by Tabor Evans
Floyd started the action as soon as he saw Longarm take his place and face the tellers. He whipped out his pistol and banged it on the desk nearest him. The sound echoed through the somnolent room. It seemed as loud as though Floyd had fired a shot. Everyone turned to look for the source of the unexpected noise.
"all of you stand real still!" Floyd commanded loudly. His voice had a jagged, nervous edge to it, but the pistol he was waving gave him all the authority he needed. Floyd saw that all eyes were on him and went on, "Just don't nobody move and nobody's going to get hurt!"
Nervously the tellers and others darted their eyes from side to side. They saw not just one gun leveled at them, but three. Longarm and Steed had drawn an instant after Floyd did.
His voice still pitched high, Floyd ordered, "All of you in behind that counter, get over here quick! And don't try anything!"
At the first desk, the gray-haired man slowly raised his hands. He swiveled in his chair to face the room and called, "Do as he says! Let's don't have anyone getting shot!"
Taking their time, the tellers began to file out from their positions behind the counter. They walked with their hands over their heads and took slow, careful steps, casting apprehensive glances at the three men holding guns. The lone customer who'd been standing at the teller's window backed across the room to stand beside one of the desks.
From the time the tellers had started moving, Floyd, Steed, and Longarm had been dividing their attention between the moving men and those at the desks. They failed to see the stealthy movement of the man at the second desk. He'd cautiously eased the drawer of his desk open and slid a revolver out on to his lap.
A loud, metallic clanging sounded inside the vault, and all heads turned in that direction. The guard came out. He saw the tellers with their arms raised, the men with guns standing across the room. He clawed for his gun, but Floyd's pistol was ready. Before the guard could draw, Floyd shot him. The guard slumped to the floor.
Seeing his chance, the man at the desk picked up the gun from his lap and levelled it at Floyd. Steed saw the movement, but Longarm got off his shot an instant before Steed's finger tightened on the trigger. Steed lurched forward to the floor.
Floyd's eyes had been on the guard. He turned in time to see the banker at the desk leveling his gun, knew that he couldn't bring his own weapon to bear, and dropped behind the desk by which he stood. The banker's round whistled through the empty space that Floyd had just occupied.
Longarm saw the banker turning in his direction. He wasn't going to shoot the man, but wasn't going to hold still for taking a slug himself. Longarm dived for the teller's counter and rolled behind it while the banker was still turning his chair around.
Floyd peered over the desk. Seeing the banker's movement in Longarm's direction, he brought up his gun and shot the banker in the back.
Longarm, unable to see from his position behind the counter, called loudly, "Don't shoot me, mister! I'm a U.S. marshal! Get down under your desk and let me handle these outlaws!"
Floyd's sudden rage at hearing Longarm's call immobilized and silenced him for a moment. Then he shouted, "You! Windy! Is that right? You been dogging us all along?"
"That's right, Floyd! You might as well drop your gun, or you won't walk out of here alive!"
"Like hell I will! You'll have to take me!"
Gunfire erupted outside the bank. The sound of pounding hoofbeats echoed briefly, then faded. The gunfire straggled away. Bobby crawled in through the open door, his belly hugging the ground. A bloodstain showed on his right shirtsleeve.
Longarm called, "Get over here out of the line of fire, Bobby!"
"Don't listen to him!" Floyd shouted. "He's a ringer! A U.S. marshal! Shoot him!"
Bobby's gun was in his hand, its muzzle pointing directly at Longarm.
Longarm said, "Don't do it, Bobby! Drop your gun and stay alive!"
Bobby's eyes rolled uncertainly for a few seconds.
Longarm held his fire, gambling that the youth wouldn't shoot. Bobby opened his hand, let his revolver fall, and crab-crawled to where Longarm lay behind the end of the counter.
Floyd fired too late. His slug tore Bobby's bootheel off, but by then, Bobby was shielded behind the counter. Longarm asked him, "What happened outside?"
"Somebody started shooting at us from across the street. Belle took off."
"She got away?"
"I guess. I didn't stop to look." Bobby frowned, trying to straighten out his confused thoughts. "Are you really a U.S. marshal?"
"Yep. And you just surrendered to me, so you stay here out of trouble while I take care of Floyd."
Longarm inched himself into a position where he could peer around the edge of the counter. Tellers, bankers, and customers had all dived for cover when the shooting began. Longarm could see a foot sticking out here, a hand extended there, but he couldn't see Floyd.
He called, "Throw your gun out, Floyd! Give up!"
"Go to hell, you sneaking son of a bitch! It's me or you, Windy, or whatever your name is!"
Longarm located Floyd by the sound of his voice. He began crawling toward the last desk, where the outlaw had taken cover. He'd scrabbled half the distance when Floyd sprang up shooting. The moment's glimpse he had of Floyd's head rising above the desk gave Longarm the time he needed. Before Floyd could get his gun above the top of the desk, Longarm rolled, firing as he moved. At the same time, a rifle shot cracked from the door of the bank.
Longarm's shot and the rifle bullet took Floyd at the same instant. The outlaw's dying reflex tightened his finger on the trigger of his pistol as he was falling, but the slug plowed harmlesly into the floor a foot from Longarm's shoulder.
From the doorway, Andrew Gower's voice said, "Well, Long, I'm glad I got here in time for the cleanup."
Longarm took his time about getting to his feet. He asked Gower, "How in hell did you know where to come? I didn't find out this was the place until late last night."
"I didn't know," the chief marshal replied. "There were only two banks fitting the description you gave in your letter, this one and the one at Greenwood, so I sent some deputies I knew I could trust to cover both of them."
"You could've saved me a lot of trouble if I'd known you were going to back me up."
"No way to get word to you," Gower reminded him.
"Belle Starr got away, I guess," Longarm said.
"You mean that was Belle who rode off when we opened fire?" Gower asked. "Hell, I thought it was a man!"
"That's what she meant for folks to think."
"Maybe she hasn't gotten clear," Gower said. "Two of my boys took out after her. Maybe they'll catch her."
"If they don't, all you've got to do is have somebody waiting at Younger's Bend. She'll likely show up there. You got to send somebody to her place there anyhow. There'll be an old fellow there, answers to the name of Yazoo. He knows the names of everybody Belle's been paying off, and he'll talk if you give him a choice of that or going to the pen."
Bobby stood up slowly. "What's going to happen to me?" Before Gower could speak, Longarm said, "You'll need this young fellow to testify against Belle, when you catch up with her. Think you could make things easy for him? Like a suspended sentence or a parole? I got a notion he won't be getting into any more trouble like this."
"No, sir!" Bobby said feelingly. "I've seen all I want of what it's like being an outlaw!"
Gower nodded. "I suppose something can be arranged, if you recommend it."
"Which I do," Longarm replied. He cocked his head at Gower. "Well?
You think I can go back to Denver now?"
"As far as I'm concerned you can. You've done a good job, Long. I'll tell Billy that when I wire him." Longarm nodded. Then he said, "You might tell him not to look for me too quick. I left an army horse at that town across the river from Fort Smith that I'll have to ride back to Fort Gibson."
"Well, that'll take you a day or two longer than if you rode the train all the way," Gower said thoug
htfully. "I'll tell Billy to allow for that."
"Now don't tie me too tight to getting back," Longarm told Gower. He thought for a moment. "You see, I've got a little bit of personal business I might need to look after. You know the Cherokee Nation better than I do. How far's Fort Gibson from a little town up thataway called Talequah?"
The End
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