieutenant Peter Masters thought that it had been incredibly easy, considering he and his men had only gotten into position a half an hour before. As usual, the chief had been right, hadn’t he?
In another part of the city, Ralph Cory stood in a branch of the Bank of Denver, knowing instinctively that he was in the wrong place. He realized it was young Thomas who was going to have to face the music, because that was just the way things happened.
He was staring out the front window when a security guard sidled up beside him, hand on his gun, and asked, “Can I help you with something, sir?”
“I don’t think so,” Cory said. “I’m just waitin’ for somebody.”
“I see,” the guard said. “Well…I’ll just keep an eye out.”
“You do that,” Cory said. “After all, it’s your job, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” the guard said. “It is.”
Ben Cardwell rode up to the front of the bank and dismounted nonchalantly. About now the rest of the gang were getting themselves shot to hell, or maybe they were holding the bank up without him. Either way, didn’t matter to him. They could keep whatever money—or lead—they collected. This was the bank he wanted. It didn’t have the largest deposits, but it had enough to last one man a long time.
He looked up and down the street, on the lookout for any sign of a policeman. He didn’t expect to see any, but if he did, he would have called the whole thing off. Whatever was happening at the other branch, it must have been holding the attention of most of the police in Denver by now.
Satisfied that he was in the clear, he opened the door of the bank and entered. It had one security guard, who gave him a bored look. He wouldn’t be a problem.
There were a couple of customers at the tellers’ windows, and some other employees sitting at desks. The only one he had to worry about was the guard, and he figured the element of surprise should take care of that.
He waited, pretending to fill out a deposit slip, or a withdrawal slip, while the customers finished their business and left. The guard’s back was turned, and the moment was right.
He started to approach the guard when a door slammed open—the door to the manager’s office—and Thomas Shaye stepped out….
Thomas wanted to wait longer, but knew he couldn’t afford to. He didn’t know what Cardwell meant to do to the guard, knock him out or shoot him in the back. He couldn’t take the chance.
He hadn’t tried to convince the people in the bank that a robbery might take place. If everybody had believed him and left, Cardwell would have been suspicious when he walked in. Everything had to look normal.
He had, however, gotten the bank manager to agree to let him stay in the office.
“One day,” the man said, “that’s al
l I can give you. I’ll be checking in with the chief of police at the end of the day.”
“You do that,” Thomas said. He had a feeling they’d gotten to Denver just ahead of Cardwell, anyway. “I’ll take the one day.”
And that had been all it had taken, after all….
Thomas stepped out of the manager’s office quickly and shouted, “Cardwell!”
The bank robber holding his gun stopped, and the guard turned quickly, going for his own gun. With his bare hand, Cardwell hit the man quickly, just once, knocking him out.
“Are you one of the deputies?” Cardwell asked, his back to Thomas, as the bank employees dropped to the floor.
“That’s right,” Thomas said. “From Vengeance Creek.”
“You tracked me all the way here?”
“Got here ahead of you, actually.” Somebody moved, and Thomas shouted, “Everybody stay down!”
“That’s good advice!” Cardwell added holding his gun up in one hand. “Listen to the deputy.” Then, still turned away from Thomas, he said, “You alone, Deputy?”
“I am,” Thomas said. “There’s another, but he’s at one of the other branches.”
“I see,” Cardwell said. “And the large branch?”
“The police are there.”
“That’s good,” Cardwell said, “very good. In fact, that works out perfectly.”
“Set up some more men to be killed, did you?”
“Of course,” Cardwell said. “That’s my style, isn’t it? I don’t like to share.”
“Not somethin’ to brag about, if you ask me.”
“Okay, Deputy,” Cardwell said, “I’m gonna turn around now, and we can get this settled so I can get to work.”
“You’re not robbin’ this bank, Cardwell,” Thomas said, “or any other ever again.”
“Well, we’ll see,” Cardwell said. “I’m gonna turn around now, unless you want to shoot me in the back?”
“It’s what you deserve.”
“But you won’t do it, will you? So I’ll just turn around with my hands in the air…don’t get nervous, lad….”
Cardwell did a slow turn while the other people in the bank kept their noses to the floor. When he saw that Thomas’s gun was holstered, he laughed and lowered his hands.
“Not a good move, boy,” the bank robber said.
“I’m takin’ you in,” Thomas said.
“No, I don’t think so, Deputy,” Cardwell said, loosely holding the gun in one hand. “I’m gonna kill you, and then take as much money out of this bank as I can carry.”
“And are you gonna kill everyone who works here too, Cardwell?” Thomas asked. “Like you did in Vengeance Creek?”
“Who knows?” Cardwell said. “I might be in a really good mood after I kill you.”
“The easiest thing would be for you to give up,” Thomas said.
“You know,” Cardwell said, “I’d ask you where your father and brother are, but I really don’t have the time…and I don’t care. I’m kind of impressed that you came all this way…”
“Don’t be.”
“…to die.”
Cardwell lifted the gun, but Thomas saw the man’s muscles tense just a split second before. He snatched his own gun from his holster and fired once, hitting Cardwell in the chest before he could fire.
Thomas walked to the fallen man, took his gun from his hand, and tossed it away, just to be on the safe side, but the bank robber was dead.
“Not in such a good mood, after all?” Thomas asked. “Are you?”
EPILOGUE
Telegrams came and went, and three days after Thomas had killed Ben Cardwell, he and Ralph Cory rode into the town of Trinidad. Waiting for them in the dining room at the Columbian Hotel were both Dan and James Shaye, and Rigoberto Colon. They all exchanged information to fill in the gaps….
At the home of Wendy Williams, earlier in the week, Dan Shaye had received a telegram from Vengeance Creek. Ron Hill had told him that he had gotten a telegram from Trinidad that James was being held by the law there until his identity could be confirmed. Shaye had taken his newly bandaged wound onto a horse and set out for Trinidad, still not knowing where Thomas was.
“He let me stay in jail until he got here,” James complained to Thomas, “me and Berto both.”
“I told you,” Shaye said, “the sheriff wouldn’t take my word in a telegram. I had to come here and identify myself.”
“Why would he take your word that you’re the sheriff of Vengeance Creek?” James asked. “And not take my word that I was a deputy?”
“You’ll have to ask him that,” Shaye said.
After Cardwell’s death the chief of police of Denver had taken the credit in the newspaper for foiling not one bank robbery, but two. He did so without acknowledging Thomas’s part at all. Thomas didn’t care, though. By exchanging telegrams with Ron Hill in Vengeance Creek, he discovered that his father was going to Trinidad to get James out of jail. He and Cory immediately set out for that town.
“I’m kind of sorry they let you out before I got here,” Thomas said across the table to his brother. “That would have been funny to see.”
“Ha, ha,” James said. “Me and Berto didn’t think it was very funny, and him with a bullet wound in his shoulder.”
“How are you, by the way?” Dan Shaye asked Colon.
“Better, Jefe,” Colon said. “Actually, the time allowed me to rest, and heal.”
“Speaking of healin’,” Thomas said to his father, “you shouldn’t be on a horse yet, should you?”
“Well, if one of you four had thought to send me a telegram,” Shaye sad, “I would have known where you were.”
“Sorry, Pa…” James said.
“Sí,” Colon said, “sorry, Jefe.”
“So what happened with the other man?” Cory asked. “Jacks, was it?”
Shaye looked at James, who told Cory and Thomas what had happened when he and Colon had ridden into Trinidad that first day.
“Good for you, James,” Thomas said. “You took him.”
“It was just…instinct,” James said. “I didn’t even realize what was happenin’ until after I fired.”
“That’s the way it happens sometimes, James,” Shaye said.
“Maybe you were born for this after all, James,” Thomas said.
Yes, Shaye thought, maybe he was…in fact, maybe both his sons were.
Thomas gave a brief recount of what happened in Denver, bringing his brother and father up to date.
“Well,” Ralph Cory said, “coincidence seems to have had a lot to do with bringin’ this all to a satisfactory end. James and Berto ridin’ in just as Jacks was gettin’ in a shootout; Thomas and me gettin’ to Denver just a day ahead of Cardwell.”
“Maybe not so much coincidence,” Shaye said, “as hard work and determination.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Thomas said, raising his coffee cup.
“So it’s over,” James said.
“It’s over,” Shaye said.
“I’ll drink to that,” Cory said, and lifted his own cup, followed by the others.
“What do we do now, Pa?” James asked.
“We get one night in this fine hotel,” Shaye said, “and then we head home.”
Nobody said a word.
“Ralph?” he said. “You are goin’ back to Vengeance Creek, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think so, Sheriff,” Cory said. “I think I just may…oh, hit the trail for a while. I don’t think I want to get back behind a store counter just yet.”
“Well,” Shaye said, “good luck to you, then. Berto? You comin’ back?”
Rigoberto Colon frowned and said, “It is a very long way to go back, Jefe. Perhaps, if Señor Ralph doesn’t mind, I will ride with him for a while.”
That brought the attention back to Cory.
“Hell, I don’t mind,” Cory said, “except that I think we both make lousy coffee.”
“I will chance it,” Colon said, “if
you will, señor.”
“Sure, why not?” Cory looked at the three Shayes. “I guess you boys’ll be ridin’ back to Vengeance Creek without us. At least you’ve got your jobs waitin’ for you there.”
“Well,” Shaye said, “I’ve been thinkin’ about that.”
“About what, Pa?” James asked.
“Our jobs,” Shaye said. “I think I’m about done bein’ the sheriff of Vengeance Creek.”
“Are we done bein’ lawmen, Pa?” James asked.
“I don’t know, James,” Shaye said. “I guess that’ll be up to each of us to decide when we get back there.”
“Why go back at all?” Cory asked.
“We’ve got to tie up some loose ends,” Shaye said, “and bring back the bank’s money,”
“Ah,” Cory said, “loose ends. Life seems full of them, doesn’t it?”
“Speakin’ of which,” Shaye said, “who’s Berto gonna be ridin’ with, Ralph Cory or Dave Macky?”
“I think it might be time for Dave Macky to put in an appearance, again,” Cory/Macky replied. “In fact, I was thinkin’ of hittin’ the trail right away, nice as a night in this hotel sounds. Berto? Can you ride?”
“Sí, Señor Ralph—I mean, Señor Dave.” The Mexican stood up. “I can ride.”
“Gents,” Macky said. “Good luck to you.”
“And you,” Shaye said.
The men shook hands all around, and then Macky turned to Thomas.
“Good luck, Thomas,” he said. “It was a pleasure ridin’ with you.”
“You too…Dave. It was a privilege.”
Macky and Colon waved one last time and left the hotel, leaving the three Shaye men at the table, alone.
“Pa?” Thomas said.
“Yes, Thomas?”
“There’s somethin’ I been meanin’ to talk to you about for a long time.”
“Really?” Shaye asked. “Well, there’s another coincidence for you. There’s somethin’ I been meanin’ to talk to you about too.”
James sat back and listened to his brother and father clear the air, hoping that maybe some of the ghosts from the year gone by might soon be gone…or at least laid to rest.
About the Author
ROBERT J. RANDISI is the creator and writer of the popular series The Gunsmith, under the pseudonym “J.R. Roberts.” He has written many other western novels under his own name.
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