“Well, how much money did you have in your pocket this morning?” Shamrock asked, duplicating the same question he had asked Abe Sobel after the much more fruitful bank robbery in Sulphur Springs.
“Two dollars.”
“Then you’re money ahead, ain’t you?”
“Hey, Shamrock, what do you say we find us some town where we can spend some of this money? It ain’t much, but it’s enough to get drunk on, ’n maybe get a whore,” Wix said.
“Ha! You’ll need to get the whore drunk, too, before she’ll go with you,” Jaco said, and the others laughed.
“It’ll be best if we don’t all ride in together,” Shamrock said. “Just in case word has gone out to look for six men.”
“How is word goin’ to go out?” Jaco asked. “You know that there ain’t nobody that’s got up here this far before we did.”
“Telegraph coulda done it,” Evans said.
“Yeah, I forgot about the telegraph. We shoulda cut the wires. If we had cut the wires, we wouldn’t have no telegraph to be a-worryin’ about,” Hawke said.
“Yeah, and if a frog had wings, it wouldn’t bump its ass ever’ time it jumps,” Shamrock said. “It’s too late to be worrying about it now.”
* * *
Sid Shamrock woke up in a whore’s bed in Whitcomb, Texas. During the night the sheet had pulled down to the woman’s waist, exposing oversized, blue-lined breasts, one of which had burn scars from cigarettes. She was snoring, and a bit of saliva was dribbling from her lips.
“How damn drunk was I to choose this one?” he asked himself quietly.
He saw a fly land on one of the whore’s breasts, and started to brush it away but decided against it. Instead he watched as it crawled up onto the nipple then sat there for a moment, rubbing its wings with its back legs. The whore twitched a couple of times, then brushed it away.
With a quiet chuckle, and without awakening her, Shamrock put on his clothes then went downstairs. The saloon was empty, so he walked across the street to have breakfast. Here, he picked up a paper from the counter and took it with him to read as he waited for the bacon and eggs to be brought to the table.
He was somewhat disturbed that a story about the bank robbery was above the fold on the front page. He had hoped, and thought, that they would get a little more time than this.
Banker Killed in Seven Oaks
(BY TELEGRAPH) C. D. Matthews, manager of the Bank of Seven Oaks, was murdered during a bank robbery. Mrs. Pauline Margrabe received a skull fracture when one of the outlaws hit her on the head with the butt of his pistol.
The bank robbers were unaware that the vault is controlled by time lock, so the money in the vault was untouched. Only the money that was in the teller’s cash drawer was taken, an amount that totaled $437.00.
That was small reward for the outlaws who are now wanted, not just for bank robbery, but for murder as well. One of the bank robbers has been identified, that person being Sid Shamrock. It is believed that Sid Shamrock is the leader of the gang.
Shamrock is about five feet ten inches tall, with blond, or very light brown hair. He is normally clean-shaven, and can be identified by a purple scar that cuts down through his left eye. The resulting scar has left a drooping eyelid.
Seeing his name and his description in the story startled him.
“What?” Shamrock said aloud. “How the hell do they know that?”
“I beg your pardon, sir, were you speaking to me?” the man at the next table asked.
“No, I wasn’t, and mind your own damn business,” Shamrock replied with a growl, and without further explanation.
How was it possible that he had been identified? Prior to the robbery, he had never been to Seven Oaks in his life. And unlike some outlaws who were widely known, who in fact took pride in their notoriety, Shamrock had purposely avoided being known, even changing his name when his previous name had been compromised.
Jaco and Wix came into the café while Shamrock was still eating his breakfast, and they joined him at his table.
“Do you know where the others are?” Shamrock asked.
“Yeah, I just seen Pete ’n Hawke over in the Brown Dirt Saloon. I don’t know where Evans is, though,” Wix said.
“Pete more ’n likely knows where Evans is, ’cause I seen them together last night,” Jaco added.
“After breakfast, get ’em rounded up. We’ve got to get out of here,” Shamrock told the others.
“Why?” Wix asked. “I’ve still got a little money to spend. ’N I’ve found me a good-lookin’ whore to spend it on,” he added with a grin.
“Because word has already gone out,” Shamrock said. He tapped the story in the paper. “We have been identified. I don’t know how they found out, but they know who we are.”
Actually, only Shamrock had been identified, but by saying “we” had been identified, it gave more urgency to his suggestion that they leave the state.
“What are we going to do now?” Jaco asked.
“Like I said, we’re gettin’ out of here.”
“Where at are we a-goin’?” Wix asked.
“We’re going to Wyoming,” Shamrock replied.
“Wyoming? What the hell is in Wyoming?” Wix asked. “Damn it, I don’t like it that far north. It gets cold in Wyoming.”
“Folks has most likely not never heard of us in Wyoming,” Shamrock said. And his brother was there, Shamrock thought, though he didn’t say that aloud.
Chapter Twelve
About forty miles south of where Shamrock and the others had spent the night, back in Seven Oaks, Sheriff Munson had invited Abe Sobel down to the sheriff’s office.
“I have something I would like to show you,” the sheriff said. “I’ve got a reward poster that you might be interested in.”
“On me?” Sobel asked apprehensively.
“No, not on you. But I think you’ll be interested in this one, nevertheless. It’s one I just put
