The Bank Robbers

“How far do you think he will follow us, Emmett?”

Emmett stared down at the figure riding toward them. The dark figure was merely a shadow crossing the desert, but he knew who it was, he knew it was Jake.

“Jake’s a damn fool. He’ll follow us all the way to hell.”

Emmett turned and faced the others, his gang. Darrell was the one that asked the question. Some called him Slow Guns, and rightfully so. It took him so long to bend his elbow with the arthritis built-up in it, that a baby could outdraw him.

“So what are we going to do now?” Slow Guns asked.

Emmett eased his weary body to a sitting position on his bedroll.

“Don’t bother the man, he’s thinking,” Dead Eye Dougherty said, and then spit out a hunk of chew.

“Well, I don’t mind that he’s thinking,” Slow Guns argued. “I just want a head start to get on my horse that’s all. Most of you can saddle up faster than I can.”

“Any one can saddle up faster than you,” Long Barrel McCoy chimed in.



Emmett reached for another cup of coffee. His gang of bank robbers was getting on his nerves. He had half a mind to just wait there for Jake and turn the whole lot of them in. He looked over his shoulder again at the shadow moving across the desert’s floor. What was Jake trying to prove anyway? He retires in two days; hell it will take him two days to catch up with them, and then what? Was he really going to turn him over?

“We have plenty of time before old Jake catches us, if’n he ever does.” Emmett finally answered.

“I say we just rest a spell, my backside is killing me.”

Dead Eye sat back down his bedroll. “Best news I’ve heard all morning. Can’t say my back is doing much better, been a long time since I’ve been on a horse.”

“Dead Eye it’s been a long time since you been on anything,” Long Barrel chuckled.

Dead Eye stared at him with his good eye. “Where did you come up with that name?”

“Long Barrel,” he grinned and scratched his chin, “Well ‘cause the women tell me it’s pretty damn long.”

Slow Guns laughed so hard at Long Barrel’s quip that it started his coughing spell again. “He got you good on that one, Dead Eye,” he choked.

“And you,” Dead Eye pointed at Slow Guns. “You’re just an old store keeper for Christ sakes, what the hell were you thinking giving yourself a name like Slow Guns? Should of called yourself, Short, Fat, Bald and Crabby Guns.”

Slow Guns stopped laughing. He glared at the other man. “I might be slow on the draw but at least I can aim with two good eyes.”



“Enough!” Emmett yelled. “I don’t know why I tied up with a bunch of old farts like yaw’ll. I should have known better. The whole lot of you are worthless. It was suppose to be a simple job, and we pulled it off pretty well, don’t ya think? Now, I got to sit around listening to you yammer heads complaining about your aches, and pains, and disabilities. Well, I say we divide up the money right here and now and go on our own separate ways. What say you?”

The other men agreed, and the bank’s bags were released from the horses and brought to Emmett. They spread out a blanket and dumped the bag’s contents. The first bag held two packs of money totaling thirty-five dollars. The second bag held the bank’s pens, and deposit slips, and a few coins totaling two dollars and fifty cents. The third bag was filled with trash from the teller’s waste bucket, and the fourth bag, the one that Emmett carried into the vault with the Bank Manager held two hundred and fifty dollars.

“$287.50 is all we got?” Emmett stared at the blanket. “Who got the pens and paper? Was that you Dead Eye?” Emmett stood and tossed his hat against his leg, beating a dust cloud into the air. “Damn, fool, idiots. That means we got $71.00 a piece.”

The others held their heads down in embarrassment at the take.

“I told you- watch the tellers. When you hand them a bag you got to watch what they put into it.”

Emmett turned to the desert again. The shadow was moving faster than possible. He stepped toward the edge of their camp, peering as hard as he could at the advancing figure. Old Jake sure is moving! I ain’t never seen him ride that fast and hard before. Emmett soon realized that Jake was not riding a horse.

“He’s on one of them new machines,” Emmett cried.



The rest of his gang moved forward to witness Jake’s approaching figure.

“It’s called a motorcycle. I seen one in St. Louis, last month at the State Fair. Where’d you think he got it?” Slow Guns asked.

“I don’t know, but he got it.” Emmett headed for his horse, throwing the blanket and saddle on at the same time.

“See, I told you I needed more time to get ready,” Slow Guns complained. “Now everyone is hustling to move and I’m going to get left behind. Sure, just serve me up as the bait.”

“Quit your moaning, old man, save your energy to ride.” Emmett tightened the straps and then rushed forward to gather the money. He turned the edges of the blanket into one another and lashed it to the back of his saddle like a bedroll.

Emmett hurriedly helped Slow Guns with his horse. He was tightening the straps when he felt the first pains in his chest. His heart was beating hard before the sharp stab that seared his chest, and at first he thought someone had stuck him from behind running their blade straight through his chest. He staggered backwards and fell near the fire.

“Emmett!” Slow Guns cried. The others dismounted and came to his side.

“What’s wrong with him?” Long Barrel asked.



Emmett struggled to speak, but the words choked in his throat seared by a burning lump that made his heart cringe in pain. His heart beat once, and the pain pierced through him. His heart beat twice, and the pain rose from his chest to sear down his arms. His heart beat a third time and then stopped.

When Jake arrived at the camp he found Emmett wrapped in the blanket of money and a note.



Sorry Jake, we didn’t mean no harm, just wanted to have some excitement before we died. Poor Emmett didn’t make it. Take the money from our bank robbery and buy Emmett a stone, he was the best friend and worst robber we’d ever knowd.



Slow Guns, Dead Eye Dougherty and Long Barrel McCoy