A Stranger in Town

by William W. Johnstone

  He continued on the main walk where two steps led up to the porch, which appeared to be as wide as the front porch at Ruth Bennett’s boardinghouse back in Fort Smith. There was a large scrub brush on the bottom step, so he reached down to pick it up, only to find that it appeared to have been nailed to the step. Peculiar, he thought, and stepped on up to the porch. He stood for a few moments with his fist raised, prepared to rap on the door, but hesitating, not sure he wanted to impose upon the doctor and his family. It occurred to him that he would rather face down a threatening gunman than to have this social confrontation. Suddenly awash in the discomfort of the situation, he decided to retreat. It was too late, for the door opened at that moment to find him facing a smiling Marcy, his fist still raised to knock. “I saw you come in the gate,” she said cheerfully. “You looked as if you were still deciding to come in or not. You weren’t going to run, were you?”

  “Why, no, ma’am,” he sputtered, “not a-tall. I was just fixin’ to knock.”

  “I can see that,” she said, glancing at his fist raised menacingly above her head. He seemed to have forgotten it until she mentioned it. “I certainly hoped you’d show up after we went to the trouble to cook an extra chicken.” She stepped back to let him enter. “Come on in and I’ll let you see my parents aren’t nearly as scary as you may have thought.”

  Totally embarrassed now, and genuinely sorry he had shown up, he nevertheless dropped his saddlebags and rifle on a rocking chair on the porch and followed the slender young lady into the parlor. Before the front door closed behind him, he suddenly remembered the .44 on his hip and stepped back on the porch to remove his gun belt. Back inside, he thought to take off his hat, all the while aware of the amusement he was providing for the girl. He glanced down at his boots and the few traces of his walk along the muddy street still on them, realizing only then why the scrub brush was nailed to the front step. Suddenly feeling unfit to be among civilized people, he considered withdrawing and letting Marcy and her parents think what they wished. Marcy’s father came in from the hallway at that moment, trapping him in the parlor.

  “Marshal Tanner, welcome to our home. I’m Edward Taylor.” He extended his hand. “We were delighted to have you come to supper with us. Marcy has told us why you’re in our town. I’m distressed to know the reason for your visit, but I feel we are fortunate that you seem to have arrived on the scene at a most critical time.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” Will responded, at once a bit concerned. “I hope your daughter ain’t told nobody else why I’m here.”

  Marcy quickly responded. “No, no one else, but I think it appropriate that Dad knows, since he’s the mayor.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue, and he almost blurted it out, but Will swallowed the profanity before it passed his lips. This was not good news. He had counted on the sheriff and the bank people to keep this thing under their hats, firmly believing that the fewer people who knew about it, the better the chances he could pull it off without innocent folks getting hurt. He already had the concern of Marcy’s and Franklin’s safety on his conscience as well as the employees of the other bank. Then there was also the concern of bank customers who might come in at the wrong time. It was a lot to worry about, but the alternative was to let them rob the bank and hope to catch up to them afterward. Even that would not guarantee the safety of anyone, employees or customers. In addition to these problems, he was operating in a territory where he had no legal authority, so he was counting on making an arrest with no one but himself and Brock Larsen knowing his jurisdiction was limited to western Arkansas and Oklahoma.

  “I suspect that goes without saying,” the doctor said after Marcy’s disclosure. “I understand your reasons for wanting to keep this quiet, and I assure you I’ll certainly honor your request. I think you’re right, the more people involved, the bigger chance someone will get hurt. My one concern is the danger to my daughter, and if you can insure her safety.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Will said, after thinking on it a moment. “I think it would be best if Marcy doesn’t come to work first thing in the mornin’. There’s no good reason why she should be there. Larsen and his friends ain’t gonna know until they walk in.”

  “That sounds like a good idea to me,” her father said.

  “Wait a minute,” Marcy protested. “I plan to go to work as usual. I’m not afraid with Will there. Besides, he’s already told me what to do if they walk in, and Mr. Franklin has to have a teller.”

  “Your father’s right to worry about you,” Will said. “I shoulda told you right off to stay home.”

  “Good,” Dr. Taylor said with authority. “That’s settled then, so let’s eat supper before my wife throws it out to the hogs.”

  Avoiding Marcy’s eyes, Will followed her father into the dining room. He knew she was not at all afraid to confront the bank robbers and expected she might even think it would be exciting. He was afraid the issue wasn’t finished. In the dining room, Will was introduced to Marjorie Taylor, a pleasant woman, slender with streaks of gray in her dark black hair. Will could imagine that he was looking at Marcy when she reached her mother’s age.

  “This is Deputy Marshal Tanner,” the doctor said to her. “He’s passing through Independence, sent down here from . . .” He paused then. “Where are you working out of, Mr. Tanner?”

  “Topeka,” Will answered, having to think quickly. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he remembered Dan Stone saying there was a marshal headquartered there.

  “Well, you’re certainly a long way from home,” Marjorie said. “Welcome to our home.”

  Marcy’s mother was a good cook and Will complimented her. “This surely is a treat for me, ma’am. I can’t remember when I last ate fried chicken.” Marcy was quick to inform him that she had helped cook the meal. “Yes, ma’am, I figured you musta.” While he was truthful in his praise, the meal was actually a bit of an ordeal for him. He felt that all eyes were on every forkful he put in his mouth, as if he were a donkey sitting at the supper table. By the time they got to the apple pie, however, he was approaching the point where he didn’t care, and he attacked it with a vengeance.

  After supper, he was uncomfortable once again, however, when the doctor wanted to learn more about the outlaws. While the two men drank coffee, and the women cleared the table, Will answered Dr. Taylor’s questions in as vague a manner as he could. He was reluctant to tell him the potential bank robbery was strictly a hunch on his part, and if it didn’t happen, he was going to be searching for one man’s trail. And to hell with the other three.

  When he decided he could take his leave politely, Will thanked the women again for the fine supper and said that he had things to attend to before calling it a night. “I might wanna keep an eye on the banks tonight, just in case,” he said as he went out the door. The doctor and his wife both thanked him again for coming to the aid of their town.

  Marcy followed him out on the porch. “I’m so glad you came to supper,” she said to him. “It wasn’t so bad, was it—I mean, nobody bit you, did they?”

  He laughed, relieved to be going. “I reckon not, and it was mighty good eatin’.” He stepped off the porch and started toward the gate.

  “Will,” she called after him, “you be careful in the morning.”

  “I will,” he answered. “I always am.” He said it without thinking, but it brought to mind that it was his usual parting words to Sophie Bennett when he left the boardinghouse in Fort Smith. I expect she’s sitting in the porch swing with Garth Pearson about this time of night, he thought, if it ain’t too cold.

  Inside the house, her ear pressed against the front door, Marjorie Taylor strained to hear the parting words between the two young people. She turned to shake her head at her husband, who was standing in the middle of the room waiting for Marcy to return. When she heard her at the door again, her mother stepped back a couple of steps.

  Finding both parents still in the parlor waiting for her, Marcy protested,
“Mother! Were you listening at the door?”

  “Don’t you go getting any ideas about that young man,” Marjorie said, ignoring her protest. “He’s just drifting through town and will be gone like a leaf off a tree in a windstorm.”

  “Your mother’s right,” her father said. “A man like that lives in the saddle, and most of them don’t live very long. He seems like a nice young man, but his type are natural-born killers and don’t make decent family men at all. Did he say anything to make you think he was interested in you?”

  “Of course not!” Marcy answered at once. “He’s a decent man, and I just thought it would be a nice thing to have him come to supper with us. We should be thankful he showed up here in Independence. I hate to think we would have had to depend on Leland Couch and Lon Blake to stop a gang of outlaws from robbing the bank.”

  “I’m sure Sheriff Couch and his deputy are capable of doing the job they were hired to do,” her father said.

  “They wouldn’t have even known about it if Will Tanner hadn’t come here and told them,” Marcy said.

  “Next time you have a notion to entertain somebody, I’d appreciate a little more notice,” her mother said. “Especially if it’s a man. Now you can get the broom and sweep up the dirt he tracked across the parlor floor.”

  * * *

  Walking under a cloudy nighttime sky, Will passed the three saloons between the doctor’s house and the corner where the banks stood. All three were busy, with only Whitey’s and Abe’s spilling out into the street. Will ignored the few shuffling drunks who wandered out in the dark, to stumble back to their homes or camps. His mind was on the house he had just left, and he thought about how nice they were to invite him to supper. He didn’t know why he had felt so uncomfortable. They seemed genuinely gracious. The sheriff’s office was closed when he walked by, so he went on down to make sure there was no one around the banks. Everything was quiet on that end of the street, and he still felt that, if there was a holdup attempt, it would come in the morning. So he proceeded to the stable for the night.

  CHAPTER 15

  They rode into town on the north road a little before nine o’clock. Most of the stores were open, but there were only a couple of people on the street. When they reached the cross street that formed the corner where the banks stood, they split up—Larsen and Ike pulling up to the First Bank of Independence, Earl and Jake to the new bank. When they had dismounted, Earl looked across and nodded to Larsen. It was the signal to get ready. Larsen nodded back, but at that moment, a woman came from around the corner and walked up to stand before the door, waiting for the CLOSED sign to be turned around and the door to be unlocked. Startled, Ike was about to grab the woman, but Larsen remained calm and shook his head, stopping him before he could act. “Good mornin’, ma’am,” Larsen said. “The bank’s gonna be closed this mornin’ for a few hours till we get through with a bank examination. If you come back later, we’ll be open for business.”

  The woman hesitated, confused, for the two of them didn’t look like what she imagined bank examiners would. But Larsen’s reassuring smile seemed pleasant enough. “Well, I never . . .” she started. “They never said anything about being closed this mornin’ when I was here yesterday.”

  “Well, that ain’t so surprisin’,” Larsen said. “See, if they was always told we was comin’, it wouldn’t be a very good examination, would it? If you come back in a couple of hours, they’ll most likely tell you all about it. You can ask ’em how they did.”

  “If you say so, I reckon,” the woman said, and walked away toward the sheriff’s office. A moment later, one of the tellers unlocked the door.

  “Hurry up!” Larsen urged then. “They’re already in across the street. We need to get movin’ before that woman decides we ain’t no bank examiners.”

  Too late to pull their bandannas up to hide their faces, they pushed the door open, forcing the teller to back up to keep from getting run over. A bald middle-aged man, he wore an expression of fright as if he had seen a ghost, and he continued backing away from the door. The thought went through Larsen’s mind that the teller looked like he was expecting them. He reacted at once, pulling his pistol and leveling it at the teller. Ike followed his lead and drew his .44. The bank manager and another teller were caught standing near the cage, having just come from the safe in the other room. “That’s right, folks,” Larsen announced, “this is a holdup, and as long as you do what you’re told, won’t nobody get shot.”

  They did as he instructed, freezing where they stood, all three obviously terrified. The older, gray-haired manager could not help glancing nervously toward the door to the back room. Already suspicious about their unusual reactions, Larsen followed the manager’s eyes toward the back room. “Who’s back there?” he demanded, threatening with his pistol. “You’d best come on outta there!” he yelled. “If you don’t, I’m fixin’ to shoot these bastards down!”

  “Don’t shoot,” a timid voice came from the safe room. “We’re comin’ out.” In a few moments, Leland Couch moved cautiously through the doorway, his pistol in his hand. Seeing the weapon, Larsen and Jake both aimed their pistols at Couch. For a moment, there was a standoff. Lon Blake moved slowly out behind the sheriff, but no shots were fired. “I’m Sheriff Couch,” he said in as authoritative tone as he could manage. “You two men are under arrest, so drop your weapons.”

  “What?” Ike blurted in disbelief.

  The arrest attempt was so pathetic that Larsen could not help laughing. “Under arrest?” he responded. “You dumb turd, if you raise that pistol, I’ll blow you to hell. So if you don’t feel like dyin’ this mornin’, you’d best drop it on the floor. And I mean right now.” Couch dropped his gun as if it had suddenly become red-hot. “You, too, sonny,” Larsen said to Lon. Lon reached down and slowly pulled his pistol out of his holster, his eyes open wide in the tense moment, as if making a decision. Larsen didn’t wait for the weapon to clear the holster, and suddenly the heavy air in the bank was split by the bark of his .44 as he discharged a round into Lon’s stomach. The deputy bent double and dropped to the floor, grasping his stomach. Larsen quickly shifted his aim to cover the bank employees. He reached inside his coat, pulled out a folded cotton sack, and pitched it to the bank manager. “Now, empty them cash drawers into that sack, and make it snappy. My finger gets itchy if I have to wait too long.”

  No one was startled by the shot any more than Ike. “Damn, Brock, what the hell did you do that for? We was supposed to keep it quiet.”

  “He had the look in his eyes,” Larsen said, impatient with the question. “He was fixin’ to try to take a shot. Now, take that feller with you and tell him to clean that safe out and put it in your sack.” He motioned toward the teller standing closest to Ike. “Get to it. They’ve heard that shot across the street so they know they’d best get the job done over there.” He smiled, feeling very much in control of the situation. “I’ll keep my eye on the sheriff, here, in case he decides to be a hero.”

  Couch was numb with fear. As Will had suspected, the sheriff had never before found himself facing sudden death in the form of a conscienceless killer like Brock Larsen. He stood petrified, with Lon Blake lying at his feet, writhing in pain, wondering if this was going to be the day of his death. While Couch stood helplessly watching the robbery of the bank, Larsen walked over and kicked the two pistols across the floor, in case the sheriff suddenly found the courage to make a try for one of them.

  Not altogether confident in Earl’s and Jake’s ability to control the situation across the street, Larsen glanced impatiently out the window. It stood to reason that if the sheriff and a deputy were waiting for them in this bank, then there were likely a couple of men waiting in the other bank, too. “Hurry up, Ike,” he bellowed. “We’re runnin’ outta time. Take whatcha got and come on.”

  “I’m comin’,” Ike called back while prodding the frightened teller with the muzzle of his six-gun to hurry him along. In a few seconds, Ike appeared in the
doorway, pushing the teller before him, a heavily stuffed sack of cash in his other hand.

  “Leave him in that room,” Larsen said, then motioned toward the back room door with his pistol. “The rest of you get in there.” They hurried to do his bidding, relieved that it appeared they were not to be shot. When they were all inside, Larsen grabbed Lon’s foot and dragged him in as well. Then he closed the door and turned the key in the lock. Looking at Ike, he said, “Let’s get the hell outta this town.” He moved at once toward the door.

  “What about the other boys?” Ike asked when Larsen wasted no time heading for his horse. The words had no sooner escaped his lips when they heard the report of gunfire from the new bank.

  It only quickened Larsen’s sprint for his horse. “They gotta take care of it,” he exclaimed. “We took care of ours. We need to get the hell outta here. We’ll meet up with them later.” He jumped in the saddle and kicked his horse into a gallop back out the north road, tying the drawstring of his sack of money around his saddle horn as he rode. Ike followed, likewise abandoning any sense of caring about the fate of his partners.

  * * *

  Things had gone slightly differently in the town’s newest bank. Will was waiting at the back door when Hugh Franklin arrived at a quarter to nine. He was relieved to see that Marcy had taken his advice and not reported for work that morning. Franklin and Will were already inside when Jug Watson showed up right at opening time. At least he remembered to come to the back door, Will thought as he let him in the door and cautioned him to be quiet because he could already hear Franklin unlocking the front door. “Get over in the corner behind that desk,” Will told Jug. Then he positioned himself on the opposite side of the safe room door where he could hear what was going on. He heard Franklin’s sputtering reaction when the men with bandannas covering their faces pushed inside. Will suddenly realized that there were only two robbers. They’re hitting both banks! I hope Couch can handle it.