He said, “That is Bob’s saddle.”
Tom Chaney said, “It was Bob’s horse we lost.”
“That you lost,” said the bandit chieftain. “Unsaddle that gray and put Bob’s saddle up.”
“I am riding the gray,” said Chaney.
“I have other plans for you.”
Chaney set about unsaddling the gray horse. He said, “I will be riding behind Bob?”
“No, it will be too chancy with two men up if it comes to a race. When we reach Ma’s house I will send Carroll back to fetch you with a fresh mount. I want you to wait here with the girl. You will be out by dark. We are going to ‘The Old Place’ and you can meet us there.”
“Well, I don’t like that,” said Chaney. “Let me ride with you, Ned, just out of here anyway.”
“No.”
“Them marshals will be up here.”
“They will guess we are all gone.”
I said, “I am not staying here by myself with Tom Chaney.”
Lucky Ned Pepper said, “That is the way I will have it.”
“He will kill me,” said I. “You have heard him say it. He has killed my father and now you will let him kill me.”
“He will do no such thing,” said the bandit chieftain. “Tom, do you know the crossing at Cypress Forks, near the log meetinghouse?”
“I know the place.”
“You will take the girl there and leave her.”
Then to me, “You can stay the night in the meetinghouse. There is a dummy called Flanagan lives about two miles up the creek. He has a mule and he will see you to McAlester’s. He cannot speak or hear but he can read. Can you write?”
“Yes,” said I. “Let me go now on foot. I will find my way out.”
“No, I won’t have it. Tom will not harm you. Do you understand that, Tom? If any harm comes to this child you do not get paid.”
Chaney said, “Farrell, let me ride up with you.”
Farrell Permalee laughed and made noises like an owl, saying, “Hoo, hoo, hoo.” Harold Permalee and The Original Greaser Bob came up and Chaney commenced to plead with them to share their mounts. Greaser Bob said no. The Permalee brothers now teamed together like silly boys, and would give Chaney no sensible answer. Harold Permalee would interrupt Chaney’s question each time with mockery, making animal sounds such as are made by pigs and goats and sheep, and Farrell would laugh at the sport and say, “Do it again, Harold. Do a goat.”
Chaney said, “Everything is against me.”
Lucky Ned Pepper made sure the buckles were fastened good on his saddle wallets.
Greaser Bob said, “Ned, let us cut up the winnings now.”
“There will be time for that at ‘The Old Place,’” replied the bandit chieftain.
“We have been in two scraps already,” said The Greaser. “We have lost two men. I would feel easier if I was carrying my own winnings.”
Lucky Ned Pepper said, “Well, Bob, I thought your interest was in saving time.”
“It will not take long. I will feel easier.”
“Very well then. It suits me. I want you to feel easy.”
He reached inside one of the saddle wallets and pulled out four packets of greenbacks and pitched them to Greaser Bob. “How is that?”
Greaser Bob said, “You will not count it?”
“We won’t quarrel over a dollar or two.” Then he gave one packet to Harold Permalee and a single $50 note to Farrell Permalee. The brothers said, “Whooooo-haaaaa! Whooooo-haaaaa!” I wondered that they did not press for more, in light of the total amount realized in the robbery, but I supposed they had agreed to a fixed wage for their services. I judged too that they were somewhat ignorant of the value of money.
Lucky Ned Pepper went to buckle up the wallet again. He said, “I will keep your winnings with mine, Tom. You will be paid tonight at ‘The Old Place.’”
Chaney said, “Nothing is going right for me.”
Greaser Bob said, “What about the registered pouch?”
“Well, and what about it?” said Lucky Ned Pepper. “Are you expecting a letter, Bob?”
“If there is any money in it we may as well have it now. It makes no sense to carry the pouch about for evidence.”
“You still don’t feel easy?”
“You are making too much of my words, Ned.”
Lucky Ned Pepper thought about it. He said, “Well, maybe so.” Once more he unbuckled the straps. He took out a locked canvas bag and cut it open with a Barlow knife and dumped the contents on the ground. He grinned and said, “Christmas gift!” Of course that is what children shout to one another early on Christmas morning, the game being to shout it first. I had not thought before of this disfigured robber having had a childhood. I expect he was mean to cats and made rude noises in church when he was not asleep. When he needed a firm restraining hand, it was not there. An old story!
There were only six or seven pieces of mail in the bag. There were some personal letters, one with twenty dollars in it, and some documents that appeared to be of a legal description, such as contracts. Lucky Ned Pepper glanced at them and flung them away. A bulky gray envelope tied with ribbon held a packet of one-hundred twenty-dollar notes on the Whelper Commercial Bank of Denison, Texas. Another envelope held a check.
Lucky Ned Pepper studied it, then said to me, “Do you read well?”
“I read very well,” said I.
He passed over the check. “Is this any good to me?”
It was a cashier’s check for $2,750 drawn on the Grangers Trust Co. of Topeka, Kansas, to a man named Marshall Purvis. I said, “This is a cashier’s check for $2,750 drawn on the Grangers Trust Co. of Topeka, Kansas, to a man named Marshall Purvis.”
“I can see what it is worth,” said the bandit. “Is it any good?”
“It is good if the bank is good,” said I. “But it must be endorsed by this Purvis. The bank guarantees the check account is good.”
“What about these notes?”
I looked over the banknotes. They were brand-new. I said, “They are not signed. They are no good unless they are signed.”
“Can you not sign them?”
“They must be signed by Mr. Whelper, the president of the bank.”
“Is it such a hard name to spell?”
“It is an unusual name but it is not hard to spell. The name is printed right here. That is his signature, the printed signature of Monroe G. B. Whelper, the president of the Whelper Commercial Bank of Denison, Texas. That signature must be matched over here.”
“I want you to sign them. And this check too.”
Naturally I did not wish to use my education in this robber’s service and I hesitated.
He said, “I will box your ears until your head rings.”
I said, “I have nothing to write with.”
He drew a cartridge from his belt and opened his Barlow knife again. “This will answer. I will shave the lead down.”
“They must be signed in ink.”
Greaser Bob said, “We can attend to it later, Ned. This matter will keep.”
“We will attend to it now,” replied the bandit chieftain. “You are the one who wanted to look at the mail. This paper is worth over four thousand dollars with a little writing. The girl can write. Harold, go to the trash pile and fetch me a good stout turkey feather, a dry one, a big tail feather.” Then he pulled the bullet out of the cartridge case with his snag teeth and poured the black powder in the palm of his hand. He spit on it through the gap and stirred the glutinous mess about with a finger.
Harold Permalee brought back a handful of feathers and Lucky Ned Pepper chose one and cut the tip off with his knife and reamed out the hole a little. He dipped the quill into the “ink” and printed NED on his wrist in childish characters. He said, “There. You see. That is my name. Is it not?”
I said, “Yes, that is Ned.”
He handed me the feather. “Now go to it.”
A flat rock with one of the contracts laid on it was made to serve for a desk. It is not in me to do poor work where writing is concerned and I toiled earnestly at making faithful copies of Mr. Whelper’s signature. However, the makeshift pen and ink were not satisfactory. The writing jumped and spread wide and pinched thin. It looked as though it had been done with a stick. My thought was: Who will believe that Mr. Whelper signs his banknotes with a stick?