Diamond City had been as quiet as the grave since the sound of the single shot from Henry Jardine’s gun had echoed around its wooden buildings earlier that day. Apart from growing numbers of flies seeking out the body of Sheriff Hardy, there had been no one courageous enough to venture out on to the boardwalks.
‘Reckon the telegraph man has woken up yet, Henry?’ Saul Bass asked as he drained the last drop of froth from his beer-glass. ‘You hit him kinda hard.’
Jardine toyed with the ashtray before him. He did not look at Bass. His attention was on the street as the shadows lengthened.
‘I figure he might be awake around now.’
‘Did he get his message out?’
‘Some of it. When he wakes up, he ain’t gonna do no more talking on them wires. Not after what me and Luther did to his equipment,’ Jardine muttered.
‘And what I done to his hands,’ Luther Cole added.
‘What ya do to his hands?’ a curious Doc Weatherspoon asked from the long, wet, bar-counter.
‘I chopped off his fingers, Doc!’ Cole boasted.
‘All of ’em?’ Rufus Clayton asked.
‘I sure did. Look!’ Luther Cole placed his whiskey-bottle on the bar, searched his deep coat-pockets, hauled out the blood-covered fingers and spread them out.
‘I count only nine,’ Weatherspoon said, sipping at his drink.
‘I reckon he must have only had nine fingers to start with.’ Cole shrugged.
‘Unless you lost one.’ Toke Darrow nodded.
If the trio of saloons had bartenders, they had disappeared long before the thirteen outlaws had stridden into them. Jardine had watched his fellow outlaws drink all afternoon without once touching a drop of liquor himself.
His attention was solely for the bank opposite. Yet, for the first time in his long career, he did not have any desire simply to rob it. He had a much grander plan hatching in his fertile imagination.
‘Do you reckon we’ll be robbing that bank any time soon, Henry?’ Luther Cole asked, pulling up a chair. He placed his whiskey-bottle on top of the green baize and sat down next to the thoughtful Jardine.
‘I had me a better idea than just robbing another bank, Luther,’ Henry Jardine replied.
‘What ya mean? We robbed the banks of every damn town along the ridge. That’s what we do. We rob banks.’ Cole rubbed his eyes and watched his long-time associate lift the bottle to his dry lips and take a long swallow.
‘Think about it. This town is perfect for us to use as a base, Luther.’ Jardine wiped his chin.
‘What ya mean?’
‘From Diamond City we can strike at Waco!’ Jardine handed the bottle back to Cole, then glanced at the rest of the outlaws propped up against the long bar. ‘We already have control of this town. The people here are hiding like scared jackrabbits. We own this entire town already and it took just one bullet.’
Cole nodded and swigged at the neck of his bottle.
‘I get it. We use this place as a kinda hideout.’
‘Yep,’ Jardine confirmed. ‘A real fancy hideout. It has everything. Grub and booze and probably a lotta females. Our saddlebags are already bursting with gold and paper money. Now we get a chance to sleep in real beds like human beings.’
Cole rested his elbows on the tabletop. His eyes were glazed as they looked at his friend’s determined features.
‘What about the men folk in this town?’
‘Simple. We disarm the critters and if they try anything, we just kill them.’
Cole laughed out loud, drawing the attention of the rest of their men.
‘Henry here has got a darn smart idea, boys!’ he bellowed.
One by one the outlaws gathered around the small card-table like the flies that had been drawn to the dead body on the telegraph-office boardwalk.
‘What’s this idea, Jardine?’ Toke Darrow asked. ‘I sure hope it involves the money in that bank’s safe.’
‘Better than that, Toke.’ Jardine stood and walked to the swing-doors. He stopped and rested a hand on the top of them.
‘What’s better than robbin’ the bank?’ Darrow asked.
The taller, older outlaw looked back for a brief moment before returning his eyes on the dusty streets before him. He smiled and nodded to himself.
‘We just stole a whole town, Toke!’
There was a brief silence before the drunken outlaws realized what Jardine had said. Then one by one they began to laugh and cheer.
‘I bet Jesse James never stole a whole town, huh?’ Snake Billow grinned.
‘Damn right!’ Cole grunted as his fingers continued to search his pockets for the elusive tenth digit. ‘We got ourselves a place that would make anyone jealous.’
‘But stayin’ put in one place has gotta be kinda dangerous, ain’t it?’ Jade Darrow wondered aloud. ‘The law might decide to come visiting once they find out where we are.’
‘What law, Jade?’ Jardine piped up. ‘We’ve killed nearly every damn sheriff and lawman between here and Black Rock in the last month or so. Who’s left?’
Clay Moore struck a match and lit the end of the twisted cigarette in his mouth.
‘Henry’s right! There ain’t nobody else!’
‘Even ol’ Iron Eyes is dead!’ Darrow conceded. ‘And he was the only one that I ever lost shut-eye over. Them Apaches done a damn good job as I hear tell.’
Saul Bass spat at the sawdust at his feet.
‘I hope he’s rottin’ in hell!’
‘Burnin’ more like, Saul!’ Cole laughed. ‘If the Devil let him in, that is.’
‘Damn right!’ Bodine agreed. ‘Iron Eyes made even Lucifer look like a Sunday-School ma’am.’
Every eye within the saloon watched the infamous outlaw turn and face them. It was the first time that any of them had seen Jardine look so happy. Since their gangs had joined together, Henry Jardine had proved himself the superior planner out of the thirteen outlaws. If he thought that they ought to remain in Diamond City, then that was what they would do.
‘We own Diamond City, boys!’ he said triumphantly. ‘It’s ours! And there ain’t nobody gonna take it away from us!’