by Ralph Cotton
The Gun gave Ernie a slight shove from behind, snarling in reply, “Tell me to shut one more time, I’ll crack this gun barrel across your jaw!”
The sound of their commotion and harsh whispers drew a glance from Beckman. Rudy stepped quickly in between the banker and the arguing gunmen and said in a raised voice to drown them out, “So this is the big fellow you were talking about, eh?”
“Big fellow?” Beckman looked confused.
Rudy gestured with a hand toward the partly open steel door of the safe that stood embedded into a solid stone wall. “This big fellow,” he said with a smile. Behind him the commotion among the men quieted down. The Gun sidestepped and circled around to the front of the safe, his fingers tapping faster on his gun butt, the large golden ring on his middle finger flashing nervously back and forth. With his free hand he reached out, grabbed the big steel door and pulled hard, opening it the rest of the way. The sight of shelves stacked high with money and more bulging bags of coins sitting piled on the floor caused the Gun, Orsen and Ernie to gasp. Seeing the look on Orsen’s and Ernie’s faces, the Gun said, “Let’s get on with it!” His fingers stopped tapping; his hand tightened around his gun butt and started to raise it from his holster. A startled look came upon Beckman’s face.
“Mr. Dean!” Rudy said strongly. “Control yourself! I’ll say when we get on with it!” He turned quickly to Orsen and Ernie. “Is that clear to everybody?”
Beckman stood stunned until Rudy turned to him and said in a consoling tone, “He’s talking about getting on with making the deposit, Mr. Beckman. You’ll have to forgive him…all of us for that matter. I’m afraid this money has us all four a little spooked.”
“And rightly so,” said Beckman, collecting himself and focusing again on getting that large amount of railroad money into the bank. “If you will, sir, I quite agree with Mr. Dean! Let’s get that money to where it’s safe and you gentlemen can rest easy and quit sniping at one another.” He gestured toward the safe, and all around the well-secured area behind the counter. Along the inside of the counter the two tellers smiled. Near each teller’s hand a shotgun rested on a shelf beneath the counter. Above each teller station a revolver hung on a peg, ready to be jerked down and put into use.
“I agree. Let’s quit all this sniping,” said Rudy, giving his men a quick, cold glance.
But when Beckman reached to take the carpetbag, Rudy tightened his grip on it and said, “Not so fast, sir. I have a concern or two about Paradise.”
“Oh?” Beckman raised a brow. “And what might those concerns be?”
Rudy said, “When we rode in here we saw a man being whipped in the street for drinking whiskey. Public whipping strikes me as being a primitive way to maintain order.”
“Father Jessup dispenses justice here with an iron hand,” said Beckman. “But I think anyone you talk to will tell you that he is not only a fair, noble man, but indeed, a man touched by God.”
“There’s just something a little unsettling about a town run that way,” said Rudy, pulling back slightly as Beckman reached for the bag again. “How do I know this town isn’t on the verge of revolting against this kind of heavy-handedness? I put railroad money in here…first thing I know, the citizens have struck a torch to this place. Poof! It all goes up in a puff of smoke!”
“Mr. Able,” said Beckman, shaking his head, “no offense, but that is absurd! This whole nation should be run as tightly and as benevolently as Paradise.”
“All the same,” said Rudy, with another quick look around that took in as much of the place as he could before leaving, “I believe I’ll think about this for a short while before depositing this money. Perhaps it would be best if I first met the good Father Jessup in person—get an idea the kind of man he is.”
“Oh,” said Beckman, “I don’t think Father Jessup would agree to that! He seldom meets with anyone who isn’t a follower!”
“That’s too bad then,” said Rudy, patting a hand on the carpetbag. “I really feel it would help me make a decision.”
“I’ll ask.” Beckman shrugged helplessly. “But I doubt if he’ll even consider it.”
“Yes, you ask, and let me know,” said Rudy. “Meanwhile, I might want to look the town over, meet a few residents, hear what they have to say about Paradise.”
Thinking of nothing more he could say to sway the man, Beckman shrugged and spread his arms. “Well, if you insist, sir. I know you will find no one here who can say anything but good things about our town.”
“In that case, I’m obliged for your time and you will be seeing us, and our money again, as soon as Father Jessup decides to meet us in person,” said Rudy, jiggling the carpetbag slightly. He turned toward the counter door.
But the Gun called out in disbelief from the open door of the safe, “What about all this money?”
Rudy turned and looked at the faces of all three of his men, each looking completely stunned by his behavior. “Yeah, the Gun’s right! What about all this money?” Orsen asked, his face flush, his hand on his Colt.
Rudy gave Beckman a quick glance to see if had caught on to what they were talking about. But as soon as their eyes met, Beckman said, “Yes, what about all this money? Surely if it’s safe enough for all these depositors, it should be safe enough for you!”
Rudy stared at him, bemused by his failure to see what they were referring to. “Well, that certainly is a valid point to consider.” He turned to the men, and said, “Now, gentlemen, let’s go!”
Reluctantly the three men filed past him and Beckman, through the safety door, then across the floor and out onto the boardwalk. “You will be hearing from us soon, sir,” said Rudy, touching his hat brim, then turning and following his men.
On the edge of the boardwalk, out front, Rudy stuck his cigar between his lips and drew deeply on it, before letting go of a long, thin stream of smoke.
“What the almighty hellfire was that all about?” the Gun demanded, fighting to keep his voice down. “That’s more money than I ever saw in one bank in my whole damned thieving life! All we had to do was take it! That stupid turd would’ve helped us pack it out of there!”
“The Gun’s right, Rudy,” said Ernie.
Smiling as he looked back and forth assessing the town, Rudy said without turning to face the men, “Tell these two why we decided not to rob the bank right then, Orsen.”
The big, stocky gunman scratched his head for a moment. “To be honest, Rudy, I don’t know why we didn’t. Everything just sort of fell in place. We couldn’t have asked for a better setup. You must’ve seen something you didn’t like.”
“That’s right, I did,” said Rudy, “but that’s not the only reason.” He puffed on the cigar. “I always try to stick to a plan. The plan was that we would meet CC Ellis here in Paradise. We won’t make a move until he shows up. I was just checking that bank out, making sure it was going to be ripe for the pickings. But it didn’t feel right making a move until we first hear something from CC. The other thing is, that whole deal was going just too damn perfect to suit me. It’s a trap, a setup of some sort.”
“Trap my aching ass,” said the Gun, his finger with the golden ring back at work tapping on his gun butt. “There are few things in life that just fall right into a man’s lap. This was one of them. We might have just hexed ourselves, not taking advantage of it. I don’t get it!” He shook his head.
“It’s called patience, Gun,” said Rudy. “We’re going to put off the bank for a day or two and hope CC shows up. Meanwhile, I want to just look around a bit. It’s my first trip to Paradise. I want to take my time and enjoy this lovely hamlet.” The three looked at one another not knowing what to make of Rudy Banatell’s attitude.
Rudy puffed on his cigar and looked back and forth along the street again in contemplation. “What do you suppose is taking CC Ellis so long to get here? He was supposed to get here days ahead of us and look this place over.”
“I think this job had CC spooked from the beginning,”
said Orsen. “He must’ve seen something he didn’t like here and hightailed it on us.”
“Watch your mouth, Orsen,” said Ernie. “CC is steady as a rock.”
Orsen said to Ernie, “Boy, you’re getting awfully quick to reprimand a person.”
“Easy, both of yas,” said Rudy. “I hate to make our move here without CC. I don’t like being a man short on a job this size.”
“This bank ain’t nothing,” said the Gun, looking around with an appraising eye, his fingers still tapping his gun butt furiously. He shrugged. “We don’t need CC. We hit hard, take what we can grab, kill a bystander or two to make sure folks see we’re serious, then ride out.”
“That’s what I like about you, Gun,” said Rudy. “You keep things simple. I bet you sleep well of a night, don’t you?”
“Like a baby,” said the Gun.
“All the same,” said Rudy, “we’ll give CC a couple more days before we make any move.” He puffed his cigar and smiled to himself. “This little waiting spell might just be good for the soul. I want a better look at this Father Jessup—see what he’s all about.”
“He’s all about hot air and bullwhips—it looks like to me,” said the Gun.
“You’re missing the picture, Gun,” said Rudy. “A whole string of wives, a fat bank—Father Jessup lives awfully high, from the looks of it all. Maybe I ought to be a preacher myself.”
“He might have it made now,” said Orsen, “but that sort of thing doesn’t happen over night. I bet it’s taken him a while to put together something this big. He had to find people foolish enough to live under his thumb. Like that dumb ol’ boy Anderson.
“Yeah,” said Rudy, grinning, “or those three young ladies…the one who ran out to Jessup and the two who tried to stop her. I can’t say which of the three was the prettiest. Ol’ Jessup has them warming his bed of a night, all three of them, maybe even more!”
“That wasn’t something easy to find either,” said Orsen. “Women are scarce in these parts, especially the pretty ones.”
“So much the better,” said Rudy, reaching inside his duster and taking out a match. “He’s already rounded them up and sorted them out.” He struck the match and held the flames to his cigar, turning it as he puffed. Blowing out a stream of smoke he continued, saying, “It looks like all I’d have to do is squeeze this Jessup fellow off his roost, take this flock over and make it my own.”
“What about this bank?” the Gun asked in a guarded tone. “I came here to make myself a raise…not turn preacher all of a sudden.” He spit and kept his fingers tapping his gun butt.
“Relax, Gun.” Rudy chuckled, stepping down off the boardwalk and into the street, the carpetbag still up under his arm. “We’re just speculating…looking at every possibility so to speak. We’ll take the bank before we’re finished here.” He walked toward a tall white clapboard hotel across the street, his eyes going along the edge of its blue-trimmed facade and showing no visible notice of having seen two riflemen duck down behind it. He gave the Gun a glance and a short gesture that asked if he had also seen the riflemen.
“Yep, I see them! It was a damn setup,” the Gun said in a hushed tone. “You were right!”
“Of course I was right, Gun,” Rudy beamed confidently. “The longer you ride with me, the more you’re going to realize I’m seldom wrong on matters of robbing and the like. Watch me close and you might even learn something. Right, Orsen? Right, Ernie?”
Ernie and Orsen snickered and each gave a grunt of agreement. The Gun grumbled under his breath and said, “All right then…when will we make our play here?”
“Soon, but don’t stand in a strain waiting,” said Rudy. He gave another glance back and forth along the street, his eyes going across the street to the meetinghouse doors, where he’d last seen Delphia Turner and the other two women. “I’m going to take my time, decide what it is I really want out of Paradise.”
In a locked, cell-like room behind the meetinghouse, Jim Heady lay on his stomach on a hard wooden bench, shivering uncontrollably. Kneeling beside the bench, Randall Turner dipped a bloody rag into a bucket of cool water, wrung it, shook it out and laid it gently on Heady’s tortured back. Heady clenched his teeth, gripped the sides of the bench and held his breath for a moment, then settled and began shivering again. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch if I have to walk through fire to do it,” he said in his hoarse voice.
“Shh,” said Randall. “Let it go. This isn’t the time or place to be talking about it.”
“Let it go?” said Heady. “You must be crazy!” He gave a sidelong glance at Randall, seeing that the other man’s shirt had been torn away also. A streak of dried blood led down the young woofer’s shoulder onto his chest. “You got the same thing I got, wolfer,” said Heady. “Don’t tell me you ain’t ready to gut hook that rotten bastard yourself!”
Calmly, Randall said as he carefully touched down on the wet rag, helping it soak up the blood from Heady’s back, “I’m not telling you one way or the other. Talking won’t do anything, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Oh?” Heady gave him another sidelong glance, fighting another round of uncontrollable shivering. “Are you saying I’m all talk, wolfer?”
“No,” Randall said flatly. “I’m just saying talking is no help. I’ll do what I do. But I won’t talk about it first. I’ll just do it.” He winced a bit, feeling the pain in his own whip-cut back.
“Why ain’t you shaking like I am?” Heady asked. “I don’t see how you can keep from it.”
“I didn’t get it as bad as you did,” he added. Then his voice took on a bitter twist. “My wife stopped him before he got that far.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Heady. Realizing what the young man meant, he spoke in a kinder tone, saying, “Sorry I brought it up.”
“No reason to be,” said Randall. “She’s still my wife, even though he’s forcing himself on her.”
A shiver ran the length of Heady’s body; then he looked around again at Randall and asked, “You forgive her?”
“Forgive her for what?” Randall replied. “It’s not her fault. She’s done no wrong.”
Heady shivered. “No, I reckon not. But still, you’d take her back? I mean, knowing that her and him…you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Randall. He gently peeled the wet rag up from Heady’s back and dipped it into the bucket. “And yes, of course I’d take her back. I will take her back. She’s my wife, I told you. No matter what else happens she’ll still be my wife when it’s all finished.”
Heady grimaced and shook his head. “You wolfers are strange folks. I know that much. Falon says you’re all a cut apart from ordinary folk. I suspect he’s right.”
“I’m not a wolfer,” said Randall. “I’m a farmer. At least I will be once I get my wife back and get on into Oregon. And my name is Randall Turner. Skinning and boiling wolves is just something I’m forced into doing right now. It’ll pass. What a man does at a particular time doesn’t make him what he is. It’s what a man is for his whole life that makes him something.” He wrung out the wet rag, shook it out and laid it across Heady’s upper shoulders, where the blood had began welling again.
“Whatever you say, Randall,” said Heady, fighting off a shiver. “I’m in no shape to disagree about anything right now. All I ever saw was you fellows boiling wolves for their bones. I never talked with any of you enough to know who you are or what else you might be.” He shivered and lowered his head. “Damn, I’m hurting deep down. I know that much.”
“Try not to think about it,” said Randall. “It’ll pass.” He pressed down on the wet rag with his fingertips.
“I know one thing,” said Heady. “If this son of a bitch is what religion is all about, I don’t want nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with God, the devil or nothing else. It can all go straight to hell, for my part.”
“You can’t blame God for what Jessup’s doing,” Randall said. “Just because a man does something in God’s name, it doesn�
�t mean God is behind it.”
“Well,” said Heady, giving in a little as his shivering lessened, “it’s supposed to mean it. Preachers are supposed to be part of God’s world and the way God wants things…or so I always heard.”
“I don’t know how things are supposed to be,” said Randall. “All I know is, if a man blames God for what some foul piece of work like Jessup does, he didn’t believe much in God to begin with. I expect God is as angry at Jessup as we are, maybe more so for all the wrong he’s doing in God’s name.”
Heady forced himself to turn over onto his side, facing Randall. “Then maybe God won’t mind when I go blow his head off, huh?”
“I told you I’ve got no answers,” said Randall. But Heady saw something dark glisten in the young wolfer’s eyes. “I’ve just got to do whatever I’ve got to do to go on. I don’t know if God or the devil dealt me this hand. All I know is I’ve got to play it out, best I can.”
Studying Randall’s eyes, Heady said in a whisper, “I wasn’t just talking when I said what I’ll do. Maybe I should’ve just kept quiet and gone on and done it. But it wasn’t just hot air blowing. I’m going to do it.”
“I know,” said Randall. “I believe you will if you get the chance.”
“We ought to swear an oath between us,” said Heady. “Both of us vow to do whatever we have to do to kill him. What do you say?”
“That oath has already been made,” Randall said in a guarded tone. “I didn’t need you to make it.”
“Yeah, but the two of us together have a better chance of doing something than we do on our own.”
“What about Frank and Kirby Falon and all the trappers you ride with?” Randall asked. “Won’t they be siding with you?”
“They didn’t lift a finger to stop Jessup,” Heady said bitterly. “Far as I’m concerned, they can all go to hell. I’m on my own from here on.” He reached out with his shaking bloodstained hand and said, “What do you say? Want to make a pact with me?”
