Free Me From This Outlaw Sin

Barking Irons and Bags

Philip Smith

"Wake up Amigo," I heard Gonzalez's squirelly voice accompanied with him poking my thinker with the butt of his rifle.

I opened my eyes to see Mexico's finest standing over me, his gun on his shoulder and his revolver in his other hand. He's only a shillouette in the sun but I can see the large brim of his hat, and his poncho wrapped around his neck.

Don't got a single clue on why he's wearing a poncho in a forested town in August.

"It's morning," He walked over to a bush and crouched down, "Get ready."

I made a mighty big yawn before sitting up and grabbing my own rifle. I stood up and crouched over next to Gonzalez. Our prey made of bricks in sight.

We peered over towards the back of the Deadwood bank. Soon we'll be stuffed with riches and make tracks like the pair of giddy thieves we are.

"I reckon this one'll be easier than the nightmare in Nebraska," I tell Gonzalez, "Of course, as long as the Mexican Empire got his scouting done right."

"Hilarante Phil, perhaps we'd benefit if you actually shot the guard this time, eh?" He scolded.

"It don't matter now, who did what, as long as we don't mess it up." I reply.

"Now," I look at him, "How we gonna do this? Eh?" I put my bandana to my face.
"A Mexican and an old shifty looking feller wearing bandanas with a bunch of guns ain't just gonna walk through the front door."
"Easy, abuelo. We take off the masks--" He then grabs something to his left, "--and put our armas de fuego in this."

He threw to me a large leather bag.
"We'll put the masks on and take our rifles when we're outside the doors and rob the bank." Gonzalez explained like he was some damn genius.
"And everyone on the busy street will naturally assume we're enacting some good old joke with the bank manager?" I retort intelligently.

That Gonzalez. I know Mexicans ain't take many rides on the brain train, but he's just on a different level of stupid. Why do I keep him around? He's the closest thing I got to a brother.

I'll die for him. I'll reckon I've nearly done it too, being an outlaw ain't the safest choice of profession.

I almost got my head filled with lead in an ambush with lawmen in El Paso.
Nearly got stabbed to death in my sleep when Gonzalez brought home a lady he had it in for who turned out to be a bounty hunter. Oh, and once he told me his grand plan to steal a wagon. Full of dynamite.

I've known him a while. He's never changed.

Anyhow Gonzalez was unfazed by my worries.
"Don't worry about people seeing us Amigo. I've got something to deal with that." He said with a small smirk. A smirk I often see just before something goes wrong.

"I know you ain't about to tell me what it is you got planned because if you did I'd stop you." I say looking at him, he returns a somewhat confused gaze. "Let's go." I say with a sign before standing up and quickly walking to the bank.

I hear him laugh and yell at me, "There we go Grandpa! ¡La fortuna está a nuestro favor!" He runs over to me with the bag, filled with barking irons.

"Trust me Phil, this can't go wrong." He says, patting me on the back.