Chapter 1: Bank Robbery Gone Bad
Wednesday, July 24, 1889, began like any other in the endless stretch of uneventful, sunbaked summer days until three strangers rode into Flagstaff, Arizona Territory. By afternoon, the peace and quiet that the townsfolk took for granted would be shattered in a hail of bullets, bloodshed, and death.
Jesse Cameron, twenty-five, led the trio of riders. He sat tall in the saddle. His chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and steel-blue eyes were the spitting image of his pa during his prime. Earl Cameron, Jesse’s pa and leader of the gang, followed close behind. His fondness for beer had left him with a belly that rode heavy in the saddle. His graying hair, shaggy beard, and leather-tight skin added years to his appearance, beyond his actual age of forty-eight. The last gang member, Ben Winslow, twenty-eight, lagged about five lengths behind, bringing up the rear and leisurely scoping out the town.
The gang continued down Sante Fe Avenue past the Prescott Cattleman’s Bank and stopped in front of The Palace Saloon. They dismounted and looked across the street at the bank.
The bank, painted a rich forest green, stood at the intersection of Leroux Street and Sante Fe Avenue. Its window’s shimmering golden lettering gleamed in the sunlight. The angled entrance, trimmed with gilded scrollwork, was flanked by pillars and commanded a view of the crossroads. Large brass lanterns, polished to a brilliant shine, hung from ornate holders above the double doors.
“Ever seen anything like that there bank, Pa?”
Earl rubbed his stubbled chin. “‘Tis a downright handsome one at that.”
“I don’t know ‘bout this, Earl.” Ben shook his head. “Looks mighty sound to me. Ain’t gonna be easy.”
“Buck up, boys! We’ve seen worse.”
“Don’t know where or when,” Jesse muttered.
“Shut it, Jesse. We’ll take it like all the others.”
“When we gonna take it, Pa?”
“After a beer or two.”
Ben licked his lips. “Now, you’re talking, Earl.”
The men entered the saloon, ordered beer, and found a secluded table to discuss the robbery plans. Earl took a swig and wiped the suds off his lips.
“Here’s how I reckon it’ll go down. We’ll go outside and wait until I see a fancy-pants gent headin’ to the bank. I’ll lead my horse across to the bank, hitch it to the post, and follow him in. Then, you and Ben lead your’s and hitch them beside mine. One at a time, enter, and wait for my play.”
Jesse shook his head.
“What’s the matter, Son?”
“All ya need is a white cane and dark glasses, Pa. And maybe, one of them chairs with wheels fer old folks.”
“Make yer point, Son!”
“Yer plan’s too slow. Ben and me could read a book, waitin’ fer yer ya, and ya know how I hate readin’. And yer plan gives too much time fer somethin’ to go wrong.”
Earl’s cheeks and face flushed pink as blood rushed up his neck, and his jaw clenched. He took a deep breath and let it out, letting off steam.
“Then...” Earl locked eyes with Jesse. “How would you do it?”
Jesse paused and thought hard. He had fantasized about being the leader of a gang—this gang—deciding what to do next and doing what he wanted without his pa always putting his ideas down. On his twentieth birthday, he brazenly challenged his pa for control of the gang, but Earl’s strong will and heavy hand quickly put him in his place. But an ocean of water had flowed under the bridge in the past five years, and heavy drinking had taken its toll and slowed Earl’s lightning-fast draw and quick wit. While he bided his time, Jesse plotted ways to wrest control of the gang from his pa, the weakened, aging gunfighter.
Jesse reckoned the time was about right to challenge him again, but not today. “Pay me no mind, Pa. We’ll do it yer way.”
“Won’t there be a guard or maybe two?” Ben asked.
“Most likely there’ll be some,” Jesse said, “but I’ll handle them.”
“No shooting off your guns, Jesse, unless—”
“Don’t ya start raggin’ on me, Pa. I’ll do what needs to be done, so don’t ya worry none.”
Earl stared at Jesse again for a tense moment, but unfazed, Jesse took a swig of beer. Earl didn’t like Jesse’s nonchalant attitude toward gunplay.
Jesse was ten when Mary Cameron, mother and wife, died. After Earl buried Mary, he focused on supporting his only son. He coddled Jesse with material comforts to compensate for the loss of his mother and taught him the outlaw trade. He expected Jesse eventually to lead the gang. But as Jesse reached adulthood, Earl grew increasingly disappointed. His selfishness and lack of empathy became obvious, and his actions often harmed those around him. Beyond concerns for others, Earl also feared Jesse’s potential actions toward him, especially after the attempted gang takeover a few years ago.
Earl shook off his feelings and concentrated on the robbery. “Once I get the money, we’ll leave... quiet like. No gun play. And high-tail it out of town befer anyone figgers out the bank’s been robbed.”
“How much you reckon they have in that there bank, Earl?”
“No tellin’, Ben, but as handsome as it looks there should be a pretty penny in it... So, are we all set, boys?”
Ben nodded, but Jesse drank his beer without responding.
“Jesse? We clear, Son? No unprovoked gunplay.”
Reluctantly, Jesse nodded.
“Then, let’s drink up and have another round.”
***
An hour later, the men exited the saloon and stood by their horses.
It wasn’t long before a merchant walked toward the bank.
“That’s my cue.”
Earl took off, leading his horse toward the bank. He and the merchant arrived at the same time. Earl hitched his horse to the post and followed the man into the bank.
Jesse and Ben led their horses to the bank, hitched them beside Earl’s, and waited by the animals. They scanned the surroundings for any signs of trouble.
Once inside, Earl looked around, checking out every detail.
Bright sunlight streamed through the bank’s large windows, bathing the interior with a warm, inviting glow. The window’s lettering cast shadows on the polished marble floor. Dark oak-framed decorative grillwork, mounted atop a half-wall of red-stained oak wainscoting, separated customers from two tellers.
A woman interacted at one teller window, and the merchant stepped up to the other. The soft sound of indistinct conversation between the tellers and customers filled the room. Behind a half-wall near a walk-in vault, the bank manager sat at a desk, shifting his gaze between the customers and the papers on his desk. In the far corner, an armed guard sat on a tall stool with arms crossed, casually observing everyone in the bank.
When the woman finished her banking and left, Jesse and Ben entered the bank. The guard stood, eyed them suspiciously, then relaxed. Earl stepped up to the teller’s window and nodded at Jesse and Ben.
“May I help you?” the teller asked with a broad smile.
Earl nodded. “Yeah, ya can. Gimme all yer money and be quick about it, or my boys will come a get it.”
Jesse unholstered his gun and aimed at the guard. “Ease yer weapon to the floor, mister... And don’t try nuthin’ funny.”
The guard slowly reached for his weapon.
“Lift it out with yer finger and thumb, partner, like it’s somethin’ dainty.”
“Sure, mister.” The guard removed his gun, put it on the floor, and raised his hands. “I ain’t gonna try nothing funny.”
“Don’t body move a hair.” Ben waved his gun from person to person.
The merchant froze, not moving a muscle.
Earl unholstered his gun and stuck it through the grill, pointing it squarely in the teller’s face. “Now... How about that money?”
The bank manager slowly raised his hands, where the Earl could see them. “Give it to him, Henry. Money’s not worth getting killed over.”
“Yessiree, mister.” The teller nodded like a woodpecker as he gathered the money and put it in a bag. When he had finished, Ben stepped to the teller’s window and took the bag of cash.
“I’d be obliged if everybody’d remained calm so me and my boys can leave peaceful-like.” Earl holstered his gun, tipped his hat, and turned toward the door.
Without warning, Jesse turned and shot the teller dead. At the sound of the gun blast, the guard dove to the floor and grabbed his gun.
Earl spun around. “Watch out fer the guard, Ben!”
Ben whirled and aimed at the guard, but the guard already had his weapon pointed at Ben and fired. The bullet hit Ben’s left upper chest and knocked him backward to the floor. He lay sprawled out on the floor.
Jesse shot wildly, just missing the guard as he rolled to safety behind the counter, but winged the manager in his arm. Earl shot the guard in the leg and kept shooting while Jesse helped Ben to his feet and out the door.
Earl reloaded and ran after them. When he stepped outside, he shot and killed a passerby, who stood dumbfoundedly, not knowing which way to turn. Then he mounted and rode off down the street, shooting wildly to keep everyone at bay.
After Jesse had helped Ben into the saddle, he mounted his horse and shot at a man crouched behind a barrel, wounding him. He took the reins of Ben’s horse, and the two raced after Earl.
The bank manager ran from the bank, holding his bloody arm and yelling that the bank had been robbed and that the teller had been killed. The sheriff burst out of the jailhouse, rushed into the street, and frantically called for men to join a posse.
Except for Ben, who was desperately clinging to his saddle horn, the men made a clean escape eastward out-of-town. Flagstaff, however, was left to doctor their wounded, bury their dead, and live with the trauma of the day three strangers rode into town.
*** End Chapter ***
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