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of daylight. Now
with a fever raging inside his confused mind, Iron Eyes imagined
that the sleeping people were only pretending and would rise up and
start shooting at him at any moment.
    Yet the bounty hunter could not manage to
find either of his trusty Navy Colts. His hands could barely hold
on to the leather reins any longer.
    The heavy-lidded eyes wandered
aimlessly around the sleeping townspeople as he stopped the horse
outside one of the many cantinas and slid from his saddle. Hanging
on to the saddle horn with every ounce of his strength, Iron Eyes
stared at the beaded curtain that swayed before him.
    Black Ben Tucker strolled out into the
blazing sun and looked at the tall emaciated figure.
    Their eyes met. A few seconds later, the
bounty hunter crashed into the sun-baked ground at Tucker’s
feet.

Chapter Ten
    Being so close to the border, there was
nothing unusual in seeing Mexican riders drifting in and out of
Cripple Creek. Malverez knew that they would not warrant a second
look from even the most curious of the town’s citizens. As the
chimes of the town hall clock struck two and echoed around Cripple
Creek, the six bandits rode their exhausted mounts through the
quiet streets as if shielded by a cloak of invisibility.
    They were slumped in their saddles and
spaced just far enough apart to give any onlookers the impression
that they were not together at all.
    Malverez dismounted outside the
Blue Garter saloon and watched as his men drifted to various other
buildings. They tied their horses up beside six different
water-troughs along the long main street and moved around the quiet streets
giving the appearance of men who were just passing through the
remote Texan town, men who had never met before.
    They did not have to work too hard because
it seemed that no one gave them a second look anyway. As the bandit
leader had guessed, mere Mexican drifters were not worthy of a
second glance.
    This was the ace in Malverez’s pack.
    One by one the bandits slowly made their way
to a small cantina which was tucked away in a small alley just off
the main street.
    The men entered separately a few minutes
apart, and gathered in a dark corner of the building. They stared
at the wall clock perched above the naming cooking range from which
savory smells arose.
    It was a few minutes after two in the
afternoon.
    They had arrived exactly on
time, just as Malverez had planned, even though they had been delayed
by the strange bounty hunter near the wide river
crossing.
    The bandits made their way to two separate
tables and then ordered chili and wine. When the waitress was out
of earshot the men talked and honed the details of their despicable
plan until each knew exactly what he had to do, and when he had to
do it.
    Malverez went over and over every aspect of
his plan. The bandits listened and nodded.
    Timing was the key factor for the men who
lived by destroying the dreams of others. Everything had to be
timed to the nearest second and the six bandits all synchronized
their pocket-watches until they ticked as one.
    Previous scouting visits to
Cripple Creek had given the six men details of Jed Smith and his
daughter that were invaluable to their plan. They knew the banker’s
habits even better than he knew them himself. They also knew where
Smith lived and the swiftest way to and from the large house. Every detail
of the banker’s daily routine was etched into the bandits’
minds.
    Jed Smith was a creature of habit and never
deviated from his habitual routine. The bandits knew when he would
leave the bank for his mid morning break, and where he went to have
exactly two cups of black sugarless coffee. They knew that however
busy his bank was, Smith would leave at exactly two minutes after
one by a side door and walk home for his lunch, leaving his staff
to cope.
    The bandits knew that Smith would leave his
home at ten minutes before two and call in at the Blue Garter
saloon for exactly two glasses of whiskey before returning to