Floyd’s eyes had been on the guard. He turned in time to see the banker at the desk leveling his gun, knew that he couldn’t bring his own weapon to bear, and dropped behind the desk by which he stood. The banker’s round whistled through the empty space that Floyd had just occupied.
Longarm saw the banker turning in his direction. He wasn’t going to shoot the man, but wasn’t going to hold still for taking a slug himself. Longarm dived for the teller’s counter and rolled behind it while the banker was still turning his chair around.
Floyd peered over the desk. Seeing the banker’s movement in Longarm’s direction, he brought up his gun and shot the banker in the back.
Longarm, unable to see from his position behind the counter, called loudly, “Don’t shoot me, mister! I’m a U.S. marshal! Get down under your desk and let me handle these outlaws!”
Floyd’s sudden rage at hearing Longarm’s call immobilized and silenced him for a moment. Then he shouted, “You! Windy! Is that right? You been dogging us all along?”
“That’s right, Floyd! You might as well drop your gun, or you won’t walk out of here alive!”
“Like hell I will! You’ll have to take me!”
Gunfire erupted outside the bank. The sound of pounding hoofbeats echoed briefly, then faded. The gunfire straggled away. Bobby crawled in through the open door, his belly hugging the ground. A bloodstain showed on his right shirtsleeve.
Longarm called, “Get over here out of the line of fire, Bobby!”
“Don’t listen to him!” Floyd shouted. “He’s a ringer! A U.S. marshal! Shoot him!”
Bobby’s gun was in his hand, its muzzle pointing directly at Longarm.
Longarm said, “Don’t do it, Bobby! Drop your gun and stay alive!”
Bobby’s eyes rolled uncertainly for a few seconds.
Longarm held his fire, gambling that the youth wouldn’t shoot. Bobby opened his hand, let his revolver fall, and crab-crawled to where Longarm lay behind the end of the counter.
Floyd fired too late. His slug tore Bobby’s bootheel off, but by then, Bobby was shielded behind the counter. Longarm asked him, “What happened outside?”
“Somebody started shooting at us from across the street. Belle took off.”
“She got away?”
“I guess. I didn’t stop to look.” Bobby frowned, trying to straighten out his confused thoughts. “Are you really a U.S. marshal?”
“Yep. And you just surrendered to me, so you stay here out of trouble while I take care of Floyd.”
Longarm inched himself into a position where he could peer around the edge of the counter. Tellers, bankers, and customers had all dived for cover when the shooting began. Longarm could see a foot sticking out here, a hand extended there, but he couldn’t see Floyd.
He called, “Throw your gun out, Floyd! Give up!”
“Go to hell, you sneaking son of a bitch! It’s me or you, Windy, or whatever your name is!”
Longarm located Floyd by the sound of his voice. He began crawling toward the last desk, where the outlaw had taken cover. He’d scrabbled half the distance when Floyd sprang up shooting. The moment’s glimpse he had of Floyd’s head rising above the desk gave Longarm the time he needed. Before Floyd could get his gun above the top of the desk, Longarm rolled, firing as he moved. At the same time, a rifle shot cracked from the door of the bank.
Longarm’s shot and the rifle bullet took Floyd at the same instant. The outlaw’s dying reflex tightened his finger on the trigger of his pistol as he was falling, but the slug plowed harmlesly into the floor a foot from Longarm’s shoulder.
From the doorway, Andrew Gower’s voice said, “Well, Long, I’m glad I got here in time for the cleanup.”
Longarm took his time about getting to his feet. He asked Gower, “How in hell did you know where to come? I didn’t find out this was the place until late last night.”
“I didn’t know,” the chief marshal replied. “There were only two banks fitting the description you gave in your letter, this one and the one at Greenwood, so I sent some deputies I knew I could trust to cover both of them.”
“You could’ve saved me a lot of trouble if I’d known you were going to back me up.”
“No way to get word to you,” Gower reminded him.
“Belle Starr got away, I guess,” Longarm said.
“You mean that was Belle who rode off when we opened fire?” Gower asked. “Hell, I thought it was a man!”
“That’s what she meant for folks to think.”
“Maybe she hasn’t gotten clear,” Gower said. “Two of my boys took out after her. Maybe they’ll catch her.”
“If they don’t, all you’ve got to do is have somebody waiting at Younger’s Bend. She’ll likely show up there. You got to send somebody to her place there anyhow. There’ll be an old fellow there, answers to the name of Yazoo. He knows the names of everybody Belle’s been paying off, and he’ll talk if you give him a choice of that or going to the pen.”
Bobby stood up slowly. “What’s going to happen to me?” Before Gower could speak, Longarm said, “You’ll
