Moving swiftly, Bo snapped the Winchester to his shoulder. He fired, getting off the first shot while the robber was still clearing leather.
Fate took its usual capricious hand, though. As the outlaw clawed his gun out, he swung the canvas bag up with his other hand. Bo didn’t know what the hombre intended to do with it, but as luck would have it, the bullet he fired struck the bag and drove it back against the robber’s chest. The man staggered under the impact and let go of the bag. When it fell to the ground at his feet, Bo saw there was no blood on the robber’s shirt. Something in the bag had stopped the bullet.
The robber jerked his gun up and fired. Bo was already moving, so the slug whipped past his ear rather than blowing his brains out. As he darted to the side, he levered the Winchester and fired a second shot, this time from the hip.
The bullet kicked up dust at the robber’s feet and made him jump, but that was all the damage it did. The man whirled around and leaped back up onto the boardwalk.
Mosely was still squalling for help, but he stopped short as he realized that the robber was lunging at him. The man grabbed Mosely and jerked him in front of him, looping his free arm around the terrified banker’s neck to hold him there.
As the robber dragged Mosely back toward the door, he thrust his gun past the hostage and fired two more shots at Bo, who threw himself to the ground and rolled behind a water trough as he felt the wind-rip of the slugs pass his head. He raised up and coolly took aim with the Winchester, knowing that if the robber succeeded in getting back in the bank with Mosely, it would be hard to get him out of there without the banker being killed.
For a split second, Bo had a clear shot at the robber’s left thigh. He took it, stroking the trigger. The rifle cracked, and blood flew from the outlaw’s leg as the bullet ripped through it. The man howled in pain and stumbled.
Mosely seized the opportunity to twist around and put his hands against the robber’s chest. He shoved hard, breaking the man’s grip on him. As soon as he was free, Mosely dove to the boardwalk to get out of the line of fire.
Bo’s rifle slammed out another shot. This one caught the robber in the body and drove him back. The man managed to trigger his gun again. The bullet thudded into the water trough. Bo levered the Winchester and fired again, then again. Both slugs punched into the robber’s chest. They flung him backward against the front window of the bank. The collision shattered the glass. Splinters and shards of it flew in the air as the wounded man fell through the window into the bank.
Bo leaped to his feet and bounded onto the boardwalk. He kept the rifle pointed at the window as he cautiously approached it. Glass crunched under his boots. The robber’s knees had caught on the windowsill. His legs from there down hung motionless outside the window.
When Bo reached the point where he could look through the broken window, he saw that the robber would never be a threat to anyone again. The man’s shirt was sodden with blood from the bullet holes. He lay on his back, arms flung out at his sides, and his eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling of the bank.
“Is…is he dead?”
The question came from Frank Mosely. The banker was on hands and knees a few yards away, his hair in disarray and hanging in front of his face, blood from the gash on his forehead dripping on the boardwalk.
“He’s dead,” Bo confirmed. “I reckon he must have walloped you with his gun?”
Mosely gave a shaky nod in reply. “Yes, he…he said I was taking too long getting the vault open, so he hit me. Then after he got the money, he told me to stay inside until he was gone, or he’d kill me. But I couldn’t let him get away with all that money. It would have ruined too many people here in town to lose it.”
The banker didn’t sound like the sort of hombre who would dump other people’s money on the floor and roll around in it. Bo figured the liveryman just thought everybody was as venal and greedy as he was. Lowering the rifle, Bo went over to Mosely to help him to his feet.
Running footsteps made him look around. A man wearing trousers and long underwear, with his suspenders still loose, hurried toward them carrying a shotgun.
“Is that the marshal?” Bo asked Mosely.
The banker nodded. “Yes, that’s Ralph Peterson.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him
Mosely held up a hand, palm out, and called, “Take it easy, Ralph, it’s all over! A man tried to rob the bank, but he’s dead.”
The lawman came to a stop in the street next to the boardwalk and squinted suspiciously at Bo. “Who’s this old varmint?”
“I don’t know, but he saved my life and the bank’s money as well.” Mosely looked over at Bo. “What’s your name, friend?”
“Bo Creel.”
“Well, Mr. Creel, I think you’ve just earned yourself a reward.”
Bo drew in a deep breath. He hadn’t even thought about the possibility of a reward when he decided to get his rifle and see what was going on. He was just curious, more than anything else, and he had suspected that a bank robbery was under way.
“Bo! Bo, you all right?”
That worried shout came from Scratch, who came running down the street from the livery stable with both Remingtons in his hands. Bo motioned for him to slow down. “Friend of mine, Marshal,” he told Peterson. “Nothing to get alarmed about.”
“Well, tell him to put those fancy hoglegs up,” Peterson snapped. “I don’t like people waving guns around in my town.”
