Colbert frowned and looked like he didn’t agree with Smoke’s suggestion, but Alma said, “Some hot coffee sounds awfully good, Frank. And a half hour won’t make any difference.”
“We don’t know that,” Colbert snapped, but a second later he shrugged. “All right, I suppose it won’t hurt anything.” He leaned closer to the window. “Stay where you are, Jensen, until the rest of us are out. Don’t even move. This stagecoach bounces, and I shoot the boy.”
That threat brought another muffled sob from Melanie. She had a handkerchief pressed to her face, and Denny thought it must be soaked with tears by now.
She shouldn’t judge the woman, though, she told herself. She didn’t have any kids, so she had no idea how she would react if one of her offspring was threatened.
But she hoped she would be looking for a way to fight back, and she had her doubts that was what was going through Melanie Buckner’s mind right now.
“You get out first,” Colbert told Alma, “and cover the others. The boy and I will get out last.”
She opened the door and stepped down from the coach, then turned to face it and backed off with Salty’s gun held in both hands.
“Be careful with that,” Denny said. “They go off easier than you might think.”
“I’ve been around guns,” Alma said curtly. “Now get out here, you first, then the old man and Mrs. Buckner.”
Denny knew she had no choice right now except to cooperate. She eased through the door and swung down to the ground, then turned back to help Salty. Getting him out of the coach wasn’t easy with Louis in the way on that side.
That was the idea, Denny thought. Make things as awkward as possible, so the passengers would be less likely to try anything.
When Salty and the two women were standing in the snow, Colbert ordered, “All right, the rest of you get out now.”
Louis emerged first and helped Kellerman. The banker wasn’t stuck, as he had feared, but he had to struggle to get his bulk dislodged from the small space. When he finally succeeded, he stood there red faced, breathing heavily. Denny thought he looked like he was about to have an attack of apoplexy, but his discomfiture gradually subsided.
Stansfield came next, unfolding his gangling length from the coach. That just left Colbert and Brad, and the gunman kept a tight grip on the boy’s collar as they got down from the vehicle.
“All right, Jensen, you can tend to the horses now,” Colbert said. “You ladies see to the old man.” He nodded to Louis. “Gather some wood and build a fire.”
“Of course,” Louis said. “A fire will feel good.”
Smoke swung down from the driver’s box and said, “I could use a hand with the team. It’s an easier job with two men.”
Colbert laughed and gestured with the gun toward Stansfield and Kellerman. “These two look like they barely know which end of a horse is which, but between them they might add up to one man. If you can get any use out of them, go ahead. Just don’t try anything. The boy and I will be keeping an eye on you.” He looked down at Brad. “Isn’t that right, son?”
“I’m not your son,” the youngster said. “And if I was, I’d never admit it.”
Colbert let go of Brad’s collar and cuffed him on the side of the head, bringing a sharp cry from Melanie as she and Denny helped Salty sit down on a nearby log.
“Leave him alone!” she said, showing a spark of real anger for the first time.
“Tell the little brat to watch his mouth, then,” Colbert said.
Melanie swallowed hard and looked at her son. “Bradley, don’t give Mr. Colbert any trouble. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Brad said with a surly pout. “I hear you.”
“That’s better,” Colbert said. “Now, everybody get busy.”
“What do you want me to do, Frank?” Alma asked.
“Watch those three,” he replied, nodding toward the log where Salty sat with Denny and Melanie hovering over him. “I’ll keep an eye on the others.”
“If any of them try anything . . . ?”
“Kill them.”
Louis gathered up an armload of broken branches that looked dry enough to burn. Since the temperature was below freezing, the snow hadn’t gotten them wet, so all he had to do was knock it off the branches.
He kicked a space clear of snow on the ground, piled the wood on it, and cleared another space for the fire.
Meanwhile, Smoke unhitched and picketed the horses, with Stansfield and Kellerman able to help a little as long as he told them exactly what to do. The layer of snow on the ground was thin enough that the horses would be able to snuffle their way through it to the dry grass below, so they could graze.
When Louis had branches laid for the fire, he told Colbert, “I don’t have any matches.”
“I do,” Smoke said. He paused in what he was doing, took a tin container from his pocket, and tossed it to his son. Louis had to use a couple of the matches to get the fire burning, but when he succeeded, the flames were soon dancing merrily in the cold air.
“Coffeepot’s in the boot,” Smoke said, “along with the supplies.”
Denny said, “Heat some water by itself first, so we can do a better job of cleaning these bullet holes.”
Everyone stayed busy setting up the camp for the next little while, but no one forgot about the menace of the guns held by Colbert and Alma.
The darkness began to settle down while that was going on. The light and heat from the fire were both very welcome. Louis fed branches into it to keep it burning brightly.
When Salty’s wounds had been cleaned and bandaged properly, Colbert said to Denny and Melanie, “All right, you two rustle up a meal for us.”
“You don’t want me rustling up anything, mister,” Denny said. “I’m a terrible cook.”
“She is,” Louis agreed, nodding solemnly.
Melanie said, “I can fix some food.”
“We didn’t bring along anything fancy,” Smoke said. “But there’s bacon and the makings for biscuits.”
“It won’t take long,” Melanie promised.
She was as good as her word. Hot coffee, bacon, and fresh biscuits were all very much appreciated on a night like this. The food should have made for a spirit of camaraderie around the fire.
Instead there was only fear and anger.
When the meal was over, Colbert said to Alma, “See if you can find some rope or cord in the boot. Everybody in this bunch is going to have to be tied up for the night.”
“Do you expect us to sleep on the ground?” Kellerman asked.
“No, we’ll all get back in the coach.”
Stansfield said, “That’ll be even more uncomfortable than before, if we’re tied up.”
Colbert cocked his head a little to the side. “You seem to be forgetting that I really just need Jensen to drive the coach. I could kill the rest of you and leave you here for the wolves.” He grinned. “Or maybe just leave you here alive in the morning, so you can give the wolves a little fight before they eat you.”
“Just leave it alone, Stansfield,” Smoke said to the reporter. “We’re going to cooperate with what Colbert wants.”
Denny frowned slightly. That was so unlike Smoke Jensen that it had to be tearing him up inside. There was only one reason he would ever cooperate with an outlaw and killer.
He was trying to protect the lives of his children and the other passengers.
And he was waiting for the right time to strike back at Frank Colbert.
One by one, Alma tied their hands behind their backs with rope she found in the boot. With the barrel of Colbert’s gun pressed to Brad’s head, there was nothing anyone could do except go along. Then they clambered into the coach and sort of piled up on one side under the lap robes. They probably wouldn’t get much sleep, but at least they wouldn’t freeze to death during the night.
Colbert and Alma were on the other side, again with Brad trapped between them. “You’ll stand first watch,” he told Alma. “I trust you more to
stay awake now than I would later in the night. I’ll take that shift.”
“Don’t worry about me, Frank,” she told him. “Once I decided to back your play, I was in all the way. I won’t let you down.”
“I’m lucky you wanted to come along on this trip, then.”
“Lucky that my husband killed himself, you mean.”
“I didn’t say that. But he was a weak man, Alma, and I have a feeling you need a strong man in your life. I’m strong. I take what I want. Always have.”
That didn’t make him strong, Denny thought. It just made him an outlaw.
But there was no point in saying that now. She told herself she might as well try to get some sleep.
It was liable to be a long night.
CHAPTER 28
Reno, Nevada
Carl Andrews shivered from the chilly wind sweeping across the valley of the Truckee as he walked toward his home. He ducked his head so the derby would keep it from blowing in his face quite so much.
Andrews lived with his wife, Rebecca, and twelve-year-old daughter, Sadie, in a neatly kept frame house on one of Reno’s side streets. They had lived there, and Andrews had worked in the bank, since Sadie was a toddler.
It was a good life, although one not blessed with further children, which was something of a disappointment to Andrews and Rebecca, but he certainly had nothing to complain about.
That satisfaction was reflected in the Christmas carol that Andrews whistled as he opened the gate in the picket fence in front of his house and went up the walk to the porch. He was eager to get inside.
For one thing, it would be warm and cheerful, and for another, this evening was when he and his wife and daughter planned to decorate the small pine tree he had cut down a couple of days earlier. They had made a family outing of it, taking the buggy and driving into the foothills to let Sadie pick the tree.
Yellow lamplight glowed in the front window. Andrews opened the door and went inside, taking off his derby as he did so. He hung it on a hat rack in the foyer, then shrugged out of his topcoat and hung it up as well.
Smiling, he turned toward the parlor to greet his wife and daughter, both of whom normally greeted him with hugs and kisses.
Tonight he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun instead.
“Don’t move, Carl,” the man holding the revolver said. “I’d hate to have to shoot you.”
“I reckon these two beauties would hate it, too,” said another man, this one standing next to the sofa where Rebecca and Sadie sat, both of them pale and obviously terrified of the gun the stranger was pointing at them.
The man standing closer to the arched entrance between the foyer and the parlor said, “You remember me, don’t you, Carl?”
In his shocked state, Andrews hadn’t taken a good look at the man until now. When he did, there was something familiar about him, but Andrews couldn’t quite remember....
Then he did, and he said, “Bob Stevens! You were sitting next to me at the Red Top! I recommended the stew to you.”
That was an awfully mundane thing to think about under these awful circumstances, but it was what came back to Carl Andrews in that moment.
“That’s right,” the man said. “I’m afraid I lied to you. My name’s not Bob, and I never drove a freight wagon in my life.”
Andrews’s eyes opened wider as a possibility occurred to him. “You’re a bank robber!”
That exclamation made the man smile behind the gun he aimed at Andrews.
“Now, see, that tells me you’re a smart man, and that makes me happy. Because a smart man’s not going to do anything that will get him—or his family—hurt.”
“Leave them alone.” Andrews tried to put some strength and courage into his voice, tried really hard, but he didn’t think he succeeded very well. “If you hurt them, I . . . I’ll—”
The man holding a gun on Rebecca and Sadie said, “Oh, hell, let’s not waste time with that. You ain’t gonna do nothin’, mister, and we all know it. We can do whatever the hell we want, and there’s nothin’ you can do about it.”
He was a lean man with a shock of dark, curly hair and an easy grin that should have been friendly. Instead, the expression was one of the most coldly horrifying things Andrews had ever seen, especially when the man stepped closer to Sadie and cupped his free hand under her chin.
“If I want, I can teach this little lady what it’s like to be a woman,” he went on. “You reckon she’d like that, Mister Bank Teller? I know I would.”
“Don’t,” Andrews said in a choked voice.
The first man—Andrews couldn’t help but still think of him as Bob—said, “That’s enough. For now. But if you don’t cooperate with us, Carl, I can’t make any promises about what my friend there might do to your wife . . . or your daughter.”
Andrews’s pulse pounded like a steam engine inside his head. Rebecca and Sadie were both fair-haired beauties, no doubt about that. Rebecca was so lovely that she could have done much better than him, and right now he wished that she had. Then she wouldn’t be in danger from these two . . . animals.
A part of him wanted to fight back against them, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. They would just kill him or, worse, overpower him and force him to watch while they assaulted his wife and daughter.
His shoulders slumped, and he said in a defeated voice, “What is it you want?”
“That’s better,” Bob said with a smile. He gestured with the gun toward an ottoman. “Sit down. We’re going to have a talk.”
The other man said, “That’s it? He’s gonna give up that easy, before we have any fun?”
“We’re not here to have fun,” Bob snapped. “We’re here to find out what we need to know.” Again he told Andrews, “Sit down.”
Andrews sank onto the ottoman and sat with his hands dangling between his knees.
“Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you,” he said. “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. Just don’t hurt them.”
“That’s exactly the way we want it,” Bob said.
Andrews didn’t believe that. He knew that from the way the other man looked at Rebecca and Sadie they would never be safe as long as these intruders were here. But maybe if he cooperated with them, they would go.
“Tell me about the money shipment that’s coming in,” Bob said.
Andrews couldn’t keep from lifting his head in surprise. He said, “You know about that?”
“You practically told me about it while we were eating lunch.”
“I . . . I just said that the bank was unusually busy for Christmastime. . . .”
“Well, what else could it be?” Bob said. He let out a curt laugh. “But don’t worry too much, Carl. To tell you the truth, I already knew there was a big load of money coming into Reno. It was just a matter of finding out which bank.”
“We’ll be handling it.”
“How much?”
“Four hundred thousand dollars.”
Bob’s breath hissed between his teeth as he inhaled sharply. He said, “That’s a lot of money. What’s it for?”
“Do you know who Cameron Coolidge is?”
Bob frowned in thought. He shook his head. “I don’t reckon I do.”
“He owns the Gullywasher mine.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s because Coolidge keeps his operation quiet for the most part,” Andrews said. “But it’s a very lucrative silver mine. Coolidge is worth several million dollars. So he can afford to buy the Tabernacle mine from Thomas Nickerson.”
“Haven’t heard of that one, either.”
“It’s not worth what the Gullywasher is, but it’s a fine, steadily producing mine,” Andrews explained. “Coolidge intends to buy it for his wife, Cassandra. As a . . . a Christmas present.”
“Wait a minute,” the other man said. “This hombre’s gonna spend nearly half a million dollars to buy a mine and then give it to his wife for Christmas?”
Andrews nodded. “T
hat’s right.”
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!”
Bob said, “Rich people do loco things like that, or at least so I’ve heard.” He narrowed his eyes at Andrews. “You’re sure about all this?”
“Positive. I’m the head teller at the bank, and Mr. Hopkins—he’s the president—trusts me with such details.”
The grinning man laughed. “Well, that wasn’t very smart of him, was it? Just the threat of us havin’ a little slap-and-tickle with this pretty little girl o’ yours made you spill your guts right out.”
“Like I said before, Carl’s a smart man,” Bob told him. “Now tell me, Carl . . . when’s that money getting here?”
“It’ll arrive on the train, a special express shipment, on the morning of Christmas Eve. As soon as it’s here, Coolidge and Nickerson will come to the bank and conclude their arrangement. Nickerson, you see, insisted on a cash payment. He’s an older man, very crusty. He says he prefers money he can hold, instead of numbers written on a piece of paper.”
“Lucky for us he feels that way.”
“I’ve told you what you want to know,” Andrews said, allowing a note of hope to enter his voice. “Now, if you’ll just go away and leave us alone, I promise that I’ll never say anything about you to anyone else. I won’t do anything to jeopardize whatever you’re planning. I swear to that.”
“And I believe you,” Bob said. “Problem is, your word, and me believing you . . . well, that’s just not good enough.”
He turned his head and nodded at his companion, who holstered his gun and drew a knife from a sheath attached to his belt.
For some reason, the blade was even more terrifying than the gun. Sadie shrank away from it, and Rebecca let out a soft, frightened cry.
The man’s other hand shot out and grabbed Sadie by the back of the neck. He jerked her onto her feet and toward him.
A High Sierra Christmas Page 21
