Anatomy of a Lawman (14 page)

“You’re gonna detonate dynamite by shooting at it?” Commons asked.

Clint nodded. “From the roof.”

“And who’s gonna be on the roof to do that?”

“Me and Ned Dillon,” Clint said. “Unless you want to try it?”

“No,” Commons said. “I saw the two of you shoot at the range.”

“The rest of you will take positions on the ground,” Clint said.

“Anybody in the bank?” Commons asked.

“Let’s put Wilkes in there with his shotgun,” Clint said.

“Okay.”

“Get the dynamite and plant the charges.”

“What if they ride in while I’m still setting charges?”

“You better get started so we make sure that doesn’t happen,” Clint said.

Commons stared at him.

“Don’t worry,” Clint said. “I’ll be on the roof. I’ll have your back.”

“You better,” Commons said.

They split up.

 

Frank put his hand up and stopped the gang’s progress.

“There it is,” he said.

“We see it,” Del said. “Let’s go and do it.”

Frank looked at his brother.

“Let me enjoy this moment,” he said. “When we leave there, we’ll have all their money, and the town will be in flames.”

“You sure you don’t wanna send somebody in first to check it out?”

“No,” Frank said, “we don’t need to. That town fancies itself a throwback to the days of the old cow towns. That means there’s a lot of activity, a lot of trouble, enough to keep a lawman busy. And whoever they have as a lawman ain’t gonna be so experienced.”

“How do you know that?” Del demanded. “What if they went out and got Wyatt Earp?”

“They ain’t had time to get somebody like that,” Frank said. “They probably pinned the sheriff’s badge on a deputy.”

Del looked around, making sure nobody could hear him. He leaned over and lowered his voice.

“You’re bein’ sloppy, Frank,” he said. “You’re too anxious. Let me ride in first.”

“What for?”

“Just to make sure we’re not ridin’ into anythin’,” Del said. “Any surprises. What’s it gonna cost you? Half an hour?”

Frank fidgeted in the saddle.

“Okay,” Frank said. “Okay, go ahead. “I’ll give you twenty minutes.”

“It’s gonna take me ten to ride down there,” Del said.

“Then you better ride fast.”

James came running up to Clint, who was standing on the street while the others got into position. Dillon was already on the roof of the hotel, the highest point in town.

Wilkes was in the bank, looking out the front window. Everyone inside the bank had been sent home.

Harley Prescott, Buck, and Minnesota were in doorways on opposite sides of the street.

Commons was still setting charges.

The townspeople knew something was happening and had left the streets. Clint just hoped the deserted streets wouldn’t change the gang’s mind as they rode in.

As James came running up, he said, “Single rider comin’ in.”

“Damn it,” Clint said. “I was hoping they wouldn’t send a scout in. When he sees the deserted streets, he’ll be suspicious.”

“What do we do?” James asked.

“Go and take your position,” Clint said. “We’ll have to hope for the best.”

As James left, Buck came running over. Clint told him the problem.

“Can’t we get some people on the street?” Buck asked. “Some of us can walk—”

“If he sees a few men on a deserted street, it’ll make him even more suspicious,” Clint said. “Just go back to your position.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I think I should meet the scout,” Clint said.

“Why?”

“I might be able to make him believe I’m alone,” Clint said. “If that’s the case, the gang will ride in, convinced they’re facing one man.”

“Will you tell them who you are?”

“No,” Clint said, “I’ll give him a phony name. One he’s never heard of.”

“Why don’t you tell them you’re Wild Bill Hickok,” Buck said. “That’ll scare ’em.”

“I’ll give your idea some thought, Buck,” Clint said. “Now go ahead, take your position. And remember, nobody fires until I do.”

“Got it, Sherriff.”

Buck ran back across to his doorway. Clint looked up at the roof across the street, got a wave from Dillon that he was ready.

He walked over in front of the bank, where Commons had finished with his last charge.

“You know,” Commons said, “I could’ve set these so that they’d go off—”

“I know you could have,” Clint said. “I know I could have made better use of your talents, Commons, but we’ve made a play.”

“Yeah, okay. What are you doin’ down here?”

“They’re sending in a scout. I’m going to meet him, try to convince him I’m alone.”

“If you can do that,” Commons said, “they’ll probably roll right in.”

“Right.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Commons left to take his position.

Clint walked to the center of the street to meet the scout. He hoped the others wouldn’t panic when they saw him there.

At the end of the street he saw the rider appear, trotting until he spotted Clint, and then slowing to a walk.

Del Graves saw the single man standing in the center of the street and slowed his horse. As he rode closer, he saw the badge on the man’s chest. When he reached the lawman, he stopped.

 

Clint looked up at the rider, wondering if they’d made a mistake. Maybe he wasn’t part of the gang.

“Sheriff.”

“What’s your name?”

The man settled the question for Clint when he said, “Del Graves.”

“I thought so. Where’s the rest of your gang?”

“Just outside of town,” Del said. “What’s your game, Sheriff?”

“No game,” Clint said. “I want you and your gang to turn around and ride.”

Del looked beyond Clint, then glanced around at the buildings around him.

“Everybody’s off the street,” he said. “Expectin’ trouble?”

“They are,” Clint said, “I’m not.”

“You must be the new sheriff,” Del said.

“That’s right. Took over from Sheriff Graves, who you and your men killed.”

“And you’ve been expectin’ us to come back?”

“You didn’t get the money from the bank the first time,” Clint said. “Yes, I’ve been expecting you to come back.”

“And you’re ready for us?”

“I am.”

Again, Del looked around.

“You alone?”

“Why don’t you ride in and see?” Clint said. On the spur of the moment Clint decided that the best way to convince them he was alone was not to answer the question.

“Go tell your brothers and your cousins you met me and don’t think they should ride in.”

Del smiled.

“You’re pretty confident.”

“Pick another town, Graves,” Clint said. “Don’t come in here.”

“I’ll tell my brothers,” Del said, “see what they say. But I think I know.”

“Change their minds.”

“We’ll see.”

Del started to turn his horse, then stopped and asked, “What’s your name?”

Clint thought, what the hell.

“Wild Bill Hickok.”

Del rode back up to Frank and the rest just as it looked like they were getting ready to ride.

“You just made it,” Frank told his brother. “What’d you find?”

“A single lawman, standing in the street, waitin’ for us,” Del said.

“Just one man?”

“It doesn’t feel right, Frank.”

“You saw just one man?”

“Just one, but there could be more.”

“What’s his name?” Dudley asked.

“He said Wild Bill Hickok.”

“Funny man,” Dudley said. “Whataya think, Frank?”

“I think one man is tryin’ to stand us off,” Frank said, “and it ain’t gonna happen.”

“He’s been expectin’ us, Frank,” Del said. “I don’t like it.”

“If he’s expectin’ us,” Frank said, “let’s not keep the man waitin’.”

 

Clint was up on his rooftop, across from Dillon, when he heard the sounds of horses approaching. As the gang rode down the main street into town, he counted twenty riders.

The odds were not as bad as he thought they’d be.

The gang rode right up to the bank and started to dismount, looking around. Two riders remained on their horses, handling the reins of the other horses.

Clint couldn’t afford to let them go into the bank, not while Wilkes was in there.

As one of the men reached for the doorknob, Clint stood and shouted down, “Hold it right there, Graves!”

 

Frank Graves dismounted with the others and approached the front door of the bank. This would be the second time he went inside, and this time he intended to leave with the money.

Del and Dudley Graves dismounted and looked around.

“Where is everybody?” Dudley asked.

“They know there’s gonna be trouble,” Del said. “They’re stayin’ inside.”

As Frank Graves grabbed the doorknob and turned, finding it locked, a voice called out, “Hold it right there, Graves!”

They all looked around them.

 

“Up here!” Clint shouted.

The men on the ground looked up, spotted him standing there with his rifle.

“That’s him,” Del said to Frank. “That’s the lawman.”

“You think one man can stand against us, Sheriff?” Frank asked.

“Probably not,” Clint said, “but I’m not one man.”

“And I’ll bet you’re not Wild Bill Hickok either,” Del shouted.

“You’re right about that,” Clint said. “My name is Clint Adams.”

Frank looked at Del quickly.

“The Gunsmith?” he said.

“That can’t be,” Del said.

“Why not?” Dudley asked.

“It just can—”

“It don’t matter,” Frank said, then looked up at Clint. “It don’t matter if you’re the goddamned Gunsmith. You can’t stand against twenty men.”

“As you said, not alone,” Clint said, and waved.

Dillon stood up on his rooftop and levered a round to let them know he was there.

The others stood up from their ground positions and did the same so that the sounds of rounds being inserted into chambers filled the air.

Frank looked around.

“Not even ten men,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else. “You don’t have even ten men!” he shouted.

“Don’t try to go into that bank, Graves,” Clint said. “Just mount up and ride.”

“Clell,” Franks said to his younger brother. “The door to the bank is locked. Kick it in.”

“Sure, Frank.”

Clell Graves walked to the bank door and slammed his foot into it. It sprang open, but as he started to enter, there was the booming sound of a shot. Two loads of twelve-gauge shot slammed him back into the street, his midsection and chest shredded.

“Kill ’em all!” Frank shouted, drawing his gun.

Clint pointed the barrel of his rifle at the first bundle of dynamite buried in the ground and fired. The explosion unhorsed the remaining two bank robbers, and scattered the horses of the others. The concussion knocked several of them off their feet.

Dillon did the same, fired once, and another bundle exploded. There was chaos on the street now, men running, horses screaming wildly and trying to get away.

Clint detonated another bundle, then turned and ran to the hatch on the roof. He wanted to get down to the ground as fast as possible.

Dillon fired and blew up a fourth bundle, but stayed where he was. There were another couple of bundles up the street, in case some of the robbers tried to get away. He stood up and began firing at the bank robbers.

On the ground, Buck, Minnesota, Commons, and the Prescott boys began to fire.

Inside the bank, Wilkes was sliding two shells from his bandolier and reloading his shotgun when a man ran into the bank. He was a big man—larger even than Wilkes—with a sloppy gut hanging over his belly, but Wilkes could see the strength in him.

“You killed my brother, you sonofabitch.”

Wilkes snapped the shotgun shut, but the man didn’t go for his own gun. Instead he charged Wilkes, slammed into him, jarring the shotgun from his grasp. They stumbled back until Wilkes’s back struck the wall.

 

Clint reached the street and drew his gun. Men were running in the streets as the dust from the explosions began to settle. His men were supposed to hold their positions, so that anyone in the street was a bank robber. He could hear the firing of weapons, mostly from his men as the robbers scattered in a panic. He began to fire.

Eventually, the bank robbers began to return fire, but by that time their number had been cut in half. Dillon alone was doing extensive damage from the roof.

Clint rushed to the bank, saw two men standing right in front. He recognized the scout who had ridden in, and the other man strongly resembled him. They both had to be Graves brothers.