Scuffle at Wet Mule Bank
Zeke knew something wasn’t right by the way the bank teller stood at stiff attention, with a curious smile splattered across his face.
For three years, Zeke had trusted that all of his money had been secure at Wet Mule Bank in the town of Cold Shadow, Arizona territory. He had become quite accustomed to a casual wave and a friendly greeting from the teller, Bartholomew, each and every Friday when he strolled in to make his deposit after a rough week at the lumber mill.
Zeke took a peak behind the counter and spied a small mirror hanging on the wall behind the teller. He supposed the gals at the bank made use of the mirror to doll themselves up before quitting time. But there was a sudden flash in the mirror, about as quick as a lightning bug getting gobbled up by a hungry frog on a lilly pad. Zeke stared closer into the mirror, and saw a side profile of a man wearing a black trench coat and a black hat, wielding a shiny hunting knife. The man stood just to the right of Bartholomew. That hunting knife had caught the sun’s rays in such a way that it shot punishing beams first into the mirror, then into Zeke’s eyes. Zeke looked at Bartholomew with a look of pure solemnity.
“I’ll be gosh darned, Bartholomew, but I left the satchel with my money at Aristocrat Saloon. I’ll be right back,” said Zeke, lifting his hat off his head while scratching his balding scalp with his middle finger.
Bartholomew’s face was flush, and a hot stream of dirty sweat made its trek from the corner of his eye down to his shaky chin.
Zeke did his darnedest to appear casual as he hustled himself out of Wet Mule Bank. His horse, Darla, was waiting for him out front. Zeke slid his boot into the stirrup and whipped himself up into the hard leather saddle.
“Come on old girl, let’s take a ride,” said Zeke to Darla.
Darla slowly walked around to the back of Wet Mule Bank, dutifully coming to a halt at the rear door. Zeke hopped down, patted Darla affectionately on the neck, and looked into her understanding eyes.
“You just sit tight until I need you, old girl. I’ve got to go take care of some business and help my old friend Bartholomew.”
The back door to Wet Mule Bank opened quietly when Zeke placed his fingers on the boards and pressed just a little. Zeke heard some faint whimpers emanating from the back room, next to the safe. He stealthily glided toward the safe, one step at a time, walking on tiptoes in his brown cowhide boots. With each step, the whimpering grew louder and louder, until Zeke spied two of the teller girls sitting on the floor with their wrists tied behind their backs. Their feet were tied up too, and bandannas had been secured around their heads and stuffed into their mouths. Desperate tears streamed down the face of the busty redhead closest to Zeke.
Zeke got good and close to the girls, squatted down in front of them, then placed his finger over his lips. Shhhh!
The weight of Zeke’s Colt 45 Peacemaker felt comforting against his left hip. Zeke reached to his right side, placing his palm squarely around the handle of his knife. Although Zeke wanted to pull out his Peacemaker and go to work, he knew that silence would help him win the day. He drew the knife from its sheath, admiring the long heartlessness of the shiny blade. He held the blade out before him, as it guided him toward the teller window. Zeke’s moves were more quiet than a rattlesnake on a hot prairie night.
And there he stood. The bandit was dressed in black, with a red bandanna tied around his face, covering his nose and mouth. Bartholomew was tied up in the corner, and as soon as he saw Zeke, his eyes turned bigger than twin full moons on the summer solstice. Zeke looked at Bartholomew and shook his head. Shhhh!
The bandit was bent over in the corner, stuffing bundles of money into a black suede bag. Zeke just stood there for a moment, more frozen than a Montana morning in January.
Then Zeke sprung at the bandit. He swiped the knife at the bandit’s back, but the bandit had sensed him coming and slithered out of the way just in time. The knife wiggled out of Zeke’s hand and slid across the dusty wooden floor like a crooked stone skipping across an arid creek bed.
Zeke leaped through the air, straight toward the bandit, more graceful than a flying squirrel. The bandit grunted, as Zeke’s chest slapped down onto the bandit’s hefty back. The bandit collapsed into the floor boards, as if a collection of sandbags had fallen from the ceiling. Zeke’s right arm whipped itself around the bandit’s neck, providing Zeke a firm and confident hold. Zeke’s face turned red and blue veins popped out of his forehead, as he pull, pull, pulled, with his bicep, crushing one side of the neck, and his meaty forearm squeezing the other side. The bandit’s boots kicked wildly, scuffing and clawing at the floorboards. In less than 10 seconds, the bandit’s body went lifeless and limp.
He’s not dead, just out cold.
* * *
The bandit woke up shivering, with his skin painfully tight and his ears encrusted with dirt, lying in the middle of the barren road in front of Wet Mule Bank. He was more naked than a seal pup in the snow. The town folk surrounded the bandit, with their cold and hard eyes shattering his broken soul into a million tiny pieces.
Zeke stepped up to the bandit, and threw him his pants, boots, and nothing more.
“Friend, you’ve got about 60 seconds to make your way out of town, before the ugly begins.”
Darla slowly wandered up behind Zeke, snorting at the bandit, while shuffling her hoofs into the dirt in a way that made the bandit stop what he was doing and stare at the horse, slack-jawed and confused. A tall, thin woman wearing a white bonnet and a torn blue dress ran up from behind Darla and threw a rectangular dirt clod, which struck the bandit on his left temple, before exploding and cascading down over his shivering torso.
The bandit’s chin started to tremble, and his eyes filled with clear water. He bent over and slipped on his boots, then crumpled his pants into a ball and placed them over his crotch. The bandit solemnly marched straight down the middle of the road and out of Cold Shadow, with his naked backside leaving the onlookers.
Darla stood behind Zeke, rubbing her nose gently against his head. Zeke patted Darla’s snout, while watching the bandit disappear into the cloudy horizon.
“We did real good, old girl. Real good.”
THE END
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