That night we were spread out in a semi-circle moving quietly toward the fire with our guns drawn. The sheriff had him one of them Colt revolving shotguns that usually discouraged any argument. There were four more of us in the posse, Joe, Doc, and myself plus that fat little banker. We could see them three outlaws around the fire and they were passing a bottle around and crowing about their success in robbing our bank. As soon as we were close, the sheriff opened the ball and shouted “Put up your hands boys, I’ve got a shotgun on ya, so just lift those hands to the sky, you’re under arrest!" I could see right off that dark little mean one wasn’t going to stand and when he dragged iron, the sheriff let him have it with that shotgun and at the same time I heard Joe fire and winged the skinny tall one that was trying to sneak out a gun. Just like that it was over and the kid outlaw was reaching for the stars and his eyes were as big as saucers. I guess it never happened like this in the dime novels. Doc and I looked at each other kind of sheepishly ‘cause we hadn’t done a thing to help. Then that little fat banker came a-running out of the rocks waving his gun around and acting real mean. The sheriff told him kind of harsh-like to put his gun away before he killed somebody and go get our horses. While the sheriff tied up the kid, Doc patched up the tall one up and I worked on the dead one to get him ready to pack to town. I’m the undertaker hereabouts and this was my first customer and I was sure-enough planning to box him up and plant him. I know that was Doc’s first customer in a long time too. The only thing that fretted me was how we were going to get paid. I figured maybe the county would pay so I asked the sheriff. He said the county had no funds for that sort of thing. Now I’ll tell you how all this came about; I was just minding my own business that day and passing the time with Doc, Three-fingers we call him, on the bench in front of the store. I moved into town and hung up my shingle as an undertaker when I got too old to cowboy. The missus and I figured we’d make out okay what with her egg money and me burying folks. First off, I built me a sign that said “Farly’s Fine Funerals”. After the sign was up, I built five wood coffins so I wouldn’t get behind and then I found out that these are the healthiest folks you ever saw and peaceable-like so there weren’t many shootings either. Looked like I’d have to use them coffins for firewood this winter! Doc wasn’t doing so hot either. Nobody ever got sick and those that got hurt couldn’t afford to pay. Doc had a couple of other things fretting him too; he was real taken with that new redheaded schoolmarm, Miss Mary. She was being real standoffish but I think she liked him; she was just playing hard to get. Then the Doc had a run-in with some varmint under the porch of the store. He was trying to get this varmint out of there when it gnawed up his hand something awful! He walked around for about a week with his hand all bandaged up and that’s when we started calling him three fingers and funning him a bit. Well, that did help him a lot with the schoolmarm. I reckon she took pity on him because she started bringing him over a basket of food every day until he could do for himself again. Later, he bought one of her pies at the church social and now I hear they’re walking out together time to time. As I said, we were a-setting there yarning away when this ruckus started down the street at the bank. All of a sudden, there was shouting and shooting, and three fellers went a-fogging out of town in a dust cloud to the south. We ran over to the bank and got there in time to see that fat little banker all red in the face and telling the sheriff how these three fellers just robbed the bank and took every dime. Now our sheriff is a no-nonsense man as tough as boot leather. He reckoned as how he needed a posse and picked Doc and Joe and me. That little fat banker really wanted to be on the posse and after a lot of arguing; the sheriff let him come too. I think that banker figured he’d rather face outlaws than the folks in town. We grabbed grub and water and headed out. These outlaws were riding due south, and maybe a bit east which don’t make any kind of sense cause there just isn't anything down that way except desert for about 80 miles. It was getting along about sundown when Joe said "I think they know we’re on their trail and they also know we can’t trail them after dark. I figure after dark they’ll turn west and try to hit the tanks at Lomas Bayas. They’ll need water and I think that’s our best bet." Smart! That Joe doesn’t miss a trick! He’s our blacksmith and runs the stable. He’s a big hairy cuss! Long hair, big hairy arms and a wild look in his eye, but salt of the earth, that man! I know some folks he’s helped out time to time. He came in here a couple of years ago with his wife Carol, “The Lovely Miss Carol” he calls her. I can see why, she’s all class, plays the piano in church, and sings! That woman could sing the angels home. Well anyway, we turned west toward the tanks at Lomas Bayas and after a couple of hours we were getting close so we rode easy. By then it was dark and we eased up on the tanks. We could see the faint glow of firelight reflecting off the rocks. We tied our horses back in the brush and downwind from them so their horses wouldn’t smell us and give us away. We left the fat little banker to guard our horses, because this was still Apache country and we didn’t want to be set afoot. Then we took those outlaws just like I said.