The Dawn of Fury (7 page)

Nathan waited for what he judged to be an hour, and he knew they were coming long before he heard or saw them. Cotton Blossom began to bristle, and Nathan tightened his hold on the dog, lest he growl or bark. There was no moon, but the starlight would be sufficient, for Nathan had chosen his camp carefully. There was no cover. Nathan listened for the telltale snick of hammers being eared back, but heard nothing. The pair would be approaching with their weapons drawn and cocked. Nathan could barely see them in the dim starlight, but that didn't matter. The next move was theirs, and if it was what Nathan expected, it would be their last. Suddenly there was a roar of gunfire as the pair cut down on Nathan's empty bedroll. He fired four times. Once at each muzzle flash, and once to the right and left. Nathan heard what might have been the sound of a fallen pistol striking rock, and then nothing. But the tenseness had gone out of Cotton Blossom, all the assurance Nathan needed that the threat was no more. He took his bedroll, and with Cotton Blossom following, made his way to the creek where his horse was picketed. His pursuers wouldn't be going anywhere. He would view the grisly remains by the light of day.

Less than a week after their successful robbery of the bank at Liberty, Missouri, the James and Younger gangs were about to strike again. But not all the outlaws favored what Jesse had planned.

“Damn it, Dingus,” said Frank, “it's too soon. We stirred up a hornet's nest at Liberty. There'll be Pinkertons everywhere.”

“Hell, there's
always
Pinkertons everywhere,” Jesse said irritably. “Now I say we're goin' to take this bank at Nevada, Missouri. It's south of here maybe a hundred and forty miles, and if there's a posse, we won't be that far from Indian Territory.”

“Jesse,” said Cole Younger, “Frank's right about them Pinkertons. We got sixty thousand at Liberty. Ain't that enough to satisfy you?”

“There'll never be enough to satisfy me,” said Jesse. “If you ain't got the sand to ride with us, you can always go home to your mama.”

With the dawn, Nathan had a look at the two men he had shot. They were well dressed, well armed, and were carrying—between them—three hundred dollars in gold. He took the gold and their Colts, and when he found their picketed horses, discovered that a third horse was equipped with a packsaddle. He loosened the diamond hitch, removed the tarp, and found a side of bacon, tins of condensed milk, coffee, sugar, and beans. On one of the saddled horses there was a Henry rifle, and in the saddlebag a considerable supply of ammunition for the weapon. Looping the reins about the saddle horns, Nathan slapped the two saddled horses on their rumps. He spread the canvas over the packsaddle and retied the hitch. Nathan felt no guilt in the taking of the pack horse, guns, ammunition and gold that had belonged to the pair of bushwhackers. Hadn't they been about to rob and murder him? He saddled the black and mounted. Then, with the packhorse on a lead rope and Cotton Blossom trotting along behind, Nathan rode west. To Nevada, Missouri.

It was late afternoon when Nathan picketed the black horse behind a vacant store building and approached the town's main street afoot. For so small a town, the bank seemed elaborate. It was built of brick, with double glass doors and a plate-glass window across most of the front. There were four teller cages, and to the right and left of the lobby a series of closed doors that likely were offices. As vice president of the bank, Bart Hankins would surely occupy one of them. The bank's hours were painted on one of the glass doors. It opened at eight and closed at four, except for Saturday when it closed at noon. Closing time was now but a few minutes away. An enormous oak stood before the entrance to the building, and a white wooden bench had been built in circular fashion around the tree's trunk. As though weary, Nathan sank down on the bench. He tilted his hat over his eyes, studying the interior of the bank through the plate-glass window. He felt foolish, like he was casing the place with the intention of robbing it. But there were four closed doors at each end of the lobby, and Nathan expected Hankins to emerge from one of them. He had no idea where or how he would confront the man. At this point he had no plan beyond finding Hankins, and if all else failed, he needed to know in which of these offices he would find the man. Nathan was sure of just one thing. When the moment came for Hankins to die, it must be face to face. More than anything else, Nathan Stone wanted this man and his cowardly companions to know why they were dying.

Nathan watched as one of the tellers locked the front doors. Within a few minutes a heavy, silver-haired man emerged from one of the doors to the left of the lobby. Using a key, he unlocked the front door, let himself out, and locked the door behind him. This, Nathan guessed, was the elder Hankins. He departed afoot, and that meant the family lived in town. When the fourth door to the right of the lobby opened, Nathan had his first look at one of the men he had sworn to kill. It had to be Bart Hankins, for he had a mane of white hair and the palid complexion of an albino. He fitted old Malachi's description perfectly. He too departed the bank afoot, and Nathan allowed him a good start before following. The Hankins residence was at the far end of the town's main street, and it stood out like a brahma bull in a sheep pen. It was a two-story, built of stone that had blackened to an ugly gray, and was surrounded by a heavy wrought-iron fence. The iron stanchions were inches apart, standing taller than a man's head, and the uppermost tips were pointed, like spear heads. Nathan watched Hankins unlock the gate and let himself in, to be met by a pair of long-legged hounds. Nathan was thankful that Cotton Blossom had learned to remain with the picketed horse.

Nathan was shocked. The house seemed more impregnable than the bank itself. Getting to Bart Hankins wasn't going to be easy. He must waylay the man before he reached the formidable house or after he departed it, or confront him within the bank itself. Nathan hadn't much time. The longer he remained in town, the more likely he would be remembered. He returned to the picketed black horse, and with Cotton Blossom following, rode out of town. He couldn't afford the luxury of a night in town. Any hotel desk clerk would remember a stranger. With the dawn, he would go as near the Hankins mansion as he dared and wait for the albino to leave. If for any reason he lost Hankins after he left the house in the morning, it would leave Nathan with but one dangerous option. He would have to confront Hankins within the bank itself.

Nathan had camped far from town in a secluded draw where there was good water and graze. There he picketed the packhorse. He reached town before dawn, leaving his horse and Cotton Blossom behind one of the saloons that fronted the main street. The saloon wouldn't be open for hours, and Nathan leaned against the corner of the building, looking down the street toward the Hankins mansion. His heart leaped when the huge front door opened and Bart Hankins stepped out. But the albino wasn't alone. The older man who almost had to be the elder Hankins was with him. That would have been bad enough, but the two men were accompanied by a young girl. Locking the big iron gate behind them, the trio headed down the main street toward the bank. Cursing under his breath, Nathan returned to the alley, mounted the black, and rode to the farthest end of town. He circled around behind the bank, and in a scrub oak thicket, left his horse.

“Stay, Cotton Blossom,” he said.

Nathan waited until he was sure the Hankinses had entered the bank, and he allowed enough time for the four tellers to become busy. He must enter the albino's office unobserved. After the shooting, seconds would count. He would have but a few seconds to make his escape. Nathan entered the bank and walked rapidly past the first three doors to the right of the lobby. When he reached the fourth, he opened it, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. The surprise was total, and Hankins' reaction was anger.

“It's customary to knock,” he snapped.

“I didn't see the need for formalities,” Nathan said mildly. “I'm here to kill you.”

As Nathan entered Hankins' office, six riders reined up behind the bank. There was Frank and Jesse James, and the four Younger brothers, Jim, John, Bob, and Cole.

“Frank,” said Jesse, “you was in there yesterday. Let's go over it all one more time.”

“Four teller's cages,” Frank said. “Bank officers behind closed doors.”

“Working from the left, then,” said Jesse, “you take the first teller, I'll take the second, and Bob, you and Cole take the third and fourth. Just the big bills. Jim, you and John hold the horses.”

“Hell,” growled Jim Younger, “I'd like to go inside. Why do I always have to hold the horses?”

“By God,” Jesse snarled, “because I said so. Cole, you and Bob wait for me and Frank to get inside. Then you move fast. We'll hit all four tellers at once. Crack some heads if you have to, but no shooting.”