“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!”
CHAPTER NINE
Cal ran into the bank with his pistol drawn. The bank teller raised a shotgun to his shoulder and aimed at Cal.
“Mr. Martin, no!” Tamara shouted. “He’s with me!”
Martin lowered the shotgun.
Distracted by the shotgun, Cal had not seen Sally. Looking over toward the wall, he saw her and the bank owner, lying on the floor. “Miss Sally!” Cal moved quickly to her side, then knelt down beside her.
“How is Mr. Flowers?” Sally asked, her voice weak.
Cal looked toward Flowers and saw that he was dead. But before he could respond to Sally, she passed out.
“We need a doctor!” Cal said. “Is there a doctor in this town?”
“Yes,” Tamara said. “His office is down the street, just over the hardware store!”
Cal didn’t have to go all the way down to the doctor’s office. The doctor was across the street looking at the man who had fired the shotgun.
“How’s the sheriff ?” one of those gathered around the doctor said.
“He’s dead.” The doctor looked at the man on the ground and shook his head. “Poor Mr. Deckert is too.”
“What about the outlaw?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t checked on him yet.”
“Doctor, quick!” Cal called. “There’s a woman in the bank who’s been shot and is still alive!”
“A woman was shot?” one of the people in the crowd said. “You mean those no count sons of bitches shot a woman?”
“The outlaw can wait. Where is the woman?” the doctor asked, carrying his bag and starting toward Cal.
“She’s in the bank, on the floor. The owner of the bank, he’s there too, but he’s dead.”
“That’s three,” someone said. “Three, they kilt. And like as not, the woman is goin’ to die too.”
“No!” Cal shouted angrily. “Miss Sally is not going to die! Do you hear me? She is not going to die!”
When Cal and the doctor stepped into the bank, Tamara was on her knees beside Sally. Tamara had taken off her petticoat and was holding it in a wad over the wound. The petticoat was already soaked with blood.
“Very good, Mrs. McKenzie,” the doctor said. “You are doing exactly the right thing by stopping the bleeding like that. Let me look at the wound.”
The doctor removed the blood soaked petticoat and looked at the wound. The blood coming from the bullet hole was very dark in color, and it was coming out in a slow, but steady flow. “Good. The bleeding is venous instead of arterial.”
He put his hand under Sally’s back, felt around, then frowned. “The bullet is still inside. It’s going to have to come out.”
“Is she going to live, Doc?” Cal asked anxiously.
“I don’t know. We need to get her to my office.”