there and seal the doors, would never be the same. John Cletchem, the
photographer the sheriff summoned to take pictures for posterity,
became so sick at the eerie sight, that he had to keep running outside
to throw up in the street. Two of the victims, Franklin Carroll and
Malcolm Watterson, had been shot simultaneously and had fallen into
each other.
They were both still on their knees and appeared to be embracing, with
their heads drooping over each other's shoulder.
Daniel Ryan had a near riot on his hands when he rode into town at five
minutes past one the following afternoon. Because of a torrential
downpour, the journey had taken longer than expected. Sheriff Sloan
met him in front of the bank, gave him the details, and then unlocked
the door and followed him inside.
The bodies hadn't been removed from the lobby. If Ryan was sickened by
the sight before him, he didn't show it. He slowly walked around the
scene and stared down at the dead from every possible angle. There was
only one telltale sign that he was affected. His hands were in fists
at his sides.
In a strangled whisper, Sloan said, "I didn't know if I should let the
bodies be taken out or leave them alone for you to see. Did I do the
right thing? " Before Ryan could answer him, the sheriff continued.
"There was another body found in the alley next to the bank. His name
was Billie, and he was the town drunk. They used a knife on him, and
before I could tell the funeral men to leave him be, they carted him
off and put him in the ground. I had pictures taken of these poor men,
but Billie was already gone, so I didn't get any pictures of him. "
The stench was getting to him. Sloan held a handkerchief over his
mouth and nose to block the smell. He couldn't make himself look at
his friends, but stared at the ceiling instead. "I don't want the
families of these men to see . . . " Sloan couldn't go on. He gagged,
spun around, and clawed at the doorknob. Ryan had to turn it for
him.
The sheriff ran outside, doubled over in front of the crowd that had
gathered, and threw up in the street.
Returning to his inspection, Ryan squatted down next to one of the
bodies to get a closer look at a bullet he'd spotted half buried in the
floorboard. He could still hear Sloan's retching outside when the door
opened again, letting in another blessed whiff of fresh air. Cole came
striding inside. Ryan turned to him and waited for a reaction.
Cole wasn't prepared for what he saw. As though he'd just run headlong
into a stone wall, he staggered back and whispered, "Ah . . . Lord. "
"Are you going to run, or are you going to stay? " Ryan demanded.
Cole didn't answer. Ryan's eyes were blazing with fury now. "Take a
good look, Cole. Any of these men could have been one of your
brothers.
Tell me, how often do they go into a bank? Or your mother? Or your
sister? " he taunted in a voice that lashed out like a whip.
Cole shook his head and continued to stare at the two corpses on their
knees leaning into one another. He couldn't look away.