Mortimer Scofield's Arc

Chapter 1 of 5

Mortimer Scofield pressed his weathered face against the saloon window and studied the bank across the dusty street. His gray beard scraped the glass as he counted the guards—two outside, maybe three within. That vault held enough gold to buy him a new life far from Gritstown, far from wanted posters and nooses. He'd spent forty years robbing stagecoaches and rustling cattle, but this job would be his last. One big score, then he'd disappear into Mexico where no lawman could touch him. He pulled back from the window and adjusted his hat. The bank wasn't his only problem—he needed to know when the guards changed shifts and when supply wagons rolled through town. Mortimer stepped out of the saloon and spotted a wooden board nailed to a post near the general store. Strange symbols covered its surface, marks that looked like crossed sticks and curved lines. He moved closer and recognized the signs—thieves' code, the kind drifters and outlaws used to warn each other or share information. His finger traced a pattern that meant "law patrol" and another that showed times. The board listed guard schedules for the whole week. Someone in Gritstown was looking out for people like him, and that made this job a whole lot easier. Mortimer memorized the patrol changes, then walked back toward the bank. He stayed in the shadows and watched the building for another hour. The guards switched positions at four o'clock, just like the board predicted. A supply wagon rattled past, kicking up dust that made him squint. Through his coat pocket, his fingers found an old gold coin from his first bank job twenty years back. He rubbed its worn surface and felt the faded engravings. That robbery had gotten him five hundred dollars and a bullet in the shoulder. This time he'd take ten thousand and vanish for good. Mortimer tucked the coin away and headed down the street. He had three days to plan, and every detail had to be perfect.