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  Clint was getting closer to Hannie, and he could see the man with the gun alongside the house. This had to be Doyle, and he was planning to cowardly shoot her from ambush.

  “Hannie! Watch out!”

  Hannie heard Clint shout, but she didn’t know which way to look. In the end she turned her back to look at him, giving Doyle a clear shot at a spot between her shoulder blades.

  When Doyle saw the woman turn, he stepped out from behind the wall. He had not heard Clint Adams call out to her. As intently as Hannie had been looking at the front door, Doyle had been looking at her.

  Doyle cocked the hammer on his single-action gun in preparation to firing. It was the time it took him to cock it that saved her life.

  In the time that it took Doyle to cock the hammer on his gun, Clint drew and fired. His bullet struck Doyle dead center in the chest, knocking the man back a few steps before he fell to the ground.

  Hannie Welch saw Clint draw and fire. If he hadn’t been so unbelievably fast, she might have drawn her gun instinctively, but his speed gave her no time to react by instinct.

  She turned to see where his fired shot had gone, saw the bullet hit Doyle, and saw the man go down.

  “You all right?” Clint asked when he reached her, even though Doyle had not fired.

  “Yes,” she said, “yes, I’m fine. W-what happened?”

  “He was going to ambush you,” Clint said.

  “I-I didn’t see him,” she said. “I was concentrating on the front door.”

  “I know. Come on, let’s take a look, make sure he’s your man.”

  They walked over to where the body was lying on its back.

  “Is that him?” Clint asked. “Is that the fourth man?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Then it’s over for you.”

  “It’s over.”

  Clint looked up and saw a crowd forming in the street, then saw the sheriff and his deputy coming toward them.

  “Let me do the talking,” he told her.

  “All right.”

  Mort and Sam had spent the night sleeping on the floor in the storeroom. Thomas coming down from upstairs woke them up.

  “Where’s John?” Mort asked.

  “He went out early,” Thomas said. “I think he went looking for Doyle.”

  “To do what?”

  “Try to get rid of him without killing him.”

  “Think that’s gonna be possible?” Mort asked.

  “I don’t know—”

  The front door slammed open and John came running in. “Looks like two of our problems got solved this mornin’,” he shouted.

  “How’s that?” Thomas asked.

  “Doyle’s dead,” John said. “That solves one problem.”

  “Who killed him?”

  “That’s what solves our other problem,” John said. “It was the Gunsmith. Guess that’s what he was doing in town. Now we’re clear to go ahead.”

  “All we have to do is choose our target,” Mort said.

  With a big smile John said, “I think I got the answer to that, too.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Clint and Hannie left the sheriff’s office.

  “I thought he was going to lock me up,” she said.

  “No way,” Clint said. “I’m the one who actually killed Doyle.”

  “I got locked up all the other times.”

  “But you pulled the trigger, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He touched her arm.

  “It’s over, Hannie,” he said. “You’re free to continue your life.”

  “My life?” she asked. “I don’t know what my life is. This has taken me two years, Clint. I don’t have anything to go back to.”

  “Then you’re going to have to figure that out.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out. “What are you gonna do now?”

  “I’ve got something else to do.”

  “Somebody else to help?”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you use me?”

  He looked at her. “You’d have to keep your gun on.”

  “I know.”

  “Can you use it?”

  “I can.”

  “I might be able to use you,” he said. “But I’ll have to check with my . . . my other friend.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be around. I’ve got no place to go, nothing else to do.”

  “Why don’t I come by your hotel later and we can get something to eat?”

  “Okay.”

  “And I’ll let you know if we can use you.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’m gonna stop at the saloon for a drink.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m on my way there, so I’ll have one with you.”

  She looked at him.

  “Did I remember to say thank you for saving my life?” she asked.

  He smiled. “I think I heard that.”

  “How much?” Mort asked.

  “A hundred thousand dollars,” John said.

  The brothers exchanged a glance.

  “A hundred thousand?” Sam asked in awe.

  “What is it?” Thomas asked.

  “It’s supposed to be a federal payroll,” John said.

  “And it’s already in the bank?” Mort asked.

  “Yup.”

  “How did they do that?”

  “During the night is what people are guessing.”

  “Federal payroll?” Thomas said again. “For what? There’s no federal institution here.”

  “It’s a stopover,” John said.

  “To where?”

  “I don’t know,” John said. “All I know is that we have about three days to get it out of there.”

  “Now, wait, wait,” Thomas said. His three brothers’ excitement was mounting; he could feel it. “Let’s think about this.”

  “What is there to think about?” John asked. “A hundred thousand. We could stop with that kind of money. We could leave Dexter.”

  “And go where?” Thomas asked.

  “Who cares?” John asked.

  “Hittin’ a bank in our own town—” Thomas said.

  “Tommy, what’s the problem?” Sam asked. “It’s not like we’d stay after, right?” He looked at his other brothers for support.

  Somebody knocked on the front door.

  “Forget it,” Thomas said as John started for the front.

  “We’re supposed to be open,” John said. “We don’t want anythin’ to look funny. Not if we’re gonna do this.”

  “We don’t know if we’re gonna do it,” Thomas said.

  John looked at Mort.

  “Go on, John,” Mort said, “open the store.”

  John left the storeroom.

  “Mort—”

  “You wanna run this store forever, Tommy?” Mort asked. “Because I sure don’t wanna work that farm for the rest of my life.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “This is the big hit we’ve been waitin’ for.”

  “I didn’t know we were waitin’ for one big one.”

  “Then you ain’t as smart as I thought you were,” Mort said.

  FORTY

  “They’re not open,” Hannie said as they reached the Ox Bow.

  “Don’t worry,” Clint said, “I have some pull.”

  He banged on the door until Sean Sanchez opened the door.

  “Hey, Mr. Adams.”

  “Sean, can we come in?”

  “We?” He looked past Clint and saw Hannie. His eyes widened. “Oh, sure, sure thing.”

  He backed away, allowed them to enter, then closed and locked the door. He was carrying his broom.

  “Eddie ain’t come down yet.”

  But right at that point they heard a door close upstairs and then Eddie Randle came down the stairs.

  “Good mornin’,” he said. “Is this the lady you been helpin’ out?”

  “This is Hannie Welch,” Clint said. “We both kind of need a drink.”

  “Whis
key? Coffee?”

  “A little of both would be good,” Hannie said.

  Randle poured three cups of coffee, then added a slug of whiskey to each and carried them to a table.

  “What’s goin’ on?” he asked when the three of them were seated.

  Clint told him how he had killed a man named Frank Doyle that morning, how Doyle had been the last of four men who has killed Hannie’s sister.

  “He tried to ambush her, but I got him first.”

  “So then we’re drinkin’ to celebrate?”

  “I don’t celebrate killing someone,” Clint said.

  “No, but she can celebrate the end of her hunt,” Randle said, “and the beginning of the rest of her life.”

  “About that,” Clint said, “she wants to help.”

  “Help?”

  “She’s got nothing else to do.”

  Randle leaned toward Clint.

  “Have you . . . told her anythin’?”

  “I haven’t told her anything,” Clint said.

  “He just told me he’s helpin’ a friend,” Hannie said, “and I offered my help.”

  “And then she said she wanted a drink,” Clint said, “so I brought her here.”

  “Thanks for the business. Can we talk in my office?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sean, make sure the lady gets whatever she wants,” Randle said.

  “Sure, Eddie.”

  Clint and Randle went into his office, where the deputy marshal sat behind his desk.

  “What’s your pitch here?” Randle asked.

  “We could use an extra gun.”

  “Is she any good?”

  “She’s killed three men, that I know of.”

  “Can we trust her?”

  “Why not?”

  Randle frowned. “We don’t really need her.”

  “Fine,” Clint said, “if you don’t want to use her, we won’t. You and I can spend all our time watching the bank.”

  “Okay, how much do you want to tell her?”

  “Well, she’ll probably wonder why we’re doing this if we don’t tell her you’re a lawman.”

  Randle frowned again.

  “Look at it this way,” Clint said. “You get to take your badge out of the drawer again.”

  FORTY-ONE

  “Is that real?” Hannie asked.

  She was leaning over and looking at the deputy marshal’s badge on the desk.

  Randle looked insulted. He looked at Clint, who shrugged.

  “Of course it’s real.”

  She straightened.

  “So what’s the plan?” she asked.

  “Have a seat,” Randle said, “and we’ll fill you in.”

  “What’s the plan?” Sam asked.

  Mort said, “Thomas will work out the plan tonight, after the store closes.”

  Mort and Sam were back at the farm, which looked even worse to Mort now that they were so close to leaving it.

  “A hundred thousand dollars,” Sam said. “That’s a lot of money, Mort.”

  “Yep.”

  “How much is that each?”

  “Twenty-five thousand.”

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars,” Sam breathed.

  “Sammy, stop repeating the amount all the time.”

  “Are we gonna stay together, Mort, or split up?”

  “I don’t know,” Mort said. “I guess that’ll be up to each of us.”

  “We’re brothers,” Sam said, “we should stay together.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.”

  Sam rubbed his hands together. “My first job. I can’t wait.”

  “First,” Mort said, “and last.”

  “So we’re just gonna sit on the bank and wait for them?” Hannie asked.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “What makes you think they’ll come?”

  “A hundred thousand dollars,” Randle said slowly. “They’ll figure it’s worth the risk.” They had not told Hannie the whole story. She didn’t know that the hundred thousand was a setup. “They’re not afraid the sheriff will stop them?”

  “No,” Clint said, “I still think the sheriff is not what he seems. I think he knew Doyle.”

  “Can’t prove that with Doyle dead,” Randle said.

  “No,” Clint said, “we sure can’t.”

  “I got an idea,” Thomas said as he locked the front door hours later.

  “What?” John asked.

  “It’s about the kid.”

  “Sammy?”

  Thomas nodded and pulled the shades down on the windows.

  “What about him?” John asked.

  Thomas turned to face his brother.

  “Why should he be in on this job?” he asked. “It’s our last one.”

  “You mean . . . you wanna leave him behind?” John asked.

  “We leave him at the farm, pull the job, then pick him up. He’s free and clear, never pulled a job in his life.”

  “Mama would like that,” John said.

  “I know.”

  “You know we’ll have to tie him up.”

  “Oh yeah,” Thomas said.

  Clint and Hannie lay on the bed in his hotel room. They had given hers up, and were talking things over.

  “We’ll take shifts in the bank, using the back door,” Clint said. “One of us inside, two outside.”

  “I just had a thought.”

  “What?”

  She propped herself up on an elbow and looked at him.

  “What if somebody else rises to the bait?” she asked. “What if somebody else tries to rob the bank?”

  “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Clint said. “If it does, we’d be back at square one, trying to find evidence on the Archers.”

  “We? Why not the deputy marshal?”

  “Well, I agreed to help him catch them,” Clint said. “I wouldn’t be able to back out on him.”

  “You’re an honorable man.”

  She settled back into his shoulder.

  “After those four men killed my sister—well, even before that—I didn’t have a very high opinion of men.”

  “And now?”

  She hesitated, then said, “Well, I have a high opinion of you. I guess that’s a start.”

  FORTY-TWO

  The next morning Thomas and John rode out to the farm for breakfast.

  “We’ll hit the bank today,” Thomas said. “Why wait?”

  “Great!” Sam said.

  John took some more flapjacks and doused them with syrup.

  “Mort, what do you want to do about the farm?” he asked.

  “Leave it.”

  “And the store, Tommy?”

  “Leave it,” Thomas said. “We hit the bank and keep on goin’.”

  “To where?” Sam asked.

  “Mexico,” Thomas said. “We’ll lay low there for a few years.”

  “Years?” Sam asked.

  “This is not the kind of bank robbery that’s gonna be forgotten anytime soon, Sammy,” John said. “We’ll have to stay in Mexico at least a few years until things blow over.”

  “Well,” Sam said, “do they take American money in Mexico?”

  “They love American money in Mexico,” Thomas told him. “Come on, Sammy. Eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”

  Clint answered the knock on his hotel room door. Hannie and he were dressed and already wearing their guns.

  “Morning, Beau,” Clint said to the liveryman.

  “They rode out of here early, Mr. Adams.”

  “Who did?”

  “Thomas and John Archer,” Beau said. “They keep their horses at my place.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Clint said.

  “Yeah,” Beau said, “when their brothers hassled me, I don’t think they knew either.”

  “Okay, Beau, thanks.”

  Because it was early, Eddie Randle answered the pounding on the front door himself. Sanchez hadn’t come by yet to sweep.


  “What the hell—” he said when he saw Clint and Hannie.

  “The Archers rode out this morning,” Clint said.

  “Out?”

  “Probably out to the farm to get the other two,” Clint said. “They’re going to do it today.”

  The deputy marshal rubbed his face vigorously.

  “Okay,” he said, “we better get into place.”

  “Okay,” Mort said, “I guess we better get goin’.”

  “Just one thing,” Thomas said, nodding to brother John.

  They both grabbed Sam and pinned his arms to the chair. Thomas looped a rope around their younger brother, who was struggling and yelling.

  “What are ya doin’?”

  Mort watched. He hadn’t been in on the plan, but he caught on pretty quick.

  “Don’t worry, Sammy,” he said. “When we come back with the money, we’ll untie you.”

  FORTY-THREE

  When the three Archers rode into town, nobody paid them any mind. They were part of the town landscape. Why should their arrival arouse any interest or suspicion?

  They reined in their horses in front of the bank and dismounted. They had already decided that they would all go inside. Leaving one brother outside would look odd.

  When they entered, none of the patrons, tellers, or other employees thought anything of it. Just three of the Archer boys coming into the bank.

  Things were going according to plan.

  But once inside, things changed . . . for everyone.

  Thomas, John, and Mort all drew their guns.

  “Ladies and gents,” Thomas said, “please don’t be alarmed. If everyone does what they’re told, no one will get hurt.”

  For a moment their neighbors thought they were joking.

  “Hey, Johnny,” a teller named Rickert asked, “what’s goin’ on?”

  “Mr. Rickert,” John said, “we come for the federal payroll. If we gets it, nobody gets hurt.”

  “Payroll?” Rickert asked. He was the head teller, a mousy man of forty-five or so. He had been held up twice before, in other jobs. “What federal payroll?”