Kid Palomino Page 2

  The brutal outlaw had only just reached the foot of the stairs when the Brand boys forcefully dragged their three captives down into the heart of the house. Amos pushed the banker and his wife on to a couch as Luke physically wrestled with the young female.

  Carson glared at the older of the brothers. His look said everything without him having to utter a word. Luke Brand released the banker’s daughter. She rushed to her parents and threw herself between them.

  Petra Hardwick had only just celebrated her fifteenth birthday and as her heart pounded, she began to doubt she would see another. The females whimpered like whipped dogs as they huddled close to the night-gowned Hardwick.

  Mustering every scrap of his resolve, the banker stared at the five heavily armed intruders and shook his fist at them.

  ‘This is an outrage,’ he boomed. ‘I’ll have you locked up for this.’

  Carson shook his head and strode to a table. He opened a fine silver box and withdrew a fine cigar. He sniffed it and then bit off its tip and placed it between his teeth.

  ‘Keep your voice down, Hardwick,’ the leader of the devilish men said as he scratched a match across the highly polished table top. ‘We’ve got a little business to do and then we’ll be out of your hair.’

  Beth Hardwick looked at her husband. ‘Do you know these animals, Stan?’

  ‘I’ve never met them before.’ The banker shrugged.

  ‘But he says you have business to do,’ she added.

  ‘Don’t go burning his ears, ma’am,’ Carson interrupted as he exhaled a long line of grey smoke at the floor. ‘Stan don’t know anything about the business we’ve got to do. This is kinda like a surprise.’

  The three members of the Hardwick clan sat in their night clothes and watched the merciless outlaw as he savoured the fine cigar and paced around the living room.

  Hardwick leaned forward.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ Hardwick raged before Peters stepped aside and allowed the banker to see the body of the innocent cook. Hardwick gasped as his wife and daughter buried their faces in their hands. The banker stared at the pitiful corpse and then looked in terror at the five dust-caked men who had invaded his home. ‘You’ve killed Elvira. Why?’

  Carson grinned. ‘I figured it would hone your attention, Hardwick. I reckon I was right. You sure look attentive to me, amigo.’

  The distraught banker went to stand but Jeff Kane pushed him back on to the couch. Beth clutched his arm to prevent him from attempting to rise again.

  ‘They’ve killed Elvira, Stan,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘Don’t give them an excuse to do the same to you.’

  Hardwick patted her hand. ‘You’re right, Beth.’

  Carson inhaled on the fine cigar and then stared down into the banker’s eyes. He pulled the Havana from his mouth and pointed at the overweight man.

  ‘Your woman got sense, Hardwick,’ he growled. ‘Listen to her and you’ll live to see another sunrise.’

  The banker gulped. ‘What do you want? I don’t keep any cash here. My money is in the bank just like everyone else’s.’

  Carson stepped closer. ‘I know that. I also know that you own that big red brick structure down yonder. Nobody can question you coming and going, can they?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Hardwick frowned. ‘What exactly are you talking about? Of course I can come and go to the bank. I have the only key.’

  Carson screwed up his eyes.

  ‘Then that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.’

  Hardwick started to understand the outlaw. ‘You want me to get you into the bank safely?’

  Carson leaned over and blew smoke into the face of the banker and then grinned. ‘Damn right. Me and my boys don’t need to bust into that building if you got the only key. Right?’

  Hardwick nodded in agreement. ‘Correct.’

  Bill Carson sat on the arm of the couch.

  ‘First you’re gonna go get dressed and then you, me and a couple of my boys are gonna go visit your bank,’ the outlaw announced before patting Hardwick on the back.

  Hardwick clutched his wife and child as close to him as he could. He could not stop himself shaking as the acrid aroma of cigar smoke and sweat-soiled clothes filled his nostrils.

  ‘What about Beth and Petra?’ the banker croaked. ‘If I do what you want, you shall not harm them. Do you promise?’

  Carson stood and swung on his heels to face the terrified trio. He laughed at them and then grabbed Hardwick’s side whiskers and dragged the banker to his feet. The lethal outlaw pulled him close. So close that the stout banker could feel the heat of the cigar in Carson’s gritted teeth burning his cheek.

  ‘Your womenfolk will be fine as long as you obey my orders and don’t get smart,’ Carson said quietly.

  ‘It don’t pay getting smart with Bill, mister,’ Poke Peters told the wealthy banker. ‘Believe me. If you try to cross Bill he’ll do things to these gals of yours that you wouldn’t believe.’

  Hardwick nodded. ‘I’ll do anything as long as you do not harm my wife and daughter.’

  Carson released his grip and pointed to Amos Brand. ‘Take this varmint to his room and watch him get dressed. Then bring him down here.’

  Amos Brand grabbed Hardwick by his nightgown and led him up the staircase as if he were taking a dog for a walk. Carson moved slowly around the couch and stared down at the two females. He then paused above the younger female.

  She was a cut above the females that the outlaw leader usually encountered. Even her youth could not hide her beauty from the ruthless Carson. Young Petra was like a rose just starting to bloom.

  Petrified by his spine-chilling attention, she buried her head into the comforting arms of her equally concerned mother and started to sob as fear overwhelmed her. ‘I’m afraid, Mother. Make them go away.’

  Yet no matter how much she wanted to comply with her daughter’s request, Beth knew it was beyond her abilities. There was no way any of the determined outlaws would listen to her pleas. They encircled the couch like a pack of ravenous hounds.

  She looked up at Carson. ‘Please stop staring at my daughter. Can’t you see she’s frightened of you?’

  Carson pulled the cigar from his lips, glanced around the faces of his hired help and grinned.

  ‘She’s mighty smart, ma’am,’ he said coldly. ‘If I was in her shoes I reckon I’d be scared too.’

  ‘Why?’ the older female asked naively.

  Carson pointed at the body of Elvira and smirked. ‘That’s why you both oughta be mighty scared, ma’am. I can get real dangerous when folks don’t do what I tell them.’

  Beth Hardwick’s expression suddenly changed as her eyes focused on the pitiful sight of the dead female. She gently squeezed her daughter’s shoulders and looked directly at Carson as he puffed on his cigar.

  ‘But you promised my husband that as long as he did everything you tell him to do, we’d not be harmed.’

  Carson raised his eyebrows and poked his thumbs into his gun belt.

  ‘You’d best pray that I ain’t lying, ma’am,’ he drawled.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The main thoroughfare of Fargo slowly warmed as the long shadows gave way to the creeping sunlight. It was still early as acting sheriff Charlie Summers slowly made his way through the streets of Fargo toward the office he had occupied since Sheriff Ben Lomax had taken his deputies, Kid Palomino and Red Rivers to nearby Cooperville to attend a trial at the county seat. All three of Fargo’s lawmen were witnesses for the prosecution and had to attend to ensure the guilty party did not get away with murder.

  In the meantime Charlie Summers was in charge of the normally sleepy town. The yawning old lawman had been retired more than five years and yet his knowledge was still required by the citizens of Fargo. Summers knew that he was well beyond his best but the quiet town seldom had any real trouble that called for his once formidable prowess. Standing in for Lomax was an easy way to make a few much-needed dollars to supplement his m
eagre pension.

  Fargo was seemingly its usual self. A couple of dogs chased their tails as Summers crossed the empty street. He pulled his battered old timepiece from his vest pocket and checked it. It was still early. Real early. He nodded to himself as he climbed the three steps up to the boardwalk outside the office and paused.

  After slipping the dented watch back into his vest pocket, Summers entered the office and raised its window blinds. Sunlight streamed in and the old timer glanced around the twelve-feet square room. He knew that as Lomax and his deputies were due back at any time, he had better clean up.

  The old timer blew dust off the rifle rack and then waddled to the cluttered desk. He scratched his neck and pushed his battered hat onto the crown of his balding head.

  Charlie stacked the posters into a neat pile and then dusted the newly exposed section of the desk. He paused and yawned again before looking at the stove. He moved to it and opened its iron jaws. He looked in and placed a few crumpled posters into the void. Then he picked up the last of the kindling on to the paper and struck a match. As the paper caught alight and started to envelope the kindling he added more wood until he was happy that he had a fire going.

  ‘That should do it.’ Summers clapped his hands together and closed the stove door. He then ladled some water from a bucket into the blackened coffee pot and added a handful of coffee beans. He closed the lid and placed the pot on the stove’s flat top. ‘Reckon that coffee should be ready in about an hour or so.’

  Old Charlie sighed. Nowadays he found that even the slightest effort left him breathless. He squinted out into the quiet street and then returned his attention to the desk. The chair looked very welcoming but the veteran lawman knew that if he sat down he would sleep until noon. He straightened his loose gun belt and rubbed his whiskers.

  ‘Hell, that’s enough hard work,’ the elderly man reassured himself before walking out on to the boardwalk and resting his bones on the weathered chair. The gentle breeze which looped under the porch overhang was just enough to keep Charlie awake. He pulled out his pipe, tapped it against his boot leather and then started to fill its bowl with tobacco. A solitary buckboard quietly turned the corner and made its way to the feed store.

  Summers acknowledged the wave of the driver and then looked down at his pipe. He used his thumb to push the tobacco down into the bowl and then closed the pouch and returned it to his shirt pocket.

  ‘I sure hope Ben and the boys get back today,’ he muttered before striking a match along the side of his pants leg and placing it above the bowl. He sucked a few times on the pipe stem and watched as the flame disappeared into the bowl. As smoke filled his mouth he tossed the match at the street and slowly closed his eyes. ‘This job is plumb tuckering.’

  As the old timer rested, two hundred yards away Bill Carson escorted the terrified banker into the main street and toward the impenetrable red brick edifice. Amos Brand and Poke Peters walked a couple of yards behind the odd pair. Hardwick was wearing his usual hand tailored suit and brown derby. The affluent banker was in total contrast to the three men escorting him in their trail-weary dust coats.

  If there had been anyone on the street they might have noticed that the men beside Hardwick were carrying empty saddle-bags across their shoulders. They might have also noticed that the stranger beside him had a firm grip on the elbow of the pale-faced banker. Carson was steering the portly man to the bank to make a hefty withdrawal.

  ‘You’ll never get away with this,’ Hardwick said as they closed in on the bank.

  ‘Just keep walking and remember that Luke and Jeff are back with your good lady and handsome daughter, Stan,’ Carson muttered. ‘If there’s any trouble, they’ll snuff out them gals’ candles permanently.

  ‘Savvy?’

  The banker nodded.

  As Carson helped the banker turn the corner into the main street his eyes darted across the dozens of shuttered store fronts. Barely any of the businesses were open at this ungodly hour and the infamous outlaw knew it. Carson glanced back at Peters and Brand.

  ‘Keep alert, boys,’ he commanded.

  The outlaws both nodded in reply.

  ‘This is crazy,’ Hardwick whispered to his chaperone. ‘It’ll never work. Folks in Fargo will figure out what’s happening and stop you.’

  Carson tightened his grip on the elbow of his walking companion. ‘You’d better pray that they don’t start poking their snouts into this, Hardwick. Just do as I tell you and everything will be OK.’

  Even though the banker was probably the wealthiest man in Fargo, there was nothing more precious to him than his wife and child. He would willingly give everything he owned to prevent Beth and Petra suffering the same fate as had befallen Elvira. As the four men trooped to the bank, the terrified and confused banker glanced upward at the church spire that loomed over the far smaller structures at the far end of Fargo. His heart raced. Hardwick had seldom entered the whitewashed church at the end of town but as he and his escorts drew closer to the towering red brick edifice, he began to silently pray.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The key which opened the reinforced door was returned to the pocket of the banker as Hardwick turned its handle and led his three companions into the dark interior of the bank. Banks of such impressive dimensions were a rarity in this region and none of the men with Hardwick had ever entered such a structure before.

  Carson secured the door behind them and then placed his left hand upon Hardwick’s shoulder. He leaned down to the far shorter man and growled into his ear.

  ‘You told me that there’s a night guard in here, Stan,’ he started as his eyes flashed through the unlit depths of the bank. ‘Where is he?’

  Hardwick felt his heart pound inside his starched shirt as he slowly raised his shaking hand and pointed to their right. All three of the outlaws looked beyond the polished stone pillars to a door set in the corner. The door was totally in sympathy with the rest of the handsome bank. Even in the darkness Carson and his fellow wanted men could see the brass fittings.

  ‘That’s his room,’ Hardwick stammered as he rubbed the sweat from his features. ‘He stays in that room throughout the night and only patrols the bank every hour until the tellers arrive.’

  Carson pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He showed the timepiece to the banker.

  ‘When does he venture out?’ he asked.

  ‘Any moment now,’ the banker replied.

  Bill Carson returned his watch to his vest, inhaled and then nodded to himself. He looked at Peters and Brand in turn as he drew one of his Remingtons. He cocked the weapon’s hammer until it locked into position and pointed to both sides of the door.

  ‘We don’t want any shooting,’ he hissed at his men. ‘Take up positions to either side of the door and I’ll try to lure that guard out here. When he comes out, kill him.’

  Hardwick gasped in horror. ‘No. You can’t just kill him.’

  Carson pressed the barrel of his gun into the neck of the distraught banker. ‘We can and that’s what we’ll do. Remember, if you wanna see that family of yours again, just keep quiet. Savvy?’

  Any concern for the guard evaporated as he thought of his womenfolk. He steadied himself and nodded. ‘OK. I’ll keep quiet.’

  Carson glanced up as both Peters and Brand took up positions to either side of the door. They both waved at Carson who started to push the banker toward the dark-stained door. When both men were ten feet away, Carson halted Hardwick and stepped behind him. He pressed the gun barrel into the base of Hardwick’s spine and crouched slightly.

  There were no lights burning within the bank. Only gaps around its high windows cast any light into the interior. Spindly shafts of sunlight filtered down into the vast belly of the building.

  Even so, Carson did not want the guard to catch a glimpse of him as he hid behind the stocky banker’s figure. He gently struck Hardwick in the back with his .45 and hissed.

  ‘Call him,’ Carson snarled.

&
nbsp; Even knowing that he was about to lure the guard to his death, Hardwick mustered up every scrap of his resolve and called out.

  ‘This is Hardwick, Elias,’ he said. ‘I’ve had to come in early to sort out a few things before we open.’

  He heard the bolt being slid behind the door and then watched as the trusting man ventured out toward him. ‘Howdy, Mr Hardwick. I’m sure glad you warned me that you was in here early.’

  Hardwick watched helplessly as both Brand and Peters pounced on the unsuspecting man. The knives in their hands caught the rays of the filtered sunlight as they were plunged into the guard. Bright flashes danced off the polished interior of the bank’s fittings.

  The banker lowered his head as Brand grabbed the boots of the lifeless man and hauled him back into the small room where he had happily sat less than sixty seconds earlier.

  Carson pushed Hardwick toward the pool of blood that trailed the body to where it was deposited. The leader of the merciless trio walked around the banker and patted both men on their shoulders.

  ‘You done good, boys,’ he exclaimed before holstering his gun and returning his eyes to the shaking banker. He pointed a finger at Hardwick. ‘Now it’s your turn to make good our bargain, Stan boy.’

  Hardwick looked up. He was filled with shame for his part in the brutal murder of the guard and yet knew that like all family men, he had no choice. He had to comply.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said in a faltering voice as he started walking toward the strong room behind the line of teller windows. ‘I’ll take you to the vault.’

  Bill Carson gritted his teeth and pushed the banker violently between his shoulders.

  ‘Lead the way, Stan,’ he drawled. ‘Lead the way.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The street was getting warmer as the sun slowly crept higher into the morning sky. Charlie Summers had drifted into a deep sleep outside the sheriff’s office as he sat stretched out on the old wooden chair beneath the porch overhang. Normally the retired lawman would have continued to snore for more than another hour but as the street grew busier, the noise wrestled him out of his dreams.