Yesterday's Bandit

TELLURIDE

We were high in the mountains of southern Colorado robbing the San Miguel Valley Bank of Telluride. My younger brother, Dan Parker, was holding the horses while my friend, Matt Warner, and I were standing outside the bank trying to look casual. Our outlaw leader, Tom McCarty, who was one of Matt’s shirttail kin, was inside the bank. If things were going according to plan he was gaining control of the lone cashier. Beneath the narrow brim of my hat my shaded eyes were busy watching for any pending trouble, while my thoughts were on our arrival in town.

We had ridden into town a couple of days earlier to look the situation over and to see if we could pick up some more information about the bank. Instead of appearing rough and dirty like the rowdy cowhands we were, we were all shined and polished as though we were on our way to a dance rather than a hold-up. As it happened we did pick up some useful news. We found out there were times the cashier was alone in the bank.

“Keep quiet or suffer the pain of instant death!”

McCarty’s harsh threat that came from the bank’s interior brought me immediately back to the present. Matt and I looked at each other, then I threw a glance at my brother Dan standing near the horses. To tell the truth we all were a might jittery, this being our first holdup and all. Except for Tom, who was the old hand in the business, we three were considered to be mere apprentices.

“Come on in, boys, it’s all right!”

Tom’s call had me and Matt step through the door and slip inside the bank. At the same time we managed to pull our bandanna masks up over our noses. After standing outside squinting into the morning sun the bank was dark as a cave inside. When I stepped through the door that would lead me into a life of crime, my excitement level was so high that I was sure I could feel the blood rushing through my veins. By the time I had moved out of the doorway and pulled out my revolver, my eyes had adjusted to the gloom and an unusual calm had replaced the tingle in my veins. The first thing I noticed was that Matt also seemed more relaxed than he was outside. The second thing I saw was Tom McCarty had the cashier’s face pressed down on the counter behind his cage. His big Smith and Wesson .45 was pressed muzzle first against the crown of the man’s head.

Beyond the cashier was a sight that made me catch my breath. The table behind him was covered with stacks of currency and gold coin! A quick look told me that the bank vault door was standing wide open. Being only twenty-three, without thinking I told Matt to get what money was in the safe while I grabbed what was behind the counter. I saw Tom throw me a hard look. To his way of thinking it looked as if I was trying to be the boss. Matt hesitated, then grinned and hustled into the vault. I stepped around the fancy counter to the table and began sweeping the stacks of greenbacks and coins into one of the leather sacks that we had made for that purpose.

“Lookee here!” Matt’s subdued shout jerked Tom’s and my gaze to him as though on a wire. He was holding two full bags brimming with currency over his head. His big grin lit up the room as though we had lighted a bulls-eye lantern. Tom abruptly jabbed his pistol hard onto the cashier’s head and shoved him backwards where he landed on the floor in a heap and seemed afraid to move. I couldn’t help but think that Tom was taking his anger at me out on the poor bank clerk.

Voice filled with rage, Tom McCarty snarled, “Damn you! I got half a notion to shoot you for being such a coward!”

I couldn’t stop myself. Moving closer and speaking just loud enough for him and Matt to hear I said, “Don’t try it, Tom. Just because you’re mad at me I won’t let you turn this robbery into a murder.”

Above his bandanna mask, Tom’s pale, feral eyes glared at me over his shoulder. Feeling my anger starting to climb, I returned his look with one of my own. Tom averted his eyes, lowered the hammer of his revolver, and turned away. “Let’s git outside,” he said.

We holstered our pistols, pulled down our masks, and leisurely walked out the front door. I felt my stomach churn when I noticed that my brother Dan had already mounted up and looked as skittish as a young mare. I saw immediately what was fraying his nerves. There were several watchful bystanders lingering nearby. It appeared they had sensed that something wasn’t quite right. We quickly got on our horses.

Suddenly, the bank door flew open and the terrified cashier ran out onto the boardwalk. McCarty drew his pistol and fired! His shot hit the boardwalk beside the banker’s feet and knocked splinters into the air, which sent him scurrying back inside. At the same time the unexpected revolver explosion had caused Dan’s horse to rear and do some wild bucking. Dan’s hat bit the dust, but my brother hung on and quickly calmed his mount.

 Fighting off the urge to lope our horses we rode them at a walk away from the bank. In spite of the gunshot we managed to stay calm and ready for anything. Leaving his hat behind Dan joined us while keeping a tight rein on his mount.

The folks who witnessed the incident seemed paralyzed, totally afraid to take any action. I brought up the rear, half expecting the street to explode with gunfire at any moment. One fellow standing in the street dressed in a suit stared at me with eyes big as hen’s eggs. Instead of just riding past I reined my gelding around, stopped, looked the man in the eye, and grinned. I gave the fellow a nod and a two-fingered salute before heel-tapping my horse into a canter. I caught up with the others and pulled back on my reins, matching their gait. Matt threw me a nervous grin and the four of us let our horses carry us toward the edge of town. For me, this was the hard part, not knowing if there was a catch party hidden on one of the side streets waiting to bushwhack us. There could also have been riflemen crouched behind the upstairs windows or staked out on the roofs behind some of the buildings false fronts.

Nearing the end of Main Street, I let my gaze drift to the mountain peaks that encompassed the mining town. The nearby mountains had a calming effect. The false sense of security disappeared when I noticed the number of pedestrians who began to appear on the boardwalk. I saw miners, women, and well-dressed men taking a morning stroll. There were also white faces that stared at us from windows, individuals of all types and ages who seemed to be witnessing our departure. I jumped as a dog ran out into the street and began barking at our horse’s heels. I saw Tom McCarty twist in his saddle and look back down the street toward the bank. He grinned at Matt but avoided my eyes.

“Time to celebrate, Boys. We done it!”

He raised his revolver overhead and added, “Let’s ride!”

McCarty spurred his horse and fired into the air. We followed suit and rode out of town at the gallop, our guns blasting away in the direction of anyone who might look like a potential threat. We added to the noise by yelling loud enough to raise the dead and waken the night revelers.