Mortimer Scofield's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

Mortimer tested the vault diagram three times in his room, sketching the tumbler positions on scrap paper until his fingers knew the sequence by heart. Each practice run shaved off precious seconds. He timed himself with his pocket watch—two minutes to pick the lock, one minute to fill his saddlebags, thirty seconds to slip out the back. The plan fit together like clockwork, every piece falling into place. His confidence grew with each rehearsal. The gold was practically in his hands already, and retirement felt closer than it ever had before. The next morning, Mortimer walked past the town square where a metal sculpture hung from an iron post. Two pistols crossed over each other, suspended by a delicate chain. The brass caught the sunlight and threw golden flashes across the dirt. A small plaque beneath read about a bandit who'd robbed three banks in one week and vanished into the territory. The town kept the sculpture as a reminder that some outlaws won. Mortimer stopped and studied the crossed pistols, feeling a surge of certainty in his chest. He'd rehearsed every step, mapped every detail, timed every second. That bandit had taken his risks and disappeared rich. Mortimer would do the same, only better. He touched the brim of his hat and kept walking, his boots steady on the packed earth. Tomorrow night, the vault would open for him, and Gritstown would add another name to its outlaw stories.