Chapter Seven
Hobb, the stagecoach driver, slowed the horses when he saw a horse in the middle of the road. Coming closer, he saw the rider was slumped over in the saddle, his arms dangling down, and his hat was lying in the dirt beside his horse. “What do you make of that?” he asked his shotgun rider, Cal.
Cal squinted against the sun shining in his eyes. “Looks like he’s hurt.”
Pulling the team to a halt, Hobb yelled out, “Hello.” When no response came, he looked at Cal. They were on a schedule, and this was time they didn’t have to waste, yet he couldn’t pass a man by if he needed help. “You better check it out.” Hobb had been a stagecoach driver for a long time, and he was by nature a cautious man. He picked up his rifle to have it at the ready if needed.
“Sure thing, Hobb.” Cal climbed down from his perch with his rifle in hand. He was just a few feet from the rider when he yelled out, “Mister, you okay?” Met with silence, he looked back at Hobb. “He might be dead, Hobb.”
Hobb rolled his eyes. They’d traveled together many times, so they knew each other like brothers. And just like brothers, they got on each other’s nerves. Cal was one heck of a shot, and Hobb was always happy to have him along, but sometimes he could be dumber than a rock. “Well, check it out.” Hobb was already calculating the time it would take to bury a man. They’d made good time, so he figured he could spare thirty minutes if necessary.
Cal turned around, took hold of the horse’s reins that were dangling on the ground, and picked up the man’s hat. The man’s face was covered by his long dark hair, so Cal gently poked his thigh with the butt of his rifle. “Mister?”
The motionless man came to life. He easily snatched Cal’s rifle from him, jumped off his horse in a flash, and had his forearm wrapped around Cal’s throat before he knew what was happening. The man threw the rifle to the ground and pulled his pistol, jamming it against Cal’s temple. It all happened so fast that Cal didn’t have time to react.
Even Hobb was slow to respond, but when it finally registered in his brain what had happened, he pulled his rifle to his shoulder and took aim.
“Mister, what in blue blazes are you doing? I was trying to help you,” Cal managed to ask even though he thought his windpipe was being crushed.
“And I appreciate that, Cal. Now tell Hobb to put his rifle aside and throw the strongbox down. And pass my hat over your shoulder.”
Cal held the man’s hat over his shoulder. “You mean you ain’t hurt?” Cal was dumbfounded at the turn of events.
The man placed his hat on his head and pulled the brim low. “No, Cal, but you and Hobb are gonna be hurt if he don’t toss that strongbox to the ground.”
“We don’t have a strongbox,” Hobb said to the man he couldn’t see because he was shorter than Cal.
A shot exploded next to Cal’s ear, causing him to clutch his head from the deafening sound. At the same moment Cal realized his ear was still attached, he saw Hobb’s hat flying through the air.
“Now don’t lie to me, Hobb. I know you are carrying an express shipment to Denver. Throw it down, or Cal will be missing one ear the next time I ask.”
“He don’t listen nohow,” Hobb replied.
“What?” Cal yelled. He couldn’t hear what they were saying for the ringing in his ear.
Hobb heard the man cock the pistol. “Now wait a minute, mister. Wouldn’t we have a lot more firepower if we was carrying money?” He figured most outlaws would know it would be unusual to carry such a shipment with so few gun hands.
“Hobb, I take it you don’t think much of your friend. I’m going to start counting, and when I get to one, you’re gonna see the insides of Cal’s head. Three . . . two . . .”
Hobb held up his hand. “Wait just a dang minute!” Hobb hated the thought of being robbed. He maintained a good reputation as a driver who always made his destinations on time with cargo intact. But he wasn’t going to risk Cal’s life over a little money. He placed his rifle aside. “It’s inside the coach.”
“Get it. And leave that rifle on top.”
“You know you will be hunted down for this,” Hobb said as he climbed from the top of the coach.
“Don’t waste your worry on me. Me and my men will take care of any posse that comes after us. Now drop your gun belt.”
Hobb turned to face the man, but still couldn’t see anything but his pistol at Cal’s scalp. “Your men? I don’t see no one but you.”
“Maybe you better look more carefully. Left and right.”
Hobb looked left and saw a rifle balanced on a large boulder. From the right, another rifle was peeking out through the brush. With that pistol to Cal’s head, and two rifles pointed at him, Hobb had no choice. He unfastened his gun belt and let it drop to the ground before he walked to the door of the stagecoach. When he opened the door, he said, “I have to pull it out, unless you want to help me carry it.”
“Get on with it. I’m getting impatient, Hobb.”
Hobb turned his attention to the inside of the coach, and looked at the man crouched down on the floorboard with a rifle at the ready. He shook his head and whispered, “Boyd, he’s a crack shot and he’s got men with him, one on the right and one on the left. So lay low right now.” Hobb was thankful he had another shotgun rider with him on this trip. It had been a last-minute decision for Boyd to accompany them. It turned out to be a prophetic decision. Boyd was an even better shot than Cal, and the rifle was his weapon of choice. No doubt Boyd could probably handle the two men with the rifles. Now all he had to do was find a way to get Cal out of the man’s grip.
Boyd nodded and said softly, “Leave the door cracked open. If I can get a shot, I’ll take him first. That’ll give you and Cal time to drop to the ground.” Boyd removed his hat and leaned across the seat, positioning himself to be able to see the robber unobserved.
“You’ll be looking directly into the sun,” Hobb said as he pulled the strongbox out of the coach and let it drop to the ground.
“Here it is,” he yelled to the outlaw, hoping he could get him to walk to the coach away from Cal. If he took the bait, they might have a chance of getting out of this alive.
“Drag it over here,” the man said.
Hobb intentionally pulled the box to the robber at an angle. If the robber turned a few inches maybe Boyd would have a shot. He’d also like to get a look at his face so he could identify him if they didn’t find a way to stop him. But his hat was pulled low, and Hobb couldn’t make out his features. Hobb glanced down at his boots, thinking he might be wearing something special-made like the pearl-handled Colt he held to Cal’s head. No such luck; his boots were nothing special. “You’re making a big mistake, mister.”
“Open it,” the man demanded.
“I don’t have the key,” Hobb said.
Quicker than Hobb could see his hand move, the man directed the barrel of his pistol at the lock and pulled the trigger. Again, his shot was true, and the lock broke apart. “Now open the lid.”
Squatting down, Hobb pulled the lid open. Seeing a large amount of bills, Hobb glanced up at Cal. He could tell by Cal’s expression that he was as surprised as Hobb was by the amount of money in the strongbox. Now the question was, how did this hombre know they were carrying the money, and when they were due to arrive in Denver?
“Looks like I was blessed today,” the man said. He gestured with his pistol. “Is there money bags in there?”
“Yeah,” Hobb said.
“Good. Put the money in the bags and put them in my saddlebags.”
Hobb was in no position to argue. The man was good with that pistol, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot Cal if he didn’t comply with his instructions. While Hobb shoved the money inside the bags and stuffed them in the man’s saddlebags, he made a mental note of his horse, including his hoofprints. Unless he had a packhorse nearby, the man was traveling light, indicating he might be from around these parts. Of course, his partners could have their saddlebags full of provisions. Speaking of partners, they weren’t too keen on showing their faces. Hobb glanced toward the rifles that were still visible. Strange, he didn’t think they’d moved an inch. Was it possible the man was bluffing and he didn’t have any partners? It might be taking a lethal gamble to make that assumption and make a move on him. But if the man was alone, they might have a chance against him. Hobb turned back to the man. “Now what?”
“You and Cal walk back to the stagecoach. Don’t look back.”
While the man’s attention was on Hobb loading the saddlebags, Boyd planned exactly what he would do. He didn’t know if he could shoot them all, but he had to try. He planned to shoot the man holding the pistol on Cal first. The men behind the rocks were farther away, and he had the cover of the coach if they started shooting. If he kept his wits about him, he thought he could take them out before they had a chance to get more than one shot off. He inched his rifle through the opening in the door. If Cal just moved a fraction, he would shoot that no-good son-of-a-gun.
“I have a feeling you’re going to shoot us in the back.” Hobb wasn’t one to trust an outlaw. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon face you if you are going to do me in.”
“I got no reason to shoot you, Hobb. You’ve done everything I’ve asked. Now turn around and walk.” He hadn’t made up his mind if he was going to shoot them or not. They hadn’t been able to get a good look at his face because he wore his hat low, and the sun was in their eyes. They wouldn’t recognize him if they passed him on the street. But there was a part of him that wanted to know how it felt to kill a man.
Hobb looked at Cal and inclined his head toward the coach. Hobb thought he spotted the barrel of Boyd’s rifle, and he hoped Cal saw the same thing. Hobb nodded his head, trying to send a silent signal to Boyd that he saw him and knew what he was going to do, just in case he was ready to shoot. Hobb figured the outlaw would fire before they were too far away if that was his intent, so he had to act quickly. He realized his only option was to shove Cal down and pray Boyd didn’t hesitate to take a shot. Cal’s rifle was in the dirt behind them, so there was no chance he could get to it in time to fire off a round. All he could do was rely on Boyd’s true aim, and the Good Lord to protect them. Step one. Step two. His heart was beating so fast that he could hear it pounding in his ears, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard the pistol being cocked behind them. He shoved Cal hard, sending him reeling sideways as he dropped to the ground. Kaboom! Boyd was ready and waiting! Hobb looked back, saw the robber clutch his arm, and saw his opportunity. As Hobb scrambled on his hands and knees toward Cal’s rifle, the outlaw glanced at him and read his intentions. He aimed his pistol at Hobb and fired. Hobb rolled in the dirt, but the bullet found his shoulder. To Hobb’s surprise, Cal was right beside him. Cal grabbed the rifle just as another shot rang out. Boyd fired another round, but he missed his target. The outlaw had mounted his horse and was making fast tracks out of the area. Cal fired, but the man had disappeared through the brush.
Boyd jumped out of the stagecoach and hurried to Hobb. “Sorry, Hobb, I tried to shoot him dead center, but he moved just as I shot.”
“I’m okay, Boyd. It went straight through.” He stood with Boyd’s assistance. “I realized he was bluffing about having partners. I guess you figured out the same thing.”
“Yeah, after I shot him, I turned to shoot at the man behind the rock, but when no one was shooting, I knew he’d been bluffing. That’s what took me so long to get another shot off.”
“That was a good shot with the sun in your eyes.” Hobb looked at Cal. “Sorry I had to shove you so hard, but there wasn’t much time to do anything else.”
“I appreciate it, Hobb. You saved our sorry hides.”
“Cal, did you get a look at his face?” Boyd asked.
“No, his hair was covering his face when I walked up. Then everything happened so fast that I didn’t have a chance to get a look at him. The only thing I know for sure is he stunk to high heaven.”
“Stunk?”
“Yeah, I noticed his hair when I first walked up. It was long and greasy like it hadn’t had a good scrubbing in a while. Then when he was behind me, I was wishing he was standing downwind.”
The situation was serious, but Hobb couldn’t help but chuckle at Cal’s face. He looked like he’d just sucked on a lemon.
“He was a crack shot, that’s for darn sure. Don’t guess you gotta smell good for that.”
“Yeah, he was good,” Hobb agreed.
“Hobb, let’s get you bandaged up and get the heck out of here. We’ll be in Denver in an hour and the doc can have a look at you,” Cal said.
“I’ll go get those rifles,” Boyd said.
* * *
“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting forever.” Reuben’s tone was brusque, and to make his point, the little man pulled his pocket watch out, tapped the face of the timepiece and frowned. He’d been waiting at the designated meeting place between Denver and Whispering Pines. “I should have already been back at my desk fifteen minutes ago.”
“Sorry, I let a little thing like getting shot delay me.” Stevie Langtry slid off his horse. “Seems like you forgot to tell me there were three men on that stagecoach.”
“Three? We were told there would only be two men.”
“They had another man inside the coach who took me by surprise. Take a look at my arm.”
Reuben stepped away from him. “I don’t know anything about gunshot wounds. What do you expect me to do?”
Stevie pulled his bandana from his pocket and held it out to Reuben. “Just wrap my bandana around it to stop the bleeding. The bullet just grazed me.”
Reuben timidly reached for the bandana, as though he were about to grasp a deadly scorpion. “Well, did you get it, or not?”
“As soon as you wrap my arm, take a look in my saddlebags.”
The incentive worked. Reuben made short work of tying the bandana around his arm. As he walked to the horse, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his hands. He opened the saddlebag and pulled out one of the two large bags of money. After he looked inside, he said, “Perfect.” He carried the bag to his buggy, pulled out his valise, and stuffed the bag inside.
“What are you going to do now, Reuben?”
Peering over his glasses, Reuben seemed surprised by the question. “I’m going back to work, of course. I certainly don’t plan on calling attention to myself by disappearing right now. You don’t plan on taking off, do you?”
“No, I’m going home. If I don’t hear from Frankie, I’m going to Purgatory Canyon to see if he’s there. If Frank, or any of the gang escaped Roper and LeMasters, that’s where they will meet up.”
“Do you think Frank will escape?”
“Yeah, I do. Frank is too smart for Morgan LeMasters.” Stevie thought Frank was too crafty to be caught. If he ever did get caught, he was certain he’d never be hanged.
“If Frank hasn’t been caught, what then?”
“Depends on what Frankie wants to do, but I want to leave Whispering Pines. I don’t care if I ever come back. Maybe we’ll go to Mexico.”
“No one will ever suspect me, so we could do this a few more times and have enough money to travel the world.” Reuben was confident that the people he worked with thought him to be too ignorant to plan a robbery. He smiled at the thought. He’d made an effort to appear timid and inconspicuous since he’d arrived in Whispering Pines a few years ago. His glowing recommendation from a fictitious boss in Boston had won him the job working for Mr. Rivers at the bank. His boss considered himself to be an exceptionally intelligent man. But he wasn’t smart enough to figure out Reuben had never worked for a bank. Rivers thought his clerk to be so inconsequential that he rarely spoke to him other than to bark orders. Reuben often wanted to tell his boss that he was a bumbling fool, but playacting had its benefits. He’d been wise enough to hold his tongue and plan his revenge. He knew the day would come when he would find a way to rob the bank. Then, totally by accident one day, Reuben found the one person who could help him achieve his dream.
“I’ll be in touch.” Stevie had to agree, no one would suspect Reuben of robbery. At first, he didn’t think Reuben had it in him to do anything that wasn’t legal. He’d seen the timid, bespectacled clerk around Denver a few times, but they’d never spoken. They’d struck up a friendship one day when Reuben was out for a buggy ride and happened on Stevie target practicing. They started talking, and before Stevie knew what was happening, Reuben had told him of his plan to rob a stagecoach. Reuben was not at all what he seemed to most people. His frail appearance and unassuming manner certainly belied his cunning mind. Reuben was almost as devious as Frankie. Almost. In some ways, Reuben was more dangerous than Frankie. Reuben was a master at deception, and it appeared he had everyone fooled. Stevie often wondered if Reuben had happened on him that day by accident, or if he’d planned it all along.
“You’re too smart to ride with Frank and his gang. Let’s keep working together for a few more holdups, and then we could take off together and travel the world.” Reuben wanted a traveling companion who could handle a gun. He looked at their partnership as the perfect union: his brains and Stevie’s deadly shooting ability. “Wouldn’t you like to see what’s on the other side of the ocean?”
Reuben’s plan did sound appealing. Maybe he could talk Frankie into seeing the world. “I’ll be in touch once I find out what happened to Frankie.”
Reuben closed his valise and lifted it into the buggy. He tipped his bowler hat. “Until then.”
* * *
When Hobb pulled into Denver he stopped the stagecoach directly in front of the jail. After they told their story of the robbery, the sheriff had plenty of questions.
“Can you give me a description of this character?” the sheriff asked.
“We didn’t see his face, Sheriff. His hat was pulled low, and he’d forced Cal in front of him at gunpoint, so he was well hidden during the holdup,” Hobb said. “Boyd was looking into the sun when he winged him. If not for him, we’d all most likely be saying hello to our Maker.”
“What can you tell me about him?” the sheriff asked.
“He was a short fellow. Cal is about six feet, and I’d say he was six inches shorter,” Hobb replied.
“Like I told Hobb and Boyd, he had long dark hair, and from the way he smelled, I don’t think he’d had a bath in months. But he was mighty fast with that gun, and accurate,” Cal added.
“His voice sounded like he was a younger man,” Hobb said.
“And you say he was riding alone?” the sheriff asked.
Hobb explained to the sheriff the reason they’d stopped in the first place. He also told him about the hoax with the rifles strategically positioned.
“That sounds like a pretty smart move if you were planning to rob a stagecoach,” the sheriff said. “You think a young man would have come up with that scheme on his own?”
“I don’t know if he thought of the holdup alone, but it was well planned, and no one was riding with him. If he had a partner or partners, they didn’t help him out. He didn’t lack in confidence when it came to shooting,” Hobb said.
“He was an experienced marksman,” Cal said.
The sheriff digested this piece of information before he asked, “Who knew you were transporting that much money?”
“We didn’t even know how much there was, and we’ll need to send a telegram to find out who was privy to that information,” Hobb replied. “But I can tell you one thing, Boyd was added at the last minute to ride inside the coach. That hombre didn’t ask what we were carrying, he already knew. But I’d swear he didn’t know about Boyd. Everything was planned well, and I figure if he’d known a man was inside the coach, he’d have forced him out.”
The sheriff ran a hand over his whiskered face. “So you’re saying that he expected there would be just two men on that stagecoach with that much money?”
“That’s the feeling I got,” Hobb said.
“That would seem to indicate that someone on this end didn’t know about the extra man if it was an inside job,” the sheriff theorized.
“Well, someone told him what we were carrying. Someone who wasn’t aware we had an extra man. Maybe we need to go to the bank, tell them what happened, and see who knew the shipment was due to arrive today,” Hobb said.