The men rode into town from the north. Their horses were held to a walk and they kept to the middle of the street. Unhurried, with three riders out front and two more trailing behind, they proceeded towards the centre of town. No one spoke.
The community, like many midwestern farm towns, was bisected by a main thoroughfare. The business district, small but prosperous, consisted of four stores, a saloon and a blacksmith shop, and one bank. There were few people about and little activity in the downtown area. A typical Monday morning, it was the slowest time of the week. Which, in part, accounted for the five riders. Their business was better conducted in confidence and without crowds.
The men were unremarkable in appearance. Neatly dressed, they wore drab woolen suits and slouch hats. Three were clean-shaven and the other two sported well-trimmed beards. All of them were above average height, but only one, somewhat large and burly, was noticeable for his size. Their mounts were an altogether different matter. At first glance, the animals appeared to be common saddle stock. On closer examination, however, a
uniform sleekness and conformation became apparent. The horses were built for endurance and stamina, staying power over long distances.
In the centre of town, the riders wheeled to the left and halted before the bank. There was a military precision to their movements, smooth and coordinated, somehow practiced. The two bearded men stepped down and handed their reins to the third man in the front rank. Without hesitation, the two riders in the rear positioned their mounts to cover the street in both directions. A moment passed while one of the bearded men took a long look around. His bearing was that of a field commander and he subjected the whole of the business district to a slow, careful scrutiny. Then, followed by his companion, he turned and entered the bank.
Inside the door, he stopped and quickly scanned the room. The cashier’s window and the vault were to the rear. He noted that the vault door was closed and, to all appearances, locked. To his immediate left, seated behind a desk, the bank president was engaged in conversation with three middle-aged men. By their dress and manner of speech, they were gentlemen landowners and therefore no threat. He pulled a .45 Smith & Wesson revolver from a shoulder holster inside his suit jacket.
“Get your hands up! Keep ’em up and you won’t get hurt!”
There was an instant of leaden silence. The cashier froze, watching him intently. At the desk, the president stared at him with disbelief, and the three customers swiveled around in unison. Suddenly, eyes wide with terror, one of them panicked and bolted from his chair.
“Robbers! The bank’s being robbed!”
A gun exploded and the man staggered, clutching at his arm. His face went ashen, then he passed out, collapsing at the knees, and dropped to the floor. One eye
on the cashier, the gang leader glanced over his shoulder. His companion, standing just inside the doorway, held a pistol trained on the men at the desk. A wisp of smoke curled upward from the barrel.
“Goddamnit!” he said gruffly. “Did you have to shoot him?”
“Seemed like the thing to do. Leastways it made him close his trap.”
“Maybe so,” the gang leader snapped. “But that gunshot will draw a crowd just sure as hell.”
“I don’t recollect that ever stopped you before.”
“All right, forget it! Keep them birds covered while I tend to business.”
With that, he walked to the rear of the bank and stopped before the cashier’s window. He casually rested the butt of the Smith & Wesson on the counter, and nodded to the cashier.
“What’s your name?”
“Martin,” the cashier muttered. “Robert Martin.”
“Well, Mr. Martin, how would you like to make it home to supper tonight?”
“I’d like that.”
“Then get busy and open that vault. No fool tricks or I’ll blow your head off. Hop to it!”
Martin eyed him steadily a moment, then turned towards the vault. A roar of gunfire, several shots in rapid succession, suddenly sounded from outside. The gang leader looked around and saw his companion peering out the door.
“What’s all that about?”
“Nothin’ serious. Some of the locals got nosy and the boys warned them to stay off the street.”
“Keep a sharp lookout.”
Turning back, he started and let loose a harsh grunt. Robert Martin had the cash drawer open and was clawing
frantically at a revolver hidden beneath a stack of bills. The gang leader pulled the trigger and his Smith & Wesson spat a sheet of flame. The slug punched through Martin’s forehead and tore out the back of his skull. A halo of bone and brain matter misted the air around his head, and he stood there a moment, dead on his feet. Then he folded at the waist and slumped to the floor.
“Dumb bastard!” the gang leader cursed savagely. “Told you I’d blow your head off!”
Leaning across the counter, he began scooping bills out of the cash drawer and stuffing them into his pockets. Once the drawer was empty, he wheeled about and marched towards the front of the bank. He signalled the bearded man at the door.
“Let’s go! We’re all done here.”
“What about the vault?”
“No time! Another couple of minutes and the whole town’ll be up in arms.”
“The boys won’t like it. They rode a long ways for a payday.”
“Tough titty!” he barked. “You should’ve thought of that before you got an itchy trigger finger. C’mon, let’s clear out!”
The din of gunfire swelled as they moved through the door. Still mounted, the gang members outside were winging random shots through store windows along the street. The merchants and townspeople had taken cover, and as yet there was no return fire. Crossing the broad-walk, the bearded men hastily swung into their saddles. Then, with everyone mounted, the robbers reined about and rode north out of town.
A short distance upstreet the gang leader abruptly brought his horse to a halt. Where the business district ended, the residential area began, and both sides of the
street were lined with modest homes. Outside one house, a teenage boy stood at the edge of the yard. His eyes were filled with a mix of fear and youthful curiosity. He watched with wonder as the rest of the robbers skidded to a stop and turned their mounts. The gang leader calmly drew his pistol and extended it to arm’s length. He stared down the sights at the boy.
“Come out to get an eyeful, did you?”
The youngster swallowed, licked his lips. “I didn’t mean no harm, mister.”
“Your mama should’ve taught you better manners.”
Thumbing the hammer on his pistol, the gang leader sighted quickly and fired. A brilliant red splotch appeared on the pocket of the boy’s shirt. He reeled backward, then suddenly went limp and fell spread-eagled in the yard. As he hit the ground, the other bearded robber kneed his horse forward, blocking the gang leader.
“Why’d you do that? Why’d you kill him?”
“I felt like it.”
“For God’s sake, he’s just a kid!”
“So what.”
“So what! You took your spite out on a kid. That’s what!”
“Watch your mouth.”
“The hell I will!”
The burly rider reined his horse closer. “What’s the matter, Frank?”
“Ask Jesse.”
“I’m askin’ you.”
“We didn’t finish the job! Jesse said there wasn’t time to clean out the vault, and now he’s mad at himself.”
“Wasn’t time?” The large man scowled, turned his gaze on the gang leader. “Then how come you had time to stop and kill that kid?”
“Don’t push me, Cole.”
“And don’t you try throwin’ your weight around! We didn’t ride to hell and gone just to come away with chicken feed.”
“I told you to lay off! I won’t tell you again.”
“Well, I’ll damn sure tell you something! Me and the boys are gonna go back and empty that vault. You can come or stay as you please.”
“I’m warning you—!”
“Jesse, one of these days you’re gonna warn me once too often.”
A shot cracked and they instinctively ducked as a slug whizzed past their heads. Looking around, they saw a man standing in the middle of the street downtown. He had a rifle thrown to his shoulder, and as he fired the second time other men rushed to join him. The gang leader booted his horse and rapped out a sharp command.
“Too late now! Let’s ride!”
A barrage from downtown settled the matter. With lead whistling around their ears, the robbers bent low and kicked their mounts into a headlong gallop. Moments later they cleared the edge of town and thundered north along a rutted wagon road.
Their leader, well, out in front, never once looked back.