“No dice,” Casings said, shaking his head. “We all three took a cut, we all three put our necks on the same block. Right, Giant?”
“Right,” Giant said. “Only, don’t use a chopping block as an example.” He gave a grin as he rubbed his thick neck.
“Sorry,” Casings said with a short laugh.
Rochenbach looked at the two of them, almost feeling guilty that they were willing to lie for him.
“Obliged,” he said quietly, not wanting to push the matter any further.
It was his job to gain their confidence. Still, deceiving men who had trusted him always left a bad feeling in his gut. He had to remind himself that in this case, it was not these two men he was after. In a sense, it wasn’t even Andrew Grolin he was out to get.
He wanted to bring down the man who fed Grolin the information from inside the mint. That helped, he told himself. If there was any way for him to let these two off the hook when the time came, he would do so.
“This pretty much cinches things,” he said. “It looks like we’re going off on our own now for certain.”
“Suits me,” said Casings. “What about you, Giant?”
“Whatever Rock wants to do, I’ll back him. You too,” said the Giant.
“Too bad we can’t pull Grolin’s big job out from under him,” Rock tossed in. “That would be a good one to start on.” He looked at Casings. “You said you can get us information?”
“I can,” said Casings.
“Find out who Grolin’s man is inside the mint,” he said. “If we can take this job over, we will. If we can’t, we’ll know who to contact next time.”
Casings thought about it and said, “It’ll be tough, but I’ll get it. If not from Grolin, maybe from Penta or Shaner. He tells them things he wouldn’t tell the rest of us. Grolin would never stand still for us using one of his contacts, now or ever.”
“I wasn’t planning on asking him,” Rock said.
“How soon do we need to know?” Casings asked.
“The sooner, the better,” said Rochenbach. “Once Grolin’s mint man sees how easy it is to clean out the Treasury car, maybe he’ll want to move on to some other big job. We bypass Grolin and that man will be all ours.” Rock rubbed his thumb and fingertips together above his cutoff gloves. “When he knows I’ve got a knack for opening safes, he’ll want to be as close to us as first cousins.”
“That’s to you, Rock,” said Casings. “What’s going to draw Giant and me as close as kin to this mint man?”
Rock looked them up and down. “There’s nothing to keep you both from learning what I know about opening safes. I’m willing to teach you what somebody taught me. Is that what you want to hear me say?”
Both Casings and the Stillwater Giant smiled.
“I can’t deny it,” Casings said, “it’s music to my ears.”
They rode on toward Denver City at an easy gait, their horses’ breath steaming in the chilled morning air. The last three miles, before they reached the trail leading to the Lucky Nut, they spotted Frank Penta, Bryce Shaner and Denton Spiller thundering toward them across a stretch of flatlands.
“Here comes our first test,” Rock said to the other two. They stopped their horses on the trail and waited until the three outlaws rode up and slid their horses to a halt.
“Blast it, Casings,” said Frank Penta, “where the hell have you been? Grolin is walking up and down the walls! He told us to ride all night until we found you, dead or alive.”
“We ran into trouble,” Casings said.
Rochenbach sat watching, listening. His Spencer rifle lay across his lap. His hand rested on the small of the stock, his thumb near the hammer.
“Yeah? What kind of trouble?” Denton Spiller asked, eyeing Rochenbach sourly.
“We found Bonham and Batts lying dead on the trail down from Apostle Camp,” he said.
Rochenbach saw the three outlaws give one another a guarded look. Giant and Casings saw it too.
“Hey! It’s the damn truth,” the Giant’s big voice boomed out. He stepped his horse forward menacingly.
The three almost stepped their horses back. But they managed to hold ground long enough for Penta to raise a hand toward the Giant.
“Take it easy, big fellow!” he said. “We saw them lying there ourselves.”
The Giant eased down and sat staring. Rochenbach stared with his hand still on his rifle.
“You did?” asked Casings.
“That’s right, we saw them lying there,” said Spiller. “Only difference is we rode on home like we was told to.”
“We heard all the shooting coming down another trail,” said Shaner. “It took us a while, but we crossed trails, rode over to see what it was about.” He shook his head. “We figured you’d been there and was gone already. We kept expecting to catch up to yas along the trail back here.”
Casings took an easier breath. Rochenbach let histhumb move an inch farther away from his rifle ham-mer.
“We went after the money,” Casings said. “Couldn’t see letting them get away with it.”
“It was Dirty Dave Alto,” said the Giant.
“I know,” said Penta. “Dent here climbed down the rope hanging there and struck a match.”
“Yeah,” said Spiller, “Dirty Dave was hanging over a rock edge—deader than hell.”
“Speaking of the money, where is it?” Shaner asked, looking their horses over for the saddlebags.
“It’s gone,” said Casings.
“Gone?” said Penta.
“You heard me,” said Casings. He nudged his horse forward, through explaining himself. The others turned their horses and rode alongside him. Rochenbach and the Giant stuck close.
“We caught up to Macon Ray and two other bummers at Apostle Camp,” he said. “They’re dead. But we never found the money on them.”
“Did you search around the old mines—?”
“We searched, Frank,” Casings said flatly, cutting him off. “And that’s all the talking we’re doing for now. We’ve got to tell the whole story all over again to Grolin when we get there.” He looked Penta up and down and said, “So, he’s fit to be tied over us not riding straight back?”
Penta shrugged and said, “He knows what happened to Bonham and Batts. He was boiling mad because you didn’t do like he told you. I expect he’s settled some by now.”
“He said, ‘Escort you home,’” Spiller threw in to Casings, looking Rochenbach up and down. “He said bring you and Giant straight to him.”
“What about Rock?” the Giant asked.
“I expect Rochenbach will have to see him when it’s his turn,” Spiller said scornfully. His face still carried the bruises Rochenbach had given him.
Rochenbach stared at him, making sure Spiller saw him looking at the long purple welt on the side of his head. Then he gave him a short, thin smile and turned his gaze back toward Denver City standing in the distance before them.
They rode on.
From his office on the second floor atop the Lucky Nut Saloon, Andrew Grolin looked out through a wavy windowpane and saw the riders approaching on the trail running west of town. Rochenbach, Casings and the Stillwater Giant rode at the head of the men. The others were gathered up loosely behind them.
“Well, well, Mr. Walker,” Grolin said over his shoulder. “Speak of the devil, and who shall arrive…?”
Behind him, the secretary to the director of the Denver Mint and Essay Office, Inman S. Walker, stood up from beside Grolin’s desk and walked over beside him. Walker wore a fake goatee and mustache, a theatrical prop held in place by soft makeup wax. The unstableness of the mustache kept him pressing his fingertips to his mouth to keep it from dangling from his lip.
“So that is our burglar,” he said, leaning forward and looking out the window. “And you have no doubt now that he is up to doing this job?”