Bannerman the Enforcer 20

by Kirk Hamilton

  Harlan smiled crookedly. “What d’you think we did to amuse ourselves in prison? Start a sewin’ circle? Bible-readin’ classes? Sit around starin’ at the cell walls? Hell, man, I had the best teachers possible in Houston Prison. Some of the slickest cardsharps in the country were my cellmates over the years. I know about every trick in the book and some that ain’t ... Come on. Let’s go pick up that dinero, then I’ll stand you a drink and some grub—before we pull out for Promontory.”

  “What makes you think we’re coming with you?” Yancey asked as they mounted the boardwalk. Harlan smiled faintly.

  “You’re here, ain’t you? Besides, Governor Dukes sent you after me, didn’t he?”

  Yancey and Cato stopped in their tracks and Buck Harlan stopped too and turned to face them. He was grinning sardonically. He fished something out of his pocket.

  “You two jaspers had me worried,” he said. “I couldn’t figure you at all. At first I thought you were after the gold. Then—ah, the hell with it. I came to this town and brooded over you two, tryin’ to make sense outa nothin’. I even got to askin’ around town about you but nobody made any sense— till some gent in the saloon told me about his daughter, Miss Ellen-May.”

  “And what in hell has Miss Ellen-May to do with the price of pin-feathers?” demanded Johnny Cato, a dazed look in his eyes.

  “She’s the schoolmarm here. Nice, well-spoken lady. Great readin’ lady, too. That’s why I went to see her and sure enough, she came up with paydirt.”

  “Buck ...” Cato began, but Yancey laid a hand on his arm.

  “And what did the readin’ lady come up with—about us, Buck?” he asked, gently.

  The big rawboned man chuckled. “Oh, she was smart. I told her your names and she went right to a stack of eastern newspapers and some magazines and stuff, and a newspaper from Austin, too, Austin in Texas.”

  “We know where Austin is!” said the exasperated Cato, but again Yancey checked him. Buck Harlan went on:

  “There it was, right there in print. Yancey—your name, Yancey Bannerman. Right there in the Austin newspaper— months old, I guess. Miss Ellen-May said she never did forget a name or a place or any of that stuff she read about. A real smart lady.” He paused, then went on, “She dug up an old newspaper picture of a ball or such in Austin, and there you were. Yancey, you and Johnny here, in tintype, standin’ up there with all them stuffed shirts and ladies wearin’ jewels—diamonds, I’ll bet. And you were side by side with Governor Dukes and it said in the paper ... here, you can see for yourselves.”

  He handed a clipping to Yancey which he had taken from his pocket. Yancey smoothed it out, and nodded, his face expressionless.

  “Says here we’re the governor’s aides,” he said.

  “And it’s true, ain’t it?” demanded Buck. “You’re kinda close to the governor?”

  “Yes,” said Yancey, and Johnny Cato nodded, soberly. “It’s true, Buck—but we don’t holler it all over the State of Texas.”

  “You’re close to Dukes and he’s the man who sprung me from prison and pardoned me. There’ll be compensation, too, the governor said. So, I guess you two gents are part of that compensation.” He looked from one to the other. “That’s it, ain’t it, Yancey? Cato?”

  “That’s about it,” said Yancey. “We were sent out to ride herd on you, Buck, help you along. Guess we did help some.”

  “Yeah,” said Buck Harlan. “You saved my life is all ... and out there on the street, that bushwhacker would have got me if you hadn’t yelled. So, you ride herd on me as much as you like. Only don’t get between me and the men I’m huntin’—or I’ll have to kill you, too.”

  Inside the saloon he went to a green baize-covered table where there were scattered cards and piles of paper and silver money. Several men stood around the table and they nodded uneasily to Harlan as he came up and began scooping up the money. He glanced around. “Any objections?”

  One man licked his lips and looked as if he wanted to object but the man next to him nudged him and shook his head briefly and so there were no objections. Harlan stuffed his pockets with the money. He grinned around at them and then looked towards the counter where the barkeep was polishing glasses.

  “Barkeep,” Harlan called. “Set ’em up for the crowd. I’m buyin’.”

  There was a cheer and the crowd surged forward to place their orders. Harlan sauntered along in their wake, taking it as his due when a lane opened for him to breast the counter and slap some money down. He turned to wave at Yancey and Cato.

  “What’re you drinkin’?” he called.

  They shrugged and started towards the animated bunch at the bar.

  “He kinda growed up quick, didn’t he?” Cato said. “I reckon this big world outside of prison ain’t much for him to take on now ... He’s ready to eat it alive.”

  “And we showed him how,” Yancey added soberly.

  Six – Promontory

  By the time they reached Promontory, Yancey and Cato knew that Buck Harlan needed no one to ride herd on him. He was much more confident and practiced with his gun for a couple of hours each morning and night. He aimed to be a top man with a six-gun and he had a natural ability that was only enhanced by the constant practice.

  “Along the way, they passed through a town called Gainsville, in the heart of the cattle country and crawling with cowboys. Yancey and Cato stabled the horses and went to find rooms for the night, while Harlan stopped off at a gunsmith’s to buy more ammunition for his guns. He used up a considerable amount in his practice sessions each day. The two agents were arguing with the hotel clerk over the price he quoted for three rooms when they heard gunshots from down the street. The clerk seemed unperturbed and said that it was nothing to worry about, likely just the cowboys cutting loose again. But Yancey could see Buck Harlan come backing out of the gunsmith’s shop with two grinning cowboys following, guns in their hands, shooting at Harlan’s boots and making him jump in the time-honored rangeland ‘Dude’s Dance’. The guns would explode and Harlan would leap wildly as the bullets slapped into the boardwalk or the street dust near his boots.

  Yancey signaled to Cato and they hurried down to join the gathering crowd. Harlan’s face was stiff and his eyes were narrowed as he watched the two cowpokes, leaping when they fired but never taking his gaze from their faces. Then, maybe because they were a little drunk or maybe simply figured there was no harm in Harlan, the guns stopped firing.

  Instantly, Harlan’s own gun was in his hand and firing, but not at the cowpokes’ boots. His first shot tore the empty gun from the redheaded cowpoke’s hand and the second did the same to the other man’s Colt. They shook numbed fingers and Harlan fired again. This shot flicked the lobe of the redhead’s left ear and blood spurted as he yelled and clapped a hand to the side of his head, staggering away. The second man turned to run and Harlan shot the heel off his right boot, the impact kicking the man’s leg out from under him and sending him sprawling. Harlan walked forward unhurriedly and the man rolled onto his back, cursing. Harlan leaned down and almost casually raked the foresight of his .45 across the man’s face, laying open the cheek. He whirled at a sound behind him, as the redhead, recovering somewhat, came wading in with upraised fists.

  Harlan braced himself, met the charge and rammed the gun barrel hard into the man’s belly. The redhead gagged and started to double up, but Harlan grabbed his hair with his free hand and held him upright. Looking coldly into the man’s eyes, he hit him twice more in the mid-section with the gun barrel, then flung him onto the street where he lay moaning beside his companion.

  Buck Harlan reloaded the empty chambers in his gun and strolled back into the gunsmith’s shop, not even glancing at the crowd ...

  “We’re wastin’ our time,” Cato said to Yancey. “He don’t need lookin’ after ... Mebbe the folks he comes across do, but not him.”

  Yancey was inclined to agree and sent a telegraph wire to Governor Dukes to that effect. The reply came back promptly and
was waiting for them at the hotel in Promontory. It said, simply: “Stay with him.”

  “Dunno why the governor feels so concerned about him,” Cato said, frowning, “but I guess he’s the boss.”

  Yancey nodded slowly. “Guess all we can do is see he doesn’t get himself into too much trouble. This Sawyer deal, for instance. We’d better make sure he’s going after the right man.”

  “You ask me, it won’t be an easy thing to find out for sure. No one’s gonna be loco enough to admit he’s got an outlaw past, when he's runnin' a respectable business like Sawyer is.”

  That was true, Yancey agreed silently. All the towns they had passed through since quitting Musk Creek knew of the Sawyer Freight Lines and they had only good to say about the company and the man who ran it. Will Sawyer, it seemed was a respected man in Promontory and throughout the country for many miles around. He was prosperous and ran the company with the aid of his niece, Susan, and a tough freight boss, Buzz Rankin. It was said that Rankin could drive a freight team over a ten-thousand foot sawtooth mountain peak in a full blizzard and be no more than a couple of hours behind schedule, while rivals turned back to base and even the railroads had to wait for snow-plows to clear the tracks. It was also said of Rankin that he was the meanest son of a bitch west of the Pecos and that he aimed one day to have a full partnership in the Sawyer company. Meanwhile, anyone who wanted some freight delivered in a hurry, Buzz Rankin was the man to see. It might cost a few dollars extra slipped across the drink table, but delivery was guaranteed, no matter how many backs he had to break ... and he was a man who didn’t mind breaking backs. Big, yellow haired, handsome in an animal kind of way and pushing thirty, Rankin swaggered out of the small cubicle he used as an office adjacent to the loading platform at the freight office.

  He glanced at the three men standing on the edge of the platform and nodded curtly. “Be with you in a minute, gents,” he said and walked on down to where a wagon was being loaded by a couple of laughing young men. They were exchanging their experiences with some saloon girl when Rankin came up behind them, raised his big hands out from his sides and then clapped them in swiftly. He rammed their heads together with an audible thud and the men staggered apart, holding their ringing heads, looking up at him like hurt small boys. Rankin looked coldly at them and gestured towards the partly loaded wagon, then turned and walked back towards Yancey, Cato and Harlan. The two young men began loading again, at twice the earlier pace and this time there were no jokes, no laughter. Rankin did not glance their way again, a man supremely confident that they would give him no more trouble.

  “Now, what can I do for you, gents?” he said.

  Yancey jerked his head towards Harlan and the ex-convict began to roll a cigarette as he spoke, casually.

  “Supposin’ I wanted somethin’ freighted to Chase River or a place near there called Saddleback ... Could you do it?”

  “We can freight anywhere you want,” Rankin said, “and most anything you want. But there are a lot of railroad tracks between here and Chase River. I’ve never heard of this Saddleback. Why don’t you use a railroad?”

  “Maybe I will, part of the way,” Harlan said. “But I’d need to use your freight line to get my goods as far as the railroad, wouldn’t I?”

  Rankin nodded, looking Buck Harlan over and then Yancey and Cato. He sensed there was something not quite right here but couldn’t figure what.

  “What d’you want freighted?”

  The ex-convict reached into a shirt pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of paper. He straightened it out and handed it to Rankin who read swiftly, then snapped his head up sharply. “What the hell’s this?” he demanded.

  Harlan gestured to the paper. “What it says ... You can read, can’t you?”

  Rankin’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Yancey tensed. “Sure, I can read,” Rankin said slowly. “You want to ship out a chest of gold, some cases of guns, boxes of medicine and ammunition. To go to ...” He consulted the paper again briefly. “Nate and Pete Harlan at this place called Saddleback ... Kind of a queer shipment. Sounds more like the kind of thing the army would freight.”

  “Well, maybe I represent the army but that don’t concern you. Can you handle the stuff?”

  Rankin pursed his lips, raked his cold eyes over the trio again, not liking this. “I’ll have to see the boss. When would you want it moved?”

  “Just see if Sawyer reckons he can handle it first,” Harlan said curtly, his tension showing through in the edge to his voice.

  Rankin detected it, Yancey could see that. “I’ll see about it.”

  He walked into the main freight building, closing the door behind him.

  “Takin’ a chance, Buck,” Cato said. “Sawyer might send that tough-lookin’ ranny back with a shotgun ... Or simply call the sheriff.”

  Harlan smiled crookedly, his face tight with suspense. “I’ll get some kind of reaction, anyways. If he’s the man I want he’ll know Saddleback was the place we hit the wagon train, and he’ll jump when he sees Pete’s and Nate’s names after all this time. I figure he’ll come chargin’ out here like a wounded bull to see who in hell sent that paper in …”

  “Well, don’t start shooting if he does,” Yancey warned. “Get your facts straight and sure before you start anything.”

  Harlan looked at him coldly, his eyes dangerous, but he said nothing, merely took out his Colt and checked the loads. Yancey and Cato exchanged glances. Looked like Harlan was all set for a shooting fracas right here and now.

  Buzz Rankin came slowly out of the main building door, his face blank as he glanced at the three men. He held onto the door and a slim girl with chestnut hair and wearing a green eyeshade and paper cuff protectors stepped out, holding the sheet of paper Harlan had given Rankin. She walked over to the three puzzled men and Cato swept off his hat, looking at her appreciatively thinking it was too bad she was so young, maybe only twenty. He liked his women a little older but for a beauty like this one he reckoned he wouldn’t let age stand in the way.

  “I’m Susan Sawyer,” the girl introduced herself briskly. “My uncle owns the business and I help run the office ... I’m afraid he’ll have to okay this shipment. But there are some questions I’d like answered before I even put it to him ...”

  “We’re in a kind of a hurry,” Harlan said curtly. “If I could see Sawyer himself with the list.”

  “That’s not possible right now,” she said. “My uncle won’t be back for another hour or more ... You must realize that before we could accept such a shipment we’d have to have proof of ownership. I’m not saying that there’s anything unlawful involved but you must see our position.”

  She glanced at Yancey and Cato and both nodded, smiling. “Nothin’ illegal involved. Where’s Sawyer now?”

  “He’s out on business,” Susan said coolly. She tapped the paper. “I think it’ll be best if we just leave this until he returns. I’m sorry, gentlemen ...”

  “Tell me where he is and I’ll go brace him with it,” Harlan said tightly.

  “What’s your rush, mister?” Rankin asked. “We couldn’t do anythin’ for two, three days.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “Then I suggest you try another freight company, Mr. ... What did you say your name was?” Susan asked.

  “Same as on there,” Harlan said flicking the paper in her hand. “Buck Harlan. And I don’t want any other freight company to handle this stuff ... It’s got to be Sawyer.”

  Susan frowned. “Mr. Harlan, do you know my uncle?”

  Yancey and Cato glanced at Harlan, wondering just how he would handle such a direct question. But his face showed nothing as he said, “I dunno ... Where’s he from?”

  Susan thought for a moment. “Originally a place called Oakville, down on the Nueces River.”

  Harlan stared at nothing. He asked, “Did he fight in the war?”

  Susan nodded. “With the Texas Brigade, of course ...”

  “Ever hear him speak of
his commandin’ officer?” Harlan forced a smile. “My brothers were both sergeants in the Brigade.”

  “I—I don’t know any details of his army life,” Susan said slowly. “Perhaps you should ask him yourself when he returns.”

  She handed him back the paper and went to turn away. Harlan grabbed her arm and she looked angry as she faced him again.

  “Where did he do most of his fightin’?” Harlan insisted. “Did he ever say he was with a bunch of guerillas ...?”

  “Let go, please!”

  Buzz Rankin’s big right hand clamped hard on Harlan’s shoulder and pulled him off balance so that he was forced to release the girl. “You heard Miss Sawyer say she don’t know nothin’ about her uncle’s army days, mister ... Let it go.”

  Harlan slammed Rankin’s hand away from his shoulder savagely. “Keep your paws off me, strawhead ...!”

  Rankin started to rumble like a roused bear.

  “It’s all right, Buzz!” the girl said swiftly.

  “No, it ain’t all right, ma’am,” Rankin said without taking his eyes off Harlan. “This hombre and his pards are up to something and I dunno what it is. But I smelled it right off. It’s something’ to do with your uncle and, you ask me, there ain’t any gold or rifles or ammunition to ship out anyplace.”

  The girl looked startled but she looked even more startled when Buck Harlan lashed out and hooked Rankin on the side of the jaw with his fist. The freight line ramrod staggered back and Yancey and Cato leaped in to hold Harlan back but Rankin recovered before they could do so. He lunged forward, sending both agents flying with a mighty shove, and charged right back at Harlan. The ex-convict was ready for him and lifted a leg almost casually, snapping his boot up at the last second and catching Rankin in the head as the man came in crouched. He went down with a crash into a stack of crates, scattering and splintering them.

  He was up in an instant, flinging shattered crates aside. He closed with Harlan and the two began sledging away, slugging it out toe-to-toe, neither willing to give ground. But Rankin’s superior weight began to tell and Harlan had to retreat until he was brought up short by the edge of the loading dock. Rankin had planned it this way and when the edge of the dock cut across Harlan’s back, catching him unawares, the big freight ramrod hooked him in the belly, drove home a barrage of blows into his ribs and, as Harlan’s knees sagged, slammed him in the face.