RETRIBUTION: - GlenMarcus (best summer reads TXT) 📗

out. Escape points, forms of cover. There wasn’t much, if anything Slim missed.
He stood just past the bluff on a triple stack of red limestone boulders, kneeling and visualizing the scenario below him. When he saw a possible getaway area in the bend, he scuttled the vantage point and left to seek another. About fifty yards off, a band of thickly leafed cottonwoods was his next stop.
Though much lower than the boulders, this angle was more inviting. The distance of the shot was not a factor as the scoped Sharps made that a moot point. But it was the combination of all the conditions as a whole that intrigued the ruthless sniper. Satisfied with the setup, Slim headed back to check on GreyHawk.
“You find what you need?”
“Yep. It’ll work like this.”
Slim took a stick and drew the half-breed a diagram in the sand. With a plan in place, they busted out some provisions and kept to Rickett’s orders of a cold camp. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

*******************

At a quarter past six, the coach arrived in front of the stage office. Bell was out front and saw it pull up. The driver hopped down and opened the door for the two passengers to exit. Fortunately for the outlaws, it appeared as if they and the Wallaces would be the only outgoing passengers.
Bell sized up the driver as an old man but noted he was solid-looking and probably still had some fight in him. The shotgun rider didn’t look much younger and kind of impressed Tony as a dimwit. Both scurried about releasing the passenger’s luggage and then swiftly unhitched the team. Inside the office, the ticket man announced the departure of the Leadville stage to be in twenty minutes.
“You two can stay here while Clark tends to your bags,” Ricketts said as the “deputy” came through the door. Handing Bell the tickets as he reached for the Wallace’s bags, he whispered, “How’d they look?”
Without a word, Bell winked as a response and Dawson’s mind was put at ease. He knew some stage line drivers carried small strongboxes that transported payrolls and such. The men chosen for those runs were not usually just four-in-hand drivers and could pose a problem for them later. So far, the convict’s luck was running right. Meeting the drivers coming back to the rig, Bell handed the rein puller his tickets.
“Howdy mister,” he said as he sifted through the slips of white ticket paper. “My name is Emmett and it looks as if we’re gonna be taking y’all to Laramie Flatts tonight.” Before Bell could respond, Emmett continued, “Is this all your bags?”
Tony nodded and asked, “We leaving on time?”
“Yes sir. We’re a might backed up, but as soon as we get these horses hitched up and some coffee down our gullets, we’ll be on our way.”
“Good,” said Bell as turned to leave.
Bell looked through the glass in the door of the office and nodded to Ricketts.
“I think it’s time to load up gentlemen.”
The three followed Bell’s lead as they exited the office. It was an easy transition as Emmett and his assistant were just finishing up with the team. After loading the baggage on top, Emmett stepped up and poked his scruffy face in the window slightly.
“All right folks, we’re on our way. If you need anything just holler up to us. Now just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
"Rest easy,” Ricketts said to the Wallaces, sitting across from him and Bell. “You’ll see your boy soon.”
With a snap of the reins, the coach lunged ahead with a bounce and down the paved Denver cobblestones they went. Dawson soon pulled his hat down over his eyes and tried to get some sleep. It would be a long ride and Tony had the first watch. He wanted to be fresh for the reunion with GreyHawk and Slim in the morning.

Thursday June 29th

The overnight stage ride was uneventful, though bumpy. The semi-mountainous terrain the carriage had to traverse in spots was down right rough. Getting a soft elbow to the ribs, Dawson was awoken. Striking a match and taking a look at Marsh Emerson’s fancy pocket watch, it showed to be 4:15 am. With a stern look received, Bell pulled his black felt hat over his eyes and gave up the lookout job.
Dawson sat more erect and as the match went dark, the best he could tell the Wallace men were fast asleep. He placed the watch back in his vest pocket and pulled out a cigar. Lighting another match and firing the end of the stogie, he grinned, rereading the sign hanging in the cabin next to him:

Wells Fargo Stage Coach Rules

 

• Abstinence from liquor is requested, but if you must drink share the bottle. To do otherwise makes you appear selfish and unneighborly.
• If ladies are present, gentlemen are urged to forego smoking cigars and pipes as the odor of same is repugnant to the gentler sex. Chewing tobacco is permitted, but spit with the wind, not against it.
• Gentlemen must refrain from the use of rough language in the presence of ladies and children.
• Buffalo robes are provided for your comfort in cold weather. Hogging robes will not be tolerated and the offender will be made to ride with the driver.
• Don't snore loudly while sleeping or use your fellow passenger's shoulder for a pillow; he or she may not understand and friction may result.
• Firearms may be kept on your person for use in emergencies. Do not fire them for pleasure or shoot at wild animals as the sound riles the horses.
• In the event of runaway horses remain calm. Leaping from the coach in panic will leave you injured, at the mercy of the elements, hostile Indians and hungry coyotes.
• Forbidden topics of conversation are: stagecoach robberies and Indian uprisings.
• Gents guilty of unchivalrous behavior toward lady passengers will be put off the stage. It's a long walk back. A word to the wise is sufficient.

‘Never was one to follow the rules,’ concluded the outlaw as he sat back on the bench and took a long drag, enjoying his smoke. Although Ricketts’ thought was self-musing it was also amazingly accurate.
Leaving home after getting tired of the beatings by his alcoholic father at the ripe old age of thirteen, Dawson never mastered the art of respect for other people. It was in those prime years of mental development that he grew accustomed to taking what he needed and never looking back.
Killing seemed to be the next logical step for his twisted mind and by fifteen, Ricketts had accomplished just that. An unlucky saddle tramp that made a disparaging remark about his unkempt appearance received a bullet to the chest in a Shreveport riverfront bar. Leaving Louisiana in a hurry only led to more criminal activities throughout the Oklahoma territory until he had a price on his head.
Serving two years in a Kansas prison at age twenty six would have been a much longer sentence if the authorities had known he was a wanted man under another name. Dawson’s time was served for a cattle rustling escapade that went bad, when his horse went down in a rainstorm. With a bum leg from the fall and his mount galloping off without him, the man known as Edward Berry was easily caught and convicted. When released from prison he made a vow that most ex convicts do, that he would never be incarcerated again.
Heading back to Texas in 1874, he reunited with his two younger brothers Chuck and Everett. They too had gone astray of the law. As fate would have it, they discovered each other again casing the same bank in Lufkin. Needing a fourth to complete the job, they enlisted a local, known for having a fast draw. Tony Bell made a nice addition to the group and they took the bank without an incident.
When they pulled into Pittsburg in the spring of 1875, the notorious group had grown to five with an addition of the big half-breed named GreyHawk. Their exploits of robbing and killing had made an impression on the East Texas law. One good bank job and then leaving the state was the plan that made sense to their leader Dawson.
Riding down the main street, the First State Bank was visible on the band’s left. The brick clad building looked pristine and new. Trying to remain nonchalant, they pulled up to the general store next door to the bank. Dawson gave a nod to Bell and he dismounted to walk into the bank. In a few minutes he exited and headed back over to the group. Without a word, Tony mounted up and off they went.
“How’d it look,” asked Dawson.
“It ain’t good. Two guards and both of them look like they know what they’re doing there. The tellers are totally behind some steel bar cages and the vault door is half as big as the back wall.”
The day was hot for mid-spring, so the gang found a drinking hall just south of town to formulate a plan. The place was not much more than a ramshackle barn converted to a saloon but it served its purpose. Once inside and after several whiskeys, the feeling for some members was that the new fangled First State Bank had better be left alone.
“I think we should just move on to the next town,” Chuck suggested to Everett and GreyHawk who were sitting at a back corner table.
“Works for me,” replied Everett, the youngest and most inexperienced of the Ricketts clan.
GreyHawk sat there quietly with sheepish grin knowing full well the two brothers wouldn’t know how to pour piss out of their own boots if their life depended on it.
Dawson and Bell, returning to their chairs, shared what information a few well-bought drinks to some locals had gleaned them. Seems a local man named Bruce Atkins had a four hundred acre spread just outside of town and didn’t hold any stock in keeping his money in the new bank.
A plan was devised to hit Atkins’ home while his hands were out tending the cattle. With the five men, the bunch figured it didn’t matter if any of Atkins’ help was around the house or not. Ricketts’ gang could take all they needed and be on their way.
The next day, they arrived at Bruce and Constance Atkins’ home a little before ten a.m. Everett and Chuck covered the back and the remaining three went through the front door of the finely built home. Inside, the homeowners were in the kitchen and the noise brought them to the front room. The old man was rigid on not giving into the demands of the robbers at first. Even at one point, spitting into the face on the big half breed and reciting a diatribe on how Atkins hated a thief. But his tune changed quickly as Dawson drew his pistol and placed the barrel to his sweet wife’s head. Almost at once, Bruce’s brashness withered and revealed his stash of several thousand dollars.
The desperados could now ride away to enjoy the fruits of their ill-gotten gains. But as the bunch was leaving, that feeling of hate that sometimes overtook the elder Ricketts, appeared out of nowhere. Whether it was suppressed intentionally or stored up in the back of his mind for just such an occasion, it came bubbling to the surface once more.
The other four men were already mounted when they noticed their boss was missing. Dawson had not moved as much as a muscle in over a minute. He just stood there in the front hallway, ten feet away from the old couple with