Grabbing a shirt that was for sale on one of the tables, Travis wrapped it around the end of his finger to staunch the flow of blood.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Toombs grabbed a shotgun from under the counter, but Frank saw him and before Toombs could bring his weapon to bear, Frank shot him.
When Mrs. Toombs, who was screaming in anger and fear, grabbed the gun from her husband’s dead hands, Frank shot her as well.
A moment later they rode away from the store with a bag that contained forty-nine dollars and fifty-seven cents. Behind them lay the gruesome remains of their visit, the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Toombs, and that of one of Colorado’s earliest pioneers.
Risco, Colorado
Risco was a scattering of fly-blown, crumbling adobe buildings laid out around a dusty plaza. What made the town attractive to people like Bill Dinkins, John Putnam, and Cole Parnell was its reputation as a “Robbers’ Roost,” or “Outlaw Haven.”
The town was neither incorporated, nor listed on any map. It had no city government of any kind, including no mayor, constable, marshal, or sheriff. Visitations by law officers were strongly discouraged and there was a place in the town cemetery prominently marked LAWMAN’S PLOT. Two deputy sheriffs, one deputy U.S. marshal, and a private detective, all unwelcome visitors to the town, lay buried there.
Dinkins, Putnam, and Parnell were in the Purgatory Saloon. The three horses they had stolen from the Cañon City Livery were tied up out front. Because of the lawlessness of the town, they had absolutely no concern about riding stolen horses. It was certain nobody in town was going to challenge them over it.
Parnell recognized Frank and Travis Slater when they came in. “Well, well,” he said quietly. “Last time I saw them two boys, we was in jail together back in Elco. I went to prison from there, never did find out what happened to them.”
“What was they in jail for?” Dinkins asked.
“Stealin’, as I recollect,” Parnell said.
“We need a couple more men to make sure we pull off the job I have in mind. Do you think they would be the men for it?”
“Don’t know whether they would be or not. Don’t know ’em that well. But if I was just guessin’, I would say they would be all right.”
“Why don’t you go and invite them over?” Dinkins suggested.
“All right.” Parnell finished his drink, then walked to the two bothers. “Frank and Travis Slater.”
Both men whirled toward him with their hands covering the butts of their guns.
“Hold it, hold it!” Parnell held out his hands, palms open. “You ain’t goin’ to throw down on an old pard, are you?”
“Parnell?” Frank asked. “I thought you was in prison.”
“I was,” Parnell answered. “But I got let out. I guess you boys was let out too, seein’ as the last time I seen the two of you, you was in jail.” Smiling, he extended his hand, and each shook it. “Come on over. I’ve got some fellas I’d like for you to meet,” he invited.
Frank and Travis followed Parnell over to the table where Dinkins and Putnam were sitting.
“Bill, Johnny, these two boys is old friends of mine,” Parnell said. “Like I told you, we was in jail together back in Elco.”
“Pull up a chair and join us,” Dinkins invited.
The two brothers sat down.
“Before I go any further, I need to ask a question. Which side of the law are you boys on?” Dinkins asked. “What I mean is, are there any wanted posters out on you?”
“There ain’t no dodgers out on us, ’cause we ain’t done nothin’ to be wanted for,” Travis said quickly.
“Well then, in that case, you probably wouldn’t be interested in my proposal,” Dinkins said. “Because what I have to suggest will put you on the wrong side of the law for sure. So, if you’ve got enough money that you ain’t interested, well, go on back up to the bar and finish your drink.”
“Wait a minute,” Frank said. “What is it that you have to suggest?”
“Nothing that would interest you two, I’m sure,” Dinkins said. “I mean, bein’ as you ain’t never done nothin’ to be wanted for.”
“Supposin’ we had,” Frank said.
“But your brother just said that you hadn’t.”
“Whenever a person does somethin’ wrong, why he don’t generally go aroun’ tellin’ ever’one about it. That’s why Travis lied like he done.”
“So, what you are sayin’ is, you wouldn’t be against doin’ somethin’ wrong, if it made you some money.”
“How much money?” Frank asked.
“A lot of money,” Dinkins answered.
“Where are you going to find a lot of money?” Travis asked.
“Well now, where do people keep a lot of money?” Dinkins replied.
Frank and Travis looked at each other, then smiled.
“A bank,” Frank said. “You talkin’ about robbin’ a bank, ain’t you?”
“That’s where the money is,” Dinkins responded. “Are you boys interested?”
“Damn right we’re interested. When do we do it?”
“Soon.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gothic, Colorado
It was four hours by buckboard from Sugarloaf to Gothic. When Sally and Cal left before dawn, there was quite a chill in the air. Their breathing, and the breathing of the horses, emitted little clouds of vapor, but the buffalo robes and sheepskin coats kept them comfortable. It had been Sally’s decision to go by buckboard instead of surrey. She was sure once they started setting up the restaurant they would need some means of hauling freight around.
During their drive over from Big Rock it had warmed up considerably so they shed their coats and put them in the back, alongside Sally’s suitcase and Cal’s duffel. They kept the conversation light as they traveled and the time passed quickly.
The little town of Gothic had grown up in the north part of Gunnison County. It was surrounded by mountains and supported by a productive silver mine, but inexplicably bypassed by the railroad. To Sally and Cal, approaching from the south, the collection of sun-bleached and weatherworn wooden buildings were so much a part of the land that it looked almost as if the town was the result of some natural phenomenon, rather than the work of man.
Crossing the outer edge of the town they encountered a sign, erected by the Gothic City Council.
GOTHIC
POPULATION 507
Silver Capital of Colorado
Sally gave Cal a twenty dollar bill.
“What’s this for, Miss Sally?”
“You’ll need a place to stay while you are here. This is for your hotel and food.”
“I don’t think it’ll cost that much.”
“Well, then you’ll have a little extra money left over for a beer, or perhaps a game of cards,” Sally suggested. “That is, if you don’t gamble too recklessly.”
“Gee, thanks!” Cal said. “Don’t worry none about the gamblin’ part, I don’t never get carried away too much.”
Sally had never been to Tamara’s house, but she had the address so she guided Cal to a very small structure that sat on the outskirts of town. Tamara had been watching for them, and came out front, smiling broadly as they drove up. Sally hopped down and the two women embraced, then Sally reached for her suitcase.
“I’ll get that for you, Miss Sally,” Cal offered.
“Don’t be silly. I’m not helpless. Go get yourself a hotel room, then find a place to park the buckboard and stable the horses.”
“Oh, the hotel has its own stable and wagon yard,” Tamara said. “You won’t have any trouble.”
“Thanks.” Cal snapped the reins as he urged the horses on.
“I knew you would be here about lunchtime, so I prepared lunch for us,” Tamara said as they went into her house, redolent with the most enticing aromas.