Eight
It was to the high country, north west of town that Homer Fargo and Will Gundrum headed when they left Dodge City that cold March night. Their horses were near spent after three days of hard riding. But, they couldn't afford to rest, they'd wasted enough time already. They had a deadline to keep. The terrain they traveled was rugged, dominated by the Wind River Mountain range. The unforgiving topography was not suited for most civilized pursuits. It was country useful only to those who had something to hide or were themselves in hiding from the law. The late winter winds were icy pellets of sleet whipped against the exposed flesh of their faces and hands beating their skin raw with it's force.
Pulling the collar of his new wool coat higher on his neck Gundrum called to his companion. "I almost wish I was back at Leavenworth, at least I'd be in out of the cold and have one warm meal a day."
"We get our hands on that money and you won't be talking so foolish like. We should be coming on the cabin soon. Hootie'll have grub and a warm fire."
"Yeah," Gundrum hollered into the wind, "and ten grand just waiting to be split three ways."
In the distance a dilapidated farmstead came into view. The closer they got, the more obvious it was the place had been abandoned. The house was nothing more than a ram shackled lean-to. The front porch roof was sagging at an odd angle with only a single support to keep it from toppling to the ground.
They tied their horses to what was left of the hitching rail and stepped on the rickety porch. The weather battered door was slightly ajar. "Hootie, Hootie Watkins!" Fargo called. He kicked the door with the heel of his boot. The hinges gave way and the door fell in. The crash was followed by a plume of dirt and dust. Walking over the fallen door the men entered the cabin. As their eyes adjusted to the darkening interior, they saw only the tattered remnants of a mattress and quilt on what was left of a bed frame, a few discarded tin cans were scattered about amid other garbage and animal droppings. The ragged remains of faded blue gingham curtains fluttered in the wind from the open door frame. The place had a rancid odor to it that burned their nostrils. "What the hell's going on here?" Fargo asked. Stepping over the refuse on the floor he walked to the fireplace and pried two bricks free from the chimney façade. An empty cavity was exposed. "Where the hell's our money, Where the hell is Hootie?"
"Damn him, damn his sorry hide, that bastard ran off with the loot." Gundrum cursed. In disgust he rammed his rifle butt though the window's cracked glass frame. Uttering foul epitaphs he looked out at the barren landscape, it was then that he saw a crudely fashioned cross marking a mound of dirt. "I think I found Hootie."
GSGSGS
Homer Fargo squirmed his way closer to the fire. His bedroll on the dirty cabin floor made for uncomfortable sleeping. He and Will Gundrum had propped the door back in place and boarded up the window. At first he had feared they'd burn the place down when they started the fire in the old fireplace and a good amount of smoke had billowed into the room. But now it was providing at least adequate heat to keep them from freezing to death. Their provisions were running low, for they had counted on Hootie having everything ready for them. "Hootie, damn him, damn him to hell." Fargo cursed, than almost laughed aloud for it was not Hootie Watson's mortal soul he was concerned with. Ten years in prison was a long time to spend for nothing, as it was the ten grand had seemed a small enough reward for all he'd been through.
Homer Fargo didn't much care about his partner, Will Gundrum one way or the other. The only bond between the two of them had been the time served and the money bags waiting for them. They'd never been what you'd call friends. Both had been members of the Sharlow gang, which was how they'd met. Fargo had found a talent for safe cracking, a skill which had proved profitable. Homer felt he deserved a bigger share of the take. Old man Sharlow saw it differently and Fargo decided to go it alone. Gundrum, who had been at odds with one of the Sharlow boys had tagged along with him. They had been successful pulling off a couple of bank robberies in Texas and had taken a small pay load off a stagecoach near the border. But Fargo wanted more than being a two bit outlaw. Dodge was to be their big heist, the one that would set them up for a good long time.
Fargo hadn't figured on falling for a saloon gal named Lois Mae Watson. Even now, ten years later the though of her brought an ache to his hardened heart. God, she'd been a pretty little thing. Gutsy too, working nights at the Lady Gay to earn enough to support herself and her thirteen year old brother Harley.
Somewhere along the line Harley Watson had earned the nickname of Hootie. He was a good boy, earning extra change by slopping out the saloon every night. Homer had taken something of a shine to the kid. The boy hero worshipped him and that made Fargo feel like a big man.
The outlaws had been in Dodge City about six weeks checking things out plotting and planning. Homer had gotten a job at the General Store. Frequently, he was sent to the bank with a deposit or delivery. He'd learned a great deal by keeping his eyes and ears open. The type of safe used by the Dodge City Bank was familiar to him and he knew with a little luck it wouldn't take him long to crack it. News leaked out that the bank was expecting an Army payload at the end of the month. The money would remain in the bank's vault one night before it was moved on to Fort Dodge.
At night Homer Fargo had slept in Lois Mae's bed in the back room of the saloon and in the dark he'd whispered the details of his plan. It wasn't the Marshal he was concerned with he'd tell Lois Mae, it was that long lanky deputy of his, Matt Dillon. He was too sharp, too quick with his gun and the outlaw sensed he was a marked man in Dillon's eyes. Fargo had caught the deputy staring at him in Delmonico's. The lawman had turned to say something to his table companion, the town doc and then gave a nod in Fargo's direction.
Lois May had laughed at him, " Don't worry about Matt Dillon, he's too taken with the new kid at the Long Branch to pay you heed. Why, he's with Kitty every chance he gets."
With that knowledge a new plan began to form. Over a beer one night, he'd learned from Nathan Burke a junior clerk for the shipping company that one of the deputy's duties was guarding the bank when large amounts of money were awaiting transfer. Fargo had figured to distract the deputy and everything else would take care of itself. He'd found this cabin and told Lois Mae they'd make it home for a few years, until the law forgot about the money. A home of her own, even a run down old cabin appealed to the young saloon girl. She left her job to make the cabin comfortable, putting blue gingham curtains on the windows and rag rugs on the floor. He'd promised her someday she'd have all the pretty things she wanted.
"All I want Homer is you and a chance for a fresh start."
"Lady you got me already." He had pulled her into his arms until he felt the beat of her heart against his chest. "I mean to give you everything."
They'd waited in the shadows across the street from the bank. The guard out front of the building had switched around midnight to Matt Dillon. The deputy positioned himself in front of the bank, a rifle in his arms and a keen look in his eyes. The outlaws dared not move or they would have been detected by the lawman.
According to plan, Hootie lurked in the alley behind the Long Branch keeping watch on Kitty Russell's room. He waited until light appeared in the window signaling she was getting ready for bed, when he saw her shadow silhouetted against the shade he fired three shots, the intent to cause a diversion. There had been screams followed by a flurry of activity from the saloon. Moments later the bartender had called down the street to Dillon, "Miss Kitty's been shot!" Just as Fargo had planned, Dillon gave no thought to the responsibilities of his badge. Money was no substitute for human life especially the life of the woman he loved. Matt Dillon had left his post to run down the street to the saloon. Kitty Russell had been grazed by a shot but was otherwise unharmed. By the time the deputy returned to the bank the vault was empty.
Everything had gone as planned, the safe had responded to Fargo's sensitive fingers and rewarded the outlaws with more money than they had ever seen. Hootie had run down the back alley to the place where they'd hidden the horses and was ready for Fargo and Gundrum when they slipped out the back door of the bank. The three had ridden out of town with no one the wiser. Lois Mae was waiting for them a few miles out of Dodge on the Silver Creek turnoff. She was dressed in a pair of Hootie's dungarees and an old plaid shirt. Fargo kidded her that she looked more like a man than her brother. They were all laughing at the joke when they heard the thunder of riders in the distance. Homer handed the bank bag to Hootie and instructed the boy and Lois Mae to ride like hell to the cabin and stash the money in the hidden chamber of the fireplace chimney. "Then make yourselves scarce. We'll get rid of the law and meet up with you tonight."
The girl had refused to go, "I'm sticking with you Homer."
There hadn't been time to argue with her. They watched the kid take off in the direction of the cabin as they turned toward the creek bank in an effort to cover their trail. Somehow Dillon had tracked them. He followed behind until they were within range, "Hold it right there." He'd ordered. Fargo was fast with a gun, as fast as Dillon but he waited knowing Gundrum would pull his weapon first. Dillon fired a shot winging Gundrum as he jumped from his mount and sought cover. Fargo took aim and wounded the lawman in the shoulder. The sound of gunplay drew the makeshift posse. It was all over before they knew what hit them. Fargo had taken a bullet in the side and another penetrated his thigh. He fell from his horse into the water. He remembered Lois Mae jumping down from her horse to help him, and that's when she'd been hit. It was a bullet through her heart that killed her. Homer Fargo couldn't prove it but he'd always reckoned it had been Dillon who'd done it. That's why now he figured it was fitting that he was the one who killed Matt Dillon's woman. Let Dillon suffer a little like he'd suffered these last ten years. In due time Homer Fargo would be glad to put the lawman out of his misery.
A late winter storm turned into a high range blizzard isolating the pair of convicts. They were down to the last of their rations and the horses were in danger of starving. Life seemed pretty grim. On the fourth day after their arrival there was a knock at the door, it was Gundrum who answered it.
Sliding the door a bit he looked at the young man standing outside on the porch grinning at him. Will said nothing for a spell until the caller asked. "Well aren't you going to invite me in?"
A big smile spread over Gundrum's face as he reached out to pump the visitor's hand. "Well I'll be a sonovabitch." He declared.
Fargo glared across the room, annoyed that they'd have to share their last bit of food with this freeloader, but he took a second look at their unexpected company. Something vaguely familiar registered with him. "Hootie?" he asked, "Hootie Watson?"
As the years in prison had changed Homer and Will from men of young to middle years, so had the passage of time changed Hootie Watson from a boy to a man. It was his smile that that proved his identity.
"That's right Homer. It's me. I'd hoped to get up here sooner. I just got your letter a few days ago, or I would have been up here waiting for you. I've got a pack horse full of supplies."
Homer and Will exchanged puzzled looks. "Well if you're here, who's buried out there and where the hell is our ten grand?"
Hootie threw back his head and laughed. "Why fellas, the money's buried out there. I figured that was one sure way to keep it safe, ain't too many folks want to go messing with a dead body, especially one that's been setting in the ground fer a spell."
