“And we’re goin’ to shoot you if you don’t hurry up,” Ebersole said with a growl.
With his hands shaking so that he could barely control them, the teller dropped the rest of the money into the sack Ebersole was holding.
“That’s it,” he said. “That’s all the money we’ve got.”
Peters was holding the horses for them out front when the robbers left the bank.
“What happened? What was the shootin’?”
“Don’t worry about it, let’s just get out of here,” Ebersole said.
As they started down the street at a full gallop, the bank teller came out the front door.
“Bank holdup!” he shouted. He pointed at the galloping riders. “They kilt Mr. Abbott and Mr. Nash!”
A storekeeper ran out onto the front porch of his store and fired a shotgun at them, but missed. Ebersole returned fire and also missed, but his bullet crashed through a window and killed a young girl who was inside the store.
They made it out of town without any further incident, and because the town was too small for a marshal, there was no posse formed to pursue them. Also, because the town was not serviced by telegraph wires, they knew that they would be able to be well in the clear before any news of the robbery got out.
At Fort Yates they learned that Falcon MacCallister and Buffalo Bill Cody had gone on to Miles City, Montana Territory. Now, with enough money to buy train tickets, they put their horses on a special stock car, and went on to Miles City.
“And who did you say you was?” the sergeant at the gate of Fort Keogh asked when Ebersole and the four men with him showed up.
“The name is Brown,” Ebersole lied. “Jim Brown. And we have a message for Falcon MacCallister. It’s real important we get it to him.”
“Mr. MacCallister and the party with him have already left,” the gate sergeant said. “They took the
“Sheridan? Where is that?”
“That’s a settlement in the north part of Wyoming. Fact is, it is damn near the only settlement in north Wyoming.”
“How do we get there?” Ebersole asked.
“Same way MacCallister got there, I reckon,” the sergeant said. “You are goin’ to have to take a boat.”
“Yes, sir, we have two boats plying the river,” the agent at the Montana and Wyoming Steamboat Navigation Company said. “They are fast, light-draft boats, especially built for operating on the Tongue River.”
“You got ’ny idea when the next boat will go?”
“We got two boats makin’ the run, takes two weeks to make the run so they’re leavin’ about a week apart. The
“So when can we get on that
“I expect it’ll be here around Monday, so it’ll probably leave on Tuesday,” the agent said.
“What about our horses? Can it take our horses?”
The agent shook his head. “Afraid not. It’ll take your saddles and tack, but not the horses.”
“What good will our saddles be without horses?” Ebersole asked.
“You can board your horses here for twenty-five cents a day. Or, you can sell ’em to the army back at the fort.”
“The army will buy horses?”
“Oh, yes sir, as long as they are sound. The army always needs horses. They pay top dollar for them, too.”
“I don’t want to sell my horse,” Dewey said.
“You got two choices, Dewey,” Ebersole said. “You can sell your horse and come with us, or you can keep your horse and stay here.”
“We brought our horses here on the train,” Dewey said. “How come we can’t take ’em with us on the boat?”
“Because there are no facilities for horses on the boat,” the ticket agent said.
“What will it be, Dewey?” Hawkins asked.
“I’ll sell my horse,” Dewey agreed.
“You are Crow,” Mean to His Horses said, the expression in his voice showing his utter contempt for anyone of the Crow nation. “You were with Custer in the fight at Greasy Grass.”
“We weren’t with Custer. We were too young,” Running Elk said.
“And now we want to join our brothers, the Cheyenne, to fight against the white man,” White Bull said.
“Why do you turn now against your masters?” Mean to His Horses asked.
“They are not my masters,” White Bull said emphatically.
