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Short Stories & Tall Tales
Selling Out
By William S. Hubbartt
“This is a hold-up! Everybody against the wall…over there…Now!” yelled Tawny.
Three customers at the teller windows turned quickly, backing away from the gruff looking dusty brute waving a colt. Gasps were heard, and one woman holding a parasol that matched her floor length royal blue taffeta dress let out a fearful shriek.
Trail dirty, big boned with solid muscles, and a pocked complexion, Tawny looked threatening with or without a brandished colt. The tellers, two middle aged men in white shirts with high collars and sleeve guards, instinctively raised their hands.
One customer, a trail worn cattleman, turned slowly, his right hand dropping to his holstered pistol. BAM. Tawny’s colt spit fire, the cattleman lurched back half a step, his left hand leaning on the teller window ledge, and the right hand in mid draw, dropped the pistol to the floor. The cattleman slumped forward and fell face first to the floor of the Emporia Bank. Another shriek arose from the parasol lady, who fainted dead away.
There was a moment of dead silence as all eyes fixed on the body, slumped on the bank floor, with blood pooling around the man’s chest.
“Now you went an’ done it…jeez, … Tawny. Ya said there’d be no killin’.”, pleaded a winey voice from just inside the door. He too, held a colt, but the pistol shook in his nervous hand. He was barely old enough to show whiskers, a bit pudgy, with unruly blond hair that hung into his face and over his shirt collar.“Ya said we’d get the money quick like an’ get out.”
“Shut up Curly,” yelled Tawny. He waved his gun, threatening the tellers, then tossing a canvas bag behind the bars at the teller window. “Money in this bag,…fill it now!” He turned to Curly and barked, “Those customers…get their money, jewelry, guns. Put it in that bag he’s got. Now! Or you’ll end up like that one on the floor.”
Their bags filled, the robbers backed to the doorway, waving their colts and quickly stepped into the street and mounting their horses, which were being held by a third member guarding outside. They spurred their horses west, out of Emporia, one of the towns formed in the settling of the new state of Kansas.
The robbers rode hard for the first five miles, with no words spoken, putting miles between them and Emporia. Tawny saw a creek bed ahead on the right and directed the riders into the wooded area and along the creek. They walked their horses in the rocky creek bed for maybe half a mile, and then crossed over into grassy plains of eastern Kansas. They rode down into a draw, and continued in a north westerly direction.
The third rider held back at the creek momentarily to water his horse and take drink. After a few moments, he caught up with Tawny and Curly.
“When we gonna stop?” wined Curly. “My horse is beat. I’m plum wore out, an’ need a drink. Why didn’t we stop for a drink in that creek?”
Tawny shared an aggravated glance with Johnny Webb, the third member of the group. “Shut up Curly,” barked Tawny. “They’ll be coming after us. This is no time to stop. We’ll stop after dark.” He spurred the horse back up to a canter, after a brief rest from walking along the creek bed. When the golden prairie dusk faded to near darkness, Tawny reigned up near a stand of willows along another creek bed.
“No fires. Water the horses an’ rub them down,” ordered Tawny. His very demeanor was threatening, demanding action of others. Curly, youngest of the three, instantly obeyed. Johnny Webb, arms on his hips, close to the low slung tied down colts at each side stood his ground facing Tawny head on and didn’t move.
“Time for the split,” says Johnny. “I done my part. Clean get-away. Nothin’ sloppy like what happened inside.” At 26, Johnny was a seasoned outlaw. Johnny’s reputation included horse and cattle rustling, hitting a stage coach, and he was credited with a trail of bodies through Kansas and Missouri. Johnny had met Tawny when they did time in Leavenworth two years ago. Though of smaller stature, Johnny knew not to back down from Tawny’s gruff bluster.
“All-right. All-right,” says Tawny. “I’m counting it out now. It’ll be a quarter for each of you.” Curly appeared, eager for his share, saying nothing about the uneven split. Johnny glared at Tawny, his hand hovering near the colt. Tawny replied with further bluster, “I ram-rod this outfit. My job, I call the shots. Take was four thousand. You each get a thousand,” as he sorted and pushed the pile of cash towards Curly and Johnny. As Curly eagerly scooped up his loot and turned away, Tawny pushed an extra pile of bills towards Johnny, with a gesture to say keep this between us.
In the days that followed, the three travelled north and west through Kansas, stopping at each small town saloon along the way, for whiskey, cards, and any opportunity for easy pickings. If the card game didn’t go their way, the winner usually ended up with a knock on the head and his pockets emptied as he headed home from a night of drinking. Other times, Johnny and Tawny would try a scam at cards, pretending to be strangers, but making subtle gestures to the other when they got a lead on a hand.
But at the end of the night, it always seemed to be the same issue, Tawny tried to hold out the lions share and throw crumbs to Johnny and Curly. Being a bit slow, and a follower, Curly followed orders, took his cut, and seemed satisfied to be part of the gang, not realizing he was being cheated by his “friends.”
Tawny and company made the rounds in eastern Kansas, up to Council Grove for a few days, then on the road again. But whenever it was time to make the split, Tawny always insisted on his half. Curly accepted his crumbs, but it ate at Johnny’s craw, because, as often as not, he was the winner at cards, or knocked heads in the ally-ways or behind the stables. One night, Johnny stood up to Tawny, and fists flared. Tawny’s size and strength, overcame Johnny’s speed and agility, resulting in a pummeling that was broken up by a tearful Curly, upset that his friends were fighting.
Next stop was Junction City. The young soldiers from nearby Fort Riley were easy marks, either in saloon card games, or in the ally-ways after a night of drinking and gambling. In spite of the ruckus at Council Grove, Tawny continued to claim his “share.” Johnny was careful to confront Tawny only when his colts were handy and Curly was occupied elsewhere. With the odds tipped in his favor, Johnny could get an extra split from Tawny.
One night, while drinking at a Junction City saloon, Johnny overheard a cattle broker talking of a cash shipment due in from Topeka to cover payouts and payroll for cattle drive due in to Abilene in a few days. Maybe, Johnny thought, this’ll be the big score. I can catch this and be done with these guys. The next day, Johnny hung out by the livery stable to listen to the palaver about the incoming stage. Then he rode out east of town to check the roadway to find a suitable spot for a hold-up.
He found a narrow pass on the roadway east towards Topeka, about 5 miles out of town. As he circled the area, he heard an Army supply wagon with riders approaching. He ducked into the brush and watched the wagon pass. Upon return to their hideout near town, Johnny decided that he need a hand in pulling off this job, so he’d tell Tawny and Curly. But this was his job and he’d call the split.
“Yeh, …Yeh, … sure,” said Tawny upon hearing about the job and the set up. “It’ll be your show. Think you can handle it kid?”
“I call the job …an’ I call the split,” puffed Johnny, his fists tightening and his chin sticking out in determination.
The day came, and Johnny led the group out to the narrow draw, instructing each where to set up and wait. “On my signal,” says Johnny, “should be along about 2:00. We got a half an hour.” But 2:00 dragged on to 2:30 and then to 3:00, with no stage. Across the way, Johnny could see Tawny’s horse dancing nervously, and Tawny doing nothing to calm the animal. Johnny stepped from behind the tree stump and waved his hat in a downward motion to signal Tawny to calm the horse down.
“Its comin’…its comin’” an excited Curly yelled in a hoarse whisper that could be heard across the roadway. Johnny waved his hat to silence his partners. In a few moments, they heard the clop of the team and the creaks and jolts of the stage as it bounced along the packed dirt roadway. As the stage rounded the bend in the road, Johnny spurred his horse in front of the stage and fired a shot in the air.
“Hold it right there. You’re covered. Don’t try anything,” yelled Johnny, waving both colts in the air and then settling his aim on the guard. “Drop that shot gun. Both of you…guns on the ground.” By that time, Tawny had approached from the other side, and Curly appeared at the rear, each with colts drawn.
There was movement from inside the coach. Tawny’s colt jerked and fired, causing a surprised curse from inside, and the stage lurched as its team reacted to the shot. “Throw your guns out, and come out with your hands up,” yelled Tawny.
Two guns dropped to the ground, and then a woman, a boy climbed out quickly, and then slowly a man stumbled out holding a bleeding shoulder. All eyes were turned as the man fell to ground next to the stage. From behind the stage, a winey voice said, “good shootin’ Tawny.”
Tawny had control now and he knew it. His take charge instinct continued, as he pointed the colt at the guard. “The payroll box,…now!…throw it down.” The guard hesitated momentarily, and Tawny fired a shot just missing the guard but sending his hat flying in the breeze. This spurred action as the guard and driver reached under their seat and pulled up a heavy trunk and pushed it out onto the ground. The team lurched a step, startled by the falling trunk.
Tawny kept the momentum of the situation. “You people get back in that stage, get that stupid one in there, don’t try anything stupid or you’ll get a bullet too!” As the passengers scrambled back in, Tawny put a shot at the feet of the team yelling “Hee-yaa, hee-yaa. Get that wagon outta here.” The stage lurched forward, and Tawny put another shot over their heads for good measure.
By now Johnny had jumped off his horse and was struggling with the strong-box trunk. It was solid oak, with brass corners, about 2 feet on each side and must have weighed close to 150 200 pounds secured by a big padlock. Even with metal handles on each side. Johnny could not get it up or secured on his horse.
Tawny again sized up the situation, barking a order, “Curly, bring your horse over here. Take this rope, Tie it through those handles. Now the two of you lift that thing by the ropes, and tie them to the pommels. Come on. Times a wasting. Let’s go this way. We’re cutting south. We can’t take this into town you idiots.”
Following Tawny, they had to walk the horses side by side, while the trunk swung between them. At one point, Curly tried to ride, but the horses resisted the extra weight, so they ended up walking along with the horses, as Tawny rode and lead the way. Tawny led them into a creek and marched them along in the water for about a quarter mile before crossing to the other side.
By night fall they had covered maybe 8 or 10 painful aching miles, as they circled to the west of Junction City. “No fires,” announced Tawny, “They’ll be out looking for us. Could be anywhere.”
Johnny was fidgeting with the lock, and in frustration he reached for his colt. “And no guns either,” growled Tawny as he grabbed Johnny’s wrist. “They’ll hear a shot just like they’ll see a fire. Ya wanna send a beacon to tell them where we are?”
They continued for three more days until they were near the cow town of Abilene. There they camped in the woods along the Smokey Hill River. “All right, lets open it up,” says Tawny, rubbing his hand together. He went to his saddle boot and brought back a 50 caliber Sharps rifle, a buffalo gun. “Back off you two, this might spit back at us,” Tawny cautioned.
BOOM. The first shot spun the padlock doing more damage to their ears than the nick on lock’s plate. Again,…BOOM, and the lock’s arm shattered. They all converged, hands reaching in to open the trunk. They pulled up the lid and revealed a trunk full of bills, federal notes, and coins in gold and silver.
“Wooo-hoo, Wooo-hoo,” yelled Johnny and Curly. Their celebration was interrupted by the BAM of Tawny’s colt. Curly froze, his mouth agape, as he backed up. Johnny’s hand moved towards his colt, only to have it slapped away by the barrel of Tawny’s colt. Johnny, too backed away, seeing that Tawny had the drop on them. Johnny’s temper sizzled, his jaw set, as he growled, “this was my job, my split. I told you.”
Negotiating with others is easy, when you hold the gun. Speaking calmly, while gesturing with his colt, Tawny said, “and you blew it, you lost control, we nearly got shot, I stopped that stupid one in the stage. And then I had to save your ass because you couldn’t even pick up the trunk. I saved this job. I call the splits. I got the gun and my gun has spoken.”
At the end of the night, they had counted out eight thousand dollars, and again, Tawny called the split, “four for me, and two for each of you.” Curly, as usual was happy with his share, and again, Johnny was stewing, but he knew he couldn’t get the drop on Tawny. With money in camp, Tawny slept like a lynx, ever alert with one eye open.
With this score, the group made it to Abilene, ready for partying, drinking, gambling and whoring. The next day, Johnny saw a wanted poster as he passed by the Sheriff’s office. There it was, a sketch of Tawny, with the notice: Wanted Dead or Alive. Thomas “Tawny” Cragin wanted for murder and bank Robbery in Emporia Kansas. Known accomplice: “Curly” young man with blond hair. $1000 Reward.
Johnny thought, the law…they don’t know about me. Johnny had stopped next at the general store, picking up some coffee and ammunition. While there, he observed two women shopping and talking, one dressed in black, in mourning.
“You’ve been such a savior, dear sister, taking me in these days after those hooligans killed Carl,” said the widow.
“It’s so awful, sweet sister, of course we’re here for you. Stay as long as you like. I’m glad to see that the Emporia Bank put up a reward. I hope they catch those hooligans,” replied the other.
Moments later, outside the store, Johnny tipped his hat, and said, “Mornin’ ladies, pardon me for interrupting, and deepest sympathies. I hear tell that the men that done that awful deed, they’re camped east of town out by the Smokey Hill River. Maybe the sheriff would like to know.”
“Dear man,” says the widow, “I’ll tell the sheriff right away. When they catch those two hooligans, I’ll see that you get that reward.”
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