Midnight Rider

Chapter 9

Rochenbach had begun listening through the stethoscope as Casings turned to leave the office. Working as fast as possible, he managed to hear the fall of the first two numbers on the four-number safe by the time Casings and the Giant finished searching the shack and walked back into the office almost on tiptoes.

“Rock, we can’t find a clock,” Casings whispered, without daring to go any closer to the safe until Rochenbach turned and took the earpieces down from his ears with a frown.

“What?” Rock asked, turning from the safe, looking upset.

“I said, we didn’t find a clock,” Casings repeated, the Stillwater Giant standing behind him staring over his shoulder at the big safe.

Casings and the Giant started to walk closer, but Rochenbach raised a hand, stopping them. He had just found the third number. All that remained was to drift the large dial slowly to his right and listen, and feel the last tumbler fall into place.

“There it is again,” Rock said, looking all around, then turning back to the safe. “I just about had the numbers in place, and then the clock ticking started again.” Without turning to face Casings and the Stillwater Giant, he asked, “Is one of you wearing a watch?”

“I am,” Casings said. His hand went into his coat pocket and pulled out a gold pocket watch on the end of a horsehair watch fob.

“That explains it,” said Rochenbach. “Get rid of the watch. Get it out of here! Hurry up, I need it to be quiet in here.”

“Jesus…!” said Casings, turning, starting out of the room and toward the front door of the shack.

“Wait, hold it,” said Rochenbach. “I’ve got it! Come on in.” He looked over his shoulder, gestured them forward and stepped to the side as he pulled the heavy steel door open.

“Holy cats!” said the Giant.

Casings’ jaw dropped open in delight and surprise as he stared at the stacks of money on a shelf inside the big safe.

“Yeah, holy cats,” he said, echoing the Giant. He chuffed a laugh as he and the Giant looked at each other.

“Well, my part of the job is done,” Rock said, plucking the earpieces out and taking the stethoscope down from his neck.

The Giant and Casings stepped across the office floor side by side. Casings took the saddlebags down from his shoulder and opened the flaps as he stared at the money inside the safe.

“I say there’s ten thousand, maybe more here,” he said to no one in particular as he started taking handfuls of money and shoving it down into the saddlebags.

What was so much cash doing on hand in an operation like this? Rochenbach asked himself. It made no sense.

“You done real good, Rock,” said the Giant with a grin. He clasped a big hand down on Rochenbach’s shoulder. “Grolin is going to want to keep you around from now on, is my guess.”

“That’s great to hear, Giant,” said Rochenbach, taking the stethoscope apart and putting the pieces away inside his coat. “But the fact is, I’m just doing this because I need a stake. I work better when I’m working for myself.” He smiled. “After the big job, I’ll be heading out on my own.”

Casings looked around from stuffing money into the saddlebags. He looked Rochenbach up and down. Then he looked at the Stillwater Giant.

“Giant, go get Batts and Bonham. Tell them to get in here and take this money. We’re ready to cut out of here.”

“Whoa,” said Rochenbach. “Why are Bonham and Batts taking the money?” Rochenbach knew that at some point it was his duty to see to it the money found its way back to its owners. He didn’t want the saddlebags to get out of his sight.

The Giant hesitated. Casings gave him a nod toward the rear door.

“Go on, Giant,” said Casings.

As the Giant turned and left, Casings turned to Rochenbach.

“It’s the way the boss set it up,” he said. “He said for us to split up afterwards. He wants you as far from this stolen money as you can get, in case the law happens onto us on our way home.”

Good thinking…, Rock told himself. He seemed to consider it, then said, “Are you and the Giant riding back with me?”

“Yes,” said Casings. “Bonham and Batts carry the money. We give them a head start. The three of us ride a safe ways back from them. Spiller, Penta and Shaner ride home together on a different trail.” He looked Rochenbach up and down. “Does that sound about right to you?”

“Sure,” Rochenbach said. He hiked his coat collar up and leveled his hat brim. “Let’s get outside. I don’t like talking about anything with the guard so close, even if he is unconscious.”

They walked past the knocked-out guard. Looking down at him on their way to the open rear door, Casings chuckled again.

“Don’t worry abut him,” said Casings. “The poor bastard’s got lots of explaining to do come morning.” He stopped again outside the rear door and looked back at the guard. He said to Rochenbach in a lowered voice, “Did you mean what you said to the Giant in there?”

“What’s that?” Rock asked.

“You said you were doing this big job to get a stake and go out on your own,” Casings said.

“I’ve thought about it,” Rock said. “Only thing keeps me from doing it is I don’t have the connections that a man like Andrew Grolin has. It’s one thing to know how to open a safe. It’s another thing to know which one to open, and when. That’s the kind of information a man like Grolin has. It doesn’t come easy.”

“What if I got you that kind of information?” Casings asked. “Would you go on your own, maybe take a partner or two with you?”

Rochenbach stared at him as they heard the Giant and Bonham and Batts hurrying back toward the shack.

“I would,” Rock said. “Can you get us that kind of information?”

“I can,” Casings said.

Rochenbach only nodded.

“Are these some of those partners you’re talking about?” he asked, nodding at the men approaching.

“They just might be,” Casings said, “once they see how well this went.”

“It’s worth talking about,” Rock said. Then he shut up as the three men arrived.

“Man!” said Bonham, seeing Casings swing the stuffed saddlebags from his shoulder. “That wasn’t just fast, that was lightning fast!”

“This man knows his business,” Casings said, poking a thumb toward Rochenbach. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

Batts stepped in, took the saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder. He looked at Rochenbach closely.

“Do you always work this smooth and quick?” he said.

“I try to,” Rock said.

“Talk about it later, Batts,” Casings said to them both. “You and Bonham get out of here.”

“You heard him, Bonham,” said Batts. “Let’s ride.”

As the two outlaws turned and walked away toward the horses, the Giant stepped over and looked inside the shack where the watchman had begun to come to.

“What about this one, Rock?” the Giant asked. “Want me to snap his neck before we go?”

“No, Giant,” said Rochenbach, “I want you to carry him out of here and prop him against the wall before they blow the safe.”

The Giant gave him a confused look.

“We came up here to make ourselves some money, Giant,” said Rock, “not to get the law dogging us for murder.”

The Giant shrugged and said, “I just thought I ought to ask. That’s what Grolin would want me to do.”

Casings and Rochenbach looked at each other. Then Casings turned to the Stillwater Giant.

“We might be doing things a little different from now on, Giant,” he said.

A half hour later, from the bottom of the trail leading back into town, Lonnie Bonham and Turley Batts stopped and turned in their saddles. They stared up at the sudden clap of thunder that resounded from the hilltop behind them.

“It sounds like our boys just finished taking care of business,” said Batts, talking about Spiller, Penta and Shaner, the ones left behind to blow open the door of the big safe.

“Yeah,” said Lon Bonham, “and a damn good piece of business it was.” He rode with the saddlebags lying over his lap, prepared to quickly throw the money over the side of the trail and get rid of evidence should a party of lawmen come riding up the trail. But the probability of anyone investigating the blast was slim, especially with so many mines working throughout the night.

The two turned forward in their saddles and had started to nudge their horses when they saw four dark figures step into sight, forming a half circle around them on the trail.

Bonham raised the saddlebags and sat ready to hurl them away.

“Don’t do something stupid,” said a deep voice. The man moved closer, coming more clearing into sight in the pale light of the moon.

“Christ in a canoe!” said Turley Batts. “It’s Dirty Dave Atlo.”

Dirty Dave gave him a slim, evil grin, holding a double-barreled shotgun pointed and cocked up at him.

“See how smart you are, Batts, when you apply yourself?” he said. He looked past Batts at Bonham and said, “Lonnie, you stinking little bastard. I hope you do try to throw that money over the cliff, so I can air your guts out for you.”

“Sit tight, Lon!” Batts ordered, knowing Bonham well enough to anticipate that he would drop the saddlebags and go for his gun. To Dave Atlo he said weakly, “What money are you talking about, Dave?”

“Jesus, I can’t believe I let you Denver City idiots beat me out of money,” said Dirty Dave. The shotgun bucked in his hand, lighting his face blue-orange in a blossom of firelight.

Batts flew from his saddle as the bulk of the scrap iron load sliced through his chest and face. His horse screamed loud and long. Catching some of the perimeter of the shot in its neck and withers, the animal reared high and fell away onto its side. But before it fell, as it stood on its hind hooves between Lonnie Bonham and Dirty Dave, Bonham made his move.

Slinging the bags over the edge of the trail, he jerked his Colt from its holster and fired furiously, one of his shots flinging Dirty Dave from his saddle. But the other three shotguns blossomed and exploded in the darkness, pounding Bonham mercilessly.

“That’ll do!” shouted Macon Ray Silverette, rasping and choking in the looming broil of burnt powder. He called over to Dirty Dave, who stood bowed at the waist on the far side of the trail from him, “You hit, Dave?”

“Hell yes, I’m hit, you damn fool!” Dave growled as Macon Ray reached and gently took the shotgun from his hand. “I’m gut-shot… belly to backbone!” he gasped, and added, “I feel blood running down my ass.”

“Now, there’s a picture I would not pay to look at,” said Ray, lifting Dave’s Colt from its holster and shoving it down behind his belt.

“Wha-what are you doing?” Dirty Dave asked, in a distrusting voice.

“Lightening your load, Dirty Dave,” said Macon Ray.

“I won’t need no lightening, once I’m in the saddle,” said Dave, pain coming to his voice. “And don’t call me Dirty Dave. I’ve warned you enough!” he managed to growl.

“Dirty Dave, your warnings don’t impress me the way they used to, say… an hour ago?” Ray grinned. He patted Dave on the back. “Anyway, I’m lightening your load so you don’t have as much to carry, bringing the saddlebags up to us.” He gestured a hand toward the edge of the trail, beyond the bodies of the two outlaws—beyond one dead, and one dying, thrashing horse.

“Are you—are you kidding me?” said Dave as Albert Kinney walked in closer from across the trail, his shotgun still smoking in his hands.

“Joe,” said Macon Ray with a dark chuckle, “he wants to know if I’m kidding him.”

Joe Fackler pitched a rope on the ground at Dave’s feet.

Dave shook his bowed head and said, “You can’t expect me to climb down that cliff. Look at me.” He held a bloody hand up from his belly.

“I told you I was winning on that cockfight, Dirty Dave,” Fackler said in a sullen tone.

“Well, there you have it,” Macon Ray said, patting Dave’s bowed back. “Tie that rope around your waist. We’ll help you skin on down the cliff side. You just tie the saddlebags onto the rope and give it a yank, and we’ll pull them up.”

“I’m no fool,” said Dave, his voice sounding more pained. “What about me? Are you pulling me back up too?”

“That’s a tough one to call right now, Dave,” said Macon Ray. “I’d like to tell you we will, but knowing our outlaw nature…” He let his words trail.

“If you’re not throwing the rope back down for me, I’m not going down,” Dave said firmly.

“Suit yourself, Dirty Dave,” said Ray. He looked at Joe Fackler. “We can’t waste time here. You can bet Grolin’s men are trailing the money.” He looked back along the dark trail. “Air him out, Joe,” he said.

“My pleasure,” said Fackler, breaking open his shotgun, plucking out two spent shells and reaching into his pocket for fresh rounds.

“Please, Joe,” said Dave Atlo.

But Fackler only stared coldly at him as he reloaded.

“I had just won twenty dollars on one fight,” he said bitterly, snapping the shotgun shut.

“All right, wait! Hold it!” said Dave, forcing himself to straighten up. “I’ll go down and send the money up. If you don’t throw that rope back down for me, may you all rot in hell.”

Fackler and Ray grinned.

Moments later, Ray stood watching, smoking a cigarette, rifle in hand, keeping an eye on the back trail as Albert Kinney and Joe Fackler lowered the wounded outlaw over the edge and down the steep rocky hillside.

“He’s got it!” Kinney called back over his shoulder.

“Haul it up,” said Macon Ray, walking over to the edge and staring down at Dave’s shadowy, wounded figure standing on a ledge staring up at him.

“Here it comes!” said Kinney, pulling the rope up until the saddlebags flopped over on to the edge of the trail.

Ray chuckled and flipped his cigarette butt out over the edge. He stopped and untied the saddlebags, opened them and looked inside with a widening smile, Fackler and Kinney crowding his elbow as he untied the rope.

“Boys, here’s your cockfight,” he said. Shaking the stacks of money in the bags, he closed the flaps, tied them and slung the bags over his shoulder.

“What about him?” Kinney asked, gesturing down into the darkness.

“Tie it off on a tree and throw the rope back down to him,” said Ray, feeling generous. “He won’t live the night either way.”

On the ledge below, one hand holding his bleeding belly, Dave stared up toward the sound of their voices.

“What about… that rope?” he called up in a failing voice.

“Here it comes,” said Macon Ray.

Dave saw and felt the rope lash down the steep hillside and dangle beside him. Grabbing it quickly, he tied it around his waist.

“All right, give me a pull,” he said, holding on to the bite of the rope with both hands. “Ready when you are,” he added, after a moment of silence from the edge above him.

“Ray…? Joe…?” He stood with blood running down him front and back. “Damn it to hell,” he said finally, hearing the sound of horses’ hooves move off quickly along the rocky trail.