The Heart Remembers (25 page)

Dr. Dane stepped up beside the older physician. “How’s Letha doing?”

“Just fine. She’ll probably only need a couple more treatments.”

“Good. You look better than when you were in last time, Letha.”

She smiled up at him. “That’s because I’m feeling better, Dr. Logan.”

As Dr. Fraser kept working on Letha, Dr. Dane said, “Dr. Carroll’s telegram was about an elderly man who needs a hip replacement.”

“Well, Dr. Carroll knows where to find the expert for hip replacements, I’ll say that,” Fraser said.

“You sure know how to help a fellow’s ego, don’t you?”

The elderly physician chuckled and looked up at Dr. Dane. “Well, my motto is:
Always help a friend’s bird
.”

Dr. Dane frowned. “I don’t understand. What’s a bird got to do with it?”

“Didn’t you say I sure know how to help a fellow’s eagle?”

Dane shook his head and snorted. “You old coot! You never run out of them, do you?”

“Guess not. I’ve got a million more. Wanna hear some?”

Dr. Dane grinned. “Not right now. I’ve got to give Charlie a message to wire to Dr. Carroll. Tharyn and I talked it over. We’ve got some surgeries to do yet this week, and I’ve got some house calls scheduled. We figure we can travel over to Denver on Friday and do the hip replacement on Saturday. We’d stay over Sunday and come back on Monday. What do you think? I’m concerned about your back, so you’ll have to tell me if you think you can fill in for me.”

The kindly old physician grinned. “I’ll take some extra salicylic acid each day. I’ll be all right. It’s important that the man in Denver has the hip replacement.”

“You sure you’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll have Nadine come and fill in for Tharyn.”

“Great!”

Dr. Dane’s voice took on a serious note. “Now, doctor, I’m going to give you a special bonus in addition to your regular pay for filling in for me this time.”

Fraser shook his head. “Son, it’s not necessary for you to give me a bonus.”

“Who’s boss here?”

“Well, you are.”

“Okay. Then as boss of this place, I hereby declare that you are going to get a bonus. No arguments.”

Dr. Fraser saluted him military-style with a smirk on his face. “Yes,
sir
! Whatever you say,
sir
!”

“Good. Now you finish up on Letha. I’ve got a telegram to send.”

In Denver, Dr. Matt Carroll was at his desk when his secretary entered his office and told him a Western Union messenger was
there with a telegram from Dr. Dane Logan in Central City. The messenger told her a return wire from Dr. Carroll would be necessary.

When Dr. Carroll had read the telegram, he dictated a return message for Dr. Logan, saying the date was fine and that he would advise the Thurmans about it and also tell David Tabor that his daughter and son-in-law would be coming to Denver on Saturday.

On the way back to the hospital after talking with the Thurmans and David Tabor, Dr. Carroll was approaching the federal building in his buggy when he saw Chief U.S. Marshal John Brockman and three of his deputies about to mount their horses at the hitch rail.

“Leaving town, John?” Carroll called out.

“That we are,” Brockman replied. “We’re about to go in pursuit of a gang of bank robbers led by Chick Barton.”

“I haven’t heard of the Chick Barton gang,” said Carroll.

“They’ve operated only in Kansas for some time, but they’ve decided to come to Colorado. Yesterday they robbed banks in Byers and Strasburg. I got a wire from the marshal in Strasburg this morning. They shot and killed people in both banks, and eluded the Strasburg posse.”

“So you’re heading east to go after them?”

“No. They’re west of here now. I just got a wire from the town marshal in Golden. The Barton gang robbed Golden’s First National Bank an hour ago, and shot and killed a bank officer and a teller. They were last seen heading into the mountains.”

“Well, I won’t detain you,” said Carroll. “Go get ’em.”

“I plan to,” Brockman said levelly, and swung into the saddle.

The chief and his deputies spurred their horses and galloped away.

EIGHTEEN
 

C
hick Barton and his gang were riding in a dense forest just south of the mountain town of Idaho Springs several miles west of Denver when the sun dropped over the peaks to the west. The shadows of the tall trees stretched eastward, and between them streamed a red-gold light from what was left of the sun’s fire just above the horizon.

In the lead, Barton hipped around in the saddle and said, “Okay, boys, let’s make camp for the night. We don’t need to get any closer to Idaho Springs till tomorrow at noon. That’s when we’ll hit the bank.”

Barton guided his horse into a small open area, dismounted, and said to his men as they were also dismounting, “Somebody’s already been here not too long ago and left us some rocks stacked just right for a cookfire. All we gotta do is find us some wood. And that don’t look too hard from where I stand.”

Vincent Wagner set his eyes on the powerful, muscular Chick Barton. “Boss, I don’t know about us buildin’ a fire. Could be a posse from Golden on our tails. The fire would lead ’em right to us.”

Barton rolled his wide shoulders. “This ain’t Kansas, Vince. It ain’t even the plains of eastern Colorado. We’re in the mountains now, and this is October. I hear tell it gets plenty cold at
this altitude even in the fall. I figure we can trade off through the night bein’ on watch so’s the other fellas can lay close to the fire. Most towns don’t send posses, but if a posse did show up, whoever’s on watch would hear ’em comin’, wake the rest of us up, and we’d dash into the shadows and cut ’em down real quick.”

“Sounds okay to me,” spoke up Clete Lundy.

“I’ve been in this area before, years ago, and Chick’s right,” chimed in Ed Loomis. “It gets pretty cold here in these mountains even at this time of year. Don’t worry about the fire, Vince. Like Chick says, if a posse does show up, we’ll hear ’em comin’ and make buzzard bait out of ’em.”

Wagner shrugged. “Okay. Let’s get us a fire going and make some coffee.”

There was a small stream nearby. Three of the men moved around gathering wood for the fire while the other two led the horses to the stream and let them drink.

Darkness seemed to drop down swiftly. The unseen wolves around them began their haunting, mournful howls. The stars appeared, and soon grew brighter. The wind moaned through the branches of the pine trees that surrounded the gang.

By the time the fire was crackling, its blaze caused the shadows of the pines to appear as great, looming giants against the dark sky.

The five outlaws sat around the fire, drinking coffee from the pot that Ed Loomis carried in his saddlebag, while eating beef jerky and hardtack biscuits. The increasingly cold wind fanned the flames of the fire, whipping up flakes of white ash.

When the men had finished their meal, they took from their saddlebags the stuffed moneybags they had stolen from the bank in Golden, and sat down once again around the fire.

After counting the loot, they found that they had just over twenty thousand dollars to split among them. Chick Barton always took forty percent of the money from their robberies, and
the other four divided up the other sixty percent.

Plenty satisfied with his portion of the loot, Clete Lundy held it in his hands, looked at Barton by the light of the fire, and said with a smile, “Chick, I’m sure glad I hooked up with you!”

The other three quickly agreed.

Barton, who had his two front teeth missing, grinned. “Well, boys, I’m mighty glad we all got hooked up together. And it’s only gonna get better. When we’ve cleaned out some more of the banks here in this part of the Rockies, we’ll move on up north and clean out some Wyomin’ and Montana banks. Time we’ve done that, we’ll be rich enough to retire and live like kings wherever we decide to settle down.”

There was more talk about becoming rich until finally they put more wood on the fire, and four of the gang members lay in their bedrolls while Vincent Wagner took the first watch. He sat near the fire, rifle in hand, tugging his hat down tight and pulling his coat collar up around his ears.

Just before noon the next day, the gang mounted up and rode into Idaho Springs. No posse from Golden had shown up.

Moving slowly along Main Street, they noted that there were many people along the boardwalks, going in and out of the stores and shops, and gathering in small groups to chat.

As they rode past the town marshal’s office, they could see two men at desks inside. A sign that hung over the boardwalk told them that the marshal’s name was Lou Hoffman.

A block and a half farther down the street, they hauled up in front of the Idaho Springs National Bank.

As they were dismounting, Barton said to Bud Finch, “As usual, I want you to stay here with the horses and keep an eye out for lawmen. If you see that marshal and any deputies comin’ this way, come inside and let us know.”

Finch nodded and slipped his rifle from the saddle boot.

There were few customers in the bank when the four men moved through the door. According to plan, Clete Lundy made his way to the small area where the bank officers had their desks. And as usual, at noon there was only one officer there to deal with customers.

The other three casually moved to the tables where customers could fill out deposit slips, write checks, or endorse checks.

As Clete Lundy passed through the small gate in the railing that surrounded the officers’ area, he noted by the nameplate on the desk that the lone officer was a vicepresident, and his name was Lloyd Smith. He looked to be in his midfifties.

Smith looked up at the stranger, smiled, and said, “May I help you, sir?”

Lundy whipped out his revolver, and pressed it against the vice president’s forehead. He looked at him with eyes like a snake. “Yeah, you can help me.”

Smith’s eyes were suddenly wide with the horror of a sleeper awakened from a nightmare to find it real.

“See those three men headed for the tellers’ cages, Mr. Smith?”

The terrified man gulped. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Holler over there and get the tellers’ attention. Tell ’em if they don’t hand over all their money, I’ll blow your brains out. And tell one of ’em to take the big guy into the vault with him and give him all the money in there.”

Lloyd Smith quickly obeyed. The four customers who were in the bank stood frozen in place, eyes wide.

Moments later, with their free hands full of moneybags, and cocked revolvers in their gun hands, the three robbers headed toward the door.

Clete Lundy hurried away from the vice president’s desk to join them. Lloyd Smith took a revolver from a desk drawer, aimed, and fired.

The slug hit Lundy in the back of the head, and he fell to the floor facedown.

Barton saw the bank officer standing there with the smoking gun in his hand. He fired at Smith, hitting him in the chest, and Smith went down.

As the gang headed toward the door, two tellers pulled guns from drawers.

Outside, Bud Finch heard the gunfire inside the bank, and his nerves went rigid. At the same time, he saw the marshal and a deputy running down the street toward the bank, their badges flashing in the sunlight. People on the street looked on fearfully. Finch raised his rifle and took aim at the lawmen just as Barton, Loomis, and Wagner came running out of the bank, moneybags in hand, firing back at the tellers inside. When they saw Finch shooting at the lawmen, who were firing back, they also opened fire on the lawmen.

People were scattering for cover as the thunder of gunfire rocked the street and ear-stabbing echoes clattered among the buildings. Women were wailing and screaming.

Bullets flew.

The two lawmen jumped behind a wagon for cover. The outlaws took advantage of it to mount their horses.

Marshal Lou Hoffman and his deputy once again opened fire.

In their saddles, the outlaws fired back. In the exchange of gunfire, the deputy went down. The marshal was hit in the upper left arm just after he put a bullet in the upper chest of Bud Finch, who doubled over in the saddle, but managed to stay on his horse as they galloped out of town to the northwest.

People rushed up to the marshal as he fired the last shot left in his gun in the direction of the fleeing bank robbers, then dropped to one knee. Others knelt over the fallen deputy, and one of the men called out, “Marshal, your deputy is dead!”