“All right,” Putnam said. “We’ll be there on time.”
Half an hour later five riders, all wearing long, tan-colored dusters, and strangers to everyone in town, had what seemed like an incidental meeting in front of the Miners’ Bank. Dinkins, Putnam, Parnell, and Frank Slater dismounted and handed their reins to Travis. He remained in the saddle and kept his eyes open on the street. Dinkins looked up and down the street once, taking notice of the fact that nobody seemed to be paying any attention to them. Then he and the other men pulled their kerchiefs up over the bottom half of their faces, and, with their guns drawn, pushed open the door.
Cal Wood was two blocks down the street at the mercantile store. He had been standing at the counter, paying for a kerchief slide and a stick of peppermint candy when the five men rode into town, so he didn’t notice them, nor did he see them pull the kerchiefs up over the bottom half of their faces and go into the bank with their guns drawn. When he walked back up to the front of the store, sucking on the candy stick he looked through the big front window though and saw only one man in front of the bank—mounted, and holding the reins of four other horses. That did arouse his curiosity.
“Mr. Wood?” the proprietor of the store called.
“Yes?” Cal turned back toward him.
“Your change.”
Cal smiled. “Oh, yes, I nearly forgot that. Thanks.”
Sally, Tamara, Kurt Flowers, and Burt Martin, the bank teller, were the only people in the bank when Dinkins and the others went in. Because of the masks on their faces and the guns in their hands, everyone in the bank knew immediately what was going on.
“You three! Get your hands up and stay back there against the wall!” Dinkins shouted to Sally, Tamara, and Flowers. “If I see any one of you move, I’ll shoot.”
The three complied with the orders.
Cole Parnell hopped over the railing to go behind the teller cage, then held his sack out toward the teller. “Put all your money into this sack,” he growled.
Trembling, the teller emptied his cash drawer.
“Hey, Dinkins, there ain’t that much here,” Parnell called.
“Parnell, you dumb son of a bitch! You just give ’em my name!” Dinkins growled. “Get the rest out of the safe.”
“I can’t open the safe till ten o’clock,” the teller protested.
“What the hell do you mean you can’t open the safe till ten o’clock? You work here, don’t you?” Dinkins asked.
“Ye-yes,” the teller stuttered. “But there’s a time lock on the safe. It can’t be opened till ten o’clock.”
Dinkins stepped up to the teller and put the muzzle of his pistol one inch from the teller’s head. “Open the damn safe or I’ll blow your brains out.”
“Please, he’s telling the truth!” Flowers shouted from his position by the wall.
Dinkins looked toward him. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Kurt Flowers. I own this bank.”
“You own it, do you?”
“Yes.”
Dinkins turned his gun toward Flowers. “Then I’m pointin’ my gun at the wrong man. You open the safe.”
“I can’t open the safe. Mr. Martin is telling the truth. There is a time lock on it. Nobody can open it until ten o’clock.”
“Why the hell would you do something like that?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Mr. Dinkins?” Sally asked. “It is to keep polecats like you from being able to rob the bank.”
Dinkins saw the money in Sally’s hand, and smiled. “Well now. If I can’t rob the bank, I’ll just rob you. Hand the money over, missy.”
“If you want it, you grub around on the floor for it, like the rat you are.” Surprising Dinkins, Sally threw the money up in the air, one hundred individual, twenty-dollar bills. They fluttered down, scattering all over the floor.
“You bitch!” Dinkins shouted, pulling the trigger.
Tamara screamed as Sally grabbed her stomach where the bullet hit. Blood oozed through her fingers and she staggered back against the wall, then fell.
Suddenly the front door opened and Travis, who didn’t have the bottom half of his face masked, stuck his head in. “Come on quick! Folks heard that shot! We got to get out of here!”
“Open the damn safe!” Dinkins shouted, pointing his pistol toward Flowers and cocking it.
“I told you, I can’t!”
“I don’t believe you!” Dinkins shouted, and he pulled the trigger a second time. Flowers went down with a hole in his temple.
“There’s folks comin’ toward the bank!” Travis shouted. “We gotta go now!”
“Come on, let’s get out of here!” Dinkins ordered.
With the sack of money he’d taken from the teller’s tray, Parnell vaulted back over the teller’s counter.
Hearing the two gunshots, Cal ran out of the mercantile with his pistol in his hand. He saw the men run out of the bank, and leap onto their horses. Someone across the street from the bank fired at the five riders with a shotgun. The charge of double-aught buckshot missed the robbers, but it did hit the front window of the bank, bringing it down with a loud crash. One of the robbers shot back at the man with the shotgun and he went down. The five bank robbers galloped down the street, away from Cal. Cal shot at them, and saw one of the riders tumble from the saddle. None of the other four paid any attention to the one who went down.
Cal fired a second time, but they were out of range, and his shot did nothing but help chase them on, as they sped out of town. There had been several citizens on the street and sidewalks when the shooting erupted, but most watched in openmouthed shock as the men who had just robbed their bank galloped away. Either none of them were armed, or none of them wished to be a hero, for, other than Cal and the one attempt with a shotgun, no one made any effort to stop them.
The route out of town took the outlaws right by the sheriff’s office. At the far end of the street a man stepped off the boardwalk and into the street. A flash of sunlight revealed the star fastened to his vest.
“It’s the sheriff !” Dinkins shouted. He shot at him and the sheriff grabbed his shoulder, then staggered back a step. Dinkins shot a second time, as did the other three who were with him, and the sheriff went down under the fusillade of bullets.
Out of town, the four men pushed their horses hard to put as much distance between them and the town as they could.
“Is anyone comin’ after us?” Dinkins shouted.
Travis, who was bringing up the rear, looked over his shoulder at the receding town. He saw no riders. “No. They ain’t no one mounted. ’Cept for Putnam, we got away clean!” He laughed out loud, whooping into the wind. “We got away clean!”
CHAPTER NINE
Cal ran into the bank with his pistol drawn. The bank teller raised a shotgun to his shoulder and aimed at Cal.
“Mr. Martin, no!” Tamara shouted. “He’s with me!”
Martin lowered the shotgun.
Distracted by the shotgun, Cal had not seen Sally. Looking over toward the wall, he saw her and the bank owner, lying on the floor. “Miss Sally!” Cal moved quickly to her side, then knelt down beside her.
“How is Mr. Flowers?” Sally asked, her voice weak.
Cal looked toward Flowers and saw that he was dead. But before he could respond to Sally, she passed out.
“We need a doctor!” Cal said. “Is there a doctor in this town?”
“Yes,” Tamara said. “His office is down the street, just over the hardware store!”
Cal didn’t have to go all the way down to the doctor’s office. The doctor was across the street looking at the man who had fired the shotgun.
“How’s the sheriff ?” one of those gathered around the doctor said.
“He’s dead.” The doctor looked at the man on the ground and shook his head. “Poor Mr. Deckert is too.”
“What about the outlaw?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t checked on him yet.”
“Doctor, qui
ck!” Cal called. “There’s a woman in the bank who’s been shot and is still alive!”
“A woman was shot?” one of the people in the crowd said. “You mean those no count sons of bitches shot a woman?”
“The outlaw can wait. Where is the woman?” the doctor asked, carrying his bag and starting toward Cal.
“She’s in the bank, on the floor. The owner of the bank, he’s there too, but he’s dead.”
“That’s three,” someone said. “Three, they kilt. And like as not, the woman is goin’ to die too.”
“No!” Cal shouted angrily. “Miss Sally is not going to die! Do you hear me? She is not going to die!”
When Cal and the doctor stepped into the bank, Tamara was on her knees beside Sally. Tamara had taken off her petticoat and was holding it in a wad over the wound. The petticoat was already soaked with blood.
“Very good, Mrs. McKenzie,” the doctor said. “You are doing exactly the right thing by stopping the bleeding like that. Let me look at the wound.”
The doctor removed the blood soaked petticoat and looked at the wound. The blood coming from the bullet hole was very dark in color, and it was coming out in a slow, but steady flow. “Good. The bleeding is venous instead of arterial.”
He put his hand under Sally’s back, felt around, then frowned. “The bullet is still inside. It’s going to have to come out.”
“Is she going to live, Doc?” Cal asked anxiously.
“I don’t know. We need to get her to my office.”
Several people had come into the bank.
“How is she, Dr. Gunther?” one of the townspeople asked.
“She’s in bad shape,” Dr. Gunther said. “Paul, run across the street, get a blanket from the mercantile. Tell C.D. I’ll pay for it later. We need it to carry her to my office.”
Within a few minutes Paul returned with a blanket. Dr. Gunther put a man at each corner, one of them being Cal, then instructed them to pick her up. A cavalcade of bystanders followed them to the doctor’s office, which could only be reached by going up a set of stairs along the side of the hardware store building.
Dr. Gunther turned toward them.
“All of you stay down here. The only people allowed up are the four who are carrying her, then they are going to have to leave as well.”
“I’m not leavin’ her, Dr. Gunther,” Cal said resolutely.
“All right, you can stay.”
“I intend to stay as well,” Tamara said.
“Yes, I want you to stay. I will need you. You can act as my nurse. But no one else.”
The four men, holding the blanket in such a way as to keep Sally as level as possible, climbed the stairs until they reached the top. Maneuvering her through the door, they took Sally’s still unconscious form into the office, and laid her on the examination table.
Dr. Gunther took two clean sheets and a pair of scissors from a cabinet. “Mrs. McKenzie. I want you to strip her naked. You will probably have to cut her clothes off. Then place these two sheets over her, one across the top of her body and one across the bottom. But leave the wound exposed so I can examine it.”
“You’re going to take all her clothes off ?” Cal asked in alarm.
“I have to. But these bed sheets will preserve her modesty.”
“I ain’t goin’ to watch this,” Cal said.
Dr. Gunther chuckled. “I don’t intend for you to. You and I will wait over there until it is done. Mrs. McKenzie, please do it as quickly as you can.”
“What am I going to tell Smoke?” Cal asked as he paced back and forth.
“Smoke?”
“Smoke Jensen. He’s Sally’s husband.”
“Oh, Lord,” Dr. Gunther said. “I’ve never met Mr. Smoke Jensen, but I have certainly heard of him. And this is his wife, you say?”
“Yes, sir. You gotta keep her alive, Doctor. I come over here with her. I’m responsible for her. I shoulda gone into the bank with her, but instead I was all the way down to the other end of the street in the store, buying a stick of candy. I shoulda been in the bank with her.”
“What is your name?” Dr. Gunther asked.
“It’s Cal. Cal Wood. I work for Smoke and Miss Sally back at Sugarloaf.”
“Look at it this way, Cal. If you had been in there, you might have been killed as well. Then for sure you could have done nothing for her.”
“Doctor Gunther, she is ready,” Tamara called from the other side of the room.
Cal and Dr. Gunther returned to the table. Sally was lying on her back, her eyes closed, her head turned to one side. Abed sheet covered her shoulders and breasts. A second bed sheet covered her legs and lower abdomen. There was only about a six inch area of her belly exposed. The bullet wound, an ugly black hole, was about an inch and a half to the left, and on line with her belly button.
Dr. Gunther used warm salt water to wash away the blood, so only the dark red, almost black hole marred the smooth, white skin. Then, leaning down, he began sniffing.
“What are you doing?” Cal asked.
“If the bullet hit any of the vital organs inside, I should be able to smell it.” The doctor got his nose so close to the bullet hole it was almost touching her skin, and he sniffed again. “That’s good.” He rose up.
“What did you smell?”
“Nothing. That’s why I say it is good.” Gunther got a bulb syringe and began using it to aspirate blood from the wound. After that, he bathed the wound in warm salt water. He took a clean cloth from a cupboard, poured a bit of chloroform onto it, and handed the cloth to Tamara.
“I am going to have to probe for the bullet. If she awakens during the procedure, hold this over her nose and mouth for a count of three. Only until the count of three, mind you. Then take it away. Holding it there any longer could be dangerous.”
“All right,” Tamara said, taking the strong smelling cloth from him.
For the next step in the procedure Dr. Gunther used a Nélaton probe, which was a long probe with a tiny porcelain bulb on the end. After first pouring alcohol over the end of the probe, he stuck it into the wound, then followed the trajectory of the bullet until he hit something hard.
“I found something.”
“The bullet?” Tamara asked.
“Either the bullet or bone. We’ll know in just a moment.” Gunther withdrew the Nélaton probe and examined the porcelain tip. “Yes, there it is.” He pointed to a little gray smudge on the tip. “You see that? That’s lead from the bullet.”
After having found the bullet he picked up a pair of long legged forceps and pushed them into the wound. Sally began to regain consciousness.
“The chloroform,” Dr. Gunther said quickly.
Tamara applied the chloroform cloth to Sally’s nose and mouth, and counted to three. When she pulled it away, Sally was unconscious again.
“Good.” Dr. Gunther pushed the forceps into the wound until he encountered the bullet. Moving slowly and delicately, he probed around, then he pulled the bullet out and dropped it into a pan of water that was sitting near the operating table. Little bubbles of blood formed a string of red beads from the bullet to the surface of the water.
Gunther walked over to a glass front cabinet, opened the door, then took out a small, brown bottle. “I’m glad she is still unconscious,” he said, as he pulled the stopper from the bottle.
“Why is that?” Cal sked.
“I need to disinfect the wound.” Gunther held up the bottle. “This is iodine, and it will burn like the blazes.” After pouring iodine on the wound, he took strips of gauze bandage and wrapped them around her.
“What happens now?” Cal said.
“I will keep her here overnight, then we need to find a place for her to go while she recuperates.”
“Can I take her back home?”
Dr. Gunther shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. The trip would be far too dangerous for her.”
“She can stay with me, Doctor,” Tamara said.
“That would be
good. You could keep an eye on her, and I can check in several times a day,” Dr. Gunther said.
“Doc, I need to send a telegram to Smoke,” Cal said. “What should I tell him?”
“Tell him that Mrs. Jensen was seriously wounded, but that the outlook is hopeful.”
Sugarloaf Ranch
Pearlie was trying to wrestle a calf down so it could be branded, but the calf was fighting him and Pearlie lost his balance. He fell and the calf fell on top of him.
Smoke started laughing, and he laughed so hard he had to hold on to his sides. “Pearlie, you’ve got that backwards, haven’t you? You are supposed to throw the calf! He’s not supposed to throw you!” Smoke hooted, unable to stop the laughing.
“Get off me, calf.” Pearlie pushed the animal to one side, and stood up, brushing the dirt off his clothes. Looking past Smoke, he saw a rider approaching. “Someone is comin’.”
Smoke looked around too. “That’s young Eb Kyle, isn’t it? Delivers telegrams for Will Winsted ?”
“I believe it is,” Pearly said. “He must be lookin’ for directions.”
Smoke started toward Kyle, the smile still on his face. But when he saw the expression on Kyle’s face, he felt a quick twinge of worry and the smile disappeared.
“Kyle, what is it?” Smoke asked. “Do you have a telegram for me?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Jensen, I’m afraid I do,” Kyle said. “And I’m terrible sorry to be the one what has to deliver it.”
“Give it to me.” Smoke held his hand out impatiently. He tore open the envelope, then removed the telegram.
MISS SALLY HAS BEEN SHOT SHE IS AWFUL BAD HURT BUT DOCTOR SAYS THERE IS HOPE
CAL
“Smoke, what is it?” Pearlie asked.
Smoke handed the telegram to him and looked at Kyle. “When did you receive this?” he asked.
“It took me just under half an hour to ride out here,” Kyle said. “Mr. Winsted, he give it to me just as quick as it come in, and he wrote it down.”
Assault of the Mountain Man Page 7
