by Shorty Gunn
‘I’m about played out. I think you’ll have to help me down or I’ll tear more stitches loose.’
A door creaked open. The figure of a bearded man stepped out, holding a lantern, trying to see the sudden intruders. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’
Wic studied the silhouette a moment. ‘Carl, Carl Loney, is that you?’
The old man stepped closer lifting the lantern. ‘Well I’ll be damned. Wic Casner, I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age. What are you doing back here?’
‘He needs someplace to rest up a while and heal where no one will question him about it,’ Keller interrupted. ‘He’s carrying a bullet wound.’
‘Bullet wound? What have you been doing to end up with something like that, Wic? You got the law on you?’
‘We don’t have time to answer a lot of questions. All I want to know is if he can hole up here a while, and you keep it quiet,’ Cort demanded.
‘Well, yeah, I can. Get him off that horse and inside.’
Keller and Red helped Wic into the dingy shack while Tyge carried his saddle-bags.
‘You lay low while we do a little business in town. If we don’t come back right away don’t worry about it. We might have to do some traveling then swing back depending on whether or not someone is on us, like Whitman. Get as much rest as you can and be ready to ride when we show up,’ Cort said.
Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a leather wallet fat with cash. Peeling off four twenties, he handed them to Loney. ‘You get him whatever he needs with this. There should be enough money to last until we get back here.’
The white-haired old man nodded, eyes wide on the cash. ‘I’ll do what I can. Wic’s an old friend. I sorta took him under my wing when he was younger. I just hope you boys ain’t into too much trouble, that’s all.’
‘No more than usual,’ Red spoke up, a wry smile crossing his face. They shook hands all around before exiting the cabin.
‘What now?’ Tyge questioned outside.
‘With Wic out I’m going to have to roll the dice. Three of us instead of four makes a difference. I’ll ride into town alone early tomorrow to be certain Whitman hasn’t made it back yet. If it looks clear I’ll have you two come in one at a time. I don’t want anyone getting suspicious about three riders together after the courier payroll we took. I might even rent us a room for a couple of days while I look over the bank. When I get done in New Hope, I’ll make Nate Whitman look like some kid wet behind the ears with a badge he can’t back up. Especially after what he did at Coy’s ranch. I’ll make him pay for that as long as he draws a breath or wears that tin star of his.’
Leroy Fulton, Nate Whitman’s young deputy, walked down the morning streets of New Hope with a swagger of authority in his step. The marshal gone, at least for a while, and for the first time he was the town’s only law. Whitman himself had ordered it to his returning posse. He relished not being ordered around and sometimes even belittled by his always critical boss. Being top dog at last, he’d never felt more important or needed. He meant to savor every single minute of it.
A few businesses were just opening with most still closed for another hour. The boardwalks were nearly empty too. The only other person on the street was a lone rider that Fulton studied a moment, then nodded at as he passed. Cort Keller did the same without looking back. Fulton did notice the rider’s big, grey roan horse looked like a real runner with its sleek body and long legs. After that his thoughts went back to how authoritative and in charge he should carry himself. He secretly hoped Whitman and Little Hawk would stay gone a month.
‘Good morning, Leroy,’ a store owner smiled, unlocking the front door to his shop. ‘Heard anything from Nate, yet?’
‘No, him and that Crow kid of his are still gone, but I’m taking care of things until he gets back. You don’t have to worry none about anything like that.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you are. I was just wondering about him that’s all. Time I open up. I’ll see you later today when you make your rounds.’
‘You can bet on it.’ Fulton strutted away down the boardwalk noticing up ahead the man on the roan horse had pulled to a stop in front of a small eatery, getting down to go inside. He quickened his step. It was his job to keep an eye on everything, and that included strangers. He decided to jaw with the man a few minutes just to let him know who was in charge in town.
Cort was already at a table near the window, sipping a fresh cup of steaming hot coffee when Fulton pushed through the door.
‘Morning, Leroy.’ The owner looked up from totaling last nights tickets. ‘You want the usual?’
‘No, I’ll just have a quick coffee. I’ve still got the rest of town to walk.’
Fulton took the cup in one hand, eyeing Cort and starting for his table. ‘Mind if I sit down?’ He came up to Keller.
Cort, who was trying to ignore the star man, looked up. ‘No, I don’t mind.’
Leroy eased into a chair studying the stranger, both men locking eyes with each other. ‘You must be new in town. I’ve never seen you before.’
‘Just passing through.’ Cort wasn’t going to say any more than he had to.
‘On the drift, huh?’
‘That’s about it.’
‘I’m the deputy here.’ Leroy pointed to the badge pinned on his vest. ‘It’s my job to know what’s going on and who is doing it. I don’t mind drifters unless we’ve got paper on them. This is a peaceable town and we mean to keep it that way. How long do you mean to stick around?’
‘Only a day or two.’
‘I’ll keep count on that, Mr. . . ?’
‘Johnson, Bill Johnson.’
‘All right, Mr. Johnson.’ Fulton pushed to his feet, taking one more long look at the man with green eyes and sandy colored hair. ‘I’m glad we understand each other. We do, don’t we?’
‘We sure do.’
‘Good enough.’ Fulton headed for the door, stepping outside. Cort watched him go before getting up and paying for his coffee.
‘What time does the bank open?’ He asked the cookie.
‘Nine o’clock, during the week, but they’re closed on Saturday and Sunday.’
‘Thanks,’ Cort started for the door.
‘I serve up a real good lunch and dinner too,’ the owner called after him. ‘You might want to give them a try. It’s the best in town.’
‘I didn’t see any other diner when I rode in.’
‘You’re right. There isn’t any other. That why I can say it’s the best in town.’ He laughed at his own joke.
Chapter Four
Cort crossed the street entering the Timber Jack Hotel, taking a room for three nights on the second floor directly across the street from the Miner’s Mercantile Bank. From his vantage point he could keep track of exactly the time the bank opened, if they employed a guard at the front door, and when the flow of people in and out was lowest.
After two days studying the layout, that afternoon he boldly crossed the street stepping inside the bank for a moment, looking everything over before riding out of town to bring in Red and Tyge. Once all three were back in his room, he laid out his plan to take the bank, in a low, insistent voice to be certain he was being clearly understood.
‘The bank opens at nine o’clock sharp every morning. That’s when most of the businessmen make their cash deposits. They have one guard. He opens up then stands at the door for early customers before moving inside next to it. Their slow time is late afternoon. That’s when we’ll move on them. Red, soon as we enter you cover the guard and disarm him. Tyge, you take care of the cage clerks. There’s two of them. I’ll get inside the cage and make the bank manager open the vault if it isn’t already open. After sacking up the money, we’ll lock all of them in the vault. That gives us plenty of time to get out of town before anyone knows what’s happened. You two got the picture? It’s the timing that’s important. We have to move fast and smart.’
‘What about Wic?’ Red questioned. ‘Are we going to go get him?
’
‘I’ll leave him where he is for now. He won’t be ready to make a long run yet. He needs more rest. I’ll fetch him later.’
‘Where we heading after we take the bank?’ Fan asked. ‘We can’t go back to Coy’s, can we?’
‘No, we can’t. I’ve already gotten him in enough trouble I didn’t mean to. I’m not about to do that to him twice. We’ll ride south into mesa country. If Whitman even tries to follow us down there tracking over that hard, dry ground makes it almost impossible.’
Sergeant O’Halloran and his five cavalrymen galloped into New Hope early that same afternoon causing a stir from people on the street because of the recent robbery of the government pay wagon and subsequent activity from the 77th Cavalry that followed.
Red, sitting at the window in the hotel room, saw the line of soldiers and quickly called for Cort and Fan. ‘Would you look at that. What’s the US Cavalry doing riding in here in such a big hurry? Could them showing up change our plans, Cort?’
‘We don’t have time to change plans. But we’d better keep an eye on them so we don’t end up in the same place at the same time. I still mean to take the bank. I didn’t plan all this to walk away from another big pay day because of a couple of blue coats. Fan, go downstairs and see where they go, then get back up here. I want to know what they’re doing.’
Sergeant O’Halloran pulled to a halt in front of the marshal’s office, ordering his men to wait outside in their saddles.
‘Private Varney, find a livery stable and get these horses watered and fed. All of you men wait there until I show up.’
‘Yes sir,’ Varney gave a half-hearted salute, tired and dusty from the long fast ride to reach town from Big Sheep Creek.
O’Halloran mounted steps pushing the door open into the office to find Leroy Fulton sitting with his feet up on the desk. The moment Leroy saw the cavalry blue uniform, he pulled them down, sitting up. The sergeant skeptically studied the deputy a moment before speaking.
‘You aren’t Whitman, are you?’ The tone of his voice made it clear he didn’t believe his own question.
‘No, I’m his deputy.’ He came to his feet. ‘Leroy Fulton’s my name. Marshal Whitman is away trailing what he believes to be the Keller gang. I’m the law here in town until he gets back. What can I do for you?’
‘I’m not sure you’ll do, at all.’
‘Do for what?’
‘My orders are to learn as much as I can about the payroll robbery from this Whitman. With him not here, it looks like I’ve made a long ride for nothing.’
‘I know a few things about the robbery,’ Leroy protested. ‘Ask me.’
‘You do, huh? We’ll see about that. Captain Crisswell wants to know for sure it was the Keller gang that pulled it off and where Whitman thinks they might be now. Neither me or my men have been paid because of those Johnny rebels. That makes it even more personal. If I could get my hands on Keller I’d put a rope around his neck and swing him right here on main street. Do you at least know when Whitman might get back here?’
‘No, I don’t. Only him and Little Hawk are still after them. He’s already sent back the posse he had. I do know if he’s got a trail to follow he’ll likely stay on it. Why don’t you stay here in town a couple of days and see if he comes in? Then you can ask him.’
O’Halloran pulled at his stubbled chin mulling over the idea. He was still under orders to send two of his men back to Fort Jackson, with new information, but he had none to send. The pained expression on his face made it clear he wasn’t sure what to do. A few days in town might solve that if the marshal did show up. He had another idea too.
‘You got a bank here?’
‘Sure. The Miner’s Mercantile. It’s two blocks down the street on this side. Why are you asking?’
‘Because I just might go down there and see if maybe there’s any government money in it. There might be something left over from last month. I can’t have my men and myself waiting around here without two bits in our pockets. We’ve got to eat and have a place to stay even for just a few days. That takes cash.’
‘I’m about to make my afternoon rounds. Come on, I’ll walk you down to the bank.’
Up in the hotel room Cort went over plans one more time to be certain there were no questions. “You both understand this? We have to move fast and make no mistakes. We work together, it goes off smooth,’ he looked from Red to Fan, both men nodding. ‘Then let’s get to it. We want to take the bank quietly without gunfire if we can. Any shooting only brings us trouble. Tyge, bring the horses around in front of the bank and tie them off. I’ll give you ten minutes, then we’ll all meet across the street and take care of business.’
Cort and Red busied themselves packing saddle-bags, leaving the window unattended at the same moment the sergeant and deputy walked down the street and pushed through the front door of the bank. Fan brought the horses around from the alley behind the hotel crossing the street in front of the bank and looping the reins over the hitching post. The brothers exited the hotel walking directly across the street to meet him. Cort looked briefly at both men. His voice was low, steady, calm. ‘Let’s do it.’
The three stepped inside the bank, pulling six-guns on seeing the guard, an older man, with his back to them talking to Deputy Fulton. At one of the teller’s cages Sergeant O’Halloran stood questioning the clerk about any possible money, in his usual loud voice.
Cort hesitated a split second with the unexpected presence of both the deputy and cavalryman, armed, standing only feet away. Their well-rehearsed plans suddenly went out the window. Red realized it too, quickly swinging his pistol barrel down hard on the guard’s head knocking him to the floor unconscious. Fulton froze, eyes grew wide with fear. His mouth fell open staring back at Cort’s six-gun leveled on him belt high.
‘You . . .’ his voice trailed off.
‘Yeah. The name is Cort Keller. Sound familiar? Pull your pistol and drop it on the floor. Two fingers. If I see any more than that I’ll drop you where you stand!’
‘Don’t do it!’ O’Halloran shouted, suddenly lunging at Fan, both men wrestling up against the counter until Tyge fired a single shot sending the blue coat crashing to the floor with a bullet ripping across his back.
Fulton stood paralyzed with fear. His hands trembled as his mind spun with indecision. This was the only chance he’d ever have to become a real hero. All he had to do was pull his six-gun and fire fast enough to save all of them even though he’d never pulled a gun on anyone before in his entire life. His hand moved hesitantly down to the gun belt until Cort’s voice stopped him.
‘Two fingers. You pull it and you’re a dead man. Do it now!’
Fulton stabbed at the pistol in wild desperation. The thunderous report of Cort’s pistol sent the deputy spinning to the floor screaming in pain, grabbing his stomach.
Cort retrieved Fulton’s pistol, shoving it into his own gun belt. ‘Get that blue coat’s weapon too,’ he shouted to Fan. ‘Red, lock the door. Don’t let anyone in!’
Keller vaulted over the counter ordering the two clerks up against the wall, ordering Fan to cover them before dragging the bank manager out from under his desk where he’d hidden. Pulling the bald-headed man up face to face, he gave a quick order.
‘Open the vault or you’ll never live to spin the dial twice!’
Inside the money room Cort made the manager stuff three heavy canvas bags with gold and silver coins. ‘No paper money,’ he threatened. When finished he had the man double tie the bag tops. ‘Get over in that corner and stay there. Red, Fan, get the rest of them in here including Fulton and the sergeant. Have the tellers drag them if you have to.’
Once the brick lined room was full, Keller started the heavy steel door swinging shut with a final order. ‘You tell Whitman, Cort Keller was here while he was off chasing his tail. Tell him he’ll never be smart enough to catch up to me no matter what he tries!’
The instant the vault door clanged shut, the three men ra
n for the front door. Unlocking it Cort opened it only far enough to peek out. Two men and a woman stood outside waiting patiently in line to enter. He glanced back at the pair. ‘We’ll walk out of here real easy like and get to the horses. Let me do any talking. Let’s move.’
Stepping outside the first man in line immediately questioned Keller. ‘Why is the bank door locked at this hour?’
‘They’re doing some bookwork on money losses. They won’t be open for another hour. We couldn’t even deposit our cash.’ He held up one of the money bags.
‘But that will be too late,’ the lady spoke up.
‘Sorry, ma’am. They said they’ve got a lot of figuring to do.’
The three men climbed in saddles, starting away leaving customers standing on the boardwalk wondering what was going on. The man at the head of the line gingerly reached for the door knob. Turning it open he stuck his head inside far enough to see red smears of blood across the floor, before he began yelling for help while Cort, Red and Fan kicked their horses into a gallop riding out of sight at the far end of town.
‘They walked into the bank . . . and started shooting . . . at me and your deputy.’ Sergeant O’Halloran lay on a cot face down, in back of the marshal’s office as a doctor worked on his back while Nate Whitman stood at his side. ‘We never had a chance to . . . stop them . . . one of them shot me in the back. They killed your deputy . . . too.’
The marshal straightened up, his face a grim mask of frustration and defeat. Keller had outsmarted him again, doubling back to his own town while he was out riding after shadows. He knew everyone in town would be talking about it too. He tried consoling himself that at least he’d gotten Coy Brandon. The whole sordid story wasn’t a complete loss.
Later that same evening he sat in his office trying to plan his next move, when his luck took a sudden turn for the better. A scruffy looking man pushed through the door, checking behind him to be sure he wasn’t seen or followed. Garrett Wilson, who worked at the Corker silver mine, eyed the star man warily as he approached the desk with a strange tale to tell but for a price.
