by Joe Millard
A large group of horsemen were bunched up, lounging in their saddles while they let their horses drink from the stream. Purss recognized the squat, dark figure of Apachito instantly, from having had a close-up look during a previous outlaw raid on Hangville. The bandit chief had apparently recruited several replacements, for the rancher swore there were at least twenty heavily armed riders with him.
Unaware of an eavesdropper just over his head, Apachito was giving detailed instructions for the assault on the bank and the subsequent capture or murder of someone he referred to as Senor Ninguno. Purss readily translated the Spanish as Mr. Nobody but the name was meaningless to him.
The talk turned to whether they should push on and eat a cold meal in the saddle or give their lathered horses a needed breather and stop long enough to build a fire and make coffee. The coffee won and the entire force moved upstream toward an open glade where the horses could graze.
The moment their backs were turned, Purss was scuttling in the opposite direction. He reached his horse undetected and set out for Hangville at a dead run. Bursting into the bank, he panted out the news to Markert and his employees.
"They won't dawdle long," he concluded. "I'd say you can figure to get hit within an hour at the most."
A number of bank customers had gathered around to listen. At the rancher's prediction, there was a wild rush for the door. The story spread through town like wildfire, and so did the panic it engendered. Scars from the previous occasion when the town played unwilling host to Apachito and his gang were still fresh in memory.
From one end of town to the other there was a wild stampede as frightened people snatched up whatever valuables they could carry and saddled horses or hitched wagons for flight. In a matter of minutes they were streaming out of town, heading mainly north or east toward Burning Rock or Bijou, the nearest towns that might offer refuge.
At the bank, President Markert was faced with some hard and split-second decisions. In the first moments of wild confusion three clerks slipped away and vanished. A few minutes later it was discovered that the outside bank guards had fled. Neither was too unexpected since Apachito and his men rated the shooting of bank employees as merely good, clean sport.
There was little question that the number one priority was the matter of saving the half-million dollars in brand-new currency. It had arrived only the previous day and had not yet been unpacked. The packets of bills were still in the padlocked metal case in waterproofed bundles. The case was roughly five feet long by two feet wide and slightly under that in height. If worst came to worst, its contents would practically guarantee the survival of the bank as an operating institution. It had, therefore, to be saved at all costs.
Hobe Bealy, the bank's man-of-all-work was dispatched to hitch up and bring the buckboard wagon on the double. With a head start, they stood a good chance of reaching the cavalry post where the troopers would give the case adequate protection.
The thousands of dollars in coins and bills used in day-today operations were a different matter. Stopping to hunt up adequate containers and pack the money would take far too long for the margin of safety. It had to be left behind as a sacrifice for the safety of the larger horde. Time was getting dangerously short. The remaining clerks, tellers and cashiers, were already scuttling around with one eye on the grandfather clock and an ear cocked for the first muted thunder of distant hoofbeats.
"Grab all the cash you can carry at one time," he ordered, "and ram it into the big safe, then clear out. Don't go back for more and don't stop to pick up any you drop. If this box is half as strong as the salesman claimed, it might even resist dynamite."
He heard the buckboard rattle to a stop in front as he slammed and locked the door of the massive safe. He and Hobe wrestled the heavy chest out and into the wagon, then force of habit made him turn back to lock the bank's door. Even as he turned the key he realized the uselessness of the precaution.
As they raced out the north end of the almost-deserted town, past the Hanging Tree, Markert twisted in his saddle to look back. A rapidly moving cloud of dust marked the approach of the outlaws from the south. His timing had already been cut much too fine. He could only hope that trying to break into the huge safe would delay them long enough to give the buckboard a longer lead.
Markert noticed the three canvas-topped wagons parked at the rim of the gully, the horses picketed beside them and the little knot of men close by, but he was too distraught and too intent on flight to recognize them. He saw the low, sharp spine of rock outcropping a split second too late to shout a warning to Hobe. With a splintering crash, the wagon wheel collapsed, and with it collapsed all hope of reaching the safety of the cavalry outpost.
*****
The outlaws jogged along the dusty street close-bunched, cocked rifles cradled in their arms, wary eyes searching both sides of the street for a sign of trouble. Apachito rode in the lead with Lupo, his second in command, beside him. Lupo was a big man, built on the general lines of a grizzly bear, with a tangle of greasy red beard on a knife-scarred face.
He generally gave an impression of being slow and ponderous, a delusion that had cost more than one adversary his life. In action, Lupo could move like greased lightning. Few gunmen could match the speed or accuracy of his draw, although in his huge paw the big Frontiersman model of the Colt .45 looked like a child's toy.
He scowled at the silent buildings and the empty street and muttered, "I don't like this, Apachito. It is too quiet, much too quiet. The town even smells empty."
"You worry too much, amigo," the bandit chief said, leaning over to pat his lieutenant's knee. "You know no one comes out to stare when the terrible Apachito rides past with his men. No, no, my friend. They bar their doors and slam their shutters and cower in terror underneath their beds."
"That," Lupo said dryly, "should be a sight to see. Because all their horses must be cowering under the beds with them." He waved a huge hand toward the empty hitchrails. "Do you see a horse anywhere along the street? There is the livery stable, wide-open and empty, with not a buggy or wagon in the yard? I say again, I don't like it."
"Worry, worry, worry," Apachito said, but the first faint shadow of doubt had begun to cloud his eyes. "They have probably hidden all the horses so we cannot steal them. It is the natural thing they would do."
"If," Lupo said grimly, "they knew ahead of time we were coming. But how could anyone have known that?"
"By God!" Apachito cried in a choked voice. He slammed a fist onto the horn of his saddle. "By God, you're right, Lupo!" He twisted around to glower back at his small army of cutthroats. "If one of those bastards has sold us out..."
"How could they, Apachito? No one can get in or out of our camp unless the gate is opened, and we both know it has not been opened once since you returned from that unfortunate affair at Burning Rock until we rode out this morning."
"We'll soon know if they were warned of our coming," Apachito said grimly. "Here is the bank."
The outlaws swung out of their saddles and moved to their places with military precision, following a blueprinted plan. Ten of the outlaws took positions at the front and side of the structure, facing outward, rifles ready to repel any attack. Two men carrying crowbars ran to take positions each side of the boarded-up opening. The remainder faced the bank's barred windows with rifles ready to return any fire from within.
Lupo, with Apachito at his heels, marched to the massive oak front door, sheathed inside and out with iron. Both men had their pistols drawn and cocked. Lupo cautiously tried the door latch, shook the unyielding mass, then turned to his chief.
"Locked! That proves they were warned. Why else would the bank be closed in the middle of the day?"
Together they ran around to the side.
"Tear it down," Apachito shouted.
The bandits with crowbars attacked the planking, prying it away. In a matter of moments the ragged opening through the adobe wall was exposed. Lupo was the first one through. He stood just inside, l
ooking around, then called,
"It's clear. There's nobody here, now."
Apachito followed him inside. The two who had torn down the barrier dropped their crowbars and followed. They ran behind the cashiers' cages and uttered whoops of excitement.
"Money," one yelled. "Money all over the floor."
Apachito and his lieutenant ran around the counter, A trail of scattered coins and bills led from the change drawers in the cages to the locked safe at the rear. The two bandits were gleefully snatching up the money and cramming it into their pockets.
"They were warned all right," Apachito said, "but only a little while ago. They had time to lock most of their change in the safe, but not time enough to pick up what they spilled in their rush." He studied the massive safe, shaking his head. "I don't know, Lupo. This is something new. We have never tackled a safe this strong before, but I'll get the dynamite and fuse and we'll try."
He went out to his horse and opened one of the saddlebags. He got out a bundle of dynamite sticks, already capped, and a coil of fuse. As he turned, one of the bandits called.
"Hey, chief! This fellow says he has information to sell you."
His rifle was covering a scrawny man in dirty, ragged clothing. The scrawny man had a narrow, dirty, weasel face and one cockeye that rolled wildly skyward while its companion was staring straight ahead. His arms were held up over his head.
"I ain't got no gun, chief," he whined, as Apachito came over. "I'm a poor man—too poor to buy a gun and too much of a coward to steal one. But I got important information that'll be worth plenty of money to you."
"Spit it out," Apachito ordered.
"You ain't said you'll pay," Weasel-Face said craftily, "nor how much."
"I'll pay what it's worth in gold or," he slapped his holstered gun, "in lead—depending. It better be good and it better be straight."
"It's straight, chief, I swear t' God. You're wastin' your time here, trying to blast that safe. All that's inside it is peanuts. But I know where the real money went."
"Then stop babbling and start talking facts if you expect to collect the gold instead of the lead."
"Yes, sir, chief. Yes, sir! Well, just about an hour ago a fella rode in and told us you was comin'. He was huntin' cat down in the hills when you fellas came along, talkin' about how you was goin' to rob the bank and kill somebody afterward. When you stopped to boil coffee he lit out for here with the news. Pretty near the whole town cleared out."
"Get to the money," Apachito growled.
"Sure, chief. The president of the bank lit out on horseback with his flunky drivin' a buckboard, and in that wagon was a metal chest. Now, do we get down to business? I'm the only one can tell you what was in that chest and where they headed."
"Now you'll tell me you're a special pal of the bank president and he told you and nobody else." Apachito half drew his gun. "I guess that's enough for me to pay off—in lead."
"Wait, chief! Now, just wait! I'll tell you how it was. Yesterday this chest come in on the Wells Fargo coach, and when they unloaded it they had enough armed guards around it to stand off an army. Then later, in the saloon, I heard the guards talkin' about there bein' a half million dollars in brand-new bills inside. When I saw the chest again today, it was on that buckboard and heading that way—a little north by west."
"North by west," Apachito mused, then snapped his fingers. "Of course—the cavalry post. It's the one place in that direction where he'd figure his money was protected." He whirled. "Lupo! Everybody! Hit the saddles! I know where the bank's real money is, and we're going to get it."
He started for his horse. The scrawny man ran after him, tugging at his shirt, whining, "Wait, chief. Now, wait. You ain't paid me one cent for telling you where to grab off half a million dollars. You said you'd pay what it's worth."
"And I will," Apachito said, turning, his gun in his hand. "Just as I promised—in lead."
He shot the scrawny man through the heart. Lupo, who had emerged from the bank at that moment, looked down at the body and scratched his head.
"What'd you have to do that for?"
"Because he knew where we were going and what we were after. No matter how much we paid him, he'd sell us out in a minute to anyone who offered a dollar more. The only thing lower then a double-crosser, Lupo, is a cheap double-crosser."
CHAPTER 14
Markert finished his recital and stared bitterly at the smashed wheel. Hobe had recovered his breath. He limped to the canted wagon and squatted down to examine the damage, shaking his head and muttering to himself.
"It's no use, Hobe," the banker said. "This is the end of the line for us. If we had time we could get a new wheel and a wagon jack, but they'll be coming after us any minute now."
"How would they know which way you went?" Dandy asked.
"They'll know. Apachito has paid informers everywhere. Besides, most of those who stayed behind when the decent people fled town are saddle bums and sneak thieves who would tell him anything to get into his good graces. No, our only hope would be to hide the chest some place where they couldn't possibly find it. The bank would gladly pay a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward to anyone who could keep it from falling into their hands."
Dandy's eyes went wide. He gasped, "Twenty-five thou—"
"Hold it," Shadrach interrupted harshly. "I know what's going through your mind, Dandy, and it's no good. If they so much as suspect you've hidden the chest, they'd tear everything apart. Or, more likely, Apachito would simply torture the women until you talked. I know how he operates."
"If there was time," the hunter mused, "we could rig some kind of pack saddle to carry the chest on one of your horses. Or open the chest and pack the money in bags the horses could carry."
From the direction of Hangville came a single gun shot. Shadrach shook his head.
"It was a good idea, but that sounds as if your time is just about to run out."
The hunter snapped his fingers. "Unhitch one of the horses from the wagon. Then climb into your saddle and head west, leading it and making all the time you can. Being part Indian, Apachito will read sign and keep after you, figuring the second horse has got to be carrying the money. Meantime, we'll hide the chest somewhere, maybe in one of those willow thickets along the stream. You can head into the hills and shake off pursuit, then hole up until it's safe to come back for the chest."
"The coffin," Markert said. "The one your daughter gets into and vanishes. The chest should just fit inside. I don't know how the trick is worked, but could you make the chest disappear the same way?"
"Y-Yes," Dandy stuttered, looking stunned at the idea, "But—but..."
Hobe interrupted with a yell. "Here they come a-hellin'!" He pointed a shaking hand toward town.
The horses and riders were not yet visible but a cloud of dust was smoking up in the direction of Hangville and moving rapidly northward.
Hobe was unsnapping the tugs, unhitching the near horse from the wrecked wagon. Markert swung into the saddle and grabbed the rein tossed up to him for a lead line. Hobe finished unhitching the horse and scrambled on to its back, clinging for dear life to the harness.
"I ain't stickin' around here to get kilt," he yelled. "Git the hell goin'."
Markert drove in his spurs and the two decoys burst into a run, heading south along the rim of the gully toward the road that crossed it and ran west to the cavalry outpost.
Dandy yelled, "Bring the chest. I'll get the coffin ready."
He galloped down the sloping side of the gully. The hunter and Shadrach ran to the broken-down wagon. The chest was built somewhat like a foot locker, with stout handles on either end. They hoisted it out of the wagon bed and ran down the slope, carrying it between them.
"How far do you think Dandy can be trusted with this?" the hunter panted.
"Where money's involved," Shadrach said, "I make it a rule never to trust anyone else. And when the stake is a half million, I wouldn't even trust myself. But I can't see that we've got
much choice right now."
Laura in her tights and Cora in her clown outfit were holding the tent flaps open. Dandy, aided by Molly and Hunk, was wheeling the coffin on its catafalque out to the entrance. As he lifted the lid a faint chorus of angry yells drifted down from beyond the rim of the gulley.
"They've found the empty wagon," the hunter said grimly. "Now if they'll just follow Markert's tracks, we're in the clear. But I've got a kind of all-gone feeling they're too smart to fall for it."
"Hurry it up," Dandy yelled impatiently. "Get it into the coffin but let it down easy. I don't want the bottom knocked out. Then you two step far back and don't look. I wouldn't sell my coffin secret for any money, and I'm sure as hell not going to give it away by letting you peek."
