The Bank Robber

Book 1: Wilson Young Western

by Giles Tippette

Genres: Action & Adventure

Synopsis

A stunning novel of justice and survival by acclaimed western storyteller Giles Tippette.
 
Wilson Young got his stretch of Texas hardscrabble fair and square. Now a bunch of lowlife carpetbaggers have stolen it from under him. Taking his case to the law taught him one thing: justice was best served by pointing his gun and shooting—until every last miscreant was squashed under the heel of his boot. Now he’s a legend. That’s the easy part. Staying alive is going to take a lot more bullets . . .
 
“Like True Grit . . . a small masterpiece . . . brilliantly written.”—Newark News
 
“Spine-jarring, bullet-biting intensity.”—Houston Post
 
“Tough, gutsy, and fascinating.”—NY Newsday
 
“Impressive authenticity.”—Booklist

Release date: April 12, 2016

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 236

Sample

Across a Rising River

We were robbing the bank in Carrizo Springs, a little south Texas town down by the Rio Grande River. I was behind the counter sacking up the money from the vault and the tellers’ cages, and Tod and Les were out front guarding the bank employees and the few customers that had been unlucky enough to come wandering in just as we did. There were an awful lot of people on the street for it being the noon hour and we were in a hurry to get out of there before the place got completely filled up. I was working as fast as I could, but the money was nearly all in gold and it was taking longer than greenbacks would have.

“Let’s go, Wilson,” Les said. “You’ve got enough.”

“Let him get it all,” Tod said. “That’s what we come for. Hell.”

I could hear the edge in both their voices. They were both getting a little tense. That’s all right for Les, because he’s still a good man under pressure, but Tod’s not that way. He loses his head sometimes. Right then he was feeling gunbrave because he was covering unarmed men.

“Just a minute,” I said. There was only three of us, so we couldn’t afford to leave a man to hold the horses. We had them loose-tied just out in front.

There was only one teller behind the counter with me, him and some officer of the bank that I had leaned up against the wall. I’d left the teller sitting on his little high stool. He looked so nervous and scared I didn’t figure he’d do anything. I didn’t have my gun out on account of my arms being loaded with the bags of gold. I shouldered the teller out of the way and sacked up what little money he had and then turned around to see if I’d missed anything. Just then I heard Les yell and I whirled to see the teller going for a revolver he had hid under the counter. I couldn’t do a thing, but Tod was coming around and leveling right down on the clerk. I yelled, “No!” at him, but it was Les that saved the killing. He stepped over and knocked Tod’s gun hand up. The gun went off, but the bullet went into the ceiling. By then I’d dropped all but one bag of the gold and I swung it and got the teller behind the ear and knocked him colder than a wedge.

Tod was cussing and getting red in the face, but we didn’t have time to argue about it. I gathered up the gold and went running around the railing.

“Get the horses!” I said to Tod.

“Goddam him!” he said, meaning Les. “He better not—”

“Get out of here!” I said. “Get out there and get them horses! Now!”

He went off, still cussing, and I handed Les the money and pulled out my own revolver. The gunshot had made our prisoners nervous and they were moving around a little too much.

“Just take it easy,” I said. Les and I began backing for the door. “Don’t nobody move.”

I paused at the door, giving Les time to get mounted and stow the gold in his saddlebags. Tod was already up, waiting to hand me my reins.

“First man out this door gets killed,” I told the men I was covering. “Just think on that.” Then I jumped back, jerked the door to, and leapt on my little filly. “Let’s git!” I yelled. I still had my revolver in my hand and I fired a couple of shots into the air. Les and Tod were doing the same. As we whirled around in the street, the door of the bank suddenly came open and a man appeared in the doorway. I fired a shot over his head and he jumped back inside.

We got lined out, spurring up the street. People had come running out of stores and houses at the noise of the commotion, but they went back inside just as fast when they saw us coming. I heard one shot ring out and a bullet sang over our heads, but that was all. In another second we were out of town and heading south over the prairie. The river and Mexico was about fifteen miles away.

Les was out in front and then Tod and then myself. I kept looking back, but couldn’t see any pursuit developing. It would take them a while to get themselves collected and by then we’d be over the river and into Mexico.

Tod and Les are first cousins and they both have the same last name, Richter. My name is Wilson Young and we all three grew up together around Corpus Christi, Texas. We’d been riding together about four years, mostly engaging in bank robberies. The bank we’d just held up in Carrizo was the nearest to home country we’d ever worked, but we’d been down on our luck of late and needed a stake. I figured we’d got near four thousand dollars. It would buy us a lot of time in Mexico.

I felt good about not killing the teller. I’ve shot men before and probably will again, but it’s always been my style to do it in a fair fight. There would have been no profit in killing that teller. It wasn’t even necessary anyway. The way he was fumbling around with that pistol it was doubtful he even knew which end the bullet came out of. All Tod would have had to have done was leveled down on him and tell him to hold it. He’d have stopped. You kill a man, especially a respected citizen like a bank teller, and you’re going to get folks a lot more stirred up than they’ll get over just a bank robbery.

But that was the difference between the two cousins. Tod is a bully and a coward and ain’t smart enough to pour water out of a boot if the directions are on the heel. But Les is a good man and he’s been my friend ever since I was nine or ten years old. We’re both about the same age, nearly twenty-eight, but Tod is a little older. You’d never think it, the way he acts; you’d think he was the baby of the gang.

We swept on over the prairie, gradually pulling our horses down to a fast gallop. That country is all sand and mesquite and cactus, but it’s pretty flat and makes good riding. The sun was getting up, crossing over into the afternoon sky, and it was mighty hot. A little further on we pulled down to a lope and then finally brought the horses to a walk.

“We better rest these horses,” I said. “Let’s get down.”

“Hell with the horses,” Tod said. “Let’s get on to the river.”

I didn’t say a word, just pulled up and dismounted. Les did the same and we strung out walking, leading our animals. Tod watched us, walking his mount along by our side.

“When you founder that animal,” I told him, “don’t look to ride double with anybody.”

“Oh goddam!” he said. He got down. “All right, Mister Young. Whatever you say.”

Les and I were walking side by side, but Tod was behind us. We could hear him cussing to himself. After a little he worked himself up and said loudly: “I’ll tell you, hadn’t nobody else better ever hit my arm when I’m about to fire. I’ll just tell you that!”

Les nor I didn’t say anything.

Tod wouldn’t let it lay. “I mean it, goddamit! Next time I’ll shoot the one that’s doing the interferin’.”

That done it. I turned on him. “Listen, you goddam harebrain! You ought to thank Les for what he done. He maybe saved your sorry neck from the gallows. That teller didn’t need shooting and anybody with a lick of sense could have seen it. Now you shut up or I’m going to shut you up.”

I turned back around and went to walking again. Tod’s like that, you’ve got to come down on him every so often.

Tod’s the tallest one of us, a little over six feet, and he’s red-haired and he’s got big, hairy hands. Les is dark, darker than me, and you sometimes wonder how him and Tod could be such close cousins, looking so different. Les is a quiet boy; he doesn’t say much, but when he does it’s generally worth listening to. At first you might think he’s a little too serious, but he likes his fun and can be as wild as the next when he goes off on a drunk. Me and him have closed down our share of whorehouses over the years. There ain’t neither one of us stingy with money when we’ve got it.

We got to the river about middle afternoon. We come sweeping up a little sandy rise and there it was on the other side. The horses had been smelling the water for the last mile or so, so we knew we weren’t far.

But it didn’t look a thing like it’s supposed to. Instead of being a little, muddy, narrow stream that a tall dog could wade, it had turned into the Mississippi. We pulled up and stared at it. It appeared to be nearly a quarter of a mile across and the brown water moved along in a kind of whirling, rushing current.

“My God!” Les said.

“Yeah,” I said. “What the hell is this?”

“Well, that rips it!” Tod said. “Goddam! Goddam! Goddam!” He was getting nervous, letting his gelding dance around and looking over his shoulder at the way we’d come. “You picked this crossing,” he said to me. “Now what are we going to do? Hell of a crossing!”

I looked at Les. “What do you reckon?”

“I heard they’d had the heaviest rains in El Paso last week that anybody could remember. I reckon it’s just now getting down here.”

“It’s a crest all right,” I said. I turned my horse and rode back up on the ridge and looked back. The horizon was empty. I went back down with the others and let my filly go to the edge of the water and drink. The sand was soft and her front hoofs sank in up to the hocks.

“We’ve got a little time,” I said. “But not much.” It would take the town a little while to get a catch party organized, and they wouldn’t gain on us on the ride down. We were all superbly mounted as befits people in our line of work and there wouldn’t be two horses in the whole town that could stay with ours. I was riding a little mare about fourteen hands that was a real stayer and good for quick speed when you needed it. The Richters were both on big geldings, but Les’s horse was the best of the bunch, a big black animal that was strong and fast and out of good blood.

“We got to do something,” Tod said. “We got to get out of here.”

I told him to take it easy. Les stood up in his stirrups and looked out over the river. He asked me if I didn’t think that was a sandbar about midstream. “See how the water kind of banks up? Looks pretty long and wide.”

I looked and agreed. “Water would have to be pretty shallow there. Couldn’t be over a foot or two deep on top.”

“Listen,” Tod said. He sounded nervous and strung out. “We can’t cross that! Goddam, we’d all drown. Let’s ride upriver and see if we can’t cross at the International Bridge in Piedras Negras. We’ve got to meet Howland and Chico there anyway.”

Les and I looked at each other and smiled. We could see the authorities letting us across with our saddlebags full of bank gold.

“I believe I’ll try it,” Les said. He patted his horse. “This old pony needs a bath anyway.”

It was his way of saying that he had the best horse and that it was right for him to make the attempt.

“Get upstream a ways,” I said. “Give yourself plenty of leeway. That current’s strong.”

“I will,” he said. He turned to ride off, but Tod stopped him. He looked sullen.

“Just leave that kale with us,” he said. “When you drown there ain’t no point of you taking the money with you.”

“All right,” Les said. He turned around and untied his saddlebags. Tod was the closest and Les pitched the bags to him.

“If you get in trouble try to swing back toward the bank and I’ll rope you if I can,” I told him. He nodded and give me a little salute and then rode up the bank about a hundred yards and put spurs to his black and rode straight into the water. His horse never flinched as most will do when they don’t know what they’re getting into, but went straight into the water just like he was cantering up a country lane.

The water stayed shallow for a little bit, but then it got deep all of a sudden and Les’s horse began to swim. Les slipped off his side, holding to the saddle horn with one hand and paddling with the other. For a second it looked as if they weren’t going to have any trouble, but then they got out into the mainstream and the current caught them. Les’s horse began to swim harder, raising his head up and fighting at the water that was foaming around his breastplate.

“Turn him out!” I yelled. I could see Les hadn’t given himself enough lead on the sandbar. It was looking as if he’d be swept on past.

I don’t know if he heard me or not, but he reached up and reined his good horse around and made him fight back against that current. The horse was getting frightened. He kept trying to get his head higher to get away from the water, but Les spoke to him and urged him on and, gradually, they began to gain. They got into a bit more trouble when they hit the end of the sandbar where all the turbulence was. The whirling water wanted to swing the horse around, but Les got up on his neck and just kind of led him back and forth until they found solid bottom. The horse got ground under him and then they were clambering up the sandbar, water streaming from both horse and rider.

Les looked back across at us. He had a big grin on his face and you could see his white teeth showing up in his dark face. He cupped his hands together and yelled across.

“It’s easy! Come on!”

I looked at Tod. “You want to go next?”

“Hell no,” he said.

“You’ve got to go sometime. That is unless you want to stay here and entertain that posse.”

He was nervous and sulled-up. “You just go right on ahead. You just never mind me.”

I looked at him. He looked so scared he was near white in the face. “What’s the matter with you? Are you scared of that little bit of water?”

He looked down. “You know I can’t swim.”

I laughed. “Oh, hell, Tod, you don’t have to swim. The horse will do that for you.”

He didn’t say anything. I waited a second and then turned my filly upstream to get a good lead on the sandbar. I’d seen Les hadn’t give himself enough and I didn’t want to make the same mistake. As I rode away I looked back at him. He was staring out at the water. “Come on up here, Tod. Just watch me.”

“In a minute,” he said.

“All right, but you’re coming right after I get across. You’ll be all right.” I couldn’t really believe he was that scared of a little water. I figured he was still pouting and playing the baby about the way I’d come down on him. He was wanting somebody to pet him a little. It didn’t look good on a grown man.

I gave myself plenty of lead and put my mare into the water. After a little I done like Les and got off and floated alongside. I’d given my filly such a start that she didn’t have to swim hard at all. We just floated along, letting the current do the work, and next thing we were hitting the sandbar. Les had waded out a little to give me a hand, but I didn’t need it. We both got up on top of the sandbar and looked across at Tod. He was staring at the water, riding his horse slowly back and forth at the edge.

“Come on!” I yelled at him. “We’re running out of time.” A thought suddenly hit me. I turned around to Les. “Les, he’s still got the gold. I forgot all about it.”

Les was looking anxious. He didn’t say anything to me, but cupped his hands and yelled for Tod to come on. “He’ll do it,” he said. “He’ll be all right.”

“He’d better,” I said. “He’s carrying four thousand dollars in his saddlebags.”

Tod was still riding his horse back and forth along the bank and we yelled and waved for him to go upstream. “Hurry up!” I yelled at him. I was starting to get a little anxious about the time myself. We’d been fooling around at the river for I didn’t know how long and only had it half crossed. If a party was to come up on the other side they could sit there and pick us off like ducks in a turkey shoot.

We kept yelling at him and he finally went upstream a little and kind of halfheartedly urged his horse into the water. The gelding went in willingly enough and we thought he was coming on, but, when the water got up to his horse’s belly, Tod suddenly pulled him around and spurred him like crazy for the bank.

“Aw, hell!” I said disgustedly.

“Tod, you’ve got to!” Les yelled.

He stared back at us for a minute and then yelled something.

“What?”

“No! I said I wouldn’t do it! I’m not going to drown!”

Les called back to him, “You’ve got the gold! You’ve got to!”

“No! I’m going to Piedras Negras! I’ll meet you there.”

“No, by God, he isn’t!” I said to Les. I’d taken my pistol out of my holster and put it in my saddlebags to make the crossing, but I whirled around and ran to my filly and jerked my Henry repeating rifle out of its boot.

“Now, Will,” Les said.

I told him to shut up and I run to the edge of the bank and went down on one knee and leveled on Tod. I didn’t say a word.

“Don’t shoot him, Will.”

“I will if he don’t come on,” I said. I was right and Les knew it. That was our gold Tod was carrying and I wasn’t going to lose it just because he was afraid of a little water.

Tod seen what I was intending and he stood up in his stirrups and yelled that I’d never hit him at that distance. It was a good long shot of near two hundred yards and his horse was dancing around.

“Maybe not,” I yelled back, “but I’ll damn sure get your horse and then we’ll see how you like being afoot with that posse coming.”

It hit home with him. He studied another second, with my sights leveled down on him, and then gave in. “All right,” he called.

He rode upstream and then suddenly turned his gelding and charged the water. He had to do it fast before he lost his nerve.

But immediately we could see he hadn’t given himself enough of a start on the current. As soon as the horse had to start swimming we could see he was being carried downriver too fast. To top it he wouldn’t get off his horse and help him. He stayed bolt upright in the saddle, even drawing up his legs a little to try and keep them out of the water.

“He’s in trouble!” I said to Les.

“Get off your horse!” Les yelled. “Get off and hold on!”

But he wouldn’t. He was too scared. Even as far off as he was we could see the fear in his face. He was staring down at the water, his eyes big in his head.

Les and I ran out as far as we could, but we could see that the current was going to carry him on by. His horse was trying hard, but Tod wasn’t helping him any. A rider and the current were just too much for the poor animal. We could see from the way his head was drooping that he was tiring badly.

“He ain’t gonna make it!” Les said.

“Quick! The ropes!”

We whirled around and run to our horses and got our lariat ropes and then ran back in the water. I went out until the water was up to my waist and I could feel the current sucking at my legs. I had to spread my feet to keep my balance. It was an awkward position to rope from, but I whirled my loop and watched as they floated along. His poor horse had damn near quit swimming and they were getting lower and lower in the water. Finally I threw. Tod leaned out and made a grab for the rope, but it was short. I reeled in as fast as I could and started down the sandbar hoping for another try.

“Help me!” Tod was yelling. “I’m gonna drown.”

Les had waded out even further than I had. He hadn’t thrown and then I seen what he was waiting for. There was a little whirlpool about midway alongside the sandbar and Tod and his horse floated into it. It flung them closer in and Les whirled his loop and cast it. It landed neatly over Tod’s shoulders and the redhead grabbed on and slid out of the saddle.

I put my own rope over my shoulder and ran to help Les. The current was terrible to fight against, but we gradually snaked him in. He got his feet and then stumbled up to the top of the sandbar and fell down to his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for breath. Les and I came on more slowly, coiling our ropes. I looked downstream. In the distance, and getting smaller and smaller, I could see Tod’s horse floating along out in midstream. The poor animal was give plain out. He wasn’t even trying to swim. The current had him and was turning him around and around. His head was getting lower and lower. I hated to see a good horse finish like that.

I walked up to Tod. He was still down on his hands and knees and I got him by the hair and jerked his head back. “Well, you’ve made a mess out of it. I ought to drown you anyway!”

I was mad as hell.

He jerked his head around trying to get loose from my grip, but I slapped him with my free hand. “That’s four thousand you’ve lost us,” I said. “You cowardly bastard!”

I slapped him again just for good measure and flung him away so that he kind of fell over in the shallow water. He scrambled to his feet.

“Look at that!” I told Les, pointing toward Tod’s horse. He was just a dot in the water, way downstream. “There goes a good horse and four thousand dollars.”

“I know it,” Les said. He was feeling as bad as I was.

Tod came up. He had his head down. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t throwed down on me. I could have crossed at Piedras Negras.”

. . .