Red and Chip looked at one another. Neither spoke. Both men nodded and then looked back at the tall rancher.

  ‘I’ll tag along, Gene.’ Red said. ‘Johnny ain’t gonna face them killers on his lonesome.’

  ‘Reckon I’ll go saddle our horses.’ Chip added firmly. ‘Somebody has to stop them rats and I’m ready to try. I’d do anything to help Johnny, Gene. Besides I was mighty fond of Maisie. You can count me in as well.’

  Gene Adams proudly smiled.

  ‘Let’s go, men.’

  The thin bartender followed the massive blacksmith down through the maze of backstreets until they reached the alley that ran along the side of the sheriff’s office. Harker wiped the sand from his face and paused at the corner. The storm was still as feverish as ever and both men were thankful. As long as the air was full of sand they knew that no one would see them as they reached and entered the office.

  ‘Keep close, Bob.’ Harker said as he stepped up on to the boardwalk and raced along to the door of Willis’ office. His massive hands turned the handle. Both men entered fast.

  The blacksmith closed the door and looked out into the street. It was still impossible to see the other side of the street. He glanced at Charles.

  ‘Reckon nobody seen us.’ Harker noted.

  Bob Charles nodded as he rested a hip on the edge of the sheriff’s desk.

  ‘Yeah, nobody see us.’

  ‘We’d be dead if they had.’ The blacksmith added as he moved passed Charles and looked at the wall rack. There was only one rifle missing from the impressive array of weapons. The one he had seen the sheriff take with him when he had ventured out and headed to the Longhorn.

  Charles tilted his head and looked at the rifles. They were just as he remembered seeing them. There were rifles of every kind and all in pristine condition.

  ‘That’s one hell of a lot of rifles, Joel.’

  Harker started to pulled them off the rack and set them down on the desk. The blacksmith knew little of rifles but he knew enough.

  ‘Are they loaded?’ Charles asked.

  Harker shrugged. ‘I guess so. How do you check?’

  The bartender stood back up and picked up a Winchester. He was equally as naïve about weapons as his companion. He had seen people use rifles but that was as far as his knowledge stretched. He pushed the hand guard down and squinted into the magazine.

  ‘I reckon this one’s loaded.’

  Harker leaned down and also peered into the hole in the side of the repeating rifle.

  ‘You’re right, Bob. I can see bullets inside there.’

  Bob carefully placed the rifle down next to the pile of others and looked at the blacksmith as he plucked a shotgun off the rack.

  ‘Which do you figure is best, Joel? A repeating rifle or a scattergun?’ he asked.

  Harker exhaled. ‘Damned if I know. All I can tell you is that Hardy took a scattergun like this one when he went off to the Longhorn. It must be the best or he would have taken a carbine. Right?’

  Charles raised his eyebrows.

  ‘The sheriff never came back though, Joel. Maybe he should have taken a Winchester instead.’

  The blacksmith pondered for a moment. He then gave a firm nod of his head.

  ‘What if we take one of each?’ He queried.

  Chapter Ten

  THE REAR DOOR of the saloon was still battering against its frame as the two outlaws ventured out into the sandstorm and moved like vermin along the rear alley to where they knew they would find the magnificent house Bart Savage had pointed out to them as they had ridden into town. Neither had been able to focus too intently upon the structure on their arrival. Eyes red raw with blistering windswept sand could see little but both of the gang members knew what they were looking for. They were looking for the largest, most ostentatious building on the main thoroughfare.

  The Savage gang had only two reasons to be in Sutter’s Corner. One was to allow Bart Savage the pleasure of reeking vengeance on the man who had killed the outlaw leader’s three brothers ten years earlier.

  The second reason was to rob the town’s only bank of every cent within its vaults. Savage had learned years earlier that if you wanted to rob a bank and not run the risk of getting shot you had to adopt a different strategy. Instead of entering the bank with guns blazing, you persuaded the banker to bring the money to you.

  There was one way that could be achieved. You took the one thing bankers prized more than money and the threatened to kill it.

  The two outlaws moved through the alley and reached the very edge of the long wide street. They rested against a tall wooden wall and watched as the sand swept along the street in waves.

  This was not the first time they had done this. As far as they were concerned it would not be the last. The house was so large that it seemed out of place on the streets of Sutter’s Corner. It looked as though it should be set in the middle of a plantation and not situated in an average street.

  Both outlaws were about to race across the street when Reynolds grabbed the arm of Travis and pointed with his six-shooter to a weathered structure. Even with the clouds of sand which continued to torment their eyes the deadly gunmen could see the two men with rifles in their hands as they exited the sheriff’s office. The massive blacksmith almost hid the thin bartender from view as they nervously eased themselves out into the street and looked down towards the saloon.

  ‘See them?’ Reynolds asked as he turned the barrel of his gun in the direction of the pair of rifle toting men.

  ‘That’s the sheriff’s office, Griff.’ Travis snarled.

  ‘Yep, and they must be his deputies.’ Reynolds wrongly assumed. ‘I reckon they’re figuring on heading down to see what’s happened to their boss.’

  ‘I reckon so, Griff.’

  Both men moved along the boardwalk opposite the office as the two riflemen in turn started to head in the direction of the Longhorn. With each step the outlaws took they kept their guns trained on Harker and Charles.

  The storm seemed to be reaching its peak. It was howling like a pack of timber wolves. The sand was swirling around like a twister. Yet neither Reynolds nor his comrade allowed it to slow their pace.

  Harker and Charles were nervously approaching the saloon whilst both the outlaws were moving at speed. Within a few endless moments the two pairs of utterly different men were right across the main street from each other.

  ‘Hey.’ Reynolds yelled out at the top of his voice as he fought with the deafening sound of the storm.

  The massive blacksmith heard the voice and turned his massive frame as Charles caught a brief glimpse of the two men standing outside the shuttered barber shop.

  ‘Who is that?’ the bartender asked.

  It was the last question he would ever ask.

  Like rods of lightning a series of bright flashes carved through the sandstorm and hit both Charles and Harker. The larger man shook as his huge body absorbed the untold number of bullets which hit him. The smaller bartender was unable to stand his ground.

  One bullet punched him backwards and then a few more knocked him completely off his feet. The sound of breaking glass filled the ears of the blacksmith. Harker fell against a porch upright and clung to it. His dying eyes saw Charles crashing through the window panes of a drapery store.

  ‘Bob?’ Harker gasped as if his dead friend might be able to explain what was happening.

  Another salvo of lethally accurate bullets tore into the large man. Joel Harker released his grip on the upright. He raised the Winchester in his blood covered hands and took a faltering step.

  Then like a felled tree Harker toppled from the porch and hit the ground hard. He lay face down staring helplessly at the two men who had used him for target practice. Between the waves of sand which rolled down the main thoroughfare his eyes could see them walking away.

  The blacksmith coughed.

  Harker was dead.

  Both Reynolds and Travis had known that there was no point in checking if the two men they had just filled with lethal lead were still alive.

  A lifetime of killing had told them when their aim was true. They instinctively knew when they had achieved their goal.

  As though nothing had happened the two outlaws returned to the tall wooden wall which still swayed against the constant onslaught of the storm.

  They took shelter behind it and shook the spent casings from their smoking weaponry as they concentrated on the large house once again.

  ‘How come bankers always gotta have themselves the biggest houses, Griff?’ Travis asked his companion as they rested against the wall and reloaded their guns. ‘That place yonder looks like a castle and no mistake. How many damn rooms do you figure that place has got?’

  ‘Too many.’ Reynolds spat as he holstered one gun and pushed fresh bullets into his other .45.

  ‘Now if that was a whore house I could see the sense in having a real lot of rooms.’ Travis winked.

  Reynolds snapped the chamber of his gun shut and spun the still hot gun on his finger thoughtfully.

  ‘Reckon most bankers are just plumb boastful, Dave.’

  ‘Seems that way.’ Travis agreed as he drew one of his own weapons and cocked its hammer. ‘I got me a feeling that the banker won’t be needing a house of any size after Bart’s through with him.’

  Reynolds grinned. ‘I’ll bet you a hundred bucks Bart kills the banker.’

  ‘I ain’t taking that kinda bet, Griff.’ Travis pulled his gun hammer back. ‘Bart always kills bankers.’

  ‘Come on. Let’s go and do what Bart told us to do and catch us some bait.’ Reynolds moved away from the wall.

  With their guns held firmly in their hands, Reynolds and Travis ran through the cloud of sand which filled the main street of the town toward the massive structure. Every store had been shuttered and locked soon after the gang’s arrival but that meant nothing to either of the outlaws. They had been given their instructions and were following them to the letter.

  Both men looked at the finest of all the houses in the town and stared at the brass nameplate secured to its white picket fence. Travis used his jacket sleeve and wiped the sand from it. He read upon it and looked at Reynolds.

  ‘This is it, Griff.’ he said.

  ‘Yep, this is where the stinking rich old banker lives OK.’ Reynolds agreed as he tore the small gate off its hinges and threw it aside. The gusting wind lifted the gate up into the air. It vanished in the dense cloud of swirling sand. ‘Let’s go visiting.’

  Both outlaws fought against the powerful wind and made their way up to the porch. They sheltered in the porch and glared at the large door. Its black surface was so highly varnished that it was like a mirror.

  ‘Reckon the banker won’t be living here after we’re finished, Dave.’ Reynolds noted.

  ‘That’ll teach him to go flaunting his wealth.’ Travis grinned. ‘It don’t pay to look down on poor folks.’

  ‘Quit gabbing and kick this door down.’ Reynolds grumbled. ‘I’m sick of chewing on sand.’

  ‘Hold your horses.’ Travis clenched a fist and started to pound upon the door. After four mighty raps they heard the lock being released. The door moved ajar and the face of a maid stared through the gap at the two outlaws.

  ‘What you want here?’ the female asked before her eyes widened when they saw the barrels of the guns aimed at her.

  ‘Out of our way, woman.’ Reynolds pushed the door and they entered. Travis closed the door and spat out sand as he looked around the hall. It was far larger and fancier than any that they had entered before. ‘Your master must be a better thief than we are to afford a shack like this.’

  ‘The master is at the bank.’ The female stammered.

  ‘We know that.’ Reynolds said. ‘It ain’t him we come to see, woman.’

  The shaking female lifted her long apron and held it to her face as if its thin fabric might protect her from whatever it was the two outlaws intended doing.

  ‘Don’t hurt me. I ain’t got nothing.’ The maid said.

  Reynolds grunted. ‘We don’t want you either.’

  ‘Where’s your mistress, you stupid woman?’ Travis asked as he pushed the barrel of his gun between her ample well-confined breasts. ‘Tell us where she is or I’ll blow a hole in your chest big enough to ride a horse through.’

  Her large eyes flashed from one of the deadly outlaws to the other.

  ‘What you want with Mrs. White?’ the terrified maid nervously asked.

  Griff Reynolds angrily grabbed hold of the female and smashed her against a wall. He placed the barrel of his gun against her temple and glared into her eyes.

  ‘Quit stalling, woman. Where is she?’ he repeated the question. ‘Where’s your damn mistress? This is a mighty big house and I don’t hanker searching the whole damn place looking for her.’

  The pupils of the maid’s eyes aimed toward a closed white door with brass fixtures.

  ‘She’s in the parlor having refreshments.’ The maid stammered in a low whisper. ‘You ain’t gonna kill her, are you? She’s a real fine lady and don’t deserve killing. Please don’t kill her.’

  ‘I got me a feeling she wouldn’t beg for your life, woman.’ Reynolds stepped back from the female and looked at the door.

  He then looked at Travis. He did not have to say a word for his partner to know what to do. Dave Travis strode to the door and opened it. The perfumed air stopped the deadly outlaw in his tracks. Travis then saw the female sat on a well upholstered double seat behind a small table. A large pitcher of lemonade and a solitary glass rested upon a silver tray.

  A bewildered Martha White stared up at the dust-caked outlaw. Her well powdered jaw dropped. She was speechless.

  Travis looked back at Reynolds. ‘I found her.’

  Griff Reynolds strode into the parlor and up to the stunned seated female. In one swift action he grabbed the arm of the banker’s wife and hauled her to her feet.

  ‘You’re coming with us, woman.’ Reynolds said as he led the female back into the hall toward Travis who had already opened the front door.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Martha White finally managed to ask as she was dragged toward the open doorway. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘We’re taking you to the saloon.’ Travis growled.

  The banker’s wife screamed in horror as Travis took hold of her other arm.

  ‘Sheriff. Sheriff.’

  In the frame of the door both outlaws paused with the banker’s wife held firmly between them. Travis grabbed her face and squeezed her cheeks together until the female stopped screaming. He pushed his own snarling face up into hers and hissed like a rattlesnake about to sink its fangs into its prey.

  ‘Don’t go wasting your breath, gal. We already killed the sheriff.’ Travis told her in an ominous whisper. ‘We’ll kill you just for the fun of it. Now hush up unless you want to make your husband a widower.’

  Somehow Martha White knew the words she had just heard were the absolute truth.

  Reynolds swung around and aimed his six-shooter at the maid who was still pressed up against the hall wall. A cruel smile was carved into his hardened features.

  ‘Listen up, gal.’ Reynolds shouted at the maid. ‘Are you listening?’

  She stared with unblinking eyes at the man with the gun aimed at her and managed to nod.

  ‘I’m listening.’ She trembled.

  ‘Good. I want you to go to the bank and tell her husband to fill a heap of canvas bags with all the paper money in the bank’s vault. No gold coin just paper money. Savvy?’

  She nodded again and repeated.

  ‘Just paper money. No gold coin.’

  Reynolds added.

  ‘Then tell him that he has to bring it to the saloon and we’ll let him have his wife back unharmed. If he don’t show in thirty minutes we’ll kill her and visit the bank with guns blazing anyway. Savvy?’

  The maid gave another nod of her head.

  ‘I’ll tell him, mister.’

  Confident that the chilling message would find the ears of the bank manager, Reynolds and Travis dragged the female out into the sandstorm.

  The maid cautiously walked to the open door and nervously looked out into the storm. She watched silently as the two outlaws disappeared into the sandstorm with her mistress in tow.

  Her heart pounded inside her large bosom as if it were about to explode. She lifted her shawl off the hat stand and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  The maid ventured out from the handsome house and made her way along the windswept street toward the bank. The outlaw’s grim message was branded into her numbed mind.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE SIX RIDERS of the Bar 10 were now close to Sutter’s Corner and getting nearer with each long stride of their mounts long legs. Each of them knew that they would have already reached the sprawling settlement if not for the blinding sandstorm which hampered their progress.

  Johnny had moved alongside the rancher ahead of his four fellow cowboys. Their horses were biting at their bits as the fearless horsemen continued to urge them on to a pace which would guarantee that they reached town long before sundown.

  There were still a few miles to go.

  Plenty of time to think.

  Johnny tried to rid his mind of the memories which had haunted him for nearly ten years. It was impossible. For the more he tried to dismiss the memories, the more they haunted him.

  Gene Adams had given him a new name and a new life but now as he rode beside the legendary rancher Johnny recalled all of the events which he had managed to suppress for over a third of his life.

  Johnny had been a skilled marksman since childhood. He had managed to earn his living by hunting and had made enough money to buy himself a pinto pony and a fancy shooting rig before he had reached his fifteenth birthday. For the next few years he had roamed from one place to another doing odd jobs. Before long the life of the aimless drifter had become engrained into him.

  Yet when he had ridden into the small town of Rio Maria set close to the Mexican border he had never fired a shot in anger.

 

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