by Ralph Cotton
“Still,” she said, “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“It’s not going to take them long to empty the safe,” Cheyenne whispered into her warm throat. “Do you want to spend our time talking . . . ?”
* * *
Outside, hidden in the shadows across the empty street, Lou Elkins and Tanner Riggs sat holding the horses for the other three gunmen.
Elkins had watched Riggs roll himself a cigarette and stick it between his lips.
“Don’t try it,” said Elkins firmly, as Riggs took out a match and started to strike it.
“I never seen a job where you can’t take a damned smoke when you want to,” Riggs grumbled. Still, he put the match away and held the cigarette between his fingers, looking at it. “Tell me something.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you say something when you saw me going to all the trouble rolling it?”
“I never thought you’d be stupid enough to light it,” Elkins said.
“Is that a fact?” Riggs stared at him, starting to bristle.
But before he could say anything, Elkins nodded toward the Dowerses’ bedroom window and said, “Whoa, look at this.”
The two watched Cheyenne’s shadow on the wall in the flicker of the dim lamplight. They saw the woman’s shadow move down out of sight; they saw Cheyenne pull his shirt off and toss it aside.
“Same ol’ Cheyenne Kid, eh?” Elkins said with a dark chuckle. He shook his head. “I thought he might’ve changed, but I was wrong. He’s still randy as a boar hog.”
“Quiet,” Riggs whispered. “Caroline might hear you.”
“She’s too far back to hear me,” said Elkins, but he looked down the long dark alley anyway, knowing they’d left the woman at the far end, out of their way in case anything went wrong.
“I’ve got me a notion on why we’re robbing this bank so soon after the last job,” said Riggs, sticking his freshly rolled cigarette into his shirt pocket in disappointment.
“Yeah, tell it to me,” said Elkins, keeping his eyes on the bedroom window.
“I’m thinking he lost his money to the little gal he had bringing them horses,” Riggs said. “I think he lost it and didn’t want to let it be known. I think that’s why he shot ol’ Bagley. He couldn’t pay his account and didn’t want to admit it.”
“What makes a man this way?” Elkins said, puzzled. “Don’t get me wrong. I like the tender sex as much as the next fellow, but damn. Cheyenne has got to nail down every damn woman he sees! It ain’t natural.”
“Ain’t natural, meaning what?” Riggs asked.
“Meaning it ain’t natural.” Elkins shrugged. “Sometimes a man purports to love something so much you have to wonder if he loves it at all. Maybe he’s just fooling himself—maybe he’s fooling everybody else.”
The two sat in silence for a second.
“Good God,” Riggs said finally as some dark understanding seeped into his mind. “I ain’t going to think on this matter. It’s too damn crazy for me to grab hold of.”
“I ain’t either,” said Elkins. “Forget I said anything.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m just jealous it’s not me over there.”
“I need this cigarette,” Riggs said sincerely. “I can’t see the harm in it.”
“Smoke the damn cigarette,” Elkins said, exasperated. “What the hell do I know?” He tossed a gloved hand in the air in dismissal. “Come here to rob a bank in the middle of the damn night, the boss ends up stiff-legging the banker’s wife.” He shook his head in utter disgust and jerked his horse a few feet away.
“Jesus, Lou, look at yourself,” Riggs said, taking the cigarette from his shirt pocket.
“There’s not a thing wrong with me, Tanner,” Elkins said, snapping around in his saddle toward him. He pecked a finger toward the bedroom window. “But that right there is not outlawing . . . not as I know it.”
“Nor as I,” Riggs said, agreeing with him. He lit the cigarette and blew out a thin stream of smoke. “But I’ve come to realize it does not pay to be too rigid in this changing world.”
* * *
In the darkness behind them, Caroline Udall had stepped down from her horse and slipped forward on foot. She had heard everything, seen everything—Cheyenne’s shadow, the flicker of lamplight in the bedroom. But she remained silent and swallowed a sick, bitter taste in the back of her mouth. She turned around as a match flared in the darkness. As the two gunmen continued talking, she slipped back to her waiting horse.
PART 3
Chapter 15
During the thin silver hour before dawn, the Ranger, Gilley Maclaine and Little Foot eased their horses though a maze of rock and brush and stopped at the base of a rocky hillside that spilled onto the back alleys of Nawton. In silence, the Ranger looked back and forth for any signs of Cheyenne and his gang holding up on the outskirts of town. Seeing none, he nudged the barb forward at a slow walk. The three rode single file through connecting alleyways, staying close to the buildings, keeping out of sight.
“They are not here, Ranger,” Little Foot whispered, riding up beside him. “I feel it in my warrior’s blood.”
Sam stopped the barb and let out a breath. In the night they had found hoofprints turning off the main trail and taking the smaller trail to Nawton. Yet here they were, Sam told himself.
Nothing . . .
“Something tells me you’re right,” he said to the Indian in a whisper.
Gilley nudged her horse up between them. Somewhere in the near distance, a rooster crowed against a sliver of red sunlight on the horizon.
“What’s this?” she said, looking down at the ground. She moved the horse back and looked closer, the Ranger and Little Foot following suit.
Sam stepped down from his saddle and examined several burnt stubs of cigarettes lying in the dirt.
“Somebody was smoking a lot here,” he said, standing with one of the stubs between his gloved fingers. He looked back down at the scattered hoofprints at his feet. Then he looked around the corner of the alley onto the empty street. “Why here . . . ?” he said to no one in particular. His eyes followed the hoofprints out of sight back along the alleyway.
Little Foot nodded at the dim lamplight in the window across the street—the only light burning along the empty street.
“There is the reason,” he said confidently.
Sam thought about it, unable to make any connection between the lamplight, the cigarette stubs and Cheyenne’s gang.
Still . . .
“Wait here,” he whispered.
He started to hand Little Foot his reins, but seeing how Gilley looked at the saddlebags on the barb, then look away quickly, he changed his mind.
Leading his horse silently across the empty street, he stopped and stood beneath the half-open window. While he debated whether or not to spy on some innocent person in his sleep, he heard a scraping sound of wood on wood, followed by a muffled plea for help.
Without hesitation he stepped up, looked in over the window ledge and saw a man tied to a chair, lying tipped over on his side on the floor. Drawing his big Colt, the Ranger looked back and gave a wave, signaling Little Foot and Gilley to come to him. Then he shoved the window open and climbed inside.
On the floor, Henry Dowers stared up wide-eyed at the Ranger’s big Colt. He began pleading against the cloth gag tied tightly around mouth. But as the Ranger pulled him and his wooden chair upright, he saw a glint of dim light on the Ranger’s badge and almost swooned with relief.
“Thank goodness! Thank God! Thank heaven you’re here!” he said the second Sam loosened the gag from around his head. He spit lint as he spoke while the Ranger loosened the rope that had been holding him to the chair.
“My wife, on the bed!” he said, springing up as soon as his ropes fell to the floor.
&n
bsp; Marletta Dowers struggled against the ropes and gag when she saw the Ranger stepping toward the bed, her worried husband right beside him.
“Darling, are you all right?” Henry said as the Ranger untied her gag and pulled it from around her head.
“Yes, I believe so,” she said with poise, also spitting lint from her lips as her husband untied her wrists from behind her back.
“My wife is a brave gal,” Henry said, almost tearfully. “She never scares easily.”
No sooner had he spoken than Marletta let out a bloodcurdling scream. Sitting straight up in the bed, she stared wide-eyed at the Indian lurking just inside her bedroom window.
Little Foot turned and started to limp back out the window, but Sam shouted, “Hold it, Little Foot.” Then he said quickly to Marletta Dowers, “He’s with me—my trail scout. I’m Ranger Samuel Burrack. I’m tracking a gang of bank robbers.”
Little Foot stopped and stared at the three white faces.
Marletta looked at Little Foot dubiously as she composed herself. She stood up from the bed and tightened the sash of her robe around her waist in a huff.
“You’ve come to the right place, Ranger Burrack,” said Dowers, wringing his hands. “But I’m afraid you’re too late. They have been here and gone. My bank is cleaned out. Thank heavens there was little cash on hand. They only took a few hundred dollars.”
“Robbed in the night . . .” Sam considered it.
“Yes, they stormed in, took my gun from beside my bed.” He gestured a trembling hand toward the nightstand. “They forced me to the bank and robbed my safe—one of them held my wife hostage here,” said Dowers. “I had to go along with them. What else could I do?”
Sam looked at Dowers and his wife, then at the nightstand where Dowers said he’d kept a gun.
“How did they know where you lived?” he asked the nervous banker.
“Oh my . . . ,” Henry said. “I don’t know, Ranger.”
“Come, Henry,” Marletta said, sounding a bit put out with her husband, “it is no great secret where we live. Anyone who wanted to know would be able to find out.” She gave the Ranger a flat stare. “They should be easy enough to follow . . . especially with a scout,” she added with a sarcastic twist to her words.
Outside, Marletta’s screams had caused lights to glow in windows along the street. Townsmen and their wives who had already risen for the day came running from every direction.
“There’s an Indian!” someone shouted.
“Get away from the window, Little Foot,” Sam warned. Little Foot had already limped over a step.
“How long ago did the robbery take place?” Sam asked Henry Dowers.
“I—I don’t really know,” Henry said, still rattled by the night’s events.
“An hour and a half,” Marletta Dowers cut in, “two hours at the most, Ranger.”
“Does Nawton have a new sheriff yet?” Sam asked, knowing the town had difficulty keeping a lawman for any length of time.
“No,” said Dowers, “but we’re a town that takes care of our own interests. If you’re wanting to get on those scoundrels’ trail, by all means, please do.”
“Obliged, sir,” Sam said, stepping over to the open window. “Come show yourself, tell your people who we are. We’ll get in pursuit.”
Dowers walked to the window and called out to a gathering crowd, “Folks, listen to me, the bank was robbed in the night. This man is Arizona Ranger Samuel Burrack. Let him and his scout pass through. He’s on their trail.”
Sam looked down and saw the barb and Little Foot’s horse standing among the crowd. But he saw no sign of Gilley Maclaine. Looking back at the barb, he noticed the saddlebags were missing from behind his saddle. Standing at Sam’s side, Little Foot saw it too.
“She got away, Ranger,” he said flatly.
“Yes, I see that,” Sam said over his shoulder.
“What about a posse, Mr. Dowers?” a townsman called out to the open window.
Dowers looked at Sam.
“No posse,” Sam called out to the crowd, “not under me. I’m heading out now. If you want to form a posse and send it out on your own, I can’t stop you. But you’ll want to be very careful we don’t shoot each other riding the switchback trails.”
The townsmen fell quiet considering the Ranger’s words.
Then one called out to Dowers, “How much money did they get, Henry?”
“A few hundred is all, thank God,” Dowers replied as Sam climbed down out of the window and stepped over to the barb, Little Foot limping down behind him.
The townsmen milled and looked at each other.
“Give the Ranger room to do his job, I say,” a townsman called out.
“Yes,” said another, “let’s stay out of his way.”
“Obliged,” Sam said, touching his fingers to the brim of his sombrero while the townsmen stepped aside and made a path for him and Little Foot to ride away.
As soon as they’d ridden through the crowd and were following the street out of town, Sam leaned a little in his saddle and looked down at the single set of fresh hoofprints left by Gilley’s horse.
“Are you going after the woman now?” Little Foot asked as they rode on past the edge of town and onto the trail.
“I’m going after Cheyenne and his gang,” he said. “But I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Gilley Maclaine.”
They rode on.
In the morning sunlight as the two rounded a turn on the stony trail, Little Foot stopped his horse suddenly at the sight of Gilley seated on a rock alongside the trail. Her horse’s reins dangled from her hand. Her horse stood resting beside her, chewing on a clump of dry wild grass. On the ground between her feet sat the saddlebags she’d taken from the Ranger’s barb.
“Don’t shoot, Sam,” she said with a thin, wry smile.
“I should,” Sam replied in an even tone.
She stood and dusted the seat of her trousers as the two rode closer.
Sam stopped his barb sideways to her and looked down at her face. Little Foot eased his horse forward behind the Ranger, but he stayed back a ways and watched the two as they spoke.
“All right, Sam, I knew I was wrong, doing it,” Gilley said, avoiding the Ranger’s eyes. She sighed, reached down and lifted the saddlebags up to him. “As soon as I did it, I felt guilty. I didn’t even open them. That’s the gospel truth. Go on and count it. It’s all there, I swear.”
The Ranger looked at the particular knot he’d twisted into the leather strap when he’d tied the flaps closed. She wasn’t lying; the saddlebags hadn’t been opened.
“Are you ready to ride, Gilley?” he asked, throwing the bags up over his shoulder for the time being.
Gilley looked surprised; so did Little Foot, sitting back listening.
“Why would I count it?” Sam asked. “You told me the money’s all there.”
“And . . . you believe me?” she said with a curious look.
“I believe you,” Sam said. “Mount up. We’ve got a hard ride ahead if we’re going to catch up to Cheyenne.” He looked in her eyes now that she showed them to him. “You do still want to catch up to him, don’t you?”
“You bet I do,” Gilley said. She swung up into her saddle, turned her horse and faced the Ranger. “You have my word I’m not going to try anything like that again. Old habits are hard to shake, I guess.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you for your word, Gilley,” Sam said quietly. “But I’m obliged you gave it.”
“Why are you so trusting of me, Sam?” she asked as they turned their horses toward the trail together. Little Foot nudged his horse forward and rode alongside them.
“Somebody needs to,” Sam said, “just to prove to you that you can be trusted.”
The three rode on.
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* * *
It was midmorning when Cheyenne and his men stopped at a wide stream to water and rest their horses. As the outlaw leader and Caroline Udall lay on a blanket, partly hidden by the low-hanging branches of a large mountain oak, the men—Riggs, Elkins, Tarpis and Latin—sat near the water’s edge, passing around a bottle of rye whiskey Latin had been carrying in his saddlebags.
“Fellows,” said Elkins, holding his share of the stolen bank money folded in his left hand, “this robbing business has gone to hell when a long rider can hold his whole take in one hand—folded at that.”
Royal Tarpis took a drink from the bottle and passed it on to Tanner Riggs.
“I hate giving Gantry his cut,” he said. “He’s going to be suspicious of me holding out on him.”
Riggs took a drink and passed the bottle on to Latin.
“Tell him to see the boss if he don’t like it,” Riggs said, wiping his shirt cuff across his lips. “That’s what I’m thinking about doing myself.”
“If I was you, I’d put that notion out of my head,” Tarpis warned him.
“It’s a bad idea,” said Latin.
“Yeah? Why’s that?” said Elkins.
“Just is,” said Latin. He shook his head, dismissing the matter. “But speaking of Gantry, I wonder where he is.” He gazed back along the horizon. “They could have burnt everything from here to Texas by now and still made it back.”
“If you’re just changing the subject, trying to take my mind off of this wad of short money,” said Lou Elkins, “it’s not going to work.”
“No, it’s not,” said Riggs, standing, looking over at the two resting on the blanket, the woman only half-dressed. “I don’t like risking my skin for a little dab of pocket change.” Still staring at the Cheyenne Kid and the Udall woman, he reached a hand back and said, “Give me one more cut on the bottle, Dock.”
Latin shrugged. He pulled the cork he’d just stuck down into the bottle.
“Tell him it’s a bad idea, Dock,” said Tarpis.
“If he don’t know that by now, he’s not smart enough to live anyway,” Dock said. He took the bottle when Riggs had finished and held it back to him.
