Slowly, the tall manager straightened and brought his hands to chest level. “Do you know who sent that courier?”

  “Does it matter?”

  When Emberson smiled, it was akin to watching a smirk drift onto the face of a freshly unearthed corpse. “It most certainly does.”

  “Are you ready to die for this person?”

  The smile faded.

  “Didn’t think so. Last chance. Escort me to the safe, open it, and give me what I want. Otherwise we do this the hard way.”

  Darrel’s gun was still pointed through the bars as he twisted around to take a quick look over his shoulder. “Looks like we got some folks wanting to do business of their own. Ain’t much time left.”

  “Open that safe and live to see tomorrow,” Slocum warned. “Try to stand up to us and you won’t be the only one to die here. Surely one of your other workers will become more cooperative after that.”

  The clerk squirmed in his shoes. This time, he did so while making a soft whining sound under his breath.

  “Nobody else can open that safe,” Emberson promised. Nothing in his expression gave Slocum a reason to distrust that statement.

  “Then we take the safe out of here and have someone crack it.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “God damn it,” Darrel snarled as he climbed onto the counter and scaled the bars to the space between the top of the iron frame and the ceiling. “I always preferred the hard way anyhow.”

  Slocum sidestepped toward the narrow door that led behind the counter. Outside, the rest of the men that had come into town with him were already reacting to Darrel’s move. Landry positioned himself next to the door and Ackerman barged in with his gun drawn.

  “We got lawmen riding down the street,” the younger outlaw said. “Someone must’ve told them we’re here, because they’re loaded for bear!”

  Now that he was on the other side of the teller’s window, Darrel made himself comfortable. “You think you can just hold out until the law saves you?” he asked Emberson. “Bet you didn’t realize we came with an ace up our sleeve. Show him our ace, John.”

  Slocum started to bend down to get to Jimmy, but stopped when he heard more commotion outside. “Watch the street, dammit!” he barked.

  Ackerman spun around and hopped away from the window so he could look outside without presenting himself as a target for sharpshooters or anyone else looking to drop one of the county’s Terrors.

  Knowing he didn’t have much time, Slocum holstered his Colt and pulled the thick-bladed knife from his boot. He grabbed the ropes encircling Jimmy’s torso with one hand and used the other to cut through all but a few strands of the hostage’s bindings. “Keep still for now,” he said in a quick whisper. “Don’t make your move until I tell you. Understand ?”

  Jimmy’s entire body relaxed somewhat as gratitude flooded his eyes. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least he could now spot the edge of the tree line.

  Slocum stood Jimmy up and positioned himself so he was blocking Ackerman’s view of the partially severed ropes. As soon as he saw his brother’s face, Emberson lost the last bit of composure he’d been clinging to.

  “Jimmy?” the manager gasped.

  Darrel smiled victoriously. “That’s right, it’s Jimmy. Do what we want and do it real quick or you’ll get to see what his brains look like.”

  Outside, a shot from Landry’s Winchester cracked through the air.

  “The law’s on the way,” Ackerman said. “I can see ’em coming down the street.”

  “Take us to that damn safe and open it,” Darrel snarled. When the manager didn’t comply, he pointed his gun at the teller and allowed a cold expression to fall upon his face.

  Before the gang leader could pull his trigger, Slocum stepped in his line of fire. “It’s in the back room,” he said. “Gotta be. Stay out here and make sure the law doesn’t get inside.”

  Darrel didn’t move, even as more shots were fired outside. His eyes darted back and forth between Emberson, Jimmy, and Slocum. Finally, he arrived at a decision. “All right,” he said. “I’ll hold these assholes off and you get them documents.”

  “Don’t kill anyone,” Slocum demanded.

  “I’ll do what I gotta do and you don’t have a damn thing to say about it.”

  “You start dropping lawmen and they won’t have any reason to hold back. There’s plenty of windows in this place and I doubt the walls can stop enough bullets to keep us safe if they decide to kill everyone inside here.”

  The teller didn’t like the sound of that and showed his disapproval by whimpering even louder to himself.

  Darrel, on the other hand, took it in as if he had all the time in the world to do so. “Just do your part and we’ll do ours.”

  When Slocum pointed his Colt at Emberson, he motioned for the manager to get into the office, which was the only other room in the small bank. He shoved Jimmy in front of him and quickly spotted the large cast-iron safe in the corner beside a large mahogany desk. Darrel stood in the doorway facing the front of the bank as more and more shots cracked up and down the street.

  Placing his gun against the back of Emberson’s head, Slocum hissed, “Answer me quickly and quietly. What’s so special about those documents the courier left here?”

  All of the shooting and threats up to this point had gone a long way in loosening Emberson’s tongue. “They’re deeds to disputed property claims. Some are wanted by railroad companies. Others are wanted by ranchers. All I know is that a broker named Mason collected all of them and wants to keep them safe until they can legally be handed over to him and his company.”

  Slocum didn’t know the legalities of property disputes, but he’d seen more than his share of men spill their blood just to lay claim to some patch of dirt circled on a rich man’s map. “How do you know this?” he asked.

  “I’ve done work for Mason before. I knew this was an important deal and insisted on hearing the details.”

  More than likely, he’d wanted the details to make sure he sweetened his commission accordingly. Slocum recognized opportunities like that without having to know the business end of it.

  “What the hell you talking about in there?” Darrel asked.

  “Getting the damn safe open,” Slocum replied. “What do you think?” He was just quick enough to grab Jimmy by the neck and shove the Colt’s barrel under his chin before Darrel spun around to get a look at what was happening in the office. “Get that damn safe open!” Slocum barked.

  Emberson went to the safe and started turning the knob. Slocum came up behind him and asked, “Can you get out that window?”

  Both the bank manager and his brother looked toward the window on the other side of the room. It was about the size of a dinner platter and allowed some light into the office without giving a very good view of the safe from the outside. “Probably,” Emberson said in a shaky voice.

  “Then that’s what you’ll have to do. Both of you.”

  “But these men,” he whispered.

  Darrel was busy shouting at the teller and barking orders to Ackerman. Yancy had come inside and was shouting as well, following up by smashing one of the front windows so he could fire a few shots at the street.

  “They’re busy, so if you’re gonna go, it’s gotta be now,” Slocum said. Both of the other men were petrified, so he finished the job he’d started by pulling on Jimmy’s ropes until they snapped. “Smash that window while there’s still all this noise to cover it up and run away from the shooting. Can you get yourself some horses?”

  “Y-Yes,” Emberson said as he fumbled with the safe’s dial.

  “Then get to them and ride south out of town. There’s a woman named Leanne who’s watching that trail. Keep riding until she finds you and she’ll take you somewhere safe. You stay there until you hear from me, got it?”

  “But we need to—”

  “If you’ve got a better plan of getting away from the Terrors of White Pine,” Slocum interrupted, “then by all means see it through.”

  As he’d hoped, the mention of the gang’s name sent a chill through both of the brothers. Jimmy nodded, picked up a chair, and headed for the window. “These men are killers,” he said. “I’ve seen it. We need to get out.”

  “Can we trust this one?” Emberson asked.

  Jimmy glanced at Slocum and nodded. “He could have killed me plenty of times, but didn’t.”

  “He could have, huh?” Darrel snarled from the doorway.

  Slocum had only turned his back on that part of the room for a second, which was enough time to make one fatal mistake.

  19

  “I got the safe open,” Slocum said as he moved toward the doorway.

  “Too late for that bullshit,” Darrel said. “I thought you’d tip your hand and I gotta hand it to you. You waited long enough for me to actually think you meant to do this job properly.”

  “Oh, I intend on doing that,” Slocum replied. “I just think we both have different views on what’s proper.”

  Rather than handle his own dirty work, Darrel passed it on to someone who would be more eager to see it through. “Hey, Yancy! You were right about Slocum! Kill this son of a bitch so we can get these documents and clear out of here.”

  Slocum fired twice at the door while diving behind the mahogany desk. Despite his fleet-footedness, he still felt the pinch of a grazing bullet along his boot heel before he got behind cover. The first several rounds were directed at him, knocking into the desk without penetrating all the way through. He knew that good fortune would only hold for so long, so Slocum didn’t wait to return fire. Lying on his side to glimpse around the wooden barricade, he squeezed off another two shots that were placed well enough to discourage the outlaws from charging into the room. Both Darrel and Yancy ducked away from the door and checked with their partners, who’d come in from the increasingly dangerous street.

  “How’s that safe coming along?” Slocum asked.

  Before he got an answer, Jimmy smashed the window using the chair he’d grabbed. He wasted no time whatsoever in using the chair to clear out all the broken shards of glass that remained in the frame.

  As sounds of voices and gunfire from outside drifted into the office, Emberson asked, “You really want me to open it?”

  “Yes, damn it!” Seeing that the bank manager was freezing up, Slocum squatted down beneath the part of the desk where its owner would sit. From there, he used his legs and back to lift the desk just enough to move the heavy piece of furniture across the floor.

  Darrel and Yancy poked their heads around and started firing again. Each bullet that struck the desk sent a rattle through Slocum’s body. Before one of those rounds found its way to him through a hole in the mahogany, he let the desk drop. Fortunately, he’d scooted it far enough to create a barrier between the door and the safe.

  “Open it and give me those documents,” Slocum demanded.

  Now that he had proper incentive, Emberson’s fingers sped through their task. They didn’t falter until the outlaws picked up their pace and filled the office with a storm of hot lead. After a few attempts, Emberson pulled the safe door open and tossed a dusty leather satchel toward Slocum. “There they are,” he said. “Can we leave now?”

  Slocum reloaded his Colt and then grabbed the satchel. “By all means,” he said. “Allow me to grease the wheels a bit.” When the first lull in gunfire came, Slocum poked his head up from behind the desk and fired a shot at the doorway. That bought him enough time to set his sights and take proper aim. His next two bullets chopped healthy sections from the wall and sent Darrel staggering away from the office.

  “See to it that he don’t come out of that room alive!” the gang’s leader said.

  Yancy filled the doorway without showing the first hint of fear at putting himself in Slocum’s sights. A wolfish smile came onto his face as he held out both fists. Each of them was wrapped around a smoking Peacemaker. “Been waiting for this since Reno,” he said as he cut loose with the pistols.

  Behind Yancy, the outlaws hollered at each other as lawmen shouted in at them. More people filled the street but it seemed that most of the gunfire was coming from the bank. Since he couldn’t concern himself with all of that just yet, Slocum launched himself toward Emberson to shove the manager toward the broken window. Once the two brothers were reunited there, he had to assume their survival instincts would kick in and get them outside. If that didn’t happen, there wasn’t a lot to be done for them anyhow.

  Yancy fired both of his guns. His enthusiasm made for shoddy aim and caused one of his Peacemakers to run dry right away. As soon as Slocum heard the metallic slap of a hammer against a spent round, he fired one of his three remaining shots at the outlaw. The bullet clipped Yancy’s ribs and was thrown off only because the outlaw had decided to stampede at Slocum like a wild boar. Before he could pull his trigger again, Yancy had thrown his empty pistol at him.

  The gun bounced off Slocum’s chest. It didn’t hurt, but caused him to reflexively swat an arm at it to bat the thing away. That little diversion was more than enough for Yancy to close the distance so he could get a cleaner shot. Slocum brought his Colt around to put an end to the fiery redhead, only to have it knocked aside by a clubbing blow from Yancy’s other six-shooter. The Colt Navy slipped from Slocum’s fingers and bounced off the back wall of the office.

  He grabbed on to the outlaw’s gun hand and shoved the Peacemaker toward the ceiling a fraction of a second before it went off. The blast filled his ears with a ringing that was powerful enough to make him dizzy. Yancy was saying something to him, but the words were lost amid the confusion. Judging by the ugly grimace on the outlaw’s face, the words were anything but complimentary.

  When Yancy shoved him, the backs of Slocum’s legs knocked against the desk. He fell backward and tightened his grip on the outlaw’s wrist with the intention of dragging him down along with him. The outlaw may have been smaller than Slocum, but he knew how to use his size to an advantage. Yancy propped a foot against the desk and let go of his Peacemaker. It was the opposite of what Slocum had expected, which tipped the scales out of his favor for a precious couple of seconds. That gave Yancy the time he needed to draw the hunting knife from the scabbard hanging at his side.

  “. . . gut you like a pig,” was all Slocum caught between the shooting from the next room and the ringing in his ears.

  If Slocum tried to get his hands on the discarded Peacemaker, he would have given Yancy the opening he was after. Instead, he gripped Yancy’s wrist in one hand while using the other to send a vicious series of punches to the outlaw’s ribs. The only indication Yancy gave that he felt the blows was a wicked smile that curled his narrow lips.

  “Ain’t gettin’ out of this one, cocksucker,” he said. With that, Yancy leaned down behind his blade to press it toward Slocum’s throat.

  Slocum could tell he wasn’t going to hold the man back for very long. Even if he could, he hadn’t come this far just to allow the outlaws to gun down a bunch of innocent folks in the streets of McCord. He pushed against the redhead’s arm until Yancy fully committed to driving it downward. Then, Slocum rolled to one side and allowed the blade to slam into the desk where he’d just been lying. He slid off the top of the desk, spotted his Colt, and dove for it.

  “The hell you will!” Yancy said.

  Getting to the Colt in a tumble, Slocum slammed against the wall hard enough to rattle his back teeth. By the time Slocum had righted himself, Yancy was cocking his arm back in preparation for throwing the blade in his hand. Slocum shifted on the balls of his feet and dove forward. This time, he tucked his chin against his chest and rolled toward the desk as Yancy’s knife sliced through the air above him. When he came to a stop under the desk, the knife was stuck in the wall.

  The redhead cursed loudly and stretched a hand out to retrieve one of his Peacemakers. As soon as Yancy’s arm and head extended over the top of the desk, Slocum pointed the Colt straight up and sent his remaining bullets up through the mahogany. The roar of the Colt Navy filled the cramped space and splinters rained down on him. Smoke curled from his barrel as Yancy’s weight shifted. Slocum dug rounds from his gun belt to reload when blood started to drip down through the two jagged holes above him. Yancy’s grip relaxed and he let out a final, shuddering sigh.

  Crawling out from beneath the desk, Slocum fit the last few rounds into his cylinder and glanced at the window. Since neither of the brothers was there and he couldn’t see them outside, Slocum figured they’d gotten away. That wasn’t the end of his business, however, so he scooped up Yancy’s Peacemaker, tucked the satchel under his arm, and moved toward the office door.

  The front section of the bank was in chaos. All of the windows were shattered and the remaining three outlaws were positioned either behind the counter or had their backs pressed against a wall where they could return fire. Mark Landry stood between a window and the front door with his Winchester at his shoulder. Every so often, he peeked around a corner and fired outside. Darrel crouched behind the counter and was closer than the others to Slocum, but wasn’t his first target. Ackerman had one arm snaked around the teller’s neck to use him as a shield while approaching the window to unleash another volley of lead.

  “Let him go!” Slocum called out.

  Ackerman pivoted toward the office, bringing the teller along with him. He made his intentions clear enough when he swung his gun hand to point his .38-caliber Smith & Wesson at him. Slocum fired one shot that clipped the kid’s shoulder and allowed the teller to wriggle away. His next shot punched a hole through Ackerman’s heart and dropped him where he stood.

  “You’d best be ready to hand over them documents,” Darrel said as he spun around to face the office.

  Slocum had already gotten a fairly good read on Darrel’s drawing speed. He’d seen the outlaw demonstrate his quickness several times along their ride. Those things allowed him to be certain Darrel could handle himself. There was always the chance, however, that the outlaw knew he was being sized up. If that was the case, and if Darrel was holding back, that could mean bad news for Slocum.