Calamity Jane 7, page 12
‘Drop down, Rodney!’ the marshal snapped, lunging away from the buxom blonde and sending his right hand to the butt of the Remington New Army Model of 1863 revolver in its cross draw holster on the left side of his gunbelt.
From the corner of his eye, as he began the movement, Collier saw Madam Bulldog was stepping in the opposite direction and reaching for her Webley. Hoping the teller was showing an equal grasp of the situation, he did not dare spare so much as a brief glance to make sure. Nor could he waste time considering the possible repercussions should the dandy-dressed outlaw be speaking the truth about being related to Frank Cousins. Instead, he concentrated upon getting to and bringing out his weapon. There was, he realized, already a very urgent need for him to do so.
Returning his gaze to the intended victims of the hold up, Cousins recognized the danger he and his companions had created by looking away. He also realized it was now impossible to carry out “Grizzly Bear’s” instructions to refrain from gun play inside the bank. As had been the case when threatened by the bounty hunters in San Antonio de Bexar, alarm caused him to react swiftly. Returning the barrel of his Colt to the direction it had been pointing, he squeezed off a shot. Despite the haste in which it was taken, it came close to achieving success. Unfortunately for him, duplicating the result he had attained on the previous occasion, he once more failed to achieve the goal he desired.
Feeling a searing pain as the bullet carved a shallow groove across the left side of his torso, Collier nevertheless completed his draw. Firing at his assailant, he did not wait to see what effect he might have. Instead, he was thumb cocking the Remington and swinging its barrel towards the second of the outlaws who was showing signs of recovering from the surprise they had suffered. Firing at and hitting Tuttle in the head, he realized he had been less successful with his first shot. Untouched by his lead, the spokesman for the trio was already preparing to continue the fight. However, lacking the inducement given to his companions by “Nellie”, Dankey was posing no great threat. Staring in horror, he was allowing his Colt to dangle unheeded by his side.
Moving somewhat more slowly than usual, as a result of her strenuous activities earlier in the day, Madam had drawn her Webley from its shoulder holster. Bringing it to eye-level at arms’ length, with both hands on the butt, urgency making her oblivious of protests from muscles which had undergone manipulation by her maid—who was a trained masseuse—she took aim as her assessment concluded the situation demanded. Having decided he was still dangerous, she sent a .450 caliber bullet at Cousins in echo to the shot fired by Collier which killed Tuttle. An instant after her lead had entered the center of his forehead, the dandy was taken in the left breast by the third load to leave the peace officer’s Remington. Spun in a half circle, with Tuttle making a similar pirouette to the left, either of the injuries sustained by Cousins would have been fatal.
Appreciating how desperately wrong the hitherto apparently successful hold up had developed, Dankey had no other thought beyond escaping. His companions inside had both been hit by gun fire from their intended victims, but this was offering a chance of salvation for him. Twirling around as Cousins was knocked in front of him by the bullets, he sprang to and snatched open the door. Dashing out, he saw two of the horses—one bucking and pitching wildly, with blood running from a wound in its near shoulder—were racing along the street. However, Sims had contrived to keep hold of the other two.
‘What’s hap—?’ Sims began.
‘Get going, Barry!’ Dankey advised urgently, racing across the sidewalk and snatching free one pair of reins. ‘Brock and Albie are both down!’
Alarm gave Sims the incentive to obey, and he showed a similar alacrity to that of Dankey inside the bank. Making the kind of hurried mounts they had frequently practiced, without ever having really believed they would need to use them seriously, they set the disturbed horses running across the Square. Already the commotion was attracting attention. Men were emerging from the Hide And Horn Saloon, and the other buildings. Some had drawn guns, but none of the shots which were fired did more than cause the fleeing pair to urge their mounts to greater efforts.
Hearing the creaking of leather, after the brief shouted exchange, Collier clutched his bleeding side with his left hand and started across the room. A glance each way informed him that he need not fear further hostilities from either of the outlaws at whom he had fired. Wanting to see what was happening outside, the drumming of departing hooves suggesting the remaining pair had taken flight, he went across to the threshold. Arriving on the sidewalk, he felt something strike his chest with a considerable force. As the impact was throwing him backwards into the bank, everything went black and he sprawled helplessly on the floor.
Having started to follow the marshal, moving as swiftly as her aching body could manage, Madam heard shooting—including one crack of a Winchester rifle—from somewhere outside. Before she reached the door, Collier was precipitated towards her. As he landed supine at her feet, she stared at a hole on the right side of his torso which could only have been made by a bullet. A gasp of concern burst from her. However, she realized that he had been fortunate to a certain extent. Grievous though the blood spurting wound undoubtedly was, it was less likely to prove fatal than if the lead had made its entrance on the left.
Eleven – They’ve Killed Frank Cousins’ Nephew
Kneeling by the partially open window of her second floor front room at the Fortescue Hotel, clad only in brief black satin drawers and a diaphanous white robe, Jessica Front de Boeuf drew back the smoking Winchester Model of 1866 rifle. As when she had used it to kill the buck whitetail deer, she did not operate the lever to eject the spent cartridge case and feed another bullet into the chamber. Instead, having glanced around the Square to make sure nobody had seen her shoot, she strode swiftly to the bed. Hiding the weapon beneath the mattress, she threw a look at the mirror of the dressing table. Satisfied that her appearance would substantiate her story of having been taking an afternoon nap, as well as distracting any male questioner, she crossed to the door and listened for a moment. Detecting nothing to suggest her activities had been heard by anybody on the floor, she returned to the window so as to watch what was happening in front of the Cattlemen’s Bank.
Taking everything into consideration, despite her misgivings a few minutes earlier, the beautiful and completely unscrupulous woman felt she had no cause for complaint over the way in which the scheme, proposed by her son on the night of their flight from Benson City, had progressed so far. Of course, it had not gone entirely as envisaged. Nor, regardless of there being one aspect neither had anticipated, had it turned out as badly as it might have done in view of the unexpected circumstances.
Keeping watch from the window, with the Winchester ready for use, Jessica had been alarmed at seeing Madam Bulldog and Town Marshal Tune Collier entering the bank shortly before the arrival of the outlaws. However, studying the behavior of the quartet, she had decided none had been sufficiently observant to have detected the official status of her kinsman. Fortunately, they had kept in mind what her son had told them and there had not been any commotion inside the building until Barry Sims had been given cause to raise the alarm. Much to her satisfaction, after the shooting, the only outlaw to emerge was not Cousins.
On the face of it, the conception of the robbery had offered every chance of success. The observations carried out by Edward Kinsella had established when the Square was least busy, and the local peace officers rarely in evidence. While depositing sufficient money at the bank to make it appear they would be staying until her son had participated in the forthcoming high stakes poker game at the Hide And Horn Saloon, Jessica had learned only a single teller would be on duty at the appointed time.
However, regardless of everything apparently favoring the enterprise, the quartet were not meant to succeed or even survive the hold up. In fact, it was essential to the scheme that Brock Cousins did not. On the other hand, it was equally important that Collier—whose unanticipated presence had threatened to ruin everything—had not been killed in the ensuing fighting.
Having raised the rifle and rested it on the windowsill while the outlaws were dismounting, Jessica had kept watch along its octagonal barrel. As far as she could make out at that distance, no matter what had happened to Cousins, Collier was unscathed as he appeared on the sidewalk. Furthermore, for him to have come out so quickly implied that he was satisfied neither of the remaining outlaws would pose any further threat to the buxom blonde and the teller. Hoping Cousins and his companion had been killed, saving her son and Kinsella from the necessity of doing so, she had concluded her kinsman was rendering the part she was to play much easier than if the plan had gone as was originally envisaged.
Remembering what they had seen on the previous visit to Tennyson, the woman and her son had based their scheme on the principle that the layout of the Square would have remained unchanged. With this in mind, she had visualized the need to have improvements made to the Winchester and its ammunition, then carried out the target practice during the journey from San Antonio de Bexar. As was originally conceived, she would have required these aids to supplement her considerable skill if she was to make the kind of hit called for by their plan.
As things had turned out, there had not even been any need for Jessica to ascertain from which direction Collier would be coming—in all probability moving at a run—to investigate the disturbance. Instead, he had appeared from a known location to offer her an almost stationary target. Having aligned the sights with an even greater care than when shooting at the buck, she had dispatched a bullet intended to inflict a wound which would be serious and incapacitating, but not immediately fatal.
Gazing down as people began to gather in front of the bank, including her son and Kinsella, the woman wished she could hear what was being said. She was aware that the success of the scheme now hinged upon two things. Whether Cousins had been killed and if the faith she had in her ability as a markswoman was justified.
Similar thoughts to those of his mother had passed through the head of Trudeau Front de Boeuf as he witnessed the arrival of the buxom blonde and the marshal at the front of the Cattlemen’s Bank. However, he believed he had impressed upon the quartet the necessity of avoiding gun play if possible so that they would refrain from shooting Collier without cause. In which case, having developed a healthy respect for the acumen of Madam Bulldog during the previous evening’s poker game, he felt sure neither she nor his kinsman would do anything to initiate hostilities. Each would be too aware of the danger to the teller as well as themselves. On the other hand, he was just as confident that they would have sufficient presence of mind and gun savvy to save themselves after he had created a distraction.
When the silence had remained unbroken in the building, the massive young man had fired at and wounded one of the horses. Because circumstances demanded the use of his Colt Pocket Pistol of Navy Caliber, he had selected the animal as offering an easier target than Barry Sims. Waiting on tenterhooks as he heard guns roaring inside the bank, he was pleased to see Wilfred “Burro” Dankey leaving alone and taking flight with Sims. Edward Kinsella had led the rush from the Hide And Horn Saloon and started shooting at them. Others had followed the example of the “salesman”, ensuring there was sufficient firing to cover the sound of the Winchester rifle used by his mother. Although he had hoped the fleeing outlaws would be brought down, providing they were killed outright, he was not unduly perturbed when this failed to materialize. He felt sure that, having disobeyed orders by trying the hold up, they would be too frightened to go and tell Frank Cousins what had happened.
Having replaced his revolver in the slot of his vest, Front de Boeuf took his time crossing the Square. He had heard Dankey tell Sims the other two were down, but that did not mean they had been killed. If either should only be wounded, it would be inadvisable to let himself be seen. Although he had always worn his “Grizzly Bear” disguise when in their presence, taking into account his massive size, a survivor might draw the correct conclusion and voice suspicions to others. With that in mind, seeing Deputy Town Marshal Herman “Pockets” Hoscroft approaching from the north side, he allowed the other people making for the bank to precede him. Showing a grasp of the situation, Kinsella had advanced until in the forefront of the crowd.
Although Madam Bulldog still had the veil of her Wavelean hat drawn down as she came from the bank, it was unlikely that any of the assembled people would have paid much attention to the damaged condition of her face at that moment. Everybody present was interested only in what had taken place inside the building.
‘What’s happened, Madam?’ a man called and others repeated the question in various forms.
‘Get Doc Connel here, pronto!’ the blonde commanded, without offering to satisfy the curiosity of the onlookers. ‘Tell him the marshal’s been shot and is badly wounded!’
‘How about the owlhoots’s did it?’ Kinsella yelled, knowing the answer would be of interest to Front de Boeuf. ‘If any of them’s still alive, we’ll soon have the bastards dangling on a rope!’
‘The two inside are both dead,’ Madam replied, watching a man hurrying to where the town’s small, lean and grizzle haired medical practitioner was approaching, black bag in hand. Then, turning to the elderly deputy as he forced his way rapidly through the crowd, she was unaware of the satisfaction her declaration had given at least two of her audience as she continued, ‘A couple of them lit out, “Pockets”, but they may have been downed!’
‘They weren’t!’ a town dweller stated, his tone angry. ‘Are we going to take out after the bastards, “Pockets”?’
‘You say Tune’s been hit, Madam?’ Hoscroft inquired, ignoring the question.
‘Yes,’ the blonde replied, her voice husky. ‘It’s pretty bad, but he’s still alive. Which, knowing him for the ornery cuss he is, that means he’s got a fighting chance of pulling through.’
‘Yeah, I reckon he has at that!’ the deputy growled, deeply concerned over the welfare of a man who was friend as well as superior. Then he forced himself to attend to duty and asked, ‘What happened?’
‘Four of them tried to hold up the bank,’ Madam explained. ‘We put down two inside, but the third ran and rode away with the jasper they’d left holding the horses. Tune was hit as he came through the door.’
‘One of the two’s lit out did it!’ Kinsella lied. ‘He turned on his saddle and cut loose with a rifle!’
‘That’s correct, deputy,’ Front de Boeuf supported, pushing forward as he knew it was safe to do so with two of the outlaws dead and the other pair already out of town. Like the “salesman”, aware that somebody might have heard and remembered the crack of his mother’s Winchester, he was gambling upon the other witnesses having been too excited to remember the fleeing pair had not done as was being claimed. ‘I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the marshal was hit. It could only have happened by sheer bad luck on his part.’
‘What’d they look like, Madam?’ Hoscroft asked, being unaware of the relationship between Collier and the second speaker and, as it was not disputed by anybody in the crowd, accepting what he had been told.
‘Cowhands, as far as their clothes went, which doesn’t help much,’ the blonde replied, moving aside to let the doctor enter the bank. ‘I didn’t get a look at the one who stayed outside. The other was maybe five-ten, lanky, brownish hair left a mite longer than most cowhands’, but that’s all I can give you. Maybe we’ll get an idea of who he is if we look over those two who’re in the bank.’
‘It could be,’ the deputy agreed. ‘Leastwise, I hopes so. I’m taking a posse out after ’em and wouldn’t want to have no mistakes.’
‘You’ll need some of us to ride with you, “Pockets”,’ called the lean and middle-aged co-owner of Pegley’s livery barn. ‘Me ’n’ Brother Maurice’ll come.’
‘Gracias, Davey,’ Hoscroft answered and, after another half dozen men had stated their willingness to accompany him, he went on, ‘Go get hosses and rifles. Fetch mine along for me from the barn, will you, Maurice. I want to be ready to light out in half an hour.’
‘Viola!’ Madam said, having noticed several of her employees were present and deciding how she could help speed the departure of the posse. ‘Take the girls and put up some food and beer for the fellers to tote along.’
‘Sure, ma’am!’ responded the shapely and good looking brunette who acted as boss girl.
‘Now let’s have us a look at those two owlhoots!’ Hoscroft commanded and glanced around. Without surprise, he found Joshua Gilmore and the other members of that faction were in the crowd, although none had offered to ride in the posse. ‘Fetch ’em out here and tote ’em down to the undertaker’s when we’ve seen ’em.’
Led by Joseph Turner, the tall, burly and usually jovial floor manager, four of the saloon’s male employees went into the bank. They came out carrying the dead outlaws and were followed by the teller whose face was ashy pale and haggard. While his companions held the pair upright, Turner pulled down the bandanas and exposed their features.
‘They’re strangers to me,’ Madam claimed, having decided to keep any mention of the claim made by the dandy until she and Hoscroft had privacy to discuss it. ‘Does anybody know them?’
‘Hell, yes!’ Kinsella yelled, stepping forward. ‘I recognize them from Benson City. They were riding with the Cousins’ gang. In fact, the one on the left is Brock Cousins and, what I heard said, he’s reckoned to be Frank’s favorite nephew!’
‘That’s what he told us when he came in!’ the teller declared, struggling to control a fresh upsurge of the kind of nausea which had driven him into the bank’s restroom. ‘He said twice that he was Frank Cousins’ nephew!’
‘Did you hear that, Josh?’ Moses Stern hissed, too excited to speak in his usual muted roar. ‘They killed Frank Cousins’ nephew, even though he’d telled them who he was.’
