Back when I robbed banks you had to plan very carefully. It can take nearly no planning at all to steal a thing. Robbery needs real cunning. Many an apple has been taken to feed a desperate and hungry belly, I myself have fed this way often, and not always on apples. But a bank robbery should be approached with care.
The best of bank robberies, those that succeed in all appreciable ways, require thought and preparation. Consideration should be given to how life could upset everything involved. Jack and I found out in the early days how badly it could all go wrong, and to be fair I took longer than he to learn the way of it.
Our first few attempts were laughable, and we did laugh at them. Riding out of town whooping and hollering glad to be alive and free. But as soon as we started seeing those posters we knew that if we really thought banks were good pickings we had to get good at it.
They wanted us both but with Jack's priors his poster offered twice my bounty. Added to that they wanted Jack 'Shackles" Stannard dead or alive. As for me, Bobby Cobb was no killer. Why I didn't even rate a nick name. I had nothing to hang my reputation on but the name my pa' put on me at birth.
So we kept moving. Drifting through makeshift mining towns all across the western states and took no job and no charity. It was me watching his back and him watching mine. That's how you survived, a good gun, a good friend and as much luck as the lord allows you.
But as fast as we used our luck we picked up pure talent. Jack was doing the planning and I admired his analysis. So we brought all our skills to bare making a showcase of all we had learned. He put things together so that we struck this savings house like lightning. Pulling out faster than thunder and away into the hills with saddlebags of loot to keep us in drink and women for months.
Jack's smile as we camped that night helped me feel more respect than I had my whole life. It was a moment, just a second or two where I realized I'd done something worth doing. My pa might never know how his son was managing but I felt proud.
When we spoke the next morning he was holding an old envelope, and rubbing his scarred wrists. He seemed quiet at first but as I brought the fire back to life he warmed and started to share. The papers he was holding were documents, bills of sale and the like, numbers and figures, lists of dates and details. It wasn't much of anything to me but in his eyes it made sense.
He'd been planning a huge score and this last strike was a practice. These papers showed how some big family from central europe had moved a massive chest over to the bank near their new home here in the states. The chest had gone on ahead, and according to the receipts and documents had arrived safely. But the family itself had not. Their ship sank, with all hands lost at sea.
This large chest was said to contain their gold and jewels. But with no one to collect it the treasure had remained forgotten in the vault for fifty years. The only record of the contents was here in his hand. If we got in, opened the chest and filled our bags with the gold we would be rich for life.
He made it sound highly tempting, and we discussed the plan and what we'd spend our fortunes on as we broke camp and headed to what would prove to be our doom.