“I’ll be damn,” he said quietly. He hurried two doors down to the sheriff’s office, where he found Sheriff Munson reading a newspaper, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk.
“Sheriff, we may be about to have some trouble comin’ soon,” Sobel said.
Munson put down the paper. “What sort of trouble?”
“Could be bad trouble. I just saw Sid Shamrock ’n a bunch of men ridin’ into town.”
“Sid Shamrock? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“How do you know, for sure?”
“I seen his scar.”
“Lots of men have scars.”
“Trust me, Sheriff. This here is Shamrock.”
“All right, you said a bunch of men. How many men?”
“Five men with ’im. Six, counting Shamrock.”
Sheriff Munson stood up, then walked over to a hook from which hung his belt and holster. He put it on, then took a rifle from the rack and tossed it to Sobel.
“What’s this for?”
“You don’t expect me to go up against six men all by myself, do you?”
“Wait a minute!” Sobel said. “I ain’t gettin’ paid for this. What about your deputy?”
“He ain’t in town; he’s takin’ a prisoner down to Badwater. As far as gettin’ paid is concerned, I’ll make you my deputy. You can get a month’s pay for one afternoon of work.”
“Yeah, if I don’t get killed.”
“You comin’ with me, or not?”
Sobel nodded. “I’m with you,” he said.
* * *
As Sheriff Munson and Sobel were discussing the situation, Sid Shamrock and the five men with him stopped in front of the bank.
“Hawke, you ’n Wix hold the horses. Jaco, you, Pete, ’n Evans come in with me,” Shamrock ordered.
Shamrock and Evans turned their reins over to Hawke, Pete and Jaco gave theirs to Wix, then the four men went into the bank. There was a man waiting at the teller’s window, and a woman, with a little girl, standing at the table. A teller was behind the cage and another man was sitting behind a desk to the side of the room.
The four men drew their guns.
“Let’s make this easy!” Shamrock shouted.
The woman screamed, and Evans brought his pistol down on her head, dropping her to the floor. Her screaming stopped.
“Mama!”
“Shut up, little girl, or I’ll hit you, too,” Evans growled.
The customer at the window stepped to one side with his hands up. “I’m not armed,” he said.
“You,” Shamrock said as he handed a cloth bag to the teller. “Fill this up.”
The teller began to scoop the money up from his drawer. A quick glance made it obvious that there were only a couple hundred dollars in the drawer.
Shamrock pointed toward the closed vault. “That ain’t enough money. Empty the safe,” he said.
“I can’t.”
Shamrock raised the pistol and pulled the hammer back. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
“It’s on a time lock,” the teller said. “It can only be opened at nine in the morning and four in the afternoon.”
“If you don’t want your brains scattered all over the floor, you’ll open it now.”
“Mr. Fitzhugh is correct,” the man behind the desk said. “The safe can only be opened twice a day.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the bank manager.”
“Well, Mr. Bank Manager, you’d better find some way to override that time lock.”
“There is no way.”
Wix came into the bank. “We need to get out of here now,” Wix said urgently. “There’s a bunch of men beginnin’ to gather down the street.”
“Open the safe, now!” Shamrock ordered.
“If you’re going to shoot me, shoot me,” the bank manager said calmly. “Either way, that safe can’t be opened until four o’clock this afternoon.” Inexplicably, he smiled. “I would suggest that you might try coming back then.”
It was the smile. Shamrock was ready to just leave, but the son of a bitch smiled at him, and that pissed him off. Shamrock pulled the trigger, and, gasping, the bank manager clasped his hand over the wound in his stomach and went down.
“Let’s go!” Shamrock ordered as he and the others left the bank and leaped into the saddles.
* * *
“I heard a shot!” Sobel shouted.
“Shoot ’em, shoot ’em!” Sheriff Munson shouted, and he and Sobel began shooting at the bank robbers as they galloped away. There were two other armed men who had joined them, and though they were shooting as well, not one of the outlaws was hit.
When Sheriff Munson and several others rushed into the bank, they saw the still form of C. D. Matthews, the bank manager, lying on the floor. They also saw Fitzhugh, the teller, and the little girl, squatted down beside the little girl’s mother.
“Was Mrs. Margrabe shot?” Sheriff Munson asked.
“No,” Fitzhugh said. “She was struck with a pistol, but she’s beginning to come around.”
“Mr. Matthews?” the sheriff asked.
Fitzhugh shook his head sadly. “He’s dead, I fear,” Fitzhugh said.
Sheriff Munson looked at Sobel. “You say it was Sid Shamrock?”
“Yeah.”
“How can you be so sure? The reason I ask is, I’m going to put out a telegram about it, and I don’t want to say it was Sid Shamrock unless I can be absolutely certain.”
“I uh.” Sobel saw that everyone else was looking at him, waiting for his answer.
“I rode with him once,” Sobel said quietly.
“Thanks,” Sheriff Munson said. He put his hand on Sobel’s shoulder. “As far as I know, there’s no paper on you.”
“I . . . I don’t know whether there is or not.”
“Sobel, you’ve not given me one lick of trouble from the time you come into town. And you could have kept quiet when you saw Shamrock riding into town, but you came in to tell me about it. So whether there is or not, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no paper on you.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
“No, thank you for coming to the aid of the town when you were needed.”
“Hear! Hear!” one of the townspeople said, and the others gave a friendly nod.
* * *
“Four hundred and thirty-seven dollars?” Hawke said. “That’s all the hell we got, is
