Blake Ordle's Arc

Chapter 4 of 6

Blake had the name. He did not have the miles. Silas Cole rode two days west with a plan to rob a bank in three. No horse would carry Blake there in time. He stood in the dawn and stared down the road he could not win. Then he remembered the one thing faster than any horse. He found Drew at the lockup, checking the outer lock like he checked everything twice. Drew was Blake's uncle and his new deputy, a man who wanted the badge earned. "Wire won't stop a robbery," Drew said when Blake told him the plan. "Might warn a lawman who can." Blake nodded. "Cole beat me on distance. He can't beat me on wire." They walked fast to the telegraph office. The porch boards sagged under their boots. Inside, a clerk sat behind a key, sleeves pushed to his elbows. Blake laid it out plain. "I need a message sent to the sheriff two towns west. Bank robbery coming. Name is Silas Cole." The clerk reached for the key, then stopped. He tapped the wire slow. Nothing tapped back. "Line's dead west of here," the clerk said. "Storm took a pole three days back. Crews haven't reached it." Blake's chest went tight. His fast plan had a broken road too. Drew leaned on the counter. "How far to the break?" The clerk shrugged. "Half a day's ride. Maybe less." Blake did the sum in his head. Half a day out, wire the message, ride back. He could reach the dead pole, hand a note to the next live station beyond it, and still beat Cole's clock. Barely. "Can you write the message down?" Blake asked. The clerk scratched it on paper. Blake folded it into his shirt. "You ride to the break," Drew said. "I'll hold Malone and the town." It was not a question. Blake gripped his shoulder once and went. He rode hard through the morning. The sun climbed. Sweat soaked his collar. He found the fallen pole tangled in brush, wire snapped and coiled in the dirt. Beyond it stood a small station, smoke rising from its stack. A tired operator took the paper, read it twice, and set his hand on the key. This time the wire tapped back. The message ran west, ahead of Cole, into the town he meant to rob. Blake rode home in the dark, spent but sure. The warning had gone through. The next robbery would meet lawmen ready, not an empty street. Drew met him at the lockup with a paper of his own. "Rider came while you were gone," Drew said. "Word from the town you wired." Blake took it. The message was short. The sheriff there had read the warning. He had also read the name. And he wired back one line Blake did not expect: Silas Cole is my brother.