Waco 6

by J. T. Edson

  ‘You can bet your Texas hide I did!’ Lynn answered, stiffening a little and meeting the glare without flinching. ‘Which, seeing’s how Sherry got back at least ten times that much cash, not counting the notes that’d been signed, I reckon I was entitled to it.’

  ‘Whooee!’ Doc breathed. Although he had heard about the incident, he had no idea that such a large sum of money was involved. Nor was he too proud to appreciate that their bank balance could stand such a replenishment. ‘Do you mean you’re toting all that cash on you right now?’

  ‘Why sure,’ Lynn confirmed and lifted her vanity bag. ‘You don’t figure I’d be toting this one if all I had on me was my girlie face-fixings, do you?’

  ‘Nope, I don’t reckon you would,’ Doc conceded, without admitting that he had not noticed which of her vanity bags she was carrying. Knowing what must be in it, apart from the money, he continued, ‘Shucks, you don’t figure you’d be likely to need that. Not in a fancy big city like New Orleans.’

  ‘I don’t expect I will,’ Lynn answered, just a touch defiantly. ‘But one thing I learned real early. Happen I should need it, there won’t be time to go back to the apartment and fetch it.’

  Under different conditions, Doc would have expressed his complete concurrence with his wife’s statement. However, as they were talking, he noticed five men coming in. From their appearance and the fact that they had arrived on horseback, leaving the animals fastened to the hitching posts provided for use by the bank’s customers, he judged them to be country dwellers paying a visit to the city. All were clad in cheap store bought suits and, despite the clement early summer weather, were wearing unfastened cloak-coats into the capacious pockets of which each had at least one hand thrust. The broad brimmed hats they wore were drawn down so that, either by accident or design, their faces were partially concealed.

  The fourth and fifth men to enter stepped to either side of the doors and halted with their backs against the wall. While the one at the right looked down, the other gazed about him. Tall, lean and, Doc observed, wearing a pair of cowhand boots, he was in his early twenties and had a weak face set in what he probably regarded as a tough expression.

  After advancing a couple of strides beyond the threshold, the tallest of the new arrivals glanced to his left and nodded. As if he had received a signal, the man nearest to Doc and Lynn started walking in their direction. Stepping out more briskly, the last of the quintet converged on the bank guard as he approached the couple with the intention of hinting that it was time for the establishment to dose.

  There was something significant about the newcomers’ actions, Doc realized. Yet he could hardly believe that what it reminded him of was going to happen.

  In a Western town, such behavior would have suggested that the quintet intended to rob the bank.

  Of course, the same could not apply in an Eastern city the size of New Orleans.

  Or could it?

  Two – All They Aim to Do Is Rob Us

  Even as Doc Leroy was forming his summations regarding the five new arrivals, he received an answer to them which removed any possibility of doubt. Each produced a weapon—in the case of the young hard-case at the left side of the main entrance, two comparatively small, yet fine looking revolvers which might be the type known as the Colt Pocket Pistol of Navy Caliber, xxi but rechambered to fire .36 metallic cartridges—from the pockets of the cloak-coats.

  ‘All right, everybody!’ growled the tallest of the quintet, gesturing with the especially effective firearm that he had extracted. It was a ten gauge shotgun with the barrels cut down to about twelve inches and the butt foreshortened by removing .it behind the wrist. His tones were a hard Texas drawl and, Doc noticed, like the young man, he had on range boots. ‘Just stand still, keep quiet and nobody’ll get hurt.’

  ‘Wha—?’ croaked the bank guard, head swiveling around and right hand moving spasmodically towards the closed flap of the unsuitable holster.

  ‘Don’t try it!’ warned the man who had obviously been assigned to prevent such an intervention. He made a menacing gesture with his Colt Cavalry Model Peacemaker.

  Much to Doc’s relief, the guard refrained from attempting the ill-advised attempt to reach his weapon. Equally fortunately, in the Texan’s experienced opinion, although the tellers were staring in open mouthed amazement, none of them was offering to do anything other than obey the order they had been given. He hoped they would continue to do so. Employees in a similar establishment west of the Mississippi River would have sufficient knowledge of the danger to behave sensibly. The men behind the counter at the New Orleans’ branch of the First National Bank were unlikely to possess such an acquaintance with this kind of situation and might not appreciate just how lethally dangerous these men could be.

  With those thoughts racing through his head, Doc forced himself to remember that he was no longer wearing a gun. Since putting it aside on his arrival in New Orleans, he had gradually become accustomed to the omission from carrying out something that had been as much a part of his life as donning his other garments each morning. Just as he had never , been actively conscious of the ivory handled Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker—or even its heavier xxii Colt 1860 Army revolver predecessor—hanging at his right thigh in those days, he had now almost stopped realizing it was no longer on his person.

  Keeping that vitally important fact in mind, Doc studied the weapon in the hand of the man who had approached and who was covering himself and his wife. He noticed, and did not doubt that Lynn had also, that the hammer of the Merwin & Hulbert Army Pocket revolver was in the down position. That, as he realized—and hoped Lynn did too—was not as advantageous as it might appear to be. Unlike the makers’ Model 1876 ‘Army’ xxiii revolver from which it had been derived, the short barreled-three and five-sixteenths of an inch, as opposed to seven inches—‘Pocket’ variety had a double action mechanism which did not require cocking manually before it would operate.

  ‘Now don’t anybody do anything reckless,’ Doc advised, in a loud voice. He was directing the words mainly at his wife, who had already moved her right hand so that it was in the mouth of the vanity bag without receiving any response from the man with the Merwin & Hulbert revolver. ‘If all they aim to do is rob us, I’d say it makes right good sense to let them.’

  ‘Well now,’ sneered the young two gun toter. ‘Comes us going, could be we’ll take us a right pretty lil gal along’s—’

  ‘Shut your damned fool mouth, Blaby!’ the tallest of the quintet commanded savagely, but without looking back or allowing his shotgun to waver. In a quieter, yet no less threatening tone, he went on, ‘That gent’s making right good sense, fellers. Why get shot to hell and gone when all that’ll be lost is somebody else’s money.’

  To Doc’s relief the tellers and bank guard took the advice. All too well he realized the danger they were all facing. Apart from the spokesman, none of the five struck him as being the kind of criminals who had made a regular habit of indulging in such an enterprise. With the exception of the young man by the door, they had the appearance of city dwellers. Raising their heads had shown pallid faces in comparison with the tanned visages of the pair wearing range boots. Capable as they might be in a brawl involving bare hands, feet and other rudimentary weapons, their knowledge of firearms was liable to be limited.

  If shooting started, such men would be inclined to go hog-wild and throw lead indiscriminately. However, any deficiencies in ability would be offset—at least by the pair covering Lynn, Doc and the guard—through them being so close that they would be unlikely to miss.

  Nor would the loud-mouthed young Westerner hesitate before starting to shoot. In fact, unless Doc was misjudging his character, he was all too eager to do so. Innocent and defenseless people were likely to die if that happened. Neither the tellers nor—the Texan suspected—the guard possessed enough experience in this situation to take the requisite evasive action.

  Relatively satisfied on one point, Doc turned a quick look at his
wife. Her right hand was already inside the neck of the vanity bag and, although the man in front of them had not noticed anything was amiss, had closed around the finely checked rosewood handle of the two and a half inch barreled .41 Colt Thunderer revolver which had been a birthday present—accompanied by a note that it should help to ensure she had no difficulty in making himself behave—from their brother-in-law and his former Ranger partner, Waco. xxiv He had, in turn, made a similar gift, for the same reason, to Lynn’s twin sister, Waco’s wife, Beth.

  Doc knew that Lynn was extremely competent in the use of firearms and had already learned how to utilize the compact, powerful Thunderer to its best advantage. What was more, she would—if necessary—turn its lethal potential against another human being; a very different proposition from shooting holes in the bull’s-eye of a lifeless target.

  Catching her husband’s glance, Lynn gave a quick and confirmatory nod. It told him all he needed to know. She was already holding the Thunderer and, despite it having a double action mechanism, was drawing back the hammer with her thumb. However, she had paralleled his deductions and summation of the situation. So she had no intention of using the weapon, for all that it was still unsuspected by the man who was closest to them, unless something happened to compel her to change her mind. Much as she hated the thought of losing the five hundred dollars in the bag, she was willing to do so rather than jeopardize the lives of the other occupants of the bank.

  ‘Get those doors closed, Blaby, Tick!’ the tallest of the gang called over his shoulder. ‘And you gents back there start piling the money on the counter. That’s all we want, nothing belonging to you, or you two young folks.’

  Before the order could be obeyed, footsteps sounded on the sidewalk.

  A well-dressed couple about Doc’s and Lynn’s age entered the building. Just across the threshold, they came to a halt. Clearly they could tell that something was wrong, but were unable to decide exactly what it might be.

  Instantly, Doc knew that there was going to be trouble!

  Grinning wolfishly, Blaby hooked his gun-filled left hand under the woman’s arm and jerked her further into the room. A startled and frightened squeal burst from her as she felt what was happening.

  ‘What the—?’ began the newly arrived man, turning his head and, without wasting as much as a second to consider the danger, he lunged towards the woman’s assailant. ‘Let go o—!’

  Still exhibiting his leer of triumph, Blaby jerked free his hand. However, it was not with the intention of complying with the man’s demand. Instead, he turned up his second weapon and squeezed the trigger. Obviously the revolver had been cocked, for it spat viciously. Either luck or skill guided the conical .36 bullet in a most advantageous manner.

  Hit anywhere except a couple of vital points in the body, particularly as he was large and powerful and angry over his wife’s mistreatment, the man might have kept his feet for long enough to reach and grapple with the young outlaw. As it was, although the bullet did no more than strike his head a glancing blow, he was sent in a spinning stagger sideways. Like the woman, who had been shoved hard enough to make her lose her footing, he went sprawling to the floor.

  Hearing the commotion, all the three outlaws furthest into the room looked behind them to find out what had caused it. By the door, Tick—who, along with Blaby, was the youngest of the gang and had been left there to help with the most simple task—stared as if he could hardly believe the evidence of his eyes.

  Taking in the sight, Doe knew the thing he had feared was happening!

  The young Texan was equally aware of what must be done!

  Nor was there even a split second to spare before taking action!

  Without sparing Lynn so much as a glance, but hoping she would know what to do, Doc went into action. Despite an urgent need to arm himself, he ignored the nearest man. He had never handled a Merwin & Hulbert revolver and, faced with such a desperate emergency, wanted a weapon much closer to the one he knew best. To achieve his aim, he lunged for the outlaw who was covering the bank guard.

  As he was commencing his move, Doc realized that the success of his strategy depended on his faith in his wife’s judgment; If she failed to come up to his expectations, he would soon know about it.

  And, in all probability, be killed!

  Thinking as Doc had hoped she would, Lynn guessed how he would react and realized he was counting on her to support him. The instant he moved, she started to snatch the vanity bag from the concealed Thunderer. She was already pointing it in the general direction of the man in front of them. As he was beginning to turn his weapon after Doc, his forefinger applying the pressure needed to cock the action, she did not want to take the Colt out of alignment even for an instant if it could be avoided.

  The bag and the revolver appeared to have become entangled!

  Stabbing forward his left hand, Doc grabbed the frame and cylinder of the man’s Cavalry Model Peacemaker. Working in perfect conjunction, his clenched right fist drove out. Hard knuckles rammed into the center of the outlaw’s face. Half blinded by tears and pain, with blood starting to flow from his nostrils, he went backwards a couple of steps. More important, as far as his assailant was concerned, he relaxed his hold on his weapon.

  Although Doc twisted the Colt from its owner’s grasp, he still had to manipulate it into a firing position.

  Giving a savage tug, Lynn liberated the Thunderer. Taking not the slightest notice of the money which was spewing from it, her left hand flung the vanity bag aside. She now had the means to play her part.

  All her life, Lynn had known desperate and dangerous men. She had learned early not to flinch from any action that might be necessary to safeguard herself or those she loved. So, although the man was looking away from her, she had no compunction over what she intended to do. At that moment, all traces of her civilized behavior had fled. She was a pure, primeval female seeking to protect her mate.

  Continuing to advance for three strides, Doc flashed down his right hand to wrap around the Colt’s butt. As he was doing do, he began to swivel in the direction of the man he considered to be most dangerous.

  Squeezing the trigger, Lynn had the advantage of the hammer already being at full cock. Relieved of the sear’s restraint, it lashed forward. The Thunderer’s short barrel caused it to live up to its name when fired. For all that, the man could count himself fortunate to take the bullet in his shoulder. She had not aimed deliberately to achieve such a comparatively mild injury. Letting out a shriek of pain, he spun away from her and, dropping his weapon, collapsed with both hands clutching at the wound.

  With the crash of the Thunderer, and the screech from its victim ringing in his ears, informing him that Lynn had justified his confidence, Doc came to a halt adopting what was already known as a gun fighter’s crouch. With his feet spread apart and legs slightly bent, he inclined his body forward at the waist and thrust out his newly acquired weapon. Its extra six ounces of weight and two and three-quarters inches longer barrel gave it a different balance to the Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker which had served him so well in the past. However, it possessed the same kind of excellently shaped butt, the most natural pointing grip ever fitted to a hand gun.

  One glance was all Doc needed to warn him that there was no time for fancy shooting, or even to take a careful aim. Speed was of the most vital urgency. Looking around, the tallest and most dangerous of the quintet had discovered where their most pressing threat was situated. Although the muzzles of the. shotgun were pointing in the opposite direction, he was swinging them to correct their alignment.

  Nor, although Doc did not know it, was that the only menace to him!

  The man who had been deprived of his revolver had come to a halt and was far from incapacitated in spite of a throbbing and bleeding nose. His vision had cleared to give him a view of his assailant. Realizing that the Texan’s attention was directed elsewhere, he spat out a curse and lunged forward with hands lifting to grab.

  Seeing wh
at his actions had brought about, Blaby was more pleased than perturbed as he sought to play his part in rectifying the situation. Twisting his lips into a sadistic sneer, he raised his right hand Colt so that he could take sight along its octagonal four and a half inch barrel.

  Blaby was experiencing a sense of savage exultation over the thought that, by shooting down the “dude” who was interfering with their plan, he would have achieved a long cherished ambition not once but twice. To have put lead into two men was, in his estimation, a feat worthy of such great owlhoots as the James or Younger brothers. It would prove once and for all—even his acquisition of the two revolvers had failed to do so—to Big Hadle that he too was a real bad hombre. The next time they pulled a hold up together, he would not be assigned to the menial task of waiting by and closing the doors.

  Succor was at hand for Doc, from two sources.

  No gun fighter, his revolver having been supplied more as a potential threat than with any idea that he might need to use it, the bank guard was still a brave man with a sense of duty. Making no attempt to draw the weapon, he flung himself at the outlaw Doc had disarmed. Tackling him around the waist with all the power of a burly and hard body, the guard knocked and went to the floor with him.

  Although Lynn had removed the closest source of danger, she did not consider that the affair was over. In fact, she was aware that there might still be need for her to give Doc further support. So her gaze had been sweeping around the room. With a far greater knowledge than the guard of such corpse-and-cartridge occasions, she decided that she must leave the man with the shotgun to her husband. Discovering what Blaby was attempting had told her that. She had formed an accurate estimation of his character and had guessed he would be the one to require her attention.

  In fact, his actions were already demanding it!

  And with the minimum of delay!

  Assessing his predicament, Doc knew the only way in which he could deal with it. No single action revolver could attain the speed of fire possible with a double action mechanism, xxv but there was a means by which one could be emptied at a much faster rate than by conventional methods.