Max watched him until he turned into the street. He turned slowly to Charlie. "There's somethin' about that man. I got the feelin' I should know who he is."
Charlie laughed. "Let's go. Mike'll be wonderin' what happened to us."
"Set yourself!" Ed whispered hoarsely. "They're comin'!"
Max pressed tightly against the wall near the door. On the other side of the doorway, Ed and Charlie were waiting. He could hear the sound of two men's voices as they approached the door inside the bank.
They all moved at once as the door opened, pushing it inward with sudden force.
"What the hell's goin'- " a voice said from the darkness inside. It was followed by a thud, then the sound of a body falling.
"You keep your mouth shet, mister, if you want to keep livin'!" There was a frightened gasp, then silence. "Git them into the back room." Ed's voice came harshly.
Max bent swiftly and pulled the fallen man along the floor toward the back. There was the sound of a match behind him and then a lamp cast a tiny glow in the back room. He pulled the man into the room. He slumped and lay still when Max let him go.
"Check the front door!" Ed hissed.
Max ran back to the door and peeped out. The street was quiet and deserted. "No one out there," he said.
"Good," Ed said. "Let's get to work." He turned to the other of the two men. "Open the safe."
The man was in his late fifties. He was staring at the man on the floor with a horror-stricken look. "I- I can't," he said. "Only Mr. Gordon can. He's the president, the only one who knows the combination."
Ed turned to Max. "Wake him up."
Max knelt beside the man. He turned his face. The head looked peculiar, the jaw hung slack. Max looked up at Ed. "Ain't nothin' goin' to wake him up. You caved his head in."
"My God!" the other man said. He seemed almost ready to faint.
Ed stepped around to front of him. "I reckon you're goin' to have to open the safe, after all."
"B- but I can't," the bank clerk said. "I don't know the combination."
Ed hit him viciously across the face. The man fell against a desk. "Well, learn it, then!"
"Honest, mister," he sobbed. "I don't know it. Mr. Gordon was the only one. He was- "
Ed hit him again. "Open that safe!"
"Look, mister," the man begged. "There's over four thousand dollars in that desk there! Take it and don't hit me any more, please. I don't know the combination- "
Ed moved around the desk and opened the center drawer. He took out a package of bills and stuffed it into his jacket. He walked around the desk and stood to front of the kneeling bank clerk. "Now, open the safe!" he said, hitting the man again.
The man sprawled out on the floor. "I don't know, mister, I don't know!"
When Ed drew his foot back to kick him, Max touched his shoulder. "Maybe he's tellin' the truth."
Ed stared at him for a moment, then lowered his foot. "Maybe. I know how we can find out fast." He gestured at Max. "Get back on the door."
Max walked back through the bank to the front door and looked out again. The street was still deserted. He stood there, quietly alert.
Ed's voice came to him from the back room. '"Tie the bastard to the chair."
"What are you gonna do?" the bank clerk protested in a weak voice.
Max walked back and looked in the room. Ed was kneeling in front of the potbellied stove, stirring the poker in the live coals. Charlie straightened up from tying the clerk and looked at Ed curiously. "What're you doin?"
'He’ll talk if this red-hot poker gits close enough to his eyes," Ed said grimly.
"Wait a minute," Charlie protested. "You think the guy is lyin', kill him."
Ed got to his feet and turned on Charlie angrily. "That's the trouble with you young ones nowadays. You got no guts, you're too squeamish. He can't open no safe if he's dead!"
"He can't open it if he don't know the combination, either!"
"You don't like it, scram!" Ed said savagely. "There's fifty thousand bucks in that there safe. I’m goin' to git it!"
Max turned from the door and started back toward the front of the bank. He had taken about two steps when he was stopped by Ed's voice, coming from the back room.
"This’ll work, believe me," Ed was saying. " 'Bout ten, twelve years back, Rusty Harris, Tom Dort an' me gave the treatment to an ol' buffalo-skinner an' his squaw- "
Max felt his stomach heave and he reached for the wall to keep from falling. He closed his eyes for a moment and the scene in the cabin came back to him – his father hanging lifelessly, his mother crumpled on the floor, the orange glow of the fire against the night sky.
His head began to clear. He shook it. A cold, dead feeling replaced the nausea. He turned toward the back room.
Ed was still kneeling in front of the stove. Charlie stood across the room, his face white and sick. "The ol' miser had gold stashed somewhere aroun' the place. Everybody in Dodge knew it- " Ed looked up and saw Max, who had crossed the room and was standing over him. "What're you doin' here? I tol' you to cover the door!"
Max looked down at him. His voice was hollow. "Did you ever git that gold?"
A puzzled look crossed Ed's face.
"You didn't," Max said, "because there wasn't any to start with."
Ed stared at him. "How do you know?"
"I know," Max said slowly. "I'm Max Sand."
Recognition leaped into Ed's face. He went for his gun, rolling sideways away from Max. Max kicked the gun from his hand and Ed scrambled after it as Max pulled the white-hot poker from the fire. Ed turned, raising the gun toward Max, just as the poker lunged at his eyes.
He screamed in agony as the white metal burned its way through his flesh. The gun went off, the bullet going wild into the ceiling above him, then it fell from his hand.
Max stood there a moment, looking down. The stench of burned flesh reached up to his nostrils. It was over. Twelve years and it was over.
He turned dully as Charlie pulled at his arm. "Let's git outa here!" Charlie shouted. "The whole town'll be down on us in a minute!"
"Yeah," Max said slowly. He let the poker fall from his hand and started for the door. Mike was holding the horses and they leaped into the saddle. They rode out of town in a hail of bullets with a posse less than thirty minutes behind them.
Three days later, they were holed up in a small cave in the foothills. Max came back from the entrance and looked down at his friend. "How you doin', Mike?"
Mike's usually shiny black face was drawn and gray. "Poorly, boy, poorly."
Max bent over and wiped his face. "I’m sorry," he said. "We ain't got no more water."
Mike shook his head. "It don' really matter, boy. I got it good this time. I's th'ough travelin'."
Charlie's voice came from the back of the cave. "It'll be dawn in another hour. We better git movin'."
"You go, Charlie. I'm stayin' here with Mike."
Mike pushed himself to a sitting position, his back against the wall of the cave. "Don' be a fool, boy," he said.
Max shook his head. "I'm stayin' with you."
Mike smiled. His hand reached for Max's and squeezed it gently. "We's friends, boy, ain't we? Real friends?"
Max nodded.
"An' I never steered you bad, did I?" Mike asked. "I’m goin' to die an' they's nothin' you can do about it."
Max rolled a cigarette, lit it and stuck it in Mike's mouth. "Shut up an' rest."
"Open my belt."
Max leaned across his friend and pulled the buckle. Mike groaned as the belt slid off. "Tha's better," he said. "Now look inside that belt."
Max turned it over. There was a money pouch taped to the inner surface.
Mike smiled. "They's five thousand dollars in that pouch. I been holdin' out for the right time – now. It was for the day we lef' this business."
Max rolled another cigarette and lit it. He watched his friend silently. Mike coughed. "You was born thirty years too late for this business. They ain't no mo' room in this worl' for a gun fighter. We come in at the tail end with nothin' but the leavin's."