Kill Me Tomorrow

Book 3: Old Cowboys Never Die

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Historical Fiction

Synopsis

You’re never too old to fight for justice in the latest novel in the trailblazing series from legendary national bestselling Western authors William W. Johnstone and J.A. Johnstone.

JOHNSTONE COUNTRY. AGED TO PERFECTION.

Texas good-old-boys Doolin and Tubbs take on a pair of copy-cat outlaws—and prove they’re not getting older, they’re getting deadlier—in their latest, greatest adventure . . .

Some say the Wild West is no country for old men. But apparently no one told Eli Doolin and Casey Tubbs. This rowdy pair of cowboys may be a bit long in the tooth but—thanks to the success of their new business venture, the D&T Cattle Company—they’re riding high in the saddle. And raking in the cash. What’s their secret?
They rob banks.

Disguised as even older men than they are, Doolin and Tubbs have managed to pull off a string of bank jobs without a hitch, making just a few withdrawals to help fund their ranch. But their lucrative sideline as undercover criminals takes a sudden dark turn when a pair of dangerous outlaws start committing similar robberies—dressed up as old men just like Doolin and Tubbs. Even worse, these copy-cat crooks are cutthroat killers. To stop these bad guys from smearing their good names, Doolin and Tubbs have to do the unthinkable: Team up with Marshal Colton Gray before they get wrongfully jailed—or kill their own doubles before their doubles kill them . . .

Release date: October 22, 2024

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Deputy U.S. Marshal Colton Gray walked into the Country Kitchen soon after the owner, Art Givens, opened for breakfast. The previous night had proven to be one hell of an evening for the young lawman and he felt the need for a solid breakfast before he reported to his boss, Marshal John Timmons.

“Good mornin’, Colton,” Art greeted him cheerfully. “You want your usual?”

“Good mornin’, Mr. Givens. Yes, sir, I’ll have the usual.” He sat down at the long table in the middle of the little restaurant.

“Marthy,” Art called out to his wife in the kitchen, “Colton Gray wants his usual breakfast.” Her name was Martha, but Art always pronounced it as “Marthy.” He poured a cup of coffee and took it over to Colton then. “I heard about the shootin’ in the Reservation last night. Heard that Hank Penny got killed and Cecil Stark was wounded. I heard they was after some feller that escaped from prison and he did the shootin’. Was you mixed up in that?”

“Yes, I was involved in it, too,” Colton replied.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re all right,” Art said. “I’da hated to lose a customer. Is that feller back in jail?”

“No, he’s dead,” Colton answered.

“Did you shoot him?” Art asked.

“No, sir, I didn’t. He was shot by a man named Casey Tubbs, who just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

“Casey Tubbs,” Art repeated. “Is he another lawman?”

“No,” Colton answered politely, although he was beginning to get a little weary of answering Art’s questions about the incident. “Casey Tubbs is half owner of the D and T Cattle Company, a cattle ranch over in Lampasas County.”

“Well, I’ll be . . . How did he . . . ?” Art was interrupted when another customer walked in the door and he went to greet him.

When Martha brought Colton his breakfast, he could hear Art telling the new customer about the shooting. She always made sure she brought his order out and said good morning to the young deputy marshal. She knew he rented a room at Rena Bramble’s boardinghouse and his meals were included in his rent. But he always showed up at the Country Kitchen one morning a week when he was in town and he always ordered pancakes. She often wondered if her pancakes were that special, or if Rena’s were that bad.

Colton exchanged greetings with Martha and turned his attention to his bacon and pancakes, although he could not rid his mind of the turmoil caused by the happenings of the night just past. He replayed the picture in his mind once more, remembering the helpless feeling as he had stood weaponless, staring at Buck Garner’s pistol aimed point-blank at him. A mere second after he heard Garner cock the hammer back, Casey’s rifle spoke and Garner collapsed without ever pulling the trigger. For a brief moment, Colton had not been certain he had not been shot. And when he saw Garner fold up and sink to the floor, he realized that Casey Tubbs had saved his life.

His first emotion after it happened was naturally gratitude and he’d expressed that feeling to Casey. It was only afterward, after he had taken the bodies of Buck Garner and Deputy Hank Penny to the undertaker, and Cecil Stark to the doctor, that he thought about the irony of the incident. Marshal John Timmons had placed Colton on full-time duty to bring a pair of bank robbers to justice. The two outlaws were unique in that they were two old men who were expert in pulling the wool over their victims’ eyes and escaping with thousands of dollars. To make matters worse, they had become quite famous all over the state of Texas. They were especially popular for their ability to vanish completely after a holdup. Colton Gray was the only lawman who suspected the two old men were not old men at all, but were younger men in disguise. He was alone in this theory because eyewitnesses all testified that they were convinced the two robbers were actually old men, who had little left to live for. Consequently, they were not reluctant to take chances. They had become especially popular with the poor class of folks who were struggling to make it, if only because the two old men seemed to pick on banks that were out to grab land from those who could no longer make their payments.

To complicate Colton’s dilemma, through a series of unlikely happenings, he had become quite friendly with Casey Tubbs and Eli Doolin, men he suspected to be these two outlaws. He had even stayed overnight at the D&T Ranch on occasion. In the beginning of the old-men holdups, it seemed that Eli and Casey were in the same town, either the day before or the day after the old men struck. To Colton, that was just too much coincidence to accept. He had reported to his boss, Deputy Timmons, that he felt strongly that the elderly robbers were younger men in disguise. But he had not confided that he also had a strong suspicion that they might be Casey and Eli, not young men, but not as old as “Oscar” and “Elmer,” as the old men were called. Adding to his suspicions was the apparent wealth of the two partners and their reputation for helping out the not-so-successful ranches. How could that apparent wealth possibly come from the yearly cattle drive?

All these questions had been contributing to Colton’s confusion about the two characters for some time. Last night’s incident gave him another question he had no answer for: He had stood facing certain death at the hand of Buck Garner, but Casey Tubbs shot Garner before he could pull the trigger. Casey had shown up from nowhere to save Colton’s life. He had no business there at all. And had he not shot Buck Garner, Colton would be dead. The only man who suspected Casey and Eli were the two old outlaws would be dead. Was he wrong in his suspicion of the two? There was too much evidence to make him believe that he was mistaken. What were Eli and Casey doing in Waco yesterday, anyway? After his meeting with John Timmons, he decided to check by the McClellan House Hotel to see if they had checked out. He couldn’t help wondering if there might be a bank robbery in town today.

“Is your breakfast all right, honey?” Martha Givens asked when she filled his coffee cup again. “You look like you’re doing some serious thinking.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, Miz Givens. It’s just fine as usual,” Colton answered. “I guess my mind is far away somewhere. I need to get finished and get to work.” He downed the last of his coffee and got up from the table, leaving the money for his breakfast on the table.

“Mornin’, Colton,” Ron Wild, Timmons’s clerk, greeted him when he walked into the marshal’s office. Then without getting up from his desk, Ron turned his head to yell through the open door behind him. “Marshal, Colton’s here.”

“Well, send him on in,” a call came back, so Colton walked back into the office. “Good mornin’, Colton. You ready to go back to work?”

“I reckon so,” Colton answered. “Too bad about Hank Penny. I’m sure you hated to lose him. He was a good man.” He made it a point to say that, although he remembered cursing Hank the night before when Hank had ordered him to walk in the front door of the saloon to draw Buck Garner’s fire, while he chose to sneak in the back.

“Yes, sir, he was a good man,” Timmons agreed. “It’s gonna be hard to replace him. I reckon we ought to be thankful we didn’t lose you last night, too. That was a downright stroke of luck you didn’t get shot down when you walked in the front door of the Dead Dog Saloon. Didn’t you know Garner would be waitin’ for one of you to walk in that door?”

“Yeah, I knew,” Colton answered.

“Have you got a death wish or something?” Timmons asked.

Colton hesitated before answering. He didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, but he was tired of wearing the rookie label that Timmons continued to burden him with. “I went in the front because Hank told me to. He was the boss, so I did what he said.”

Timmons picked up on the little touch of chafing in the young deputy’s tone, so he said, “Cecil’s gonna be all right. He wasn’t wounded as bad as he thought. He got lucky and he said you handled yourself like an old professional.” Then Timmons changed the subject and started talking about keeping Colton in town for a while, since there were no reports having to do with the old bank robbers.

That talk changed abruptly when Ron walked into the office and handed Timmons an envelope. “This just came from the telegraph office,” Ron said.

Timmons opened the envelope and read it, then looked up at Colton. He handed him the telegram and said, “Looks like I was wrong. I reckon you’re gonna be travelin’ again. Your two old bank robbers hit the Farmers Bank in Huntsville yesterday. Damn it!” He cursed and smacked his hand down hard on the desk. “I was truly hoping those two old geezers had retired after that last job in Fort Worth.”

Colton continued staring at the telegram in his hand, unable to believe what it said. Huntsville was a hundred and thirty miles from there. Casey and Eli were there in Waco yesterday. These two men in Huntsville had to be copycat robbers. Either that, or he had to be dead wrong about Casey and Eli, and he was still not ready to admit that.

“It doesn’t say they were apprehended,” Colton finally said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Timmons said. “Get down there and see what you can find out. Maybe they left a trail to follow.” He paused, then added, “But they never do.” He shook his head, clearly aggravated to hear the two old gents were back in business. “The sheriff down there is Robert Joyner. He’ll help you if he can, but he ain’t much for workin’ outside the city limits.”

“I’ll be on my way down there just as soon as I can get my horses and some supplies ready to travel,” Colton said.

“Good huntin’,” Timmons said, sincerely meaning it. He was sick of chasing after the two old men.

A ride of three and a half days brought Colton to the town of Huntsville, a town he was familiar with, even though he had never actually been within its city limits before. It was well known by all Texas lawmen as the Huntsville Unit of the Texas State Prison. He walked his horse, a bay gelding he called Scrappy, slowly down the main street, passing the Farmers Bank on his way to the sheriff’s office. He pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office and dismounted, looped Scrappy’s reins loosely around the hitching rail, and went inside.

“Sheriff Joyner?” he asked the man seated at the one desk in the office.

“Yep, I’m Sheriff Joyner. What can I do for you?”

“Sheriff, I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Colton Gray of the Waco District Office. We got your telegram about the robbery of the Farmers Bank.”

The sheriff grinned and replied, “I figured we’d get a visit from one of you boys when you found out who robbed the bank.” He got up from his chair and reached out over his desk to shake Colton’s hand. “Bob Joyner, Deputy, how can I help you?”

“I’ve been following these two outlaws for a good while now,” Colton explained. “So I’d appreciate everything you can tell me about the robbery and I’d like to talk to the people at the bank. I’m looking for anything that might help me get on their trail.” He couldn’t help being curious about the sheriff’s grin, which kept growing and growing as Colton spoke. When he paused, the sheriff enlightened him.

“I’m gonna do better than that,” Joyner declared. “I’ll let you talk to the two bank robbers. You see, Colton—ain’t that what you said your name was?” Colton nodded and Joyner continued. “Those two slick outlaws finally picked the wrong town to try their little masquerade holdup. Alvin Williams, one of the tellers, got suspicious of ’em and said he was gonna send for me. So one of ’em whipped out a revolver and shot him. Hell, everybody in town heard the shot, includin’ me and my deputy. They ran out the north road at a gallop. We had a posse of five men after ’em in fifteen minutes. We ran ’em to ground seven miles north of town.” Joyner shrugged and said, “They just picked the wrong town for their little show.”

“I reckon,” Colton replied. He remembered that Timmons had commented that Joyner didn’t operate outside the city limits. He would have to tell Timmons that Joyner extended his authority for seven miles. “What makes you think the two men you arrested are the same two old men that have escaped arrest for so long?”

“Oh, there wasn’t any doubt about that,” Joyner insisted. “But you see, they ain’t really old men like they pretend to be. They were wearin’ disguises to make ’em look like old men. I’ve got the disguises they were wearin’, hangin’ on those coat hooks over there on the wall. You can take a look at ’em.” He pointed to the far wall. “They’re actually two brothers, name of Earnest and Stanley Simpson. They’re part of a whole damn litter of Simpsons that live back in the woods near Crockett. And they stay in trouble pretty much all the time. I’ve run two or three of ’em out of town before. They’re all bad, but the four brothers are the worst. I’ve had both of the other two in jail for raising hell in one of our saloons. Maurice and Derwood, I told ’em not to set foot in this town again if they didn’t wanna take up residence in the Huntsville Unit of the Texas State Prison. I’ll take you back in the cell room and you can talk to Stanley and Earnest if you want to.”

“Yes, sir, I’d like to talk to them,” Colton said, and walked over to the wall hooks to see what Joyner said were their disguises. He was already sure Earnest and Stanley were copycat robbers, so everything he had in mind to do now was simply to confirm it. He started with the disguises. There were two large rain slickers hanging on the wall and a couple of battered old hats. There were also two identical fake gray beards, complete with big noses and eyeglasses that were frames without lenses. To keep from insulting Sheriff Joyner, he didn’t comment on the disguises, but simply asked, “Can I talk to them now?”

“You sure can,” the sheriff replied, and led him through the door to the cell room, where they found the two Simpson brothers lying on their cots. “Wake up, boys,” Joyner said. “You got a deputy U.S. marshal, come all the way from Waco to talk to ya.” They both sat up to stare at Colton.

“I just wanna ask you a couple of questions,” Colton told them. “All right?” Neither man replied, so he continued. “Do you know who Bryan Dawkins is, down in Austin?” As he expected, there was no change in the dull expressions on their faces. “He’s the president of the Cotton Growers Bank.” Stanley and Earnest looked at each other to exchange confused expressions. “How ’bout Travis Bradshaw in Fort Worth?” Colton asked then, and received the same puzzled response. “Bradshaw and Lane, Cattle Buyers,” he added to give them another clue, still with no response from the two brothers. So he turned to face Sheriff Joyner and said, “That’s all I need, Sheriff, I ’preciate your indulgence. I expect you already have them set for trial, so there ain’t nothing you need from the U.S. Marshal.” He led the sheriff back into his office.

“You gonna want to talk to Horace Winter now?” Joyner asked. “He’s the president of the Farmers Bank.”

“No,” Colton replied, “that won’t be necessary.” The disappointment was immediately apparent in Joyner’s face and Colton knew the sheriff must have been hoping for a greater measure of public recognition for capturing the notorious “old-men bandits.” But Colton knew as soon as he saw the disguises Stanley and Earnest wore that they were not the real Oscar and Elmer. The real old-men bandits wore the kind of makeup that had to be scrubbed off. “No,” Colton repeated. “I’m gonna get outta your way now and I wanna thank you for your cooperation. I’d like to congratulate you, too, on a job well done when you responded so fast to the robbery of the Farmers Bank and captured the robbers. But I’m afraid those two in your cell room aren’t the pair of old men who have been hitting banks and other targets in other parts of Texas.”

“But they were wearin’ those disguises with the gray beards and all to make ’em look like old men,” Joyner protested.

“I know,” Colton explained patiently. “But the two disguises are identical, and they just hung the glasses on their ears. Not much difference than tying bandanas around their faces. But you still did a first-rate job of catchin’ the robbers. The mayor and the town council oughta be happy about that.”

“Yeah, I reckon they are,” Joyner allowed. “You pretty sure those two ain’t the real old-men bandits?”

“Yes, sir, I’m pretty sure,” Colton replied. “But if we don’t have any more robberies by the two old men, then I might be wrong.” He extended his hand. “Thank you for your help, Sheriff.”

Joyner shook his hand. “Sorry you had to make the trip for nothing. You take care of yourself, young fellow.”

“You do the same,” Colton returned, and took his leave. Outside, he paused to decide what he was going to do. He had arrived in Huntsville in the middle of the afternoon, too late to catch the noontime meal at the typical restaurants. He refrained from asking Sheriff Joyner which saloons offered food, for fear the sheriff might send him to a rotten trough because he ruined his claim-to-fame story. He had to rest his horses before starting back to Waco. He remembered passing a nice little creek just short of town, maybe three or four miles north. So he decided to go back to that creek and rest the horses there. He had plenty of bacon left and coffee, as well as some hardtack, so he might cook himself some dinner and then start out for home. That settled, he climbed aboard Scrappy and started back out the north road. He knew that he had just wasted half a week to ride down here to confirm what he knew beforehand was a useless trip. Now he was going to waste another half a week going back.

As he rode past the last of the small houses and farms close to town, he thought about his two unlikely friends. Casey and Eli, or Elmer and Oscar, as they were called on special occasions, he thought. “Come on, Scrappy,” he insisted, “you know damn well those two do-gooders are the old-men bandits. I just ain’t found enough evidence to prove it yet.” Even as he made the statement, he was not sure he really wanted to find that evidence. In spite of himself, he could not help admiring the way they continued to perform their old-men routines and took the money without shooting anyone. And then, their willingness to help the poor rancher who’s down on his luck, how could you not admire men like that?

“Eli, I’ve been thinkin’,” Casey Tubbs announced when he came out on the front porch with his cup of coffee to join his partner. They had just enjoyed another fine supper prepared by their cook, Juanita Garcia. This time of the year, after the cattle had been taken to the railroad, the evenings were quite pleasant on the porch.

“Is that a fact?” Eli responded. “Well, maybe if it ain’t anything important, it won’t hurt your head too bad. Maybe Juanita can wrap a bandage around your head. Then if that don’t stop it, I’ll take you over to Lampasas to see the doctor.”

Accustomed to Eli’s nonsense, Casey ignored it. “Matter of fact, I was thinkin’ about the bank in Lampasas—”

That was as far as he got before Eli interrupted him. “Whoa now! I thought we had us a rule not to mess with any banks too close to home. And Lampasas ain’t twenty miles from here.”

“I never said nothin’ about robbin’ the dang bank,” Casey said. “But I was thinkin’ about how hard we’ve worked to build this ranch back to where it was when it was Whitmore Brothers, and you and I was just a couple of their cowhands. And doggone it if we ain’t built it to where it’s bigger’n they was. D and T Cattle Company is the biggest cattle ranch in this part of Texas. But you know what? D and T ain’t got no bank connections anywhere. Whitmore Brothers did.”

“That may be so,” Eli said. “But what do we need with bank connections, anyway? We run our business on a cash basis.” He paused to look around him as if someone might hear. “Other people’s,” he added. “We don’t need no loans.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about loans, Eli. I’m talkin’ about bank connections, the kind you have when you’re the biggest customer the bank has. The kind that makes the bank wanna do things to please you. We might decide to take an interest in that little town when we get tired of robbin’ banks. It’d be nice to have some influence in the town. Besides that, it wouldn’t hurt to get some of this cash we’ve got stuck in every hidin’ place we can find in this house, into the bank. I swear, there ain’t no way to keep all our money hid from Juanita much longer.”

Eli paused at that point to give it some serious thought. He was not so sure about the necessity of having “bank connections,” as Casey called them, but he was concerned about the accumulation of cash. Juanita was pretty bad about wanting to clean their rooms fairly often. It wouldn’t be good for her to stumble on some of those bureau drawers whose bottoms were lined with bundles of fifties and hundreds. “You’re right about that,” he finally said. “She might decide to give the house a good cleanin’ sometime when we’re gone somewhere. I know we can trust her to keep her mouth shut about it, but I’d druther she didn’t know how much we’ve got hid around here. ’Course, it might be just our luck, if we put it in the bank, that the bank would get robbed.”

“I reckon that’s the chance you take,” Casey said. “I think in our case, it’s worth the risk.”

“How much do you think we ought to put in the bank?” Eli asked.

“Well, the last time we counted it, after we sold the herd, we had close to one hundred thousand. Everybody knows we keep operatin’ money in the safe in the study, but nobody knows how much is in there, or in that other safe in your bedroom. We’re gonna need a good chunk of that to keep our full crew on, like we promised, but we could still put thirty-five thousand in the bank. That oughta get us a high spot on the customer list on a little ol’ bank like First Bank of Lampasas. Whaddaya think?”

Eli stroked his chin and gave it some thought. Maybe it would be one step toward becoming legitimate and respected businessmen. “What the hell,” he remarked, “it ain’t our money we’re riskin’, anyway. Let’s ride down to Lampasas in the mornin’ and talk to the bank.”

“Done,” Casey said. “I think it’s a step in the right direction. We’ll tell Juanita we’re leavin’ early in the mornin’ and tell Davy to saddle Smoke and Biscuit first thing.”

After an early breakfast, they rode out on a little trail that led to the wagon road to the town of Lampasas, planning to make it a one-day trip. With thirty-five thousand dollars in Casey’s saddlebags, they figured to reach the bank during the midmorning hours by alternating the horses’ gait between a walk and a lope. It was actually a few minutes before ten o’clock when they rode past the stable on the north side of town. So they decided to go straight to the bank and get that business taken care of first. Then they would come back to the stable and leave their horses there to rest while they found a place to have some dinner. They figured it was worth the daily rate at the stable not to have to keep an eye on the horses while they walked around town. And they could take their saddles off and give them grain and water, too.

The First Bank of Lampasas, an unimpressive white frame building, was located on the corner of Main Street and River Road. There were no horses tied at the hitching rail in front of the bank. It appeared to be a good time to have business inside. They tied their horses, Casey pulled his saddlebags off the gray gelding, and they went inside.

“Good morning, gentlemen. How can I help you?” Teller Marcus Smith greeted them cheerfully.

“Good morning,” Casey answered him, equally cheerful. “Who can we talk to about openin’ an account?”

“That would be Mr. Bennett,” Marcus answered. “He’s the president of the bank. I’ll get him for you.” He left his cage, walked to an open office door, and disappeared inside.

Casey and Eli couldn’t help grinning at each other, both thinking the same thing, since they had been in that situation before. This time, however, they wouldn’t have to try to talk like ancient old men, and Eli wouldn’t have to pretend he had to go to the outhouse. “Don’t slip up and call me Elmer,” Casey warned him.

“Kinda hard not to,” Eli replied. “The name just seems to fit you better than Casey.”

Marcus came back out the door then, followed by a smiling man, who walked up to them with his hand extended. After he shook hands with both of them, he said, “I’m Malcolm Bennett. Marcus said you were inquiring about opening an account with us.”

“That’s right,” Casey said. “My name’s Casey Tubbs and this is Eli Doolin. We’re partners in the D and T Cattle Company, about twenty miles north of Lampasas.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of the D and T,” Bennett said. “Used to be the Whitmore Cattle Company, right?”

“That’s a fact,” Casey replied.

“We never did any business with Whitmore,” Bennett said. “I think they did all their banking with one of the banks in Waco.”

“You’re a lot closer to the D and T, so Eli and I thought, why not do our bankin’ with somebody close to home.”

“Well, we certainly appreciate that,” Bennett remarked. “We’ll be happy to work with you any way . . .