Chapter 11
Rafe welcomed the prospect of action after so many days of inactivity. He met Ben and Skinny Ware five miles from Casey Springs, and they rode toward the town side by side.
There was a half-moon revealed by drifting clouds that hurried through the sky as if chasing an elusive phantom.
He also welcomed escaping from the growing tension between him and his prisoner. In the past two days they had said little to each other, Rafe trying to build an unbreachable barrier between them.
His only lapse had been taking her back to the waterfall yesterday, knowing that he would have to keep her locked in the cabin while he was gone.
The mother bear and her cub had been there again, and Shea had watched with the same bewitching eagerness as before, turning to him once with such a delighted smile that he couldn’t help but respond with a slight smile of his own.
She’d looked startled, then confused, and returned her gaze suddenly to the animals.
They had both been silent on the way back to the cabin.
He’d dished himself out some of the last of the stew Shea had made two days earlier and retreated outside to eat.
She found a spot under a tree and read a book.
He’d glanced her way occasionally, mainly, he’d told himself, to make sure she was still there, and sometimes found her gaze on him.
But it had always turned away so quickly, he couldn’t read her expression.
Dislike, most probably. Contempt. Anger. Distrust.
Later that night he had crafted a lock pick from a spoon in the cabin. And now, with the pick in the sheath hanging from his belt, he turned to Ben. “You know what to do?”
Ben nodded. “The old mine just outside town. I’ll set the dynamite off at exactly four, then the shack on the other side of town fifteen minutes later.
And then I’ll meet you behind the express office.
” He took out his watch and adjusted the time to correspond exactly with the one he had purchased for Rafe.
Rafe nodded. “Skinny and I will blow the safe when you dynamite the shack. Hopefully, most of the town will have gone to the mine to investigate and won’t know where the second blast came from.”
He had debated whether it was best to create a diversion or risk one lone explosion at the express office and get out before anyone came. But he wanted to be sure he found the right strongbox, and that might take several minutes. He and the others had settled on confusion as the best tactic.
The town was quiet. The saloons closed at 2:00 A.M., sometimes later if there were enough customers. Four, they knew, would find the streets empty.
As the buildings of Casey Springs came into sight, the three men parted, Ben going toward the abandoned mine and Rafe and Skinny heading for the express office in the center of town. There was no back door, but there was a side window that led to an alley in back. It was their escape route.
The sheriff’s office, located several doors down, was dark.
Rafe dismounted a short distance from the express office and gave his reins to Skinny, who would take both horses to the alley and tie them there.
Rafe kept to the shadows as he made his way to the front of the express office.
From the sheath on his belt he took out a knife and the lock pick.
He only hoped it would work as well on this door as it had on his cell.
He tried the knife first, trying to dislodge the lock before resorting to the longer process of actually picking the lock.
The knife failed, and Rafe took a quick look around the streets.
Still no movement. No light. He stooped and gently inserted the pick into the lock, feeling for the catch.
After several moments he heard it click, and he tried the door.
He let out a breath of relief as it opened, and he slipped inside, keeping it open a sliver as he waited for Skinny.
Skinny appeared seconds later, his slight frame and dark clothes blending into the night. After Skinny entered, Rafe relocked the door from the inside.
Ben had drawn a map showing where everything was, and both he and Skinny had memorized it.
They moved toward the back and found the safe.
Rafe lit a match. He looked at the combination lock with disappointment, wishing that he had knowledge of that kind of safecracking, but there were no safes in prison. It would have to be dynamite.
He looked at the watch. Two minutes to four.
They waited, and then they heard the first explosion, then another.
There was noise outside. Someone tried to open the express-office door, then left after finding it locked.
About five minutes passed. Rafe didn’t want to light another match yet.
They both waited another minute. Then Rafe lit a match, covering the flame with his hand, and checked the watch again.
Two more minutes. Another match. Fifteen seconds left.
Skinny had already placed the carefully prepared dynamite where he wanted it and arranged several saddle blankets around it to act as a buffer.
He motioned for Rafe to move back, well away from the blast site.
At Rafe’s signal he lit the short fuse and dashed under cover.
They heard an explosion in the distance and their own, almost simultaneously.
Rafe hoped that, to the townspeople, the blast in the express office sounded like an echo of the first.
The safe door hung by the hinges. Skinny lit a match while Rafe quickly checked inside.
Several mail pouches. A cash box. Then a small strongbox with Randall’s name on it.
Rafe nodded at Skinny, who had already moved swiftly over to the side window and pulled away the boards that blocked it.
Every movement had been planned, neither of them needing words.
There was more noise outside. Shouts. Yelling.
After the last slat came from the window, Skinny broke the glass, and Rafe could hear the people talking.
“What the hell …!?”
“The mine …”
“No … old Dakker’s shack …”
Then they heard Ben’s voice, planned as a decoy. It was loud and excited. “Men at the bank. It’s a robbery.” There were more cries as people went down the street.
Rafe quickly exited through the window, Skinny behind him, just as Ben rode into the alley.
Rafe and Skinny sprinted toward their horses and mounted, Rafe clutching the strongbox.
They spurred the horses, mixing with others riding and running in confusion up and down the street.
The three men turned toward the mine as lights went on in the sheriff’s office.
Rafe, Skinny, and Ben stayed with the rush toward the mine for a distance, then allowed their horses to fall behind, finally veering off toward the pass leading from town. They didn’t slow their pace until they were well away, Rafe holding Randall’s future in his hands.
Clint arrived at Rate’s cabin at dawn. If everything went well in Casey Springs, Rafe, Ben, and Skinny should be back around noon.
He had promised to look in on the woman, make sure she was all right. He had brought a sack with eggs cradled in hay and some bacon. He had noticed before that Rafe Tyler cared little about what he ate and could only assume that his friend provided little better for his hostage.
Clint still felt uncomfortable that they were holding Shea Randall, though he knew no real harm would come to her.
Although the captain had changed, as any man would after so many years in a cage, Tyler was inherently decent.
Clint had sensed that when he visited Rafe in prison; it was why he had felt compelled to try to obtain some measure of justice for him.
But Clint knew there was a high price on that quixotic scheme, for himself, for the others, and especially for Tyler.
And now there was the woman. She had to be terrified, and Clint couldn’t rid himself of guilt on that account.
He reached the cabin and found the key where Rafe had said it would be. He knocked at the door before unlocking it, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment.
“Yes?”
Her voice was tentative. He unlocked the padlock and opened it.
She was standing, her face illuminated by candlelight. Her hair was in a long braid, and she was dressed in a skirt. She looked a little disappointed, which startled him. If there was fear, it wasn’t for herself. He knew that instantly.
“I’m Clint,” he said.
“You were here the first day,” she said warily.
He nodded.
“Where’s …?”
“Rafe? He should be back later today.”
He wondered whether it was relief that flickered across her face.
Then a question appeared in her eyes.
“He asked me to look in on you,” he said. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“He doesn’t tell me anything.” There was bitterness in her voice. “I don’t suppose you’re here to take me …”
“To Randall’s ranch? No, I’m afraid not. But I did bring you something to eat.”
He realized how little that was compared to her hope, and he added, “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” she asked. “Then let me go.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Rafe is my friend.”
“Enough of a friend to hang for?” There was a bite to the question, as well as real curiosity.
“Miss Randall,” he said patiently, “my brother and I would have died ten years ago if it were not for Rafe Tyler. I don’t take that kind of debt lightly.”
“How?” She was hungry to know about Rafe Tyler. To know his weaknesses, she told herself, even though she knew that wasn’t the entire truth. He was a mystery she wanted to solve, a puzzle with too many missing pieces.
Clint went on into the room. The mouse was sitting on the table. Clint suddenly grinned. “You’ve found Abner.”
“Abner found me,” the girl said. “He’s company. And better than some,” she added dryly, making it clear she meant Rafe Tyler.