men that a band of hardened outlaws entering ‘a bank with weapons drawn had gone in only to make a deposit, that their intentions had been benevolent rather than felonious. This time he didn’t intend to take that chance. He’d have hard evidence to back him up.
“If you’ve looked all you need to,” Belle said, “we might as well ride in and get it over with.”
They nudged their horses ahead. Belle still rode in the lead. Looking along the curve of Van Buren’s main street as they came abreast of the first houses, Longarm could see only a few people moving around. In most towns that centered on farming areas, business in town waited until late afternoon. A rider was coming toward them, and Longarm caught the flashing of a star on the man’s vest.
Look out, old son, he told himself. Might be there’s been some kind of slip-up, and they got a hot welcome all ready for us.
As the rider drew closer, Longarm saw Floyd and Bobby, who were riding ahead of him just behind Belle, move their hands unobtrusively closer to their pistols. He turned to look at Steed, who was behind him. Steed was watching the approaching man with slitted eyes, his right hand hanging casually at his side, inches from his gun- butt.
A moment or two slid by. The lone rider was only a few yards from the group now, and was eyeing them with a frown growing on his face. Then he looked at Belle closely. His features relaxed. He grinned and winked at Belle, then turned his eyes straight ahead and rode past.
Floyd turned in his saddle. His face was split in a wide grin. He nodded triumphantly at the others before turning back.
Longarm looked over his shoulder at Steed. There was a grin on the burly outlaws face that matched the one Floyd had shown.
Ahead of them, the buff brick front of the bank loomed as they rode slowly down the curving street. A man was coming out, thumbing a wad of greenbacks. The bank had only two small windows in front, and a solid wooden door. There was a hitch rail in front of the building. The cross-street that Belle had described to them the evening before was visible now, but Longarm couldn’t see whether there were any more people on it than there were on the main street. Far down, a buggy pulled into view, heading to the center of town. It carried a man and a woman. A horseman crossed the main street on the cross-street. He looked idly at the five riders, but went on his way.
Belle reined in at one end of the hitch rail. She did not dismount. Bobby pulled his horse around Floyd’s and pulled up at the far end of the hitch rail. He stayed in the saddle too. Floyd pulled up next to Belle. Longarm took the next spot, and Steed went on and Jerked his mount’s head around to put himself between Longarm and Bobby.
“Don’t just sit here!” Belle hissed. Her voice was shrilly nervous. “Get on inside, and work fast!”
Floyd was already sliding off his horse. Steed and Longarm followed suit, moving more slowly. Belle’s plan, which she had explained to them the evening before, called for Floyd to saunter in and get to the back of the bank before Longarm and Steed entered. Then it would be up to Steed to handle the center of the building, Longarm to cover the door.
Floyd disappeared into the bank. Longarm could see Steed’s lips moving as he counted to ten, then the outlaw followed Floyd inside. Longarm ticked off his own ten-count and went in. Just as he was going through the door, he saw a husky man wearing a gunbelt, carrying a white canvas money bag cross the room. The man wore a uniform cap with a badge of some sort on it; Longarm didn’t get a good look at the badge, but figured the fellow for a guard.
As he walked the few steps to his position, Longarm had time to flick his eyes around the bank’s interior. He registered the details quickly. A long counter stretched across one side. A wire grillwork rose from the top of the counter, broken by three arched openings. Tellers stood behind the windows, but only one of them was busy with a customer. The man carrying the money bag walked behind the tellers and entered the vault, which yawned open in the rear of the building, behind the counter.
On the opposite side there were four desks. The first one was a huge and ornate roll-top. It was backed up to the wall and a gray-haired man sat in front of it, bending over a stack of papers. The second desk was a bit plainer; the man who sat at it was younger and was talking to an overall-clad customer who sat in a chair beside the desk. The other two desks were strictly utilitarian. The men who occupied chairs at them had ledgers in front of them and were bending over, entering figures in the ruled columns.
Floyd started the action as soon as he saw Longarm take his place and face the tellers. He whipped out his pistol and banged it on the desk nearest him. The sound echoed through the somnolent room. It seemed as loud as though Floyd had fired a shot. Everyone turned to look for the source of the unexpected noise.
“all of you stand real still!” Floyd commanded loudly. His voice had a jagged, nervous edge to it, but the pistol he was waving gave him all the authority he needed. Floyd saw that all eyes were on him and went on, “Just don’t nobody move and nobody’s going to get hurt!”
Nervously the tellers and others darted their eyes from side to side. They saw not just one gun leveled at them, but three. Longarm and Steed had drawn an instant after Floyd did.
His voice still pitched high, Floyd ordered, “All of you in behind that counter, get over here quick! And don’t try anything!”
At the first desk, the gray-haired man slowly raised his hands. He swiveled in his chair to face the room and called, “Do as he says! Let’s don’t have anyone getting shot!”
Taking their time, the tellers began to file out from their positions behind the counter. They walked with their hands over their heads and took slow, careful steps, casting apprehensive glances at the three men holding guns. The lone customer who’d been standing at the teller’s window backed across the room to stand beside one of the desks.
From the time the tellers had started moving, Floyd, Steed, and Longarm had been dividing their attention between the moving men and those at the desks. They failed to see the stealthy movement of the man at the second desk. He’d cautiously eased the drawer of his desk open and slid a revolver out on to his lap.
A loud, metallic clanging sounded inside the vault, and all heads turned in that direction. The guard came out. He saw the tellers with their arms raised, the men with guns standing across the room. He clawed for his gun, but Floyd’s pistol was ready. Before the guard could draw, Floyd shot him. The guard slumped to the floor.
Seeing his chance, the man at the desk picked up the gun from his lap and levelled it at Floyd. Steed saw the movement, but Longarm got off his shot an instant before Steed’s finger tightened on the trigger. Steed lurched forward to the floor.
