Bart had been riding with Dumarie for over two months now, and they had yet to pull off a real job. Lefty had been doing some petty pick-pocketing to keep them in supplies and satisfy his urge for mischief, but that was about all that had been happening. The gang had left Mexico, riding back up into the states, still in Texas where they could make a dash for the border if necessary. It didn't take Bart long to learn what was expected of him—to be cold, silent, even brutal, and always to do what Dumarie told him without question. Although he was beginning to wonder if they would ever do anything but ride around Texas, barely surviving. Just when he was about to—politely, of course—question his new "boss" about it, Dumarie spoke up.
"I've been keeping an eye on a certain bank lately. The stage is bringing a shipment of gold in Thursday, and we'll wait for them to unload it, wait for the stage to leave, before trying anything."
"Just where is this bank?" Charlie asked. At first Bart had been surprised at the way Dumarie had allowed Charlie to talk to him, but then he learned Charlie was Dumarie's nephew, and rather spoiled when it came down to it.
"The bank is at Watertown."
Bart nearly dropped the gun he was cleaning. "Watertown?"
"Yes, Watertown. Something wrong with that?"
"N-no," Bart stammered. "Nothing, except I've been there before. Someone . . . might recognize me."
"Aw, that won't be a problem," Lefty said. "Will it, Boss?"
"No, I don't think it will. Nearly all of us are well-known, anyway, so it doesn't matter if someone sees you after the holdup. You will have to keep out of sight until then, though."
Bart nodded, the long-forgotten feeling in his stomach came back for an instant, but that was pushed away in the excitement of planning the robbery.
Carefully, they outlined the plan. They would hang around town all day—everyone except Bart, who would wait on outside of town, until Stan came to get him. They would listen to talk around town, in case something was fishy. One of them—probably Lefty since he wasn't known around Texas—would go into the bank under the pretense of wanting to open an account, and get the inside layout of the bank memorized. After that, they would either break in after closing hours, or at least wait until no customers were there. Today was Tuesday, the plans would be carried out Thursday.
All day Wednesday, Bart fought his feelings of doubt over the coming robbery. He fully realized that he would probably be stealing from that girl, Rachel. The girl he had named his horse after; the girl he had spent so much money on buying useless things from her father's store, just so he could see her.
Finally, his outlaw side won. So what if he should steal from her? Her father had plenty of cash coming in all day at his store. He figured if they could pull off the robbery, they would have earned the money. Mr. Logan didn't have to risk his life getting that money. Bart fought the truth that he realized he just thought. Mr. Logan really doesn't have to risk his life to get money.
That night he sat by the fire pondering the truth of the matter. It seemed he was always getting interrupted by one man or another. Dumarie had some more instructions for the next day. Lefty wanted to know if Bart wanted to play checkers. Again and again they interrupted him. Soon, the evening was past and night crept upon them. The moon rose and twinkling stars appeared. A coyote howled; an owl hooted; a slight breeze blew. And the campfire cracked, as the flames danced around, illuminating the camp and making weird shadows over it. The men soon turned in, and all was quiet on the desert.
***********
The next morning everyone was up early so they could head into town. It was usually a good two-hour ride from their camp to town, and they took it slowly. They made plans for Charlie and Bart to be decoys, riding out of town, while Lefty and Dumarie circled around and stayed right under the law's nose. They would hide in the livery stable. The boss knew the man who ran it. It was the same man who had fired Bart after his father was hanged, and Bart wasn't too keen on the idea of staying around Mr. Rodway's stable, but he didn't even mention he knew the man.
The ride seemed unbearably hot and long to Bart, but the other men were surely enjoying it. Lefty and Charlie were joking, and even Stan was whistling. By the time they got to the outskirts of town, to a little ravine which was to be Bart's waiting spot, it was well after ten o'clock, and the day was beginning to be considerably hot.
The other three left Bart in the ravine, a wildflower covered, cool spot. Bart watched them leave and head to the town, which he could easily see. He decided to stretch out and sleep while he had the chance. There was no telling when he would be able to get a good night's sleep again. As he slept, Bart dreamed he was on a bucking bronc. He held his own for quite sometime, but soon the jarring, the hot sun, and the dust in his eyes and nose made him dizzy. On and on the bronc went, and Bart soon felt broken. He knew he had to decide whether to jump off, or stay on. He made the decision to jump, but just as he loosened his stirrups, he saw the face of his old boss, Darth, peering at him. For some reason, that made him unsure.
Bart's sleep was interrupted. He woke with a start and knew there must have been something that caused it.
"Hello," a female voice said.
Bart turned slowly toward the direction of the sound. He knew that voice. And sure enough, as his eyes adjusted, he could see the gold-brown hair, the clear deep eyes of Rachel Logan.
"Hello. . . . " he answered back, and stood up. She took a step closer, coming down into the ravine.
"I'm sorry I woke you, but I didn't see you." It seemed to Bart that her voice fairly sang as she spoke and smiled. "You used to come to my father's store, didn't you? Your name was John Williams."
Bart noted her slight emphasis on the word "was."
"That's right, Miss Rachel."
"You remembered my name," she said, as if she thought it were an honor for anyone to remember anything about her. "But your name isn't John anymore, is it?"
Bart glanced down at his worn hat in his hands. "Never did like the name John," he said quietly.
She knew. She knew he was a no-good outlaw. Just then, standing before Rachel Logan, Bart forgot all the training in brutality he had had.
"I was just picking some flowers." Rachel changed the subject and motioned to the flower-covered ground. "My Pa has been ill. He's confined to his room, and he likes to see some of the outdoors."
"I'm sorry to hear your Pa's sick. Will he get better . . . soon?" Bart still hadn't made eye contact with her.
"He'll get better in a few weeks, the doctor—"
Bart was so busy listening to Rachel, and Rachel looking towards town that they didn't notice a man sneaking up behind them until the gun was slowly lifted from Bart's holster and a voice spoke up.
"So we meet again, Bart."
Bart turned towards the man quickly. Henley Darth stood there. The man Bart thought he had killed.
Rachel looked confused at the hostile stance and the very presence of Darth. She looked from Darth, to Bart, and back to Darth again.
"Who's your pretty friend?"
Bart could barely find his voice. "None of your business," he said without showing his real surprise at the sight of a supposedly dead man. That was the good part of being an outlaw in Dumarie's gang; you learned to control your outward emotions.
Darth was taken aback by Bart's even reply. He straightened up. "You know, Bart, I started something a few months back that I intend to finish."
"Not with the girl here, Darth," Bart said, recognizing that glare in Darth's eyes.
"I'm not wasting time this time. When I did that before I got shot so bad I was laid up for months. I even had to escape jail, just so as I could come and finish my job."
With that Darth pulled a gun out of his holster, cocked it, and fired.
End of an Outlaw part 3 of 5 © 2018 by K.J. Bruce