X.
The youthful Gary Blanchard felt his heart sink. Instantly, he knew the man sticking the gun in his back could only want one thing: the bank’s money. Also he surmised that what was in front of him, the fire at the livery stable, was cunningly connected to what was behind him, the gun in his back.
As Blanchard began to raise his arms in a gesture of surrender, a gravelly voice behind him said, “Keep your arms down. Turn and walk inside.”
When he turned, he saw the man with the gun. The man wore an evil smile that revealed yellow teeth in a crooked mouth nestled within thick black facial hair. Another man, six-shooter in hand, stood alongside the first.
Blanchard thought quickly. Mr. Drake, the bank president, was in the back office with the door closed. Blanchard also thought of the pistol kept on a shelf below the teller’s window. But he would have little chance to catch the thieves off-guard. He concluded his best course of action was to cooperate fully, to sacrifice the bank’s money, and to hope for the best.
After the trio entered the bank, the thieves forced Blanchard to lead the way into the area behind the teller windows where the safe was located.
“Open it,” the first thief said.
“I don’t know the combination.”
Meanwhile the second thief had already located the cash drawer at the teller’s window and was removing the loot.
Unbeknownst to all three men, Ken Drake, the bank president, had already received an urgent knock at the back door. Deputy Vince Evans had rushed in to inform Drake of the raging fire at the livery stable.
Deputy Evans watched impatiently as Drake scurried about the office in preparation to lock up the bank.
When the numerous details in his office had been attended to, with key ring in hand, Drake rushed out of the office to inform Blanchard of the bank’s closing.
The thief at the cash drawer had just stuffed the money into his vest pocket when the office door opened suddenly. Startled, the thief pointed and fired. Drake doubled over and with a loud groan fell to the floor.
Deputy Evans did not hesitate. He drew his weapon and rushed to a point where he had line-of-sight on the thief through the doorway. The shot from his pistol unerringly found its mark, and the thief crashed back against the counter.
The thief behind Blanchard dove onto the floor and aimed his pistol through the doorway from where the shot had come. When he fired, Blanchard saw flame spew from the gun barrel and he heard the Deputy’s shriek of death.
Catapulted by a surge of adrenaline, Blanchard raced for the pistol beneath the teller’s window. He grabbed the weapon and fired at the thief on the floor. Then everything went blank!
Two more thieves had entered the bank and the bullet from one thief’s gun had penetrated the back of Blanchard’s head.
On a day that had begun with such seeming promise, the youthful Gary Blanchard had met a sudden ignominious death.
XI.
Frank Stayton[1] was horrified. Two of his sons lay on the floor of the bank. “Check on them. Quick!”
Travis, Frank Stayton’s eldest son, hurried around the counter. Zack, who had been shot by Blanchard, lay on the floor, moaning.
Travis grabbed the other son, Jarrett, who lay on his face near the teller window. When Travis rolled him over, he knew his brother was dead. He looked up at Frank Stayton who had followed him around the counter.
“Jarrett’s dead,
“Pick him up and carry him out front. I’ll tend to Zack.”
When Frank Stayton bent over Zack, the boy was holding his side tightly with both hands. “Come on, son. Let’s get you out of here.” He grabbed the boy by the arm and helped him to his feet.
The two made their way out of the bank. With the help of Emmett, who had been guarding the horses, Travis had draped and tied Jarrett’s body over Jarrett’s horse. Frank Stayton helped Zack to his horse and steadied him as the boy crawled onto the saddle. “Can you ride?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Let’s go!”
A woman stood in the street near the bank entrance. She had been watching the livery burn when she heard the shots from inside the bank. Shortly afterwards, she saw the Staytons exit the building. One man was dead and another was wounded. Realizing she was witnessing a bank robbery, she screamed, “Hey! Stop!”
Emmett yelled, “Shut up, lady!”
In panic she began running toward the livery where the townspeople had formed a bucket brigade in an effort to extinguish the fire. “The bank’s been robbed!” She waved her arms in the air. “The bank’s been robbed!”
Emmett drew his gun and took careful aim. The bullet ripped through the woman’s back at an angle just below the left shoulder blade and pierced her heart. She spun half around and collapsed to the ground.
“Let’s go!” Emmett yelled. He stepped into the stirrup and mounted his horse. Already Frank Stayton and the wounded Zack had spurred their horses and were riding in the opposite direction of the fire. Travis was close behind, leading Jarrett’s horse with the dead man strapped across the saddle.
Emmett spurred his horse and the animal bolted. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a few men running toward the woman lying in the street. Twisting in the saddle, he fired several shots. One man went down. Then he turned forward and spurred the animal again. “That’ll hold ‘em.”
XII.
Little Joey was the youngest of the Stayton brothers. He was a lanky young man of fourteen. His dark brown eyes were set deep in an angular face that had been darkly tanned by the sun. The faintest moustache appeared above his upper lip, and a thin tuft of hair clung to his dimpled chin.
The cool water of the stream felt good under the late morning sun. Already he had rekindled the fire from the night before. He had also put on coffee and a pot of beans. Then he had left his boots on the bank and had rolled up his pants. Now, as the boy waded to and fro in the shallows, he complained aloud, “I’m old enough to go along when Pa robs some hick-town bank. I don’t know why I’m always the one stuck with tending camp. I ought to run away like Gil did.”
Thinking of his older brother, Gil, Little Joey crouched and drew the six-shooter from his holster. He fired at a rock sticking out of the water near the bank. He smirked when he saw a chunk of the rock fly off and fine debris explode into the air. The sound of the shot and the ricochet off the rock sent thunderous vibrations echoing back and forth between the trees that bordered the stream.
Little Joey had never known Gil very well, and the lack of a close relationship was a source of sadness. Gil left home when Little Joey was still a youngster but Little Joey often heard his Pa and his brothers talk of Gil’s reputation as a gunfighter.
Gil visited the family at their ranch near
During Gil’s visit to the ranch, Little Joey begged his brother to demonstrate his prowess with a six-shooter. Gil had set up a few tin cans on a fence rail. Even as a youngster, Little Joey knew he was seeing something satanic when Gil drew and fired. Almost simultaneously, the cans leapt from the rail and the blasts of the individual shots were indistinguishable. When Gil had re-holstered his gun, he turned to Little Joey and said, “Tin cans don’t shoot back. That’s the difference between shooting cans and facing down another man.” He winked. “Better to shoot ‘em in the back.”
After his mother died, Little Joey noticed a significant change in his father. Frank Stayton had become listless and extremely depressed. When he stopped working on the ranch, Little Joey’s brothers quickly lost interest too. Before long, the ranch fell into disrepair from neglect.
When the need for money grew intolerable, Pa and a few of his brothers robbed a bank. From then on, the family was always in trouble with the law.
Shortly after that first bank robbery, the family abandoned the ranch. They began wandering as nomads, using their wits to live off the land and to “outsmart people with more money.” Frequent crossings of the Mexican border kept them from capture by the law. Some people called what the Staytons did stealing, but Little Joey knew it was simply a matter of survival. And if a few people got killed, well, they probably deserved it. But he did not waste time thinking about those things.
When his Pa received news of the deaths of Wade and Clem, the entire clan mounted up and began riding north. They were after someone called Parson Sam Blane in
Little Joey knew the importance of paying back crimes against the family. He had learned the lesson when his brother, Toby, had been killed by a man driving a wagon. Shortly afterwards, Emmett had slit the man’s throat and had received praise from his Pa and brothers. Little Joey knew that, one day, he would make Pa and his brothers proud of him. Then they would praise him too!
The pack horse whinnied. Little Joey turned and looked in the direction of the town. In the distance, he saw riders. That would be Pa and his brothers.
He stepped out of the water and sat down and pulled on his boots. By the time he stood up, the riders had drawn closer and he could see them clearly. Something was wrong. A body was draped over one of the horses!
Within a few minutes, the men rode into camp on heavily lathered animals. Little Joey took the reins of the horses as the men dismounted. Now he could see it was Jarrett who had been killed.
After dismounting, Frank Stayton hurried to the side of Zack’s horse and helped the slumping boy from the saddle.
Little Joey watched as his father sat Zack at the base of a tree and leaned him against the trunk. “What happened?”
No one answered.
Little Joey turned and looked at Jarrett’s lifeless body. Horror struck him when he saw Jarrett’s wide staring eyes, glazed over with the milky slime of death.
Travis came up behind him. “Cool down the horses then let them drink.” He brushed past the lad and untied Jarrett’s body. Then he pulled Jarrett’s legs. When the body slid off the saddle, Travis caught Jarrett under the arms and lowered him to the ground. Noticing Little Joey had not moved, Travis glanced up and saw the alarm in the boy’s eyes. “Get going!”
Little Joey turned and began walking the horses. After he let the horses drink, he tied them to a couple of trees. Then he sat down at the campfire. Emmett was thoroughly engrossed in a pan of beans and Travis sat cross-legged, sipping coffee from a tin cup.
When Frank Stayton walked over and sat down, Travis asked, “How is Zack?”
“Only a flesh wound but he’s lost some blood. He won’t be able to ride for a while.”
“We can’t stay here.” Emmett spoke with a mouthful of beans. “The fire we started at the livery will only hold that townsfolk a little longer.” As he talked, a half-eaten bean jetted out of his mouth and landed on the ground. “They’ll come after us. And we left an easy trail.” He scooped another heaping spoonful of beans into his mouth.
“Little Joey,” Frank Stayton said, “shimmy up that there tree and set yourself on that big branch.” He looked up at the branch as if pointing to it with his nose. “You keep watch for a posse. I don’t know how much time we got. We killed a couple of folks back there.”
“More than a couple,” Emmett said. A few beans spilled out of his mouth onto his beard. “I got me that loud-mouthed woman and maybe a fella. Caught him dead on the run from atop my horse.”
Frank Stayton poured himself coffee. “Zack said he got him the deputy that shot Jarrett. The townsfolk will form a posse and they’ll be comin’ as soon as they can.”
Travis threw a small wad of dollar bills on the ground in front of the group. “I took this off Jarrett’s body. It’s all him and Zack got from the bank.”
“How much is it?” Emmett asked.
“Twenty-five dollars.”
Frank Stayton picked up the money and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. “My boy was worth more than that.”
“What are we gonna do about Zack if he can’t ride?” Travis asked.
Emmett threw down an empty pan and leaned back with both hands on his stomach. “Zack’s gonna have to ride, that’s all.” He stood up. “We best get to burying Jarrett.”
Frank Stayton looked up. “No, we’re not burying him here in plain sight. I don’t want no chance of the posse diggin’ him up.”
“We can’t take him with us. He’ll slow us down.”
“I said not here!”
Emmett sat back down. “
“Just sit there and shut up!”
After several minutes, Frank Stayton leaned forward and tossed the remaining coffee in his cup onto the fire. “Here’s what we’ll do.” He picked up a stick and began drawing on the ground. When he was done, he stood up and rubbed out the drawing with the sole of his boot. “Let’s get movin’.”
They had just broken camp when Little Joey sat up on the branch. “Here they come!”
Frank Stayton looked up. “How many?”
“Five, six…seven of them!”
“Okay, let’s go!”
XIII.
Under any other circumstances, Marshal Bill Watson would not have been leading the posse. His gray hair peeked from beneath his hat and heavy lines creased his face. He felt the pain of arthritis in his back with every stride of the horse.
In about a month, he had planned to turn over his duties as Marshal to Deputy Vince Evans. But now his deputy was dead. Marshal Watson was left as the town’s only lawman, and the responsibility for catching the outlaws had fallen squarely on his shoulders. Even so, he knew his health was failing.
Although he had told no one, within the past week he had experienced what he knew could only have been a heart attack. The pressure in his arm and chest had seized him suddenly, and for a long moment he could hardly breathe. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the physical anguish left him. But the solemn warning had remained.
When he and the posse arrived at the stream, he saw the remains of the Stayton camp. He dismounted along with several others.
He carefully studied the tracks and everything about the site. “They spent the night here and must have started for town at first light. There’s blood over by that tree, so one of them is wounded. They entered the stream here.” He turned to a man in the group. “Amos, head over to the other side and see if there are tracks where they rode out. If not, we’ll have to split up and try to pick up their trail either up or down stream.”
Amos mounted his horse and crossed the swollen stream. In the middle, the water rose almost to his saddle. When he rode up onto the opposite bank, he clearly saw the tracks of the Staytons’ horses.
He waved to the Marshal and then pointed at the tracks.
Marshal Watson ordered, “Okay, they crossed over. Mount up.”
The crossing was slow-going. When they finally reached the other side, Marshal Watson followed the tracks, leading the men west at a fast gallop. They paralleled the stream for about a quarter mile. Then the tracks turned, showing the Staytons had entered the stream again.
Pulling up at the edge of the water, Marshal Watson slowly scanned the opposite bank. His mind was on the possibility of an ambush. If the posse were caught in the open while crossing the stream, they would have little chance to escape. “Amos, see if they crossed all the way over.”
Again, Amos crossed the stream and found the tracks. When he waved to the Marshal, one of the men yelled, “Okay, let’s go.”
Marshall Watson held up his hand. “Wait a minute. I don’t like this. We’ll cross over one at a time. I’ll go first.”
One of the men whined, “We’re wasting time, Marshal.”
Marshal Watson led his horse into the water. “Let’s do it my way.”
When everyone had crossed the stream, one of the men complained, “Marshal, we’re letting them get away! We should have crossed together. Look at the time we lost!”
Marshal Watson did not reply. He turned his horse and began following the Staytons’ tracks. The others fell in behind. After another quarter mile the tracks turned, showing the Staytons once again had entered the stream.
Now Marshal Watson was extremely apprehensive. What were the outlaws up to? He called to Amos. “Cross over and check for their tracks.”
A man in the posse shouted, “We ain’t got time for this, Marshal! We know those outlaws keep crossing the stream to slow us down. Each time they cross they gain ground on us. We’re never going to catch them before dark!” He turned to the others, “Come on. Let’s go!”
Several of the men spurred their horses and began crossing the stream.
“You men stop!” Marshal Watson ordered.
The men, however, continued to ride.
Amos and another man stayed with the Marshal and watched the men cross. When the men had safely crossed the stream they waved and pointed at the tracks. The other man turned to the Marshal. “They’re right, Marshal. If we’re ever going to catch them, we have to cross together. Otherwise we lose too much time.” He spurred his horse and headed across the stream.
Marshal Watson watched the man cross the stream. “I’ve completely lost control.”
“You still got me, Marshal,” Amos said. “I’m with you all the way.”
Marshal Watson glanced at Amos. “Thanks.” His lips curled in a quick smile. “Okay. Let’s cross over.”
Once they arrived on the opposite bank, both men spurred their horses. Riding at full speed Marshal Watson and Amos had almost caught up to the others when the Staytons’ tracks turned again. Marshal Watson watched as the posse did not hesitate at all. As a group, they rushed into the stream.
Marshal Watson and Amos pulled up and stopped on the water’s edge. Watching the riders, bunched up in the middle of the stream, Marshal Watson grumbled, “You fools!”
TO BE CONTINUED
Stayton Clan Profile
1 – Frank Stayton: The patriarch and the meanest of the clan. He is committed to retribution for the death of any of his sons:
“The loss of a son creates a hole in my heart that can only be filled by the knowledge that I repaid the injustice with the death of the perpetrator.”
2 – Travis Stayton: Eldest son and Frank’s right-hand man. His job revolves around the care of the clan. He frequently gives orders to the other sons, who varyingly begrudge or freely assent to, but in all cases carry out, the orders. Travis is a bit cautious contrasted against the general nature of a ruthless, sometimes reckless, clan, which believes itself invulnerable. Of all the sons, he is the only one from whom Frank Stayton will sometimes allow debate and to whom, in rare cases, he may defer.
3 – Emmett Stayton: Emmett is the enforcer of the clan, ensuring that the other sons stay in line. He’s short and stocky, but he is the most capable physically. He is also the most ruthless of the sons.
4 – Gil Stayton: A renowned professional gunfighter who normally travels alone. He is the best of the clan with weapons. He is the fastest draw of not only the clan but of most men in the west. He travels extensively and only rarely takes part in clan business.
5 – Jarrett Stayton: Killed during the bank robbery in
6 – Miles Stayton: Appears later in story.
7 – Zack Stayton: Wounded during the bank robbery in
8 – Little Joey Stayton: Youngest of the Stayton boys.
9 – Wade Caldwell: Executed by hanging after conviction at trial.
10 – Clem Caldwell: Killed by Blane in self-defense.
11 – Toby Stayton: Killed in a wagon accident.
12 – Al Stayton: Killed for the reward money by Royce Lee, a bounty hunter.
