“Next time I’ll shoot,” said the bandit quietly. “Do as I told you, clerk. Never mind the gold or silver and leave out the one-dollar bills.”
“Sheriff Hal Drew will have you in forty-eight hours, and the stockmen will string you up with me helping,” sputtered Graham in a fearful rage.
“I’ll give your trick sheriff seventy-two hours to get me and then send you back a couple hundred to live on till next payday,” was the outlaw’s sneering answer. “Don’t talk much. I don’t like you and I’ve got an easy thumb that loves to fan a pistol hammer.”
Seymour came in with a tray loaded with packages of bills.
“Bring the rest from the vault and see that they’re big ones,” the Crow ordered. “Do as I say, or I’ll drop the two of you and help myself. Hustle, unless you’re ready to check in for a harp.”
Seymour brought more money, white-faced and shaking, while Graham waved a feeble hand in futile protest. The bandit stuffed the bills inside his shirt until it bulged about his waist. He crammed bills into all his pockets and filled the crown of his hat. His own money and his wallet he stuffed into his boots.
“Lock that door!” he commanded the cashier, indicating the door leading into the cage and handing the man the keys.
The cashier obeyed.
“Which key locks this door?” purred the outlaw in a deadly tone, pointing to the other door of the office that led into the corridor outside. “I’ll find out quick enough if you name the wrong one, and I know the big one is to the front door because I saw you use it. You pair are sure in a bad way, but I’m lettin’ you off easy at that.”
Seymour held the proper key out from the ring and the Crow took the bunch. “You’ll start shoutin’ soon enough and that’ll be all right for me,” he said grimly. “I’ll get half an hour’s start or more and that’s more than I need. I’ll just stick this card with my mark on it outside the front door and maybe that’ll attract attention quicker than your fuss will. Tell Sheriff Drew your bank’s been robbed at last, Sil, and give him the Crow’s compliments.”
The bandit’s laugh sounded harshly in the ears of his victims as he locked them in the office and let himself out the front door. In less than a minute he was riding up the street toward the west and, behind him, sticking in the door of the bank, was a signature card bearing the crude drawing in ink of a black bird with a sharp, pointed bill—the most feared symbol of outlawry in the north range country.
Chapter Two
A weary posse trailed down through the foothills twenty miles west of Milton. Sheriff Hal Drew rode at the head of his score of men, his face fixed in a frown. He stroked his mustaches thoughtfully and there was no glimmer of defeat in his eyes—only grave reflection. The raid of the notorious outlaw who styled himself the Crow upon the State Bank of Milton was a serious matter. It set a dangerous precedent, for one thing, and the presence of the lone bandit in the country constituted a menace to law and order, and the safety of life and property, which could not be ignored. And the Crow had slipped through the fingers, so to speak, of the posse with the ease of a meadowlark flying through a barbed wire fence. The sheriff considered this a personal insult, despite the bandit’s reputation for being posse-proof, and the insolent manner in which Sylvester Graham had been treated and the bank robbed of more than $20,000 had roused the stockmen. It was as mean a case as Hal Drew, sheriff of Bend County, had had on his hands during his tenure of nearly three terms of office.
And Drew was due to receive another shock before he rode out of the hills. He had led his men—a picked company—into the high hills because those tracks he had been able to pick up led in that direction, and the mountains offered innumerable hiding places and an intricate network of side trails where fresh tracks would instantly disclose the bandit’s passing on any of them. He had dispatched messengers north and south, in the event the Crow held to the prairie country and had sent out a general alarm. He had really done everything it was possible to do, under the circumstances, handicapped as he had been by a late start. But he hadn’t caught the Crow, and it was this distasteful fact which rankled.
It was late afternoon when they broke out of the hills along a small stream and came to a giant cottonwood that grew in a bend of the creek. The tree in itself was conspicuous, but now the official’s attention was attracted by a small square of white on its trunk. He knew it was a notice and he also knew there had been no notice there when he had ridden with his men into the hills. He had an instant premonition of its import and spurred his horse toward the tree. He swore as he saw a square sheet of white paper with the crude drawing of a crow upon it. Below were the words:
HoPe yoU Had A NIcE TriP.
The men about him talked excitedly, but Sheriff Drew remained silent. There was no mistaking who had left the notice. The thing was in keeping with the insolent defiance and atrocious audacity of the Crow. When the sheriff finally spoke, it was in a cool, even voice.
He said: “He must have back trailed on us, or maybe he was hiding out up here watching us when we came. This Crow party is an expert trailer, and, being alone, he could pull stunts that another outlaw, not so smart, with a gang following him, couldn’t pull. He hasn’t got anybody with him so far as we know, so he must have put this notice up himself.”
Drew paused and looked at the interested faces of the men who were listening. “You’ve got to remember, boys,” he went on smoothly, “that we haven’t been trailing any common desperado. This Crow doesn’t aim to just get out of the way as quick as possible and spend his horse in fast riding. He’s too clever for that. It may be my fault in leading you, but it isn’t any of your fault that we didn’t catch up with him or get a shot at him. If you boys want to … I’m leaving it up to you … I’d just as soon you wouldn’t say anything about this notice.”
There came a loud murmur of assent from the posse members.
“Thanks, boys,” sang the sheriff pleasantly as he dismounted. “Now I’m going to scribble something on this myself, not expecting that anybody will see it, understand? This notice was aimed at me, and if I want to kid myself, I guess I have that right.”
He took a soft lead pencil from the left upper pocket of his vest and inscribed on the top of the notice.
Will post an answer here in a week.—DREW
“Just for my own amusement, understand, boys?” he said as he got back into his saddle. “Now we’ll breeze for Milton where I’ll get plenty from the powers that be. Whether they can make me like it is another question.”
He smiled grimly, and his features again betrayed serious thought as they rode away. For once, during his experience as sheriff, Drew was thoroughly worried. He owned a ranch, and he had an enviable reputation for honesty, efficiency, and common sense—the latter tempering his conceptions of justice to no small extent. The violation of Bend County territory by the Crow threatened Drew’s reputation as a sheriff. The sheriffs of other counties in the north range would have their eyes upon him to see what he would do. And for his own satisfaction and peace of mind, it was essential that he capture or dispense with the infamous outlaw some way.
When the posse rode into Milton in the early dusk, the sheriff was not in any too pleasant frame of mind. He had formulated no definite plan of campaign against the bandit and had merely outlined the routine preliminaries in his mind. He had a feeling that in some way the Crow would have to be lured into striking again. There was just a chance that the outlaw would get to see what had been written by Drew on the notice posted on the trunk of the big cottonwood tree.
Members of the posse who lived in Milton or nearby struck out for their homes or the ranches where they were employed, and Drew went to the hotel for supper with the deputies and men he had brought from Bend City. He disregarded the talk at the table. He knew three stockmen were waiting for him in the hotel lobby and had been apprised of Sylvester Graham’s desire to see him when he had eaten. News of the
failure to find the outlaw or get word of his movements had spread through the town until everyone was aware of the situation by the time the sheriff sat down at the table.
The Crow had robbed the Milton Bank and made a clean getaway!
Twenty minutes after he had finished his supper, Sheriff Drew sat in Sylvester Graham’s private office in the bank with four others. Behind his broad desk, with the rays of the lamp lighting his strong face, sat Graham. Drew sat at one end of the desk where he could see Graham and the three stockmen—Jim Wessel, Roy Lamby, and Frank Payne, all powerful cattlemen and directors in the bank, as well as prominent in the affairs of the town. Payne was spokesman for the group in his capacity of president of the Stockmen’s Association. He was a large man of medium height, clean-shaven, bluff in manner, abrupt and gruff in speech.
Sylvester Graham was speaking in a slow, even voice, keeping his eyes on Sheriff Hal Drew, who was smoking a cigar and not looking at him.
“Your report, then, is that you’ve been three days on this outlaw’s trail without seeing sign of him, Sheriff?”
“Don’t even know that I was on his trail,” drawled the sheriff.
“Some folks might be apt to say that it doesn’t speak well for you, Sheriff,” said Graham impatiently, “but I’m not one of them. I will say, however, that it speaks well for the bandit.”
“He’s clever, and he’s alone,” said Drew calmly. “You’ll remember I told you I didn’t expect to catch him the first time out.” He was looking absently at Payne, who was frowning.
“You seem to take it as a matter of course,” Graham snapped out. “It seems to me, and to these gentlemen with whom I’ve been conferring, that this is a mighty serious business. After all, this is an important bank and it was a high-handed crime.”
“A posse should have gone out of this town half an hour after the robbery,” said Drew sternly, looking at the banker for the first time. “You’ve kicked on my placing what you called ‘high-priced law’ in this town, and you know it. I’m admitting my mistake in listening to you in the first place. I notice you didn’t invite the town constable to this meeting.”
“Why should I, when we have the sheriff of the county here?” Graham flared.
“I can’t perform miracles,” replied the sheriff in an acid tone. “In the future I’ll have a deputy here, well paid, so he’ll be a man who knows his business. But that doesn’t concern the matter in hand.”
“Certainly not,” said Graham icily. “If you’ll listen a moment, I’ll give you my idea of what our next move should be.”
“Suppose you let the sheriff tell what he has in mind,” Payne put in. “We elected him sheriff and it seems to me that he ought to know what to do. If I thought a bunch of men could catch this Crow, we’d take every man off the range and send ’em out.”
“I had to take a chance on the Crow hitting for the high hills,” said Drew. “And it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack to find one raider who knows his business in the Rocky Mountains. The posse hunt was a first move that had to be made on the chance that it might show something. The next move is simply another preliminary.”
“And what is that?” Payne asked curiously.
“The customary offer of a reward,” the sheriff answered, inspecting the ash on the end of his cigar before he flicked it on the floor.
“I won’t hear of it!” cried Graham. “It’s a confession of weakness!”
“Not necessarily,” drawled Hal Drew, squinting at the stockmen. “Maybe I know more about this Crow person than you folks do. He’s bad medicine anyway you look at him. Killing is the easiest thing he does. He hasn’t worked this far northwest before. There are no rewards out for him up here that I know of. There’s one thing about a reward … it keeps folks looking and listening. A man who’s sure he has the bandit cornered will take a chance quicker with a big reward in sight then he would otherwise. It stimulates individual trailing and trying for one thing. I suppose you’d like to have your twenty thousand odd dollars back, eh, Graham?”
“Whether we get the money back or not, I want that bluffing outlaw,” Graham asserted bitterly.
“Don’t think for a minute that he’s bluffing,” said Drew coolly. “If you told him what you said you did, it was because you didn’t know the man. If he’s bluffing, it’s the most dangerous bluff you ever ran up against, take it from me.”
“How much reward would you offer?” asked Payne, scowling at the banker. “It wouldn’t look any too good if we didn’t offer one.”
“Make it a good one,” the sheriff advised. “Goodness knows I don’t want it. In fact, I don’t expect any of my men to get it. But some lone hand might get it by bringing the Crow in with a bullet in his back. I reckon we don’t care how we get him. As you say, Frank, the bank and the county has to put up a front. I’d say make it five thousand from the bank and five thousand from the county.” He was thinking of the notice on the cottonwood tree and of the reward poster he would put over it as his answer.
“I’ll never agree to it!” declared Graham emphatically.
“On the other hand, Sil,” Payne said slowly, “Hal is right. We can’t have people saying that the bank is too cheap to even offer a reward.” He glanced at the two cattlemen with him and they nodded. “We’ve pretty near got to offer the reward, and there shouldn’t be any reason to call a meeting of the board of directors. There are four of us here and the others will stand by us.”
Graham glowered. He knew what Payne meant. If he didn’t agree to the offer of the reward, the directors would get together and carry it over his head. “It’s not the first time I’ve had a club held over my head,” the banker growled. “If you feel that way about it, it’s all right with me, but I’d rather have the county do it.” He looked squarely at Sheriff Drew.
“I’ll see that the county offers an additional five thousand,” Drew said dryly. “It’ll give the Crow a laugh anyway. It wouldn’t surprise me if he came back to claim it.”
“Enough of such nonsense,” blurted Graham. “I’ll admit that he is a dangerous character. What do you propose to do next, Drew?”
“I am going to go about my duty in the way I best see fit,” was the sheriff’s dignified reply. “I never discuss my plans outside the men who are going to work with me. I learned that much long ago. I’m going to try to get the Crow.”
“Of course,” snorted the irate banker. “And I’m going to try, too. As president of this bank, Sheriff, I do not have to depend upon your efforts entirely in the matter of rounding up this criminal. I’m going to send for a man to work on his own in this case.” He looked at Payne and the other two stockmen with triumph in his eyes.
“The bank can call for outside help, if it wants to, but the county won’t,” Drew said mildly. “I’m entitled to know who you’ve got in mind, Graham. In fact, I’ve got to know.”
“We’ve all got to know, for that matter,” Payne ejaculated.
“Very well.” Graham cleared his throat impressively. “As some of you may know, I have a relative who is president of a bank in the southern part of the state. Last fall he was placed in a position similar to that in which I am placed now. His bank was held up and robbed of twelve thousand dollars by three masked men. The … er … county authorities were unable to apprehend the bandits. He sent for a man of whom he had heard, and that man shot and killed one of the outlaws, wounded another, and captured the third, recovering most of the stolen money. I intend to send for that man. His name is Mel Davitt.”
The sheriff pursed his lips as Payne looked at him questioningly. “I’ve heard of Davitt,” Drew confessed. “He doesn’t work at such things regularly, and he has a peculiar way of working when he does work. He was an Association agent once down Miles City way, and they kicked him out because he let a man go when he rounded up a bunch of rustlers … with help. He’s a gunman, of course, but so is the Crow, for tha
t matter. He’s young, too.”
“As president of the bank, I’m entitled to try every means to recover the bank’s money,” said Graham. “I don’t want you to think I’m going over your head in this matter, Sheriff Drew, for it really is just an extra precaution. As you said, the bank has the right …”
“Go ahead and call in your man,” Payne interrupted. “One more on the trail won’t do any harm, and the sheriff just got through telling you that’s what the rewards were for … to attract man hunters.”
“I have absolutely no objections,” said the sheriff heartily. “I’ll cooperate with him on the side and I want to talk to him when he comes.”
“Then our business is settled,” Graham declared, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.
Sheriff Drew rose from his chair. “I’m going to Bend City in the morning, but I’ll be back maybe tomorrow night. I’ll have the reward notices printed. I’m obliged to you, Graham, for your good description of this Crow party. I’ve got a hunch we’ll get him yet.”
When he was again alone in his office, Graham penned a note to his banking relative asking him to arrange for the immediate services of Mel Davitt for the State Bank of Milton.
Chapter Three
It was the brilliant hour before sunset, with the prairie running gold, and the trees along the creek an emerald string of beads trailing about the pink and purple buttes. The sky was a lazy blue with a few vagrant white clouds floating like sails becalmed on a listless sea. A breeze was stirring, and meadowlarks chirped in erratic flight. The breath of the earth was warm.
Buck Granger was riding north toward Milton.
More than one girl, new to the north range country, had termed Buck Granger “a typical buckaroo,” and a number of them had learned he was much more than that—as almost any man could have told them. He was red-haired, good-looking, splendidly set up, with a daredevil light in his hazel eyes. He was twenty-four and looked it, normally, but when angered, which was seldom, he appeared older and harder, and his lips and eyes lost their boyish devil lights. He was strictly “cow people,” as he aptly put it, with a smile.
Three Trails to Triangle Page 2
