There was a long silence as the rancher pulled the collar of his top coat up against the wind. He then looked back at Johnny.

  ‘I’ve got me a plan, son.’ Adams explained. ‘It means we gotta use this stagecoach.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’ Happy piped up.

  Chip and Red steadied their mounts. Neither spoke as they watched Johnny lean closer to the rancher.

  ‘Hold on there. Do you intend on driving this stage into town, Gene?’ Johnny gulped and pointed at the driver and the guard. ‘Savage will kill you just the same as he’d kill these two boys. They’ll use this stagecoach for target practice as soon as they see it. Tell me you ain’t thinking of driving this stage into Sutter’s Corner, Gene. That’s suicide.’

  The head of the Bar 10 nodded as though agreeing with every word which spilled from the young cowboys lips.

  ‘That’s right but I ain’t driving it, Johnny.’ Adams said and then turned his attention to Tomahawk. ‘He is.’

  Johnny Puma straightened up on his saddle and looked at the stunned face of the old timer.

  ‘What? You’re gonna make Tomahawk drive this stagecoach right into the sights of the Savage gang?’ Johnny gasped.

  ‘That’s the plan.’ Adams replied.

  Tomahawk opened his toothless mouth. ‘Me?’

  Gene Adams nodded.

  ‘Yep. You’re driving this stagecoach right down the middle of the main street passed the Longhorn, old timer.’ He confirmed.

  ‘That sounds mighty dangerous, Gene.’ Red said.

  Adams glanced briefly to the cowboy.

  ‘It is, Red.’

  Tomahawk scratched his jutting beard and shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘That’s gotta be the worst damn plan I’ve ever heard, Gene boy.’ The old timer grumbled. ‘Why me?’

  Gene Adams lowered his head and stared at his ancient pal and shrugged.

  ‘Why? Because you’re the smallest, Tomahawk. That’s why. It’s as simple as that.’

  The bewildered Tomahawk raised his bushy eyebrows and then waved a bony finger at the rancher.

  ‘If I’m still alive after all this you owe me a full glass of whiskey, boy.’ He sorted. ‘You hear me?’

  The rancher looked at the old man.

  ‘Hell, if you’re still alive after this I’ll buy you a whole bottle of whiskey, Tomahawk.’ Adams drawled before adding. ‘Maybe even two bottles.’

  ‘You’re gonna buy me two bottles of whiskey?’

  ‘If you don’t get yourself killed I am, Tomahawk.’ Adams exhaled.

  Tomahawk watched as the stagecoach driver and guard clambered down from their high perch.

  ‘You ain’t scared are you, Tomahawk?’ the rancher asked his old friend.

  ‘I ain’t never been scared in my whole life, Gene boy.’

  ‘That long, huh?’

  The wily old man frowned and looked at the other Bar 10 riders.

  ‘I still reckon this is a real stupid plan.’ Tomahawk whispered to them before dismounting and moving to the stagecoach.

  They watched as the bony old man reluctantly climbed up to the driver’s seat. Adams turned to the rest of his cowboys and lowered his head.

  ‘Now listen up. For my plan to work you have to do exactly as I tell you. We’re riding into the jaws of death and we can’t afford to make one mistake.’ Adams told them. ‘We’re all in the hands of each other.’

  The five Bar 10 cowboys listened intently. They knew their very lives depended on one another following the rancher’s orders to the letter.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE STORM BEGAN to ease yet like a wild mustang it refused to quit its bucking altogether. Every few heartbeats a wave of sand lashed out at the buildings and those who had yet to seek or find shelter within them. The outlaw’s horses which were still tethered to the hitching rails outside the Longhorn were in a sorrowful state. Yet none of the surviving members of the Savage gang cared one bit about their horseflesh. They knew there were plenty more that they could steal up in the livery stable at the end of the long main street.

  For the first time in hours the sun could actually be seen by those who cared to look heavenward. Its rays were finally able to reach the ground but not one person within Sutter’s Corner had noticed.

  The town was filled with a fear which was contagious.

  At any moment those who hid from view within the wooden structures knew that they too could be preyed upon by the gang of deadly killers. The shooting had resounded around the town for hours and every one of the townsfolk knew that the deadly gang of merciless killers could strike out at any one of them without fear of retribution.

  There had been many eyes which had spied the resolute lawman battle against the ferocious storm on his way toward the Longhorn. None of those eyes had seen Hardy Willis return but they had heard the gunfight which had occurred within the saloon after he had headed into it with his shotgun held across his chest.

  The sheriff had never been a man who lingered anywhere for too long and the simple fact that nobody had seen the well-rounded lawman returning to his office told its own terrifying tale.

  Willis had to be dead. There was no other conclusion which could be made. And if the sheriff could not defeat the unholy gang, no one could.

  The prospect of any rational person venturing out into the street with an untold number of outlaws still ready and able of killing them deterred any of Sutter’s Corner citizens from succumbing to their curiosity.

  There was only one man within the town who was intent on stepping out into the street and head to where everyone knew Savage and his gang were holed up.

  That man was Joshua White the bank manager. His hooded eyes glanced through the glass windows of the bank out into the street. The storm was ebbing but the danger for him and his beloved wife was probably increasing with every passing second.

  White knew that his life was about to be ripped apart but by obeying the outlaws demand to deliver all of the banks money would also destroy the lives of everyone else who had entrusted him with their savings.

  He watched as his two tellers emptied the last of the vaults paper money from trays into the canvas bags. The banker started to secure the leather straps of each of the six bags as his mind failed to think of a way out of his predicament which would not result in his wife being executed.

  Only minutes earlier White had received the message from his distraught servant and had not wasted one second before he had ordered his tellers to do just as he had been ordered.

  Against every one of his bankers instincts White obeyed the outlaw’s demands without question. Between them he and his tellers had filled a half dozen canvas bags with all of the banks paper money from his vault. White wondered if handing over the banks entire stock would actually buy his wife’s freedom.

  If the memory of all of the shots he had heard since the fateful arrival of the Savage gang told him anything it was that there was no amount of cash which could stop killers from killing.

  Yet he had to try.

  A loyal and faithful husband had to try even if the odds were stacked against him.

  White stared at the bulging canvas bags. He had secured every buckle of every strap. Every cent of the combined wealth of Sutter’s Corner inhabitants was in the half dozen bags. Only a few thousand dollars in gold coin remained on the vaults shelves. The banker realized that the outlaws had not wanted the coins due to the fact that they were markedly heavier than the bank notes.

  He knew that by handing over the cash he was ruining not only his career but his reputation as well. He was also destroying the lives of every one of the banks customers.

  Only those who kept their money stashed in their homes would be unaffected by his actions.

  His eyes darted to the wall clock.

  It had taken barely twenty minutes to fill the bags. White stared at the faces of the two tellers and could see that they knew he was a broken man.

  They also knew that he could never carry all of the bags to the Longhorn on his own. The youngest of the two tellers stepped toward White.

  ‘Can I help you with these bags, Sir?’ Ted Smith asked his employer.

  Joshua White glanced at the teller. He wanted to refuse the offer but knew he needed all the help he could get in order to achieve his goal.

  ‘I’m much obliged, Ted.’ White said.

  ‘Reckon I’d best give you a hand as well.’ Ty Logan the other teller nodded. ‘Two bags apiece is just about manageable I guess.’

  The banker was touched by the loyalty of his employees. He was also fearful of their safety in assisting him. He gave a nod of his head.

  ‘Thank you, men. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.’ He sighed. ‘But when we unload these bags at the saloon I want you to run for your lives. Promise me that.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Sir.’ Ted Smith nodded as he unlocked and opened the door. ‘We’ll run as fast as we can.’

  ‘I sure hope they let Mrs. White go, sir.’ Logan added.

  ‘You and me both, Ty.’ White stammered.

  The sandstorm was a mere shadow of what it had been at its destructive zenith. Now every part of the long main street was visible as the afternoon sun beat down upon it. Now there was no cover for the three men. Every step that they would take toward the saloon would be seen by the outlaws holed up inside the Longhorn.

  The banker inhaled deeply and mustered every ounce of his courage.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get this over with.’ White said as he gripped the leather straps of two of the bags. ‘We ain’t got much time.’

  The three men started out into the street. Then with two bags each they began the long journey toward the distant saloon.

  Chapter Fourteen

  SLY POTTER WAS leaning on the top of the swing doors of the saloon as the three bankers emerged out into the bright sunlight. The outlaw glanced across at his six companions and grinned.

  ‘They’re coming, boys.’ Potter announced. ‘Three of them toting two real heavy bags each.’

  Bart Savage rose from his chair and walked across the blood-stained sawdust toward the grinning Potter. He looked out into the bright street and narrowed his eyes until he too saw the three bank workers.

  Savage turned and looked at the seated female. Martha White was flanked by two of the remaining gang members whilst the rest of the outlaws surrounded the rest of Savages prisoners who were roped together.

  ‘Reckon your man must love you real deeply.’ Savage said as his brutal eyes burned into the woman. ‘Him and his two boys are carrying six big bags over here.’

  Martha raised her head. ‘Joshua is a good man. He would do anything for me.’

  Savage walked back to her. ‘Even rob his own bank just to save your life.’

  Martha leaned back on the hard back chair and glared up at Savage.

  ‘You are an evil person. Joshua is ten times the man that you are. They’ll hunt you down wherever you go after this. I hope they string you all up when they capture you.’

  Bart Savage raised an eyebrow. ‘They might just hang your Joshua when they find out that he willingly handed over their life savings just to save the life of his wife.’

  Her expression altered.

  She knew he was right.

  The black hearted leader of the outlaws was totally right when he said that the citizens of Sutter’s corner might hang her man when they found out that he had been so easily manipulated by Savage.

  Many men are disliked by the professions they choose, she thought. Bankers have more enemies than most. When the townsfolk eventually crawled out from their hiding places and discovered that they had lost all of their money they would be angry. Anger when multiplied became a mob.

  Martha went to rise from her chair.

  The hands of the two outlaws brutally forced her back down on to the chair. Savage leaned over and looked into the face of the female.

  ‘You ain’t never lifted a finger and done a day’s work in your whole life, have you?’ the outlaw growled. ‘My boys told me you had a servant. You ever answered your own door when someone has come knocking, woman? Have you?’

  Martha could see the disgust in his hardened features.

  ‘I am the wife of the banker. I have a position to uphold.’ She huffed.

  Bart Savage grinned and straightened back up. He rested his wrists on his gun grips.

  ‘Well if we let you live you’ll not be the wife of a banker any longer. You’ll have to work them pink little hands of yours to the bone just to put food in that fat mouth of yours.’

  She looked outraged.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ She steamed.

  Savage chuckled and then yelled into her ear. ‘When me and my boys are finished you’ll be broke. Just like most of the other folks in this town. When a fat old woman ain’t got any money she has to do some mighty unpleasant things to keep on living.’

  Martha White swallowed hard.

  Once again she knew he was right.

  Savage swung on his heels and looked across at Reynolds who was sipping whiskey from the neck of a bottle.

  ‘I want you get all of the lanterns down from the walls, Griff. Fill a bucket with all of the coal tar oil in them and keep it ready.’

  ‘Right, Bart.’ Reynolds did as he was instructed without question. He knew it did not pay to ask Savage what he intended doing for that was something which riled the gang leader.

  The amply proportioned female was not so wise though. She had no natural instincts when it came to self-preservation.

  ‘What do you intend doing with a bucket of oil?’ Martha asked the deadly outlaw leader.

  Savage gritted his teeth and exhaled loudly. His dark eyes darted at the female and made her recoil on the hardback chair as though she had just confronted a rattlesnake.

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Savage grinned. ‘The whole town will find out soon enough.’

  Before the female could speak again she noticed Potter urge Savage to return to the swing doors. The outlaw was keenly observing something interesting out in the sand swept street.

  Savage obliged and strode back to where his henchman was standing with his arms on top of the swing doors.

  ‘What you see, Sly?’ Savage asked.

  Potter raised a hand and aimed a tobacco stained digit.

  ‘Look. They’re nearly here, Bart.’ Potter sniggered over the top of the doors. ‘Look at them faces. They look like a bunch of ghosts.’

  Savage squinted hard to where Potter was indicating. He gave a slow nod of his head as he watched the men battling against the stiff breeze as they labored with their hefty burden.

  ‘They sure do, Sly. I seen me more color on a damn church steeple.’ Savage smiled.

  ‘They look real scared and no mistake.’ Potter chuckled.

  ‘Like men walking to a hangman’s noose.’ Savage added.

  ‘Is that Joshua?’ Martha tried to rise to her feet again but once more the hands of the outlaws who flanked her pinned her shoulders down. ‘Is Joshua coming? Is he? Is he?’

  ‘Hush the hell up, woman.’ The outlaw known as Chuck Saunders growled down at her.

  Savage glanced at the two men who held his prized captive in check. He looked at the outlaws in turn and gave them their orders.

  ‘Keep her planted, Chuck.’ Savage then looked to the other equally dangerous outlaw. ‘You get ready to help with the money bags, Tom.’

  Tom Barnes walked away from the seated female and stood close to the swing doors as Savage and Potter peeled them apart.

  ‘When we get the money can we head on out, Bart?’ Barnes asked. ‘By my figuring we could be across the border drinking liquor with worms in it before midnight.’

  Savage’s eyes darted at the outlaw. ‘My business ain’t finished yet, Tom. I ain’t killed that snot nosed Johnny Mason yet.’

  Barnes looked anxious. ‘I heard tell that the Texas rangers are in these parts, Bart. We don’t wanna have a herd of them critters swarming over us before we got time to ride out of this stinking town.’

  Barnes was lifted off his feet as the powerful hands of Savage grabbed the outlaw’s collar and hauled him close. Savage snarled into Barnes face.

  ‘Ain’t you listening, Tom? I got unfinished business with Johnny. We don’t ride anywhere until I’ve killed that bastard. Savvy?’

  Barnes blinked hard. ‘I savvy, Bart.’

  ‘Good.’ Savage released his grip and returned his attention to the three bank men as they drew ever closer to the Longhorn.

  They were indeed like three ghosts as they fearfully carried the heavy cash filled canvas bags down the center of Main Street toward the saloon. The sun had finally managed to outwit the storm and was bathing the battered wooden structures in its unforgiving heat yet the trio of men did not feel anything except the terror which gripped at their innards.

  Joshua White and his tellers paused on the boardwalk and stared into the saloon. The banker turned and looked at each of his men in turn.

  ‘Thank you, men. Drop the bags and high-tail it.’

  Both men did as they were told. They dropped their heavy burden and spun on their heels and ran. Before either of the tellers had managed to reach the middle of the street Bart Savage had drawn his .45 and fanned its hammer repeatedly into their backs.

  Plumes of crimson spray exploded from both of the running men as bullets ripped right through them.

  The banker watched in horror as his tellers ached and fell into the sand not twenty feet from where he stood. Once again Savage had demonstrated his deadly accuracy.

  ‘Oh sweet Lord.’ White gasped and turned toward the out-stretched arm of the outlaw leader five feet from where he stood. The bullets had passed within inches of the banker as they sought and found their targets.

  White stared in disbelief at the smoking Colt in the hand of the grinning Savage.

  ‘That sure was good shooting, Bart.’ Sly Potter chuckled.

  Savage silently nodded in agreement and then pulled one half of the swing door toward him. He kept grinning at White in a strange fashion as he glanced at the six well stuffed canvas bags on the boardwalk next to the banker’s feet.

 

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