Chapter 13

A rider was approaching at full gallop. The dust could be seen for miles. As he got to the sentry at the entrance, he didn’t even slow down. The sentry did nothing. He recognized the leader of his gang. He also recognized that Bob was mad. Madder that he had seen him in a long time.

Bob Pritchert had led this group for over a year. Most of that time had been in the south. But the pressure from the Mexican law had convinced him to return to his original stomping grounds. The Washoe County in northwest Nevada territory. Part of this was because of a green kid that had latched himself onto the gang. He called himself ‘The Washoe Kid.’

While not a suspicious man, it had triggered a sense of homesickness in Bob. So, he moved his operations back to the Virginia City, Reno area. And pickings had been good. His group was large enough that they could easily get away with farm and ranch raids. Taking anything and everything of value.

Bob had set the gang up in a small town. A town where the Sheriff was easily bought and paid for. And was eventually bullied off the payroll and into a shallow grave on boot hill. He was replaced by one of Bob’s men. The people of Empire soon learned that things had changed, and silence was not only golden. It dripped blood.

With a safe and secure hideout, the gang started hitting the stage and freight coaches going into and out of the silver mines in the area.

Life was good, and the gang grew.

But then the Kid had started talking. First, it was about his rich dad in eastern Nevada. How there was all sorts of loot in the area. How they would have a protected hideout on his daddy’s ranch.

Then he came up with what he called the scam of the decade. What they would do is pretend to be members of a vigilante group that operated in that area. They would tell the isolated farmers that they belonged to that group, and that they had to pay for protection. If they refused to pay, the gang would sneak back at night and raid the farm. Burn down barns and outbuildings kill livestock and shoot up the place. Then come back later and offer protection again. It was perfect scam. The Regiment, as they were called, would get all the blame.

At first, Bob refused to consider it. They had a perfect operation going on now. They had money. They had a good hideout. They even had a local town that didn’t cause them any grief. But the kid kept talking and talking. He wouldn’t shut up about it. Eventually, some of the others started asking, ‘why not?’ They thought it sounded like an easy bet.

Finally, Bob agreed. He split the crew and sent them east on the job. But he didn’t send the kid with them. What he did do was send the Powell brothers. If anybody could make something like this work, it would be the Powell brothers.

But today was a bad day. While Bob was in Reno, he had learned that the Powell brothers had been captured tried and hung. Not only that, but the report had them hung wearing pink dresses. A picture in the newspaper showed the humiliating evidence.

Bob was furious. He had ridden with the Powell brothers for over a year. He considered them as brothers. The more he thought about it, the madder he got. And the target of his anger was the kid. If it hadn’t been for that punk agitating and begging, the Powell’s would still be here and alive.

Bob decided he needed to get back to the hideout. During the trip, he thought about his next step. He couldn’t do any more ranch robberies. He didn’t have enough people. The stage and freight wagons could continue. And maybe even the smaller bank jobs. But one thing started circling in his mind. It took a while, but Bob finally realized. He had a big-money ticket sitting in his lap, just ready for the picking.

In a cloud of dust, he pulled his horse up in front of their shack. He smoothly slid from his saddle and absentmindedly looped the reins over the rail in front.

Slamming the door open, he startled Ed Bartlett, who was cooking what smelled like bacon on the stove. “Dammit who...” he stopped when he saw Bob. Ed was his second in command. A ruthless killer who would have no problems slaughtering a family, Just for a plate of beans.

Before he could continue, Bob demanded, “Where is he?”