Wanted: Sam Bass

by Paul Colt

  The first question was what to do about the bank. It seemed logical to mount a guard there. They’d have plenty of men to do that once Captain Peak and his Rangers arrived. It seemed logical then again obvious security might tip Bass off to a trap. The man either had uncanny luck or the gifts of a fortuneteller. Cane was more inclined to bet on the side of luck. He rode on past Kopperal’s general store. He noted a barbershop on the corner of Georgetown and Mays. A familiar figure in a dark suit stepped out of the shop to the boardwalk. He smiled to himself. Longstreet. No grass growing under Pinkerton’s feet. He drew Smoke over to the boardwalk and stepped down. Longstreet greeted him with a grin.

  “Cane, I’ve been expecting you. What took you so long?”

  “I might ask what the hell you’re doing here?”

  “Same as you.” He tilted his head toward the bank up the street.

  “How’d you find out?”

  He smiled again. “You can hold whatever opinion you like of Sir Reggie. Heaven knows I have my own reservations, but you have to give the old devil his due. He’s a hell of a detective.”

  “You bought Jim Murphy.”

  “Had to find him first, besides he already had the for sale sign out. Fact is we’re both here. We might just as well cooperate. Your Rangers haven’t hit town yet, so for the time being, it’s just you and me.” He lifted his chin across the street. “Why don’t you put your horse up at Highsmith’s? We can have a beer on it.”

  Cane followed the gesture to Highsmith’s Livery in the next block west.

  “A beer sounds good.”

  “Meet me at the Saint Charles Hotel. You’ll want to take a room there.”

  July 18

  Captain June Peak reached Round Rock the next day with a detachment of a dozen Rangers. You couldn’t help but notice in a town the size of Round Rock. Cane hurried down a hot dusty Georgetown to meet them. He’d spotted them the moment they hit town. He’d been at his post in Kopperal’s mercantile where he and Longstreet had decided to keep watch on the bank.

  “Captain Peak, glad you’re here.”

  “Cane, we came as soon as we could. What’s the situation?”

  “All’s quiet for the moment.”

  “Good. Then we got here in time.”

  “The first order of business is to get you and your men out of sight. You make a pretty big statement in a town this size. We don’t want to tip Bass off that we’re waitin’ for him.”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “Good. Longstreet and I have taken up a watch on the bank from Kopperal’s store across the street.”

  “Longstreet?”

  “Yeah, the Pinkertons are here.”

  “How’d they get on to this?”

  “Long story and I don’t know the whole of it.”

  “I’ll scatter my men around town.”

  “I suggest you station three or four of ’em over at Highsmith’s with horses saddled and ready to ride.”

  “Good thought.”

  “Just make sure they stay out of sight.”

  “Do you have men inside the bank?”

  “No. I decided against it. If Bass is smart he’ll scout the bank first. He’d spot a heavy guard sure as hell.”

  “Any chance they’ll try to hit it at night?”

  “It’s a possibility, though I don’t make it likely. It’d take a hell of a dynamite charge to blow the safe. I’d use nitroglycerin if it was up to me, but who knows what would be left. You might set a night watch, but I wouldn’t commit a lot of men to it.”

  “I’ll set a watch just in case.”

  “You can find rooms at the Saint Charles Hotel. No tellin’ how long we’ll have to wait.”

  Shady Grove

  I trudged up the street to the home buffeted by a cold wind come down from the mountains overnight. A thick blanket of gray rumpled cloud laden with the promise of snow rode east on the wind. It seemed early for such a strong prelude to winter though the calendar did say November and where the mountains were concerned, spring and fall made a thin buffer between winter cold and summer heat.

  Penny. The thought warmed me. I suppose if I thought about it honestly I did owe the old scoundrel for fashioning our acquaintanceship. He’d done it of course out of his own perverse pleasure at teasing, but he’d done it nonetheless. Left to my own devices I might still be admiring the sway of her hips from afar. So be it. I owed Colonel Crook. I patted the bottle in my overcoat and climbed the wooden steps to the front entrance.

  Inside the now-familiar scent of wood polish mingled with disinfectant greeted me. Rosy, who staffed the reception desk on weekends, smiled and nodded toward the solarium.

  “I’ll tell her you’re here.”

  Her. A twinkle in the woman’s eye suggested some unspoken familiarity with our little secret. We’d been careful. Could that be some of the colonel’s mischief? He’d not be above it. The accusation evaporated moments later when Penny wheeled him down the hall. I winked at her.

  “Good afternoon, Colonel. You’re looking remarkably fit this fine afternoon.”

  “Rubbish. You know perfectly well I look like a tired old man. None of your smart-aleck sass will change a moment of that.”

  “Now, now, I’m sure we can find something to improve your humor.” I reached for my pocket. His eyes shot wide with the horror I might expose our little arrangement. I chuckled to myself and drew out my notepad. At least I’d gotten one past him finally.

  “And pray tell how that is to improve my humor?”

  “Telling your stories takes you back to those glorious days and the exploits of the Great Western Detective League.” I eased into a chair.

  “Yes, I suppose it does.”

  Penny returned my wink. “I shall leave you to that then.”

  I watched her go.

  “Oh please! Now where were we?”

  I consulted my notes. “All the principals had assembled in Round Rock.”

  He gazed out the window at the first whispers of snow. “Ah yes. It was July nineteenth.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Friday, July 19

  Bass and the boys jogged into Old Town under a blazing midday sun. They’d decided to scout the bank one last time before robbing it during Saturday’s business. As they approached the Saint Charles Hotel, Murphy called out. Bass drew a halt.

  “What is it Jim?”

  “My gut, Sam. You boys go along. I need to find a privy. I’ll see you back at camp.”

  Bass nodded and led on. Murphy watched them go. He turned into the hotel rail and stepped down. He watched the gang clear the end of the street. He climbed the boardwalk and entered the lobby. He approached the desk clerk.

  “I’m looking for Briscoe Cane.”

  “I believe Mr. Cane has stepped out.”

  “Mind if I wait?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  New Town

  Bass rode east on Georgetown. They crossed Mays and continued past the bank to Lampasas. They turned north, wheeled into an alley and tied up. Back on Georgetown they mounted the boardwalk and strolled west past the bank. A customer stood at one of the teller cages. No one appeared to work in the other two. A banker in a dark suit sat at a desk at the back of the lobby beside the vault. Bass noted no sign of a security guard. They crossed Georgetown and headed for Kopperal’s store.

  Williamson County Deputy Sheriff A.W. Grimes watched them from the southeast corner at Lampasas, his suspicion aroused. Something was up. A detachment of Texas Rangers had arrived in town the day before. They’d scattered around town clearly on the lookout for something. Then there was the Pinkerton and the Great Western Detective League operative. All these men justified carrying firearms in the face of a city ordinance forbidding it. Now these three strangers had ridden into town. Were they still more law officers or were these men in fact the reason Round Rock had turned into an armed camp? The men didn’t appear to be armed. Appearances could be deceiving. Easy enough to find out. He started up the st
reet.

  Longstreet kept an eye on the street from the window of Kopperal’s store. He’d been spared the tedium of watching and waiting by the presence of Kopperal’s lovely daughter Sarah who clerked in the store. She seemed not to mind the presence of the handsome Southern gentleman who’d spent the past few days keeping watch on the bank. The three riders passing down the street brought his attention to the window. He watched the three men walk back up the street past the bank. He retreated away from the window as they crossed the street. He made eye contact with Sarah and pressed a quieting finger to his lips as the men climbed the boardwalk at the front window.

  She nodded uneasy understanding. Waiting had been a pleasant diversion from the tedium of her chores. Waiting for this suddenly struck her as worrisome. He disappeared into the shelves at the back of the store. The visitor bell clanged. She gave an involuntary start, which she glossed over with a smile.

  “May I help you?”

  They stopped at the tobacco case, inspecting the twists and cigars. She waited to serve them. The visitor bell clanged again. Sarah glanced at the door. Deputy Sheriff Grimes approached the taller man.

  “Are you carrying a gun?”

  Bass turned to appraise the deputy. He opened his coat. “Yes.”

  “I’ll have to ask you to hand it over, your friends too if they’re carrying. We have an ordinance against carrying firearms in Round Rock.”

  “You do? Then you’d best mosey on over to the livery stable and disarm the men over there.”

  “Those men are Texas Rangers. They’re authorized to carry their guns.”

  Bass shot a recognition look at Blocky.

  Barnes got it too. He drew and fired point-blank.

  Sarah screamed.

  Grimes’s eyes went white. He clutched his gut, staggered back and slumped to his knees.

  Longstreet stepped out from behind the shelves. “Sarah! Get down!”

  She dropped behind the counter.

  Bass and Jackson spun toward the intruder.

  The Pinkerton fired.

  Bass yelped, hit in the hand.

  Jackson fired.

  Longstreet ducked into the shadows behind the bullet gouge in the nearest shelf.

  Bass held his injured wrist. “Come on! Get the hell out of here!” He led the way out the door.

  Longstreet stepped out from behind the shelves, gun in hand. “Are you all right?”

  The girl peeked over the counter wide-eyed and nodded.

  He dashed out the door.

  Mercifully the barber had completed his stroke and lifted the razor to towel the lather when the first shot rang out. Cane bolted from the barber chair. He reached the boardwalk gun in hand. Three men ran east on Georgetown toward Lampasas. Longstreet bounded out of Kopperal’s store. He fired. The third man turned and returned fire. The Pinkerton dove back inside the store.

  Boots clumped the boardwalk on Cane’s left. He turned and leveled his gun. June Peak burst out of the International & Northern Telegraph Office gun drawn. He met Cane’s eye. Cane pointed at the men fleeing up the street. Both men fired and gave chase.

  Longstreet joined the pursuit up the boardwalk on the south side of the street.

  The third gunman turned to return fire on Peak and Cane.

  Longstreet skidded to a stop. He aimed and fired. His deliberate shot struck Seaborn Barnes in the head. He toppled to the dirt street like a fallen tree.

  The remaining gunmen disappeared around the corner north on Lampasas.

  Cane, Peak and Longstreet raced after them. As they reached the corner two horsemen burst from an alley up the block. They wheeled their horses north out of town. Recognition dawned on Cane. A blue roan! He aimed and fired.

  Bass jerked in the saddle and slumped over his horse’s shoulder. Slipping from the saddle he rolled into the street.

  Jackson set his stirrups and drew his horse to a sliding stop. He spun the bay and fired at their pursuers.

  All three men ducked back around the corner onto Georgetown. He collected Bass’s horse as the outlaw leader struggled to his feet.

  Somebody poked his head around the corner down the block and fired.

  Jackson turned his gun on the shooter and cracked two shots.

  The shooter ducked back under cover.

  Blocky shifted his gun to his left hand and reached down from the saddle. He grabbed Bass by the belt and hauled him up to his saddle.

  “Hold your seat, Sam!”

  He gritted his teeth and nodded.

  Jackson spurred his horse up the street trailing dust balls behind Bass and his roan. At the end of the block he turned west, leaving his pursuers standing at the corner a block south. They galloped toward Old Town.

  Cane and Longstreet exchanged glances. They turned and ran down Georgetown to Highsmith’s Livery. Peak holstered his gun.

  Old Town

  Jackson set the pace, hoping to make it back to their camp along Brushy Creek. Bass fought the pain of his wounds, struggling to stay in the saddle. As they approached Round Rock cemetery northeast of Old Town they passed a farmhouse. Bass groaned in pain. Sensing the severity of his wounds, Jackson turned up a wooded lane. He brought the horses down to a walk and began reloading his gun. They rode on a short distance until Bass slumped forward on his horse’s neck, the back of his shirt soaked in dark stain.

  “I cain’t go on no more, Blocky.” He coughed. “I’m hit real bad.”

  “You can make it, Sam. Just hang on good and tight.”

  “No.” His grip on the saddle horn slipped.

  Jackson jumped from his horse to support his wounded partner. Bass slid into his arms. Blocky’s hand felt warm and sticky wet.

  “Here Sam, rest a bit.” He helped him off the road and propped him against a tree.

  “Rest ain’t gonna do it Blocky. I figure I’m done for.” He coughed. His breath, ragged gasps. He spit blood. “You need to take my horse and get out a here.”

  “Your horse?”

  “He’s the best we got.”

  “I ain’t leavin’ you, Sam.”

  “Listen to me.” A coughing fit choked him with pain. “You gotta. There ain’t no other way. Now go.”

  “But…”

  “But nothin’. Git!”

  The order brooked no disagreement. He collected the blue roan, stripped off Bass’s tack and laid it near his fallen leader. He unsaddled his horse and settled his tack on the roan. He swung into the saddle. His eyes welled. Bass rested against the tree, his eyes half-lidded against the pain, his skin chalky pale.

  “You take it easy, Sam.”

  His eyes fluttered. “Sure, sure, ain’t too dark yet. Now go on, go.”

  He wheeled the roan and loped up the shaded lane.

  Round Rock

  Jim Murphy heard the shooting. He left the Saint Charles lobby, collected his horse and rode into New Town to investigate. A body lay in the street surrounded by a gathering crowd. He saw no sign of Bass or any of the boys. He rode up to the crowd. He recognized the dead man. Captain Peak stood by with three of his Rangers. Murphy stepped down and approached him.

  “What happened?”

  Peak lifted his chin to the corpse. “This one and two others shot Deputy Sheriff Grimes over at Kopperal’s store. They made a run for it. Some of us gave chase. The Pinkerton shot him. You know him?”

  “Seaborn Barnes. What happened to the other two?”

  “They got away. One of ’em took a bullet. It looked like he got shot pretty good. You know who they might have been?”

  He nodded. “Sam Bass and Blocky Jackson. You goin’ after ’em Captain?”

  “Not enough light left. We’ll head out in the morning.”

  Old Town

  Cane and Longstreet rode west toward Old Town. They came up on a run-down farmhouse. An older woman stood in the yard hanging laundry out to dry. Longstreet drew rein and tipped his hat. He flashed his most disarming Southern smile.

  “Afternoon, ma’am. Beau L
ongstreet. This here is Briscoe Cane. We’re on the trail of a couple of outlaws that shot Deputy Grimes back in New Town. We believe they’ve come this way. Might you have seen anything?”

  “You the law?”

  “I’m with the Pinkerton agency, ma’am. Mr. Cane here is a bounty hunter.”

  “Who you after?”

  “We believe one of them to be the notorious train robber, Sam Bass. He’s now wanted for murder in addition to his other crimes.”

  She knit her brow, weighing civic duty and well enough alone. “I seen a couple of men pass this way.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Not long.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “Headed up yonder toward the cemetery. One of ’em looked like he might need it soon enough.”

  “Much obliged, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. They rode on.

  As they prepared to skirt the cemetery east of Old Town, Cane noticed fresh horse sign leading up a tree-lined lane to the north. He drew a halt and stepped down for a closer look. He found fresh blood mixed among the hoofprints.

  “They went this way.”

  He remounted and led the way north. A half mile up the tree-lined lane, they made out a man propped against a tree. He appeared to be sleeping or dead. Cane drew his gun. Longstreet followed his lead. They rode on. As they drew near, Cane signaled a halt.

  “Keep him covered.” He stepped down to approach on foot.

  The man’s chest rose and fell, his breathing ragged. His eyes fluttered open. He squinted to focus his gaze. Death’s pallor haunted his skin. Recognition registered dull light.

  “I’m Sam Bass.”

  “Are you armed?”

  “Armed? I’m near killt.”

  “What happened to the man who was with you?”

  “I sent him on his way.”

  Cane spoke over his shoulder. “Best go find us a wagon, Beau.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Dyin’ men don’t lie much.”

  Longstreet toed a stirrup and squeezed up a lope back to New Town.

  Cane knelt beside the outlaw. “You led us on one hell of a chase, Sam.”

  “Freighted some around these parts.” He coughed. Blood trickled down his chin at the corner of his mouth.