Jonesy pushed his hat up with the shooting end of his Colt. After daring a peek from behind the big oak, he ducked to join the rest of them. "You go in first, Smith. You the ugliest one of us, anyway!" The two other gang members chuckled, their pistols drawn and hanging easily in their slender hands. Smith had only pulled one other job with these guys and hadn't bothered to learn anyone's name but Jonesy's. Smith figured that, like him, they were probably all using fake names anyway, so it didn't make much sense to pay them any special attention.
"Did you hear me, Smith, or are you deaf and ugly?" Jonesy's face twisted up into a sneer. "Get in that bank and get 'em to sack up that money, just like last time. Then we'll come in to collect it."
Smith let his fingers trace the wide scar that had been a gift from his father. The angry gash snaked from the corner of his eye, the one that now drooped, beneath his nose, and ended at the opposite corner of his mouth. He coughed. "Alright Boss, just like last time."
Their snickers haunted his ears as Smith pulled his black felt cowboy hat down low, concealing most of his disfigured face. The dusty main street of Gabriel's Settlement, Texas was empty, aside from a lone wagon just coming into town. Being Wednesday, most of the townsfolk were probably headed to evening services at the church house. He glanced at the giant clock on the bank's façade. 4:45. Just about closing time.
The wagon, driven by a large man in bib overalls and a straw hat, groaned to a halt right in front of the bank. A blonde-haired woman, who couldn't have been much older or younger than Smith, sat tall and stoic beside him on the rickety seat. "Durn the luck," Smith muttered. He glanced at the sun, trying to look inconspicuous.
The large man's grating voice echoed in the street as he struggled with the wagon's brake. Finally, he was successful and heaved his burly frame from the wagon box onto the wooden boardwalk in front of the bank. "Come on woman. Let's get this over with." He turned his broad back, leaving the woman to struggle out of the wagon without help.
Smith's brows knotted together. That didn't look right. Casting a glance over his shoulder, Jonesy's face poked out from behind the oak. Go on, he mouthed, waving the pistol in the direction of the bank.
Drawing in a haggard breath, Smith shoved his hands deep into his duster's empty pockets and started toward the bank. His fingers wiggled, a nervous habit he'd had since as far back as he could remember. If he still had his six-shooter, he'd have been able to feel it with the incessant wiggling. At the first job, when he'd realized he'd forgotten his pistol after commanding the bank teller to empty the vault, Smith had made a strange discovery. When he'd tipped up his hat, the mousy gentleman behind the counter had simply gasped and filled the burlap, a look of horror on his thinly-mustached countenance. "Y-y-yes. Yessir," he'd managed as he'd filled the bags. Smith shook his head at the memory and stepped onto the tumbledown boardwalk.
"Can you help me, Mister?" The tiny voice of a girl chimed from the back of the wagon. "Please?"
Smith looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was a little girl seated in the back of the wagon. She wore a blue dress, obviously store bought, and her pretty blonde hair was tied back in pigtails. One eye was shadowed and a lone trickle of blood ran from her puffy lip down to her trembling chin. "Please, Mister."
"You talkin' to strangers, Sadie?" The big man's grating voice came from behind them. "That's three lashes with the belt when we get back to the homestead."
Then, there it was. That remembrance that showed up at the most inopportune times. The knife in his father's hand flashed in his memory just as it had in real life so many years ago. Remembering the pain, anger, and humiliation made something hot surge from the depths of Smith's gut. His father had always told him that he deserved what he got. Maybe that was true, maybe it wasn't. One thing was for certain though, this little girl in the wagon had done nothing wrong.
Smith slowly turned his body so that he was facing the man who'd just exited the bank. The woman hovered behind him, a greenish hue on her cheek and the same pleading look in her eyes as her daughter's. Feeling the big farmer's eyes on him, Smith raised one finger, slow as molasses in the wintertime, and eased his hat up, up up. He watched as the big man's eyes grew wider as he took in his scarred appearance.
"By Jove man, you're ... you're ... you're hideous!"
Smith stared at him for a moment, then he spoke. "That gal done nothin' wrong. Was me that spoke first." He took a step closer to the big man. Dropping his voice low, Smith continued. "It's me that deserves those three lashes, not the child. Understood?"
The big man nodded. Averting his eyes, he waddled to the wagon and clambered in. "Well come on, woman," he stammered, "We ain't got all day!"
Smith stared as the woman swept by to resume her stoic seat in the wagon. Her dress, also store bought, matched her shoes. She was by far the most handsome women he'd ever set eyes on.
Smith watched dumbly as the big man snapped the reins, never looked back as he drove the wagon out of town. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked.
Wish I could have me a family like that. Smith turned back toward the bank's door. How'd that big lug get so lucky?
Glancing at the clock, which read 5 o'clock, he pulled his hat down low. The street was empty, people were gone, and it was closing time. His boots thunked on the wood planks as he approached the door. "Time to get this over with," he mumbled, placing his hand on the handle. He checked the position of his hat once more. Satisfied that his face was well-concealed, Smith sucked in deep breath and pushed open the door.
CHAPTER 2
"Hello Sir, how can I --" The bank president's voice squelched when he looked from the bills he'd been counting up to Smith. The grubby papers fluttered to the counter as his jaw went slack. "I - I - I ..."
Smith nodded toward the black safe that stood in the corner of the dusty room. "Empty it," Smith commanded, his already baritone voice even lower. "Now."
Beads of sweat cropped up on the bank president's forehead as he stared at Smith. The uneasy silence was punctuated with his quickening gasps. "Mister, all of the money in the safe -" He pulled at his string necktie with one trembling finger.
"Empty it and put it in one of them burlap sacks, Mister."
The boys ought to be runnin' in here to collect that sack any minute, just like last time ...
The president, snapping out of whatever trance that had befallen him, began clawing at the bills on the countertop. "It all left on the stage yesterday. This here's all I got in the whole bank!" His voice was growing higher with each word. "Please, don't harm me. I've got a family."
Smith watched as a fat drop of sweat shinnied down his nose. "It'll do. Just sack it up."
Moving quicker than Smith had thought possible, the bank president stuffed the handfuls of money into a sack. Leaning, he held it out , his arms quaking so that even his wire-rimmed spectacles seemed ready to jump right off his face.
Smith took it. "Much obliged." Turning on his heels, he exited the bank at a trot. They didn't come!
Glancing down the still-empty street, he hurried to where he'd left the boys. "You boys left me hanging!" Smith announced as he approached the tree.
"Well, well, well. Just in time."
Smith slowed to a halt, the burlap bag still clutched in his white-knuckled grasp. There, at the base of the tree sat the boys -- all three of them doe-eyed and silent.
The sheriff spoke again, tapping his pistol against his bulging belly. "Mr. Smith. These boys here said they wasn't to blame, it was all your idea to rob that bank. And you just proved 'em right." He grinned. "Let's step over to the jailhouse."
Smith's palm went clammy on the scratchy burlap.
The fat sheriff looked down at the boys. "You men are free to go, but I better not ever see you 'round these parts again, savvy?"
Without a word, the three of them slunk off toward the open Texas desert without a word or even a glance.
The weight of the world was suddenly very heavy as Smith extended the bag of money to the sheriff. "Guess we'd better get goin'."
The sheriff's chuckling laughter stung as they made their way back across the street. This time, toward the ramshackle building two doors down from the bank. The one with the iron bars on the window and thick wooden door. "Yup Mr. Smith, you're going to jail."
The metallic thunk of the lock being slid into place sent a ripple through Smith's heart. The sheriff's nasal voice cut through his mental lament. "Ain't no one gonna know I caught you, son."
Smith let his gaze fix on the piece of alfalfa straw the fat sheriff chewed between his brown teeth.
"You know why they ain't gonna know?" He spit out the door and glanced at the sun before continuing. "'Cause it seems some feller's horses come up stolen just this afternoon ... well they will come up stolen shortly. And guess who I'm gonna throw in jail for stealin' those nags."
This is it. The view I'm gonna have to get used to from here on out. Smith turned and gripped the iron bars. He tried to not look at the pastel-hued miracle that came each night with the slow sinking of the west Texas sun. "So you'll keep the money then?"
The sheriff spit out the door again. "You're durned right. Seems I didn't catch those bank robbers, but by golly I got the horse thief." Shifting one worn-out boot, the sheriff moved a tumbledown board and dropped the burlap sack into the black. "See there? Ain't no money anywhere round here."
"What I done ain't right ... but what you doin'." Smith paused and shook his head, still watching the slow sunset. "You ain't no better'n me."
The sheriff shuffled toward the door. Behind him, he pulled it with a slow creak, pausing only when the door was open just a smidge. "District Court judge'll be here this week. You'll be danglin' from a rope quicker'n you can slap a tick. Then you tell me who's better'n who." Slam.
Whom, Smith thought back hard. A rogue smile crept onto his chapped lips as the voice of his schoolmarm mother echoed in his head. "You were gone too soon, Ma," he whispered into the empty jail. You sure wouldn't be proud of the way your only son turned out.
The night wind whispered through the oaks that lined the dry creek bed just south of the jail. "I wonder what Lil' Sadie and her Ma are up to tonight." The words escaped so quickly that he jerked and looked over his shoulder. A shiver crept down his spine. Where'd that come from?
Silvery beams of moonlight laid long across the dusty floor as Smith, too tired to sleep, stared out the smallish barred window. That stupid feller don't know how lucky he is to have such a handsome woman and beautiful baby girl to share his life with. Something I'll never have ...
Jingling keys and muted whispers called his attention from the moon to the jailhouse door.