Chapter 17

The Malik brothers, Lewin, and Bream, along with Peng, were aboard Malik’s car attached to the northbound passenger train late Saturday morning. At Kylie Junction, they were joined by Lonegan and Whitman, who had been out to both the Sonora silver mine and the Dry Valley’s silver mine, and had also gone over “to have a look-see at the coal mine,” as Lonegan put it. He reported it being a much larger operation than either silver mine. The coal mine had set up its own steam-powered stamp mill to reduce the coal to a more utilitarian and easily-shipped size.

Malik asked the marshals if they wanted to go out to the Malik ranch for a couple nights. He told them they would be back in Waypoint easily in time to catch the northbound at noon on Monday. Lonegan allowed as to how it was a pretty ride, along the Rio Isabella and through the Leander Hills, and he and Whitman both took Malik up on his offer.

If the two mashals had known how sweetly sentimental it would be to watch the Malik brothers with their offspring, they might not have been so eager. Malik and Andy were roundly abused for their “unmanly” behavior.

The train was on time Monday noon. The Maliks saw Lonegan and Whitman off at the station, where there were almost a dozen other passengers boarding. The train pulled away from the platform at 12:02, as scheduled.

Peng had been summoned, by Fu-Chun, to the incipient Chinese refugee settlement at the southern edge of the Malik ranch and had not returned with Malik and the others.

As he and his brother walked up Jackson Street toward the Inn, intending to eat lunch there, Malik said, “And there was Mister Timmons, again. It seems like we keep running into the same conductors, somewhat exclusively, in streaks.”

“What about Jimmy McGillycuddy on Saturday’s train?”

“Ah. Good point. I wonder how our mind causes so much attention to one topic that it allows others to slip away unnoticed.” Malik paused, turning his head first one direction, then another. “You hear that? That thumping? What is that?”

“Yeah,” Andy replied, also moving his head about. “It sounds like it’s coming from around the corner.”

They had been walking up Jackson Street toward Wagon Road Avenue and were on the flagstone sidewalk that ran alongside the Jackson County Agricultural and Mercantile Bank. As they came to the corner, they discovered the thumping sound was coming from the heavy wooden door that led into the bank. A poorly-lettered “CLOSED” sign was thumb-tacked to the dark wood.

They paused in front of the door as the slow, intermittent pounding continued from the other side. Both reached for the Army Colts that they wore with their trail garb, under their dusters.

Malik said, quietly, “Get down low. I’ll pull the door open and use it for cover.”

Andy nodded and got down on one knee next to the door, pistol in hand. Malik pushed down slowly on the latch, wincing as its release seemed to click more loudly than they had ever noticed. The thumping stopped. Andy crouched lower. Malik pressed himself against the stone facade of the bank entrance.

From across Jackson Street, Jacob Baylor called, “What’s going on, Emil?” Malik waved him to stay back, using the hand holding his gun.

Then Malik whispered to Andy, “Here goes,” and he jerked the door open.

Both men aimed their pistols into the dim interior. On the floor, just inside the door, they found Niles Palmer, gagged and tied to a wooden armchair. He and the chair were lying on their backs. He had been thumping on the door with the heels of his shoes, within the limited play that he had in his bindings. No one else was visible.

Palmer began trying to speak behind his gag. Malik said, “Let him loose. I’ll watch.”

As soon as Andy worked the gag from his mouth and removed the wadded cloth that it had secured there, Palmer said, “They’re gone. It was the Nestors. We need to check Bob’s office. There was a gunshot in there.”

Malik walked to the office while Andy finished with Palmer. Carefully looking around the doorframe leading into Robert Smith’s office, Malik saw Smith tied to a chair, much like Palmer had been, though he was upright. However, Smith was not moving and there was a dripping, bloody gash on his right temple and forehead. Malik recognized the wound as likely from a hard-swung pistol.

On the floor was a man lying in a pool of blood.

Malik stepped over the man on the floor and examined Smith. He was breathing and the wound was actively bleeding, as face and head wounds tended to copious bleeding. Removing the gag, he left Smith tied in the chair and quickly checked what he knew would be a dead body. He turned the man’s head, but didn’t recognize him.

Palmer, still being freed from the chair, called out, “How’s Bob?”

“Unconscious. He was pistol-whipped, I’d say. The other man is dead, shot in the chest, looks like,” Malik said, from where he stood in the office doorway. Then he returned to the main service lobby just in time to encounter Jacob Baylor coming in the front door.

“My god, what happened?” Baylor exclaimed. “Niles, who tied you up? Where’s Bob?”

“We were robbed, Mister Baylor. I’m not hurt but Emil says Mister Smith is unconscious and Mister Robertson is dead.” At this point, Palmer was free and getting to his feet.

“Robertson? Who’s Robertson?” Baylor demanded.

Malik said, “Jacob, that’s not the important thing, at the moment. We need Doctor Kagan and to notify the sheriff. Could you get the doctor while Andy goes after Sheriff Edwards? Niles and I will tend to Mister Smith. Andy?”

“On my way, Emil,” his brother said, heading for the door. “C’mon Papa,” he added, putting a hand on his father-in-law’s shoulder.

“Sure, Emil, sure. Be right back,” Baylor said, displaying some reluctance as Andy turned him toward the door. Both men departed.

Malik said, “Let’s lower Bob to the floor while he’s still tied to the chair, then we’ll untie him and slide him out of it.”

“Be right there.”

“You’re not hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Let’s tend to Bob.”

Completing the maneuver, and with Smith laid out on his office floor next to his desk, Palmer said, “I’ll go wet a kerchief,” as he rose from his knees.

Malik said, “Let’s hold off on anything else, Niles. Doctor Kagan should be here momentarily. I’d as soon let her see things as they are. That bleeding isn’t critical, it just looks bad.”

“Sure,” Palmer said, and he went about loosening Smith’s collar.

“He seems to be breathing easier, now he’s on his back,” Malik said.

Baylor came in the front door with Beverly Kagan, who had a small portmanteau in hand. Malik, visible in the doorway to Smith’s office, got to his feet and moved out of the way. Baylor hurried into the office and stood there looking at both Smith and the dead man in front of the desk.

“Oh my lord,” he said. “What the hell happened?”

Malik put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Jacob, let’s move out of the office so Doctor Kagan can get in here.” Malik tugged on the reluctant Baylor until both of them were out the door. Niles Palmer followed, then Doctor Kagan went in.

“Did anyone see what happened to Mister Smith?” she asked, as she pulled back the eyelids of first one of Smith’s eyes, then the other.

Palmer said, “No. We found him like that, tied to a chair. I’d been tied to a chair, myself, until Andy and Emil came in. Emil and I lowered Mister Smith in his chair to the floor, then slid the chair out from under him. Emil said he was breathing easier, now.”

Releasing Smith’s wrist and putting her watch back in a pocket, Kagan said, “Well, that wound looks about the right size for it to be caused by a revolver’s cylinder and barrel. I’ve seen a couple like it.” She leaned toward Robertson’s body and pressed her fingers into his neck. Sighing, she said, “I suppose we’d best leave this one alone until the sheriff gets here.” She brought a brown glass bottle from her bag, then a small square of clean, white linen. She wet the linen from the contents of the bottle, then began cleaning Smith’s wound, starting at the edges of the forming scab.

Sheriff Sean Edwards came in the door, followed by Andy. Both were breathing hard. He said, “Emil, Mister Baylor,” nodding his head to them, then, “Niles, how are you?”

“Mostly just angry, Sean.”

“I can imagine. How’s Mister Smith?”

“Doc Kagan’s in there with him now. He’s still unconscious,” Palmer replied.

Edwards moved to Smith’s office door and looked down at the scene. “Did you check this other one, Doctor?”

“I did, Sheriff. He’s dead. We haven’t moved him.”

Malik said, “Well, when I first got here I turned his head to see if I recognized him. I don’t.”

“How’s Mister Smith?” Edwards inquired.

“As you can see, a blow to the head, probably with a revolver.” She had been manipulating his neck and was now running her hands over the back of his head. “I’m not finding any other injuries,” she said, as she began unbuttoning Smith’s vest. “I believe that’s the only wound, but I’d better check.”

As Kagan continued her exam, Edwards squeezed past her, saying, “Excuse me, Doctor.” He leaned over Robertson’s body and turned the head so that he could see the face. “Huh,” he said. “What did you say this man’s name was?”

Palmer said, “He introduced himself as William Robertson. He was here supposedly to buy Bertram Nestor’s ranch.”

“Why ‘supposedly,’” Edwards wanted to know.

Palmer explained, “Well, right at the end, just before I heard the gun shot, Bertram Nestor told Robertson to get in a chair to be tied up. Mister Smith and I had already been tied to the chairs. But when Nestor ordered Robertson to sit down, Robertson started complaining. He said something like, ‘You ain’t runnin’ off with no money and leavin’ me here,’ or words to that effect. Then I heard a shot and I reckon that was Robertson’s last words.”

“Maybe you’d better tell me about it, from the beginning,” Edwards said.

Just then, a young man in a business attire came in the door. He stopped short when he saw the sheriff and the Malik brothers, with Palmer in a chair in front of them. “What’s going on, Mister Palmer?” he asked.

“We were robbed, Mannie. Why don’t you go count your till and see how it balances?”

“Were you or Mister Smith hurt?”

“Mister Smith was knocked unconscious; he’s still out. Doctor Kagan is with him in his office. There was also another man shot dead. His body is also in Mister Smith’s office.”

Then Palmer said, “Fellas, this is Manfred Ingles. Here’s here on an education training assignment and he’s working as a teller. He’s about to graduate from the state college with a business degree. Manfred, this is Sheriff Sean Edwards, Andy Malik and his brother Emil Malik, and I believe you’ve met Mister Baylor.”

Edwards said Ingles, “You’re from Shepherds Crossing, ain’t you? I’ve met your Ma and Pa.”

“Yes, sir, I am. I remember you being a deputy back home.”

Andy and Malik both stepped forward to shake hands and exchange greetings.

Edwards looked at Ingles speculatively, then asked, “Reckon you could stand lookin’ at a dead body, son?”

After the briefest hesitation, Ingles said, “Well, I suppose. Why?”

“I want to know if you recognize the man that got shot.”

“Well, yeah, I reckon.”

“C’mon, then” Edwards led the young man to Smith’s office, Baylor tagging along. Edwards called out, “Doctor, I’m bringing someone in.”

“Wait a moment, please.”

Baylor went ahead, though Edwards and Ingles paused for a moment until Kagan said, “Come ahead.”

As they entered the office, pushing past Baylor, Kagan was in the process of buttoning Smith’s shirt. She had moved to Smith’s other side, so access to Robertson’s body was easier. Edwards reached down and turned the head fully to one side. Ingles bent down and turned his own head sideways, trying to adjust for the angle.

Ingles said, “I think I’ve seen him in town. Back home, I mean.” He stood upright and looked at Edwards. “At the saloon, when I’d get a bucket of beer for Pa. I’ve seen him with a big man with red hair, playing cards.” He shook his head. “I don’t know his name.”

“Would his name be Robertson?”

Ingles shook his head again. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, I’ve no idea.”

Moving out of the office, Edwards said, “Good enough. Thanks, Mannie. Can I call you Mannie?”

“Oh, sure. Everybody does.”

“Fine, son. Why don’t you go ahead and count your till, like Mister Palmer said.”

“I will, Sheriff.”

Edwards walked over to stand by Palmer. “Go ahead, Niles, tell us what happened.” Then he looked toward the door and asked, “Is that ‘Closed’ sign still out there?”

Malik went to check. “It is. You want me to lock this?”

“Best. They can’t do any business ‘til this is cleared up,” Edwards said. He looked back at Palmer. “I’m sorry, Niles. Go ahead.”

“Well, Mannie had just gone to lunch when Bertram and Edwin Nestor and this Robertson came in.” Palmer paused. “Bertram Nestor had come in a few days ago, reckon it was Friday. He told Mister Smith his ranch was for sale, gave him the price, uh, I forget how much, but he said there was a hundred dollars in it if someone brought him a buyer. Then, today, he shows up with a buyer.

“In any event, I was in the cashier’s cage, coverin’ it for Mannie’s lunch time, but Bob’s door was open and I could hear the conversation. Nestor said he wanted Bob, uh, Mister Smith, to witness the sale, to take final payment on a seed loan he has, here, and to give Nestor the balance of his cash account. Nestor had a small seed loan he was payin’ on and still owed a couple hundred or so. Robertson was carrying a thousand in cash for a first payment on the ranch.

“Well, Mister Smith must have looked up the loan balance, because he named the amount, which I reckon Nestor gave him. Then Mister Smith asked for the deed and had the men sign it. Then I heard Mister Smith name the amount in Nestor’s account, it was two thousand eight hundred and something, and I could hear him open the safe.

“That’s when both the Nestors pulled out pistols and had us all put our hands on our heads, Robertson, too. Bertram pointed the gun at Mister Smith and said he’d shoot him if I didn’t cooperate. Edwin had come out of the office and pointed his gun at me. Mister Smith said to just do what they wanted and not get excited. He assured Nestor he’d cooperate. Don’t get me wrong. Bob didn’t sound frightened. He was very calm.

“So Edwin held his gun on Mister Smith and Robertson while Bertram tied me to the chair. Then he did the same to uh, Mister Smith, I reckon, but I couldn’t see. That’s when Robertson objected and got shot. Mister Smith said something like, ‘Nestor, you just made things a whole lot worse for yourself.’ I heard a noise after that, must’ve been Bob getting hit. Then I could hear them moving the metal boxes in the safe, likely taking everything, but I’ll have to check.

“In any event, the Nestors came out carrying flour sacks full of something, and Edwin went into the cashier’s cage and grabbed some cash there, which he stuffed in his sack. Then they left.

“I called to Bob, ah, Mister Smith, but there was no answer. After a couple minutes, I decided to tip myself over and scoot toward the door. That likely took another five minutes. Then I went to bangin’ my heels against the door. Another ten minutes or so, Andy and Emil showed up.”

Malik asked, “How was Edwin walking?”

“Oh, he was using a cane, favoring his one leg quite a bit.”

Holding up one of the narrow ropes, Edwards asked, “Where’d he get all the piggin’ strings?”

“He pulled a bundle of ‘em from under his coat, in his back. Maybe he had them tucked under his belt.”

Looking at the rope, Edwards said, “Huh. Reckon it wasn’t spur-of-the-moment, then. Sounds like it was in the works from at least last week, more ‘n likely.” Then he looked at Palmer, again. “They give any hint on where they were going?”

“Not that I heard.”

“They got on the northbound, Sean,” Malik said. “We just came from the station, after seeing off Connor Lonegan and that Marshal Whitman. The platform was busy, but I remember two men in dusters getting on, one was using a cane. Didn’t see the faces or the hair color, as they were wearing rancher-style hats.”

Palmer said, “Yeah, they were wearin’ dusters. Didn’t think to mention it, since a lot of men wear them in uncertain weather.”

Andy was looking at his watch. “The train’s already left Texas Bend. No tellin’ if they stayed on or not, but we need to send a message to Sheriff Hanson.” He looked at Edwards. “Sean, there are two federal marshals on that train, besides.”

Edwards stood up straight and scratched his head; he’d rushed out of his office without his normal, broad-brimmed hat. “Reckon I’ll go send some wires, then. Emil, you mind comin’ along?”

“Thought I might,” Malik said.

“I’ll keep an eye on things here, “Andy said. “Papa,” he said to Baylor, “would you go down to the undertaker’s and ask Mister Eberle to come up here, but maybe best if he came around back. You don’t need Robertson’s body here, any longer, do you, Sean?”

“No, Andy, but go through his pockets, would you? Before Mister Eberle takes him? Maybe we’ll find something helpful.”

“Sure. Right away.”

“Well, I’ll go get him,” Baylor said.

Edwards said, “Ah, Mister Baylor...?” Then he paused. “Ah, never mind, it’s not important. I’ll ask if Sheriff Hanson knows if Robertson has any relatives up there. Thanks for helpin’ out.”

“Glad to,” Baylor said, and he went out the door.

Edwards asked Palmer, “Any idea at all how much they might have taken?”

“Let me see if I can get into the safe. We had twenty-three thousand in there when we closed on Saturday. Mannie, how’s your till?”

“I’m coming up short a hundred and twenty-three dollars. They took all the paper and high denomination coins. There’s just some small change left.”

Palmer led the way to Smith’s office. When he got there, he asked, “How’s he doing, Doctor Kagan?” She had pulled a chair next to Smith’s reclining form and was sitting watching the unconscious bank chairman.

“No real change,” she said.

Palmer stepped over Robertson’s body, then circled around behind Smith’s desk to reach the big safe, which was on the side of the office where Smith was laid out. Being careful not to disturb his boss, he pulled open the door on the safe and reached onto the top shelf for a sheet of paper that was resting there. Looking at it he read, “Twenty-three thousand eight hundred twelve dollars and ninety seven cents. That included the front till, which was two hundred and fifty dollars.” He crouched down to look into some metal boxes that were laying haphazardly on the floor of the safe. “Well, there are a few loose bills in here. I can get a more exact figure, but call it twenty-three thousand seven hundred and fifty, give or take a hundred,” he said, looking up at Edwards.

“Thanks, Niles. Emil, you ready.”

“Whenever you are.”

“Andy,” the sheriff said, “I’ll send a messenger to leave word at my office. If any deputies show up, just have ‘em wait here, por favor.”

“You bet, Sean.”

Edwards and Malik left the bank and began walking rapidly toward the train station.

“I thought Edwin Nestor was in jail, up in Fort Birney.”

“He made bail, again.”

“Even after leaving the jurisdiction the first time?”

“No one actually witnessed that, and he and his uncle swore he never left the state.”

“What about with the Rangers?”

“He was first spotted at Junction City, so, still in the jurisdiction.”

Edwards just shook his head.

Then he said, “I was going to ask Jacob Baylor not to go talkin’ to folks about this, but then I figured there was no way to keep it quiet, nor really any reason to. D’you reckon the bank will be in trouble?”

“Oh, I don’t think this will put them under, but I reckon it’ll eat up some portion of their profits for the year. For that matter, they’ll likely have some sort of insurance policy that may pay all or part of the loss.”

“Do you think maybe the Nestors went back to their ranch? I can’t really feature that. This looks like a last hurrah to me, as they exit the state.”

“Yeah,” Malik said, “that’s what I was thinking. Makes me wonder about the ranch, though. Did Bertram just walk away from that? It looked pretty prosperous when we were out there.”

They quickly reached the depot, which was only a block from the bank. Emma Watts looked up as they came in the door. “Gents, you look pretty serious.”

Edwards said, “I need to send some wires, Missus Watts.”