Assault of the Mountain Man

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Tamara and Sally went into the bank, they walked over to one side, where a low rail separated the lobby from a small office. The owner of the bank, a man named Kurt Flowers, was sitting at a desk. He was tall and distinguished looking, with silver hair, blue eyes, and a silver Vandyke beard.

“Mr. Flowers, I wonder if we could speak with you for a moment?” Tamara asked.

“Of course you can,” Flowers answered with a smile. There were no other chairs in the office area so he didn’t invite them in. Instead, he stepped through a little gate, then over to stand by the small, wood-burning stove. “What can I do for you?”

“This is my friend, Sally Jensen,” Tamara introduced. “You may know of her husband, Smoke Jensen.”

Flowers’ smile broadened. “Indeed I do know of him. Tell me, Mrs. Jensen, what brings you to our fair city?”

“Business,” Sally said. “Tamara intends to start a new restaurant here, and I want to help her.”

“A new restaurant? What a wonderful idea.” Flowers chuckled. “Of course the Silver Lode Hotel will probably not welcome it, at least, not initially, as it will be competition for their restaurant. But they will come around to it. Any new business helps the town grow and maintain a level of prosperity, and that accrues to the benefit of us all. Where do you plan to put your restaurant?”

“I intend to buy the building Mr. Cassidy built. You know, the one that was going to be used for a bakery? He decided to enlarge his house and put the bakery there instead.”

“Ah, yes, I’m sure, under the circumstances, you will get a very good price on the building.”

“Tell me, Mr. Flowers, you have your fingers on the pulse of business in this town. Do you think two thousand dollars will be enough to buy the building, equipment, and get the restaurant started?”

“Yes, ma’am, I think two thousand dollars would be more than enough money,” Flowers replied.

“I have two thousand dollars in cash,” Sally said. “I would like to open an account for the restaurant and fill out whatever paperwork is necessary for Tamara to be able to access the account.”

The banker smiled. “Yes ma’am, Mrs. Jensen, we can open an account for Mrs. McKenzie right now. How is Mr. Jensen doing? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s doing fine, thank you. He’s back at Sugarloaf, taking care of things. We are right in the middle of the spring roundup.”

“Sugarloaf is a fine ranch,” Flowers said. “In fact, it’s as fine a ranch as there is in all of Colorado.”

“Thank you,” Sally said with a broad smile. “We certainly like it.”

Half an hour earlier, Dinkins, Putnam, Parnell, Frank, and Travis separated about half a mile outside of town.

“I’ll go in first, alone,” Dinkins said. “Johnny, you and Cole come in a couple minutes later, from the north end of town. Frank, you and Travis come in from the south end. That way we won’t be arousin’ any suspicion.”

“Where will we meet up?” Frank asked.

“In front of the bank.”

“Won’t that cause some suspicion?”

“By that time it’ll be too late for ’em to do anything about it. The bank opens at nine, I think it lacks about twenty minutes of nine now. I’d like to get there as soon after it opens as we can. Johnny, you get the rest of you started on time.”

“All right,” Putnam said. “We’ll be there on time.”

Half an hour later five riders, all wearing long, tan-colored dusters, and strangers to everyone in town, had what seemed like an incidental meeting in front of the Miners’ Bank. Dinkins, Putnam, Parnell, and Frank Slater dismounted and handed their reins to Travis. He remained in the saddle and kept his eyes open on the street. Dinkins looked up and down the street once, taking notice of the fact that nobody seemed to be paying any attention to them. Then he and the other men pulled their kerchiefs up over the bottom half of their faces, and, with their guns drawn, pushed open the door.

Cal Wood was two blocks down the street at the mercantile store. He had been standing at the counter, paying for a kerchief slide and a stick of peppermint candy when the five men rode into town, so he didn’t notice them, nor did he see them pull the kerchiefs up over the bottom half of their faces and go into the bank with their guns drawn. When he walked back up to the front of the store, sucking on the candy stick he looked through the big front window though and saw only one man in front of the bank—mounted, and holding the reins of four other horses. That did arouse his curiosity.

“Mr. Wood?” the proprietor of the store called.

“Yes?” Cal turned back toward him.

“Your change.”

Cal smiled. “Oh, yes, I nearly forgot that. Thanks.”

Sally, Tamara, Kurt Flowers, and Burt Martin, the bank teller, were the only people in the bank when Dinkins and the others went in. Because of the masks on their faces and the guns in their hands, everyone in the bank knew immediately what was going on.

“You three! Get your hands up and stay back there against the wall!” Dinkins shouted to Sally, Tamara, and Flowers. “If I see any one of you move, I’ll shoot.”

The three complied with the orders.

Cole Parnell hopped over the railing to go behind the teller cage, then held his sack out toward the teller. “Put all your money into this sack,” he growled.

Trembling, the teller emptied his cash drawer.

“Hey, Dinkins, there ain’t that much here,” Parnell called.

“Parnell, you dumb son of a bitch! You just give ’em my name!” Dinkins growled. “Get the rest out of the safe.”

“I can’t open the safe till ten o’clock,” the teller protested.

“What the hell do you mean you can’t open the safe till ten o’clock? You work here, don’t you?” Dinkins asked.

“Ye-yes,” the teller stuttered. “But there’s a time lock on the safe. It can’t be opened till ten o’clock.”

Dinkins stepped up to the teller and put the muzzle of his pistol one inch from the teller’s head. “Open the damn safe or I’ll blow your brains out.”

“Please, he’s telling the truth!” Flowers shouted from his position by the wall.

Dinkins looked toward him. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Kurt Flowers. I own this bank.”

“You own it, do you?”

“Yes.”

Dinkins turned his gun toward Flowers. “Then I’m pointin’ my gun at the wrong man. You open the safe.”

“I can’t open the safe. Mr. Martin is telling the truth. There is a time lock on it. Nobody can open it until ten o’clock.”

“Why the hell would you do something like that?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Mr. Dinkins?” Sally asked. “It is to keep polecats like you from being able to rob the bank.”

Dinkins saw the money in Sally’s hand, and smiled. “Well now. If I can’t rob the bank, I’ll just rob you. Hand the money over, missy.”

“If you want it, you grub around on the floor for it, like the rat you are.” Surprising Dinkins, Sally threw the money up in the air, one hundred individual, twenty-dollar bills. They fluttered down, scattering all over the floor.

“You bitch!” Dinkins shouted, pulling the trigger.

Tamara screamed as Sally grabbed her stomach where the bullet hit. Blood oozed through her fingers and she staggered back against the wall, then fell.

Suddenly the front door opened and Travis, who didn’t have the bottom half of his face masked, stuck his head in. “Come on quick! Folks heard that shot! We got to get out of here!”

“Open the damn safe!” Dinkins shouted, pointing his pistol toward Flowers and cocking it.

“I told you, I can’t!”

“I don’t believe you!” Dinkins shouted, and he pulled the trigger a second time. Flowers went down with a hole in his temple.

“There’s folks comin’ toward the bank!” Travis shouted. “We gotta go now!”

“Come on, let’s get out of here!” Dinkins ordered.

With the sack of money he’d taken from the teller’s tray, Parnell vaulted back over the teller’s counter.

Hearing the two gunshots, Cal ran out of the mercantile with his pistol in his hand. He saw the men run out of the bank, and leap onto their horses. Someone across the street from the bank fired at the five riders with a shotgun. The charge of double-aught buckshot missed the robbers, but it did hit the front window of the bank, bringing it down with a loud crash. One of the robbers shot back at the man with the shotgun and he went down. The five bank robbers galloped down the street, away from Cal. Cal shot at them, and saw one of the riders tumble from the saddle. None of the other four paid any attention to the one who went down.

Cal fired a second time, but they were out of range, and his shot did nothing but help chase them on, as they sped out of town. There had been several citizens on the street and sidewalks when the shooting erupted, but most watched in openmouthed shock as the men who had just robbed their bank galloped away. Either none of them were armed, or none of them wished to be a hero, for, other than Cal and the one attempt with a shotgun, no one made any effort to stop them.

The route out of town took the outlaws right by the sheriff’s office. At the far end of the street a man stepped off the boardwalk and into the street. A flash of sunlight revealed the star fastened to his vest.

“It’s the sheriff !” Dinkins shouted. He shot at him and the sheriff grabbed his shoulder, then staggered back a step. Dinkins shot a second time, as did the other three who were with him, and the sheriff went down under the fusillade of bullets.

Out of town, the four men pushed their horses hard to put as much distance between them and the town as they could.

“Is anyone comin’ after us?” Dinkins shouted.

Travis, who was bringing up the rear, looked over his shoulder at the receding town. He saw no riders. “No. They ain’t no one mounted. ’Cept for Putnam, we got away clean!” He laughed out loud, whooping into the wind. “We got away clean!”