Purple Peak
Twenty miles west by northwest of Gothic, Dinkins and the others stopped in the shadow of Purple Peak Mountain, which was significant. When they rode out of Gothic, they were going east, then rode in a great circle. It was late afternoon by the time they actually reached the mountain.
“Parnell, climb up a ways and make certain there ain’t no one a’ followin’ us,” Dinkins said. “If you don’t see anyone, we’ll stay here for the night.”
“We got ’ny thing to eat?” Travis asked. “I’m hungry.”
“Got some bacon and hard tack,” Dinkins said. “And coffee.”
“Ain’t all that much of a meal, but it’s better ’n nothin’,” Travis said.
Parnell climbed about three hundred feet up the side of the mountain and looked back along the trail over which they had just come, then came back down to report to the others. “I could see ten miles or more back. And I didn’t see nobody.”
“Like as not there won’t be nobody comin’ after us,” Dinkins said. “I’m pretty sure we kilt the sheriff as we was leavin’ town, so there wouldn’t be nobody to organize a posse.”
“Yeah, and even iffen they did put one together, like as not they’d be lookin’ for us goin’ east,” Travis said.
“Anybody see what happened to Putnam?” Parnell asked.
“He was ridin’ alongside me,” Frank said. “One minute he was there ’n the next minute he wasn’t. I reckon he got shot.”
“You and him was pards, wasn’t you?” Travis asked Parnell.
“I never know’d him till I met him in prison,” Parnell said. “But we was pards in there, as much as you can be pards in prison.”
“How much money did we get?” Frank asked.
“I don’t know,” Dinkins said. “Whatever it is, we would’ve got a lot more if we had been able to get into the safe.”
“You reckon they was tellin’ the truth?” Travis asked. “You reckon there really is such a thing as a time lock? I ain’t never heard of such a thing before.”
“I heard folks talkin’ about it in prison,” Parnell said. “But this here is the first time I ever run into one.”
As the others were discussing the time lock, Dinkins emptied the bag of cash they had managed to get from the cashier’s drawer.
“How much?” Frank asked.
“Two hundred and eleven dollars,” Dinkins said. He gave fifty dollars to the other three, and kept sixty one dollars for himself.
“That ain’t much for what we went through,” Travis said. “Hell, me ’n Frank got damn near that much money just robbin’ a store.”
“We didn’t go through nothin’,” Dinkins said. “Except for Putnam, who was kilt, there wasn’t none of us hit, and there ain’t nobody chasin’ us.”
Travis started gathering some firewood, and a few minutes later they had a fire going. They fried bacon, then cooked four pieces of hard tack in the bacon grease. They also made a pot of coffee.
“So what do we do next?” Parnell asked.
“I know what I’m goin’ to do next,” Frank said. “I think me ’n Travis will find us another store. There ain’t as many shootin’ at you when you rob a store, as there is when you rob a bank. And you wind up with damn near as much money.”
“I didn’t know this bank had a time lock,” Dinkins said. “I’ll make sure with the next one.”
“The next one?” Frank asked. “You plannin’ on robbin’ another bank?”
“Why not? We’ve got our gang together, don’t we?”
“Yeah, but we lost one.”
“We’ll get another man.”
“Where?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve already asked him to join us.”
“Do you know him? Can we trust him?” Parnell asked.
“And can he hold up his end?” Travis asked.
“Yeah,” Dinkins answered. “I know him, we can trust him, and he can hold up his end.”
Parnell stretched and yawned. “I don’t know about you fellas, but I aim to get me a little shut-eye.”
Parnell got the saddle blanket from under his saddle, spread it out, then lay down using his saddle as a pillow. He covered himself with the coat he had been issued by the prison.
“Hey, Dinkins. Next time we steal a horse, what do you say we steal one that already has a bedroll?”
The others laughed at Parnell’s observation, then, like Parnell, they bedded down for the night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gothic
Smoke remained in the doctor’s office for the rest of the day, hoping Sally would regain consciousness. She did wake up a few times, but was so groggy she was incommunicative, just as Dr. Gunther said she would be.
Finally, as darkness fell, Smoke checked in at the Silver Lode Hotel, then went to the Silver Nugget Saloon. He and Cal took a beer to a table in the back. There was a buzz of excitement and anger in the saloon. Friends of the three men who were killed were airing their anger and their sympathy for the widows of Mr. Flowers, the banker, Mr. Deckert, the owner of the tobacco store who had tried, with a shotgun, to stop the outlaws, and Sheriff Tyson.
“What about the lady that was shot?” one of the men asked. “Has anyone heard how she is doin’?”
Cal started to answer, but Smoke put his hand out on Cal’s arm. “I don’t want to visit with anyone,” he said quietly.
“I hear she’s still alive,” someone else said. “She’s up in the doc’s office now.”
“I hope she pulls through all right. I mean it’s bad enough to kill the three men. But it just ain’t right to shoot a woman. No matter how you look at it.”
“You know about Nicole, don’t you?” Smoke continued in a quiet voice.
“Yes, I know about her. She was your first wife, and I know she was murdered.”
“I cannot let that happen again, Cal. God help me, it just can’t happen again.”
Cal had never seen Smoke this distraught. The thought of this strong man, the strongest man he had ever known, the man he respected and admired more than any other, being in such a state of despair, frightened him. He put his hand on Smoke’s shoulder.
“Smoke, I probably wouldn’t even be alive if it hadn’t been for Miss Sally. You know that better than anybody. Here I was, a dumb kid, and I actually tried to hold her up. Instead of shooting me, like she could have, or turning me over to the law, like she should have, she took me out to Sugarloaf, fed me the first good meal I had eaten in weeks, then offered me a home. I’m telling you, right now, that I know, as sure as God made little green apples, that Miss Sally is going to pull through this. I know she is.”
Smoke looked into the earnest and determined face of his young cowboy, then managed a smile. “I know it too, Cal.”
Cal nodded, pleased that his declaration seemed to have made some inroad into Smoke’s melancholy.
“Tell me about the people who did this,” Smoke said.
“Well sir, like you seen, one of ’em is dead,” Cal said. “I shot him as they was riding out of town. I fired a second time, but they was too far away, and to tell the truth, I was damn lucky to hit the first one.”
“Do we know who they are?”
“Mr. Martin, the bank teller, and Mrs. McKenzie, heard some of the names as they was talking to each other. The leader was someone named Dinkins. There was also someone named Parnell. That’s all we know.”
“Hey!” a man said loudly, just coming into the saloon and addressing all therein. “We just found out who the dead bank robber is!”
“Who?” half a dozen voices called.
“His name is John Putnam. He just got out of prison no more than a month ago,” the man with the news said.
“How do you know this, Chris?”
“Sheriff Carson come into town and he recognized him,” Chris said.