Gunslinger Read online

  "Nice job," he complimented. "Couldn't have done better myself."

  "Aww, you're just saying that." Janie responded.

  Clint retrieved the Sharps, slung it across his back, and handed Janie her Winchester which he recovered from the wagon bed. They approached the bank and the woman. Blood from the two robbers pooled on the ground beside their bodies.

  The young woman sat crumpled in the dirt crying. The gunman on the street, the one who had held the three horses sat up and brought his gun to bear as Janie and Clint approached. A shot rang out at once. Hot lead ended the life of the bandit. Clint holstered his handgun and turned to check out the other two men while Janie helped the lovely young woman to a bench on the boardwalk.

  Clint didn't worry about the man down the street. He'd seen what one of those Sharps slugs did to a living being. He had a deer lease and Clint went deer hunting with the rifle. The last thing he'd brought down was a twelve-point buck that appeared in a clearing about 500 yards away from the deer stand. The exit wound wasn't pretty.

  The robber Janie had shot first was on the street. He was moaning and holding his arm. The other one that Clint shot had a severe injury. He was gut shot. That injury was a death sentence in the Wild West. It took days to carry out; long, painful days.

  "Please, Sir, it hurts," the young man pleaded. "I know that being gut shot is death. Ole Doc Anderson caint treat it. I'm a goner."

  The wounded man knew that he would die. "Help me, please. Give me relief. Be swift. I'm sorry I shot at y'all. Dewey said that we wouldn't have no problem holdin' up this here Bank. Twern't just one old man here as Sheriff and we'd take care of him."

  He continued to plead with Clint to end his suffering. Clint sadly agreed to his request and with a quick flick of his wrist, his Colt ended the poor soul's suffering.

  He looked at Janie and she was still working to console the young woman. Other townspeople were coming out from their hastily gained hiding places. Clint gathered up the satchel which got knocked under the boardwalk and took it with him as he crossed the street to check on the Sheriff. The bank robber had winged the man's shoulder, and he'd become unbalanced. He smacked his head on the nearby barrel when he fell, and that knocked him unconscious. An older bearded man came rushing up to him just after Clint bent over and did a cursory check.

  Someone nearby shouted "Here's Doc Anderson. It'll be all right. Let him through now." The announcement was late, but everybody appreciated the thought.

  "All right, let's get him comfortable so that I can see what we have here," Doctor Anderson said, with a brusk tone to his words. "We may just be able to save his worthless old life it we can get to the problem. You jest lay back thar until I get through patching y'all up, Smiley. Don't need you messing up my work anyhow," Doc Anderson ordered.

  The town doctor was here so Clint left the Sheriff in Doc's able hands. He eased his way back across the street. Janie and the woman seated themselves on the bench in front of the store next to the bank.

  "Here," Clint softly whispered to Janie and the woman, "Hide this bag until you see the time is right for its discovery. Don’t show any sign that you know anything about it."

  Clint handed Janie the long guns and the satchel, then grabbed one of the wandering horses and swung up to the saddle. Clint turned the horse's head toward where the runner had headed. He clicked the horse into a trot and then an easy lope.

  It didn't take long to reach the downed man. Clint tied the horse to the hitching post and verified Janie's shot. The man was unconscious; his head hit a stone in the road in the fall. His shattered right arm looked useless to him now and Clint was sure that the detritus had blown out of the wound. One of the street urchins had secured the man's horse to a nearby hitching post. Clint removed the man's neckerchief and tied it tightly above the wound as a tourniquet to stem the blood flow.

  Clint hoisted him across the saddle and remounted the other steed. He led the other horse back to the bank.

  "Hey, Mister, we done caught these other two horses an' we tied them up here fer ya," one of them explained. "Golly gee, thet was some fancy shooting you and the missus done just now. I was watching. I ain't never seen a girl shoot no big gun like thet afore."

  "Yeah, it was even better than when that shootist, J.B. Books, came through here and took that gunslinger out, oh, what's his name?" The other boy questioningly looked at his companion.

  "Oh, you be talking about Dangerous Dan McGrew. Why he done shot the guns clean out of Dan's hands and sent him to prison. Boy, that was a sight to behold," the first boy replied, introducing himself as Tommy O’Sullivan and his friend, Billy Mitchell.

  They tied the horses to the hitching rail by the store. Clint pulled the remaining bank robber off the horse and dumped him in the street near the dead cowboy. He added the bandit's horse and the one he commandeered to the hitch. It crowded the group, but it would do.

  The Sheriff was awake and patched up by Doc Anderson. William ‘Smiley’ Roberts, the Sheriff, was a good man. Of average height and looks, he was an older fella all about duty. He refused to rest until things were right.

  "You two, Williams and Hunsecker, take those varmints down and lock them in the cells. Iff'n I had my way y'all could throw the key away, too. 'Cept I don't think Judge Margolin would like that much. Make it difficult to hang them after the trial."

  The Doc would treat them in their cells. Mr. Banker was in a tizzy about the stolen money. It disappeared. Janie, at Clint's direction, had pushed the satchel behind the broad full skirts of the still sobbing woman.

  Things were about to get interesting.

  "Banker, um," Clint addressed the stout, ill-kempt man dressed in something considered what a business suit of the day looked like. He intended it to intimate wealth, and it caused most people to flinch back when he stared out with his black, beady eyes. He carried a cane with a silver grip shaped like a wolf’s head.

  "Barnes," he volunteered, "Julius Anthony Barnes, at your service. Can you help me find the bank's money?"

  "Maybe I can help with that." Clint replied. "What can you tell me about the reward for the return?"

  "Reward!" he sputtered and fumed. "I hadn't mentioned a reward. Why it just happened, and they hadn't had time to even get away."

  "Yes, and that's thanks to my lady friend and me. Now I will ask again, what is the reward you are offering?

  "Well, I guess I could go a couple hundred dollars," he stammered. "The bank really isn't on that good of a footing."

  "Don't you believe it" came a voice from the crowd that had finally gathered. They were listening in on everything they said. They were ready to offer testimony in the contrary to the banker’s opinion.

  "He holds the mortgages on all the land around here. He charges outrageous interest on those mortgages, too. Why my mortgage gets him two percent per annum interest," rang out a voice from the group of townspeople who had gathered. There were many cries of concurrence from the crowd. A lot of the townsfolk obviously didn't like the man.

  "I see," came Clint's reply. "So, Mr. High and Mighty Banker, I think the reward ought to be ... oh, let's make it easy ... let's say ten percent of the stolen funds as a finder’s fee, and you can also call it banking security."

  The rotund man almost fainted. He hemmed and hawed and argued and pleaded poverty. That was to no avail as Clint stood firm. Barnes had no choice but to agree. Clint had him over a barrel and made Banker Barnes say it to the assembly out loud. Everyone heard him proclaim a reward of ten percent to the person or persons who returned the bank's money.

  Once the banker announced the reward, Clint walked over and sat on the bench on the other side of the attractive and obviously distraught woman. She still looked frightened and was quietly sobbing. Janie was doing her best to sooth her.

  Clint looked her over. She appeared to be a fine specimen of womanhood. He guessed that she was about the same shape as Janie, only not as tall. Her hair was flaming red and skin pale as alabaster. He guessed
her age to be mid-thirties, but he could be way off in this time period. People aged faster in the Wild West. The emerald green of her iris’s almost glowed with gratitude when she finally looked him in the eyes.

  Janie was holding her hands and Clint placed his hands on top of hers. He smiled back at the woman.

  "You can rest assured that you won't have any more trouble, Ma'am. My man and I will make sure that no one bothers you again. We've taken care of those galoots just fine."

  Her tears slowed, then stopped. She finally elicited a small smile from the redhead as they talked.

  “What are you doing? Why aren’t you looking for the bank’s money? I agreed to your extortion and you just sit there with those, those women. Get your priorities straight, Man. Find my money, I mean, the bank, the bank’s money.”

  Clint just looked at the pitiful man, giving him a stare that the Duke would be proud of. He didn’t make a move to look for the money but continued to softly talk to Janie and Aggie as Janie introduced her to him. Aggie was feeling much better and the involuntary sobs had ceased.

  Banker Barnes spoke out again. “OK, so let’s get a move on. We’ve got to find the money. The loss will ruin the bank. I’d have to sell off all the mortgages and then who knows what would happen if the people fell behind. I have always been slow on collections of defaulted accounts!”

  “Ollie Olafsson would disagree with you on that one, Barnes” came another voice from the back of the crowd. He whipped his head around, his beady eyes searching the crowd to see who spoke.

  "I gave Olafsson every chance to redeem his foreclosure. He didn’t. It’s not my fault that he couldn’t keep up with his payments. It’s just good business."

  “Ollie couldn’t work after that fall. You could have given him more time.”

  “He had more time than the contract allowed and even more time than the law requires. I did nothing wrong.” Barnes declared in his defense.

  The crowd was getting angry after the heated exchange between the banker and the townspeople. It was time to break up that little conflict. Clint looked Janie in the eye and gave a short nod. As if on cue, Janie called out "Oh look; what's this under the bench. It looks like a satchel. I wonder what's in it."

  She held the satchel up, and the man made a grab for it. That was a mistake. He had moved forward, but was now looking cross-eyed at the barrel of her gun as he felt the light touch of the barrel on the end of his nose. He backed up like a wasp had stung him. His arms flew up, his eyes bugged out as he called for the Sheriff. Clint took the action in. ‘Yeah, she’s OK,’ he thought.

  "Now look here, you," he blustered, "That there is my satchel. Those robbers took it from me at gunpoint."

  "Look, Sheriff," Janie exclaimed as Sheriff Roberts strode up, "I found a satchel here on the boardwalk under this bench. I don't know who it belongs to, but I'd like to claim it for myself if no one else can identify its contents."

  Janie had come up with the perfect stratagem. It would then all become Janie's if the banker couldn't identify the contents to the near exact amount. If he did, then he named the reward too.

  The banker knew that she had had him. He told the Sheriff that it was his and told him that it was the money taken from the bank and that there was close to twelve thousand two hundred and fifty dollars, give or take a few, in the valise. Janie handed the bag over to the Sheriff who placed it on the lowered tailgate of a nearby wagon.

  Clint volunteered to watch as the Sheriff counted the money. Janie tossed the Winchester to him and he cocked the weapon as he caught it. That got everyone's attention. The amount of money in the satchel was exactly twelve thousand, two hundred and fifty-seven dollars when Smiley finished the count. The Sheriff immediately counted out one thousand, two hundred twenty-five dollars and handed it to Clint while piling the rest back in the valise. He handed it to the banker who stomped off in a huff, muttering under his breath with every step.

  "Well, Ma'am, that was a smart trick that you pulled on old Banker Barnes. That old tightwad would have snookered y'all out of any reward if you and your mister hadn't turned the tables on him. I’d a given it all to you if he'd misquoted the amount in that bag, just on account of your helping me!" the Sheriff told the pair.

  "Thanks for the help. You saved my skin today and I'm much obliged to you for that. I'm sure my missus is too," he added as an afterthought.

  Janie had caught his words and her eyes shot to Clint's face when the Sheriff referred to her using the words 'your mister'. Her heart sang when he didn't deny the thought. She inadvertently hugged the woman beside her when she heard those words. Then Aggie looked back at her and smiled. "He really is a handsome man. Why aren't you married to him yet?" she whispered.

  "It's a long story," Janie replied. "I'll tell you later if I have the time."

  "Oh no, Missy, you're not getting away from me that easily. You saved me and now you're stuck with me. You and your ‘husband’ now must protect me. It's the 'Code of the West' you know," The older woman shyly grinned at Janie as she hugged her closer. The rest of the bystanders, the Sheriff, and Clint all missed this byplay. It was a secret between the women for now.

  Eugenia Agnes Farnsworth was a single lady in her mid-thirties who had come west to teach school. She found that they were no longer interested in her services when she arrived in town. She was boarding with the Widow Johnson, but it was by her good graces that Agnes stayed. Her money had almost run out and the prospects for a decent job were dwindling. She was in the bank to apply for a job. All that Banker Barnes saw was a chance for him to bed her. An indignant Agnes refused his advances and was leaving his office when the robbers stepped into the bank.

  The Sheriff dispersed the crowd and then went off to his retreat to rest. That was a euphemism for a cell in the back of his office. His short, round, Mexican wife was scolding him all the way. She had brought food for his lunch.

  "Look, here comes Mr. Shriver," Sheriff Roberts pointed out to Clint and Janie. "He's the town undertaker."

  "Shriver," he called out. "We got us work for you here. Seems these men here done got themselves dead."

  "Shore do, Sheriff." the lanky man commented. "Does you officially want me to take care of them?"

  Roberts told the man to find a casket for each of the dead men and the county would pay for the caskets and the burial. He headed towards his office as his wife harangued him for being so careless as to get himself shot.

  As an afterthought based on things that he had read, Clint trotted after the Sheriff and asked if there was a reward posted for any of those men.

  The Sheriff said that he'd check and let Clint know. Clint trusted the man and thanked him for his service. The Sheriff told Clint that the horses, weapons, and anything on their bodies were his to keep. He could collect the possessions of the dead men from the undertaker since he was as honest as the day was long. The horses, tack, and saddlebags were his as well and the boys took them to the stable/blacksmith shop just down the street.

  Clint suggested that Janie accompany Aggie back to her rooming house, and he would come to get her. He told her "Go on with Aggie, I’ll take care of what needs to happen next," with a solemn expression on his face.

  Clint made his way over to the undertaker's parlor. He didn’t notice the bodies at first. The man was already working on the corpses from the robbery. Clint rushed over to the sink standing on the side wall and emptied his stomach when he finally did. This was the first moment that he realized he’d taken a human life. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he turned back to the undertaker.

  “Here, Boy, best you rinse out with some of this,” Mr. Shriver suggested, handing Clint a half empty bottle of rotgut.

  "Damn, that's nasty stuff," Clint swore after taking a swig. "How can you stand that stuff?"

  "Don't," Shriver answered with a laugh. "I'm Mormon. Don't drink, don't smoke. Only got one wife now. T'other one died birthin' young Heber. Seven kids. That rotgut is for cleaning up around here. Makes a fair c
leaning agent for wounds, too. People come here when Doc is out on rounds."

  Clint asked about the spoils. Mr. Shriver pointed to a pile of stuff on a table at the back of the room.

  "I knew that you would be by for the rest. That's usually the case. Sheriff 'Smiley' usually sends 'em this way once the dust has settled. I checked the posters that he leaves here. They want all four in Kansas, Missouri, the Oklahoma Territory, and in Texas. Total reward on them is fourteen hundred fifty-five dollars."

  "I wrote it all down fer ya. Y’all take this chit to the Sheriff and he'll sign it. Then take it to that Miser Barnes and he'll pitch a real fit, but he has to pay you. He git's reimbursed by the state once his receipt reaches them, but the state takes its time about them reimbursements. Don’t forget to demand payment in gold. That’s the law. I don’t trust his bank notes."