“Seems to me, we’re wastin’ time,” he said. “What’s happened to Tad Meacham ain’t the issue. What matters most to this town right now is that it’s fillin’ up with gunmen. Look at them three who rode in today. All gunfighters by the looks of ’em. Banner’s not as bad as Callan was, but the fact remains he’s a gunhawk and he’s running our town. Our town! We let him come in and take over. Ain’t no one gonna fight him on our account, not from this town. That big hombre, Cannon, we all know he’s bad medicine. Callan was his sidekick. That’s five gunhawks we got here in Condor now. How long before it’s ten? Or twenty? And the streets ain’t gonna be safe for our families because these hombres are gonna be takin’ potshots at each other ... We tried to give Tad Meacham his chance and we was plain stupid for doin’ it, if you ask me.”
“I’ll go along with that,” the pudgy barber said. “We got to forget Meacham and do somethin’ ourselves. And all I can see is for someone to go to Del Rio and bring back the Rangers. A marshal ain’t no good against a bunch of gunhawks like we got nestin’ here now. We need an army squad or somethin’.”
The others agreed this made sense and then it was only a matter of choosing someone to make the ride to the Ranger post. There were a lot of excuses made by men for not going, for no one wanted to run the risk of Banner or one of the others stopping them leaving town. An argument developed and was only stopped when sixteen-year-old Larry Pierce shamed them all by declaring that he would make the ride. His father protested at first until he saw the wisdom of the youth’s decision. Larry worked in his father’s store and was in and out of town constantly, making deliveries to outlying ranches and so on. Sometimes he was gone overnight. No one would notice if he was away for a couple of days and, even if they did, Milt would be able to come up with some convincing explanation.
So Larry Pierce quit town soon after daylight the next morning, driving the store’s buckboard with a load of stores in back. Once clear of Condor, he drove into a brush-choked arroyo and unhitched the team, turning one horse loose. He took a saddle from under canvas in the buckboard, threw it over the second mount and then rode hell for leather for Del Rio and the Texas Rangers stationed there.
Cannon had spotted Cato as a gunman as soon as he saw the man come into the saloon the night before. The big man kept abreast of the news and he recognized Cato as the man who called himself John Colt, the same one who had killed two Rangers in Giddings and gotten away with an army payroll. There could be only one reason why the runty gunfighter was in Condor: he was hightailing it across the Rio to the comparative safety of Mexico. And that made Colt a man whom Cannon could use.
He had started to approach him last night but had seen a mean streak to Colt’s mood when the small man had gun-whipped a man at the bar for bumping his arm and spilling his drink. Colt was trail-weary and irritable and Cannon figured, rightly, that it was not the best time to approach him with any sort of proposition. This morning, though, was a different matter. Colt had bathed and shaved, gotten rid of his longhorn moustache, looked in a much better mood, though he still was a dangerous man and would have to be approached with caution.
He ordered breakfast at a rear table, in the opposite corner to the one used by Yancey, who was already eating steak and eggs, seated in his special chair, eyes watching the few others in the bar at this early hour.
Cannon came down the stairs slowly and lightly for such a big man. He checked a few steps from the bottom to look at the two gunhawks below, both apparently interested only in their meals but, he figured, each would be eyeing the other off surreptitiously. The big gun-runner decided to chance Colt’s mood and went straight to his table, pulling out a chair and dropping into it. He nodded affably to Colt, who had set down his fork, freeing his right hand. His eyes bored into Cannon’s.
“Mornin’ ... Name’s Cannon.”
Good name for a gun-runner, Johnny Cato thought to himself but, outwardly, his expression did not change and his eyes drilled bleakly into the big man’s face. Like Yancey, Cato was intrigued by the smoothness of Cannon’s skin.
“Know who you are,” Cannon went on quietly. “Can even figure why you’re here in town.” He waited, but Cato didn’t reply or give any sign that he had even heard. Cannon shrugged. “It’s only a frog’s leap to Mexico but if I was you, Johnny Colt, I’d move on pronto.” He held up a placating hand as he saw the smaller man stiffen. “Don’t get me wrong. I ain’t pushin’ ... But he might!” He jerked his head slightly towards where Yancey sat at his table, apparently engrossed in his meal. “Name’s Banner. Gunned down a feller named Callan and now runs this here town,” Cannon explained. “You want to stay on for a spell, you have to deal with him.”
Cato’s eyes narrowed as he seemingly studied Yancey closely. By his expression, be didn’t seem particularly impressed by what he saw.
“What’s that got to do with you?” he asked Cannon abruptly.
Cannon shrugged. “Just tryin’ to set you to rights is all. But if you didn’t want to deal with Banner, or you wanted to get south of the Rio pronto, then maybe I could throw a little extra dinero your way. And kind of guarantee you safe passage into Mexico.”
Colt showed a little interest and stared hard at Cannon. “Don’t much like Mexico. Too many greasers.” He paused, one corner of his mouth flicking briefly at his joke. “I don’t want trouble ... had enough of that. But I reckon I’ll try to deal with this here Banner. I got dinero enough, I reckon. If that don’t work ...” He shrugged and looked down briefly at the big Manstopper holstered at his thigh.
Cannon shook his head slowly. “No need for any of that. You get to Mexico, you got no worries about the law at all. You stay here, Banner’ll bleed you white and there’ll always be the chance of the law catchin’ up with you. This town’s on the Rangers’ list for clean-up sometime. Could come while you’re here.”
“Reckon I’ll chance that.”
Cannon was becoming impatient. “Look, Colt, will you listen to me? Huh? I’m offerin’ you security and money as well. You don’t have to do much, likely you won’t even have to take that gun out of leather. You play your cards right, you could be a rich and powerful man in a couple of months from now. And I mean powerful.”
Colt showed interest openly now but it was only momentary and then he picked up his fork and continued eating his breakfast. He spoke around a mouthful of food.
“I’ll palaver with Banner first. See me afterwards. And next time, wait till I tell you that you can sit down at my table.”
Cannon flushed and his big hands knotted into fists. His eyes were deadly as they stared at the smaller man and then he visibly relaxed, forcing it, and stood up. He nodded jerkily to Cato, glanced in Yancey’s direction, then walked back to the bar and leaned an elbow on the zinc top, watching as Colt finished eating, drained his coffee cup and then stood up. The small man hitched at his gunbelt and made his way across the room towards the table where Yancey sat. Yancey became suddenly tensed and alert, watching the man approaching him.
Ham, the barkeep, brought Cannon’s usual jug of corn liquor but the giant didn’t touch the jug. He was watching the two gunfighters. He saw Colt approach carefully, his right hand not far from the butt of the heavy Manstopper. Yancey, known only as ‘Banner’ to Cannon, seemed tensed and his eyes followed Colt’s every movement. Cannon felt strung up himself as he saw Colt introduce himself and, not receiving any acknowledgement from Yancey, continue to speak in a low voice. Cannon guessed that the smaller man was putting his proposition to Yancey, asking if he could stay in town, peaceable, likely offering to pay.
Yancey seemed to be considering the other’s words, then picked up his coffee cup, left-handed, drained it, and stood abruptly. He jerked a thumb towards the stairs, obviously indicating that they should continue their discussion in his suite, and then stepped out from behind the table. He stood with his back to the wall, motioning for Colt to go first. The smaller man hesitated then, with a final bleak look at Yancey, nodded and
started towards the stairs. Cannon heard the barkeep breathe out a sigh of relief, and the giant slowly turned and uncorked his stone jug of liquor. He drank one-handed, cold eyes watching the two gunhawks disappear up the stairs. He wiped the back of his hairless wrist thoughtfully across his red lips ... Looked like he might still be short the fast gun he needed to side him in his own business ...
In the privacy of his rooms, Yancey turned the key in the door lock and grinned as he spun and thrust out his hand towards Johnny Cato. They gripped firmly, Cato grinning too.
“You sure took your time, you sidewindin’ Ranger-killer!” Yancey said.
“Takes time to do a good job,” retorted Cato, “And I’m here to say that I done just that.”
“Modest as ever,” Yancey opined, pouring two whiskies. They saluted each other and downed the drinks swiftly. “You did a good job, all right, pard. But I ain’t the one you have to convince ... And I see you’ve already met Cannon.”
“Shorty? Yeah, well, he’s convinced. He offered me a job ridin’ with him down to Mexico. Hinted he could make me a rich man. I told him I didn’t much take to greasers and would rather stay here. If you and me could come to some sort of arrangement.”
“Which we can’t, of course, should he ask.”
Cato nodded. “He’ll ask, all right ... Now, we better bring each other up to date.”
Twenty minutes later, they each knew what the other had been doing since they had last met in Austin, weeks earlier, when Governor Dukes had first given them the assignment of smashing the gun-runners.
“Word is that El Halcon’s almost ready to make his move against Sonora,” said Yancey. “Seems he’s waiting on delivery of this next load of arms and, after a short training period for his men, he figures to attack.”
“I heard that a lot of gringos are headin’ south of the Rio to work for him as officers. I figure that’s what Cannon was hintin’ at with me. But he seems in need of a fast gun this side of the Rio right now.”
Cato frowned puzzledly as he spoke and dipped the end of the cheroot that Yancey gave him into the vesta flame held by the tall agent.
“Seems like it was Callan’s chore to ride with Cannon while he picked up the arms and escort him to the Rio,” Yancey said. “He tried to buy me for the job and that’s what he’s offerin’ you. Guess he has trouble with hijackers. Fact is, there’s a couple of tough hombres in town calling themselves Loveless and Clayton who could fit well enough into that category. They’re on Cannon’s trail, at any rate.”
“All right. What’s my next move?” Cato asked. “I go tell Cannon you and me couldn’t deal and I’ll take him up on his offer?”
Yancey looked thoughtful. “Better not make it as straight as that. Sound him out. See just what he’s offering first. He’s mighty cagey, but get him to spell it out ... Maybe I’ll show some interest myself. I can always say I heard there’s a Ranger troop on its way to Condor and I’m looking for a trail out that’ll earn me some gold. That way, I can turn up along the trail without him being too suspicious.”
Cato agreed that this was a good idea and they both figured they had better not spend too much time together in the room here as they were supposed to be strangers, only recently met. So Cato assumed his role as Johnny Colt again and stalked out of the room, slamming the door after him and stormed down into the barroom. He went to the bar and banged his flattened left hand down on the zinc top, demanding a whisky and beer chaser. Ham hurried to comply and Cannon looked down at the small, angry man beside him.
“No deal, huh?”
Cato glared and tossed down the whisky, washing the fiery taste from his mouth with a gulp of beer.
“His price is too high.”
“What do you aim to do?”
Cato shrugged. “He wants to get his hands on that payroll money so I’ve got a couple of days to think about it.”
“Why not think about my offer, too?”
Cato looked the man in the eye, tilting his head back to do so. “Dunno enough about yours. You were too vague.”
The giant held Cato’s stare for a long minute and then looked at the hovering barkeep. “Find somethin’ to do at the other end of the bar, Ham.”
The man nodded swiftly and moved down the length of the counter. Cannon drank from his stone jug and glanced up, stiffening as he saw Yancey standing halfway down the stairs, watching. He tightened his lips and looked back to Cato. “Better come over to a table.”
He indicated Yancey, and Cato glanced in his direction, shrugged, and followed Cannon to a rear table. As they were sitting down, Yancey came across and both men stiffened. Yancey nudged out a chair with his toe and sat down, straddling it, back against the wall. He raked the others with bleak eyes.
“Cannon, you were kind of hazy about the job you offered me when you hit town,” Yancey said. “My guess is you were just as hazy when you spoke to Colt here. Well, I just got word there could be trouble headin’ my way so I could be interested in what you’re offerin’.” He glanced at the tight-lipped Cato.
“If you’re about to give him some details, I’d appreciate being included.”
Cannon wasn’t fooled by the words. He knew he would have to include this man he knew as Banner, or be in a hell of a lot of trouble. So he shrugged, smiling faintly. “Two guns are better than one in my business,” he said affably enough, though his eyes were still as hard as steel chips.
The gunfighters waited, eyeing each other warily and Cannon tapped thick fingers against the table edge briefly before starting to speak in his low, rumbling voice. “Got me a load of guns to pick up. Where, don’t matter right now, except to say it’s this side of the border. A few hombres have made a try in the past to take the guns away from me before I could get ’em across the Rio. Callan’s job was to see that didn’t happen. Once he saw me across the border, he came back here. But in your case, Colt, you could come with me into Mexico and you’d be safe for all time. You, too, Banner, if you join up.”
Cato frowned. “Told you I don’t much like Mexico and I don’t know it any too well ... Rather be in a stampin’ ground I know.”
“Maybe you don’t have much choice,” Cannon pointed out quietly. He glanced at Yancey, who said nothing, merely returned his stare. “Feller I work for is known as El Halcon ... Ah! I see you’ve heard of him. Then there ain’t no need for me to explain what he aims to do with the guns. But he still needs men to train his soldiers, ignorant peons most of them, and he prefers norteamericanos because they know the guns best and they’re reliable. Sure, he’ll ditch you as soon as he’s got what he wants from you, but that ain’t much pain when your pockets are lined with gold. He pays well. And he looks after his gringo recruits.” He winked. “Keeps a whole passel of señoritas around and you’d have the pick ...”
Cato showed real interest but Yancey’s face remained impassive. “We’d have to fight, I guess,” he said flatly.
“Hell, ’course you would!” Cannon said. “I said he pays in gold. He don’t give it away. He wants somethin’ in return. You show his men how to use the guns and you lead them when he moves on Sonora. After that, well, he’ll decide if he can still use you or not.”
“And if he can’t?” Cato asked.
“He pays you off.”
“In gold? Or lead?” asked Yancey.
Cato stiffened and Cannon looked at Yancey soberly. “You play it square with El Halcon and he’ll play square with you.”
“I’ve heard that he don’t like Americanos much,” Yancey said, “It’s why he wants to take over the running of Mexico. He aims to get back all the lands of Old Spain, and that includes a goodly chunk of the United States.”
Cannon looked at Yancey with more respect. This gunfighter had his ear closer to the ground than he had at first figured. “Well, I guess that’s true enough. But I can only speak as I’ve found him. And he’s always treated me right. And pays damn well.”
“But he’s still got a use for you,” Yancey pointed out.
“See if you still think the same after you’ve made your last delivery to him.”
“I guess you ain’t buyin’ in, then,” Cannon said, staring into Yancey’s hard eyes.
Yancey shook his head slowly. “Not right now. Might change my mind later. Anywhere I can contact you?”
Cannon tensed and studied Yancey’s face for a long time before replying. “Cantina, town called Los Moros. Know it?”
Yancey was hard put not to look towards Cato. It was the town where they had first met more than a year ago now, siding each other as they shot their way out past bandidos and cut-throats, the only two gringos in the place.
“I can find it,” Yancey said, finally. He glanced at Cato. “You gonna join up with Cannon, Colt? You can still do a deal with me, you know ...”
“Not at your prices,” Cato growled and Yancey shrugged, stood up, nodding slightly to both men.
“Leave you to work out the details then,” he said and turned to walk across the room towards the batwings. He was about halfway there when the doors opened and Loveless and Clayton entered. They came in like men who were expecting trouble, sidling along the wall, hands close to gun butts, eyes darting around the room, taking in every movement and detail. Their gazes lingered briefly on Yancey, passed on and came to rest on Cannon and Colt where they were talking earnestly at the rear table.
Yancey kept walking but turned slightly so he could watch the two men. He saw them breast the bar and order drinks. They weren’t looking directly at Cannon but were watching his reflection in the mirror. The big man seemed oblivious to them, concentrating as he gave Cato details of the job he was hiring him for.
Yancey went out into the bright sun of the plaza and made his daily journey to the telegraph office.
He did not know that at about the same time, young Larry Pierce was staggering into the commandant’s office in the Ranger post at Del Rio, panting out his story about the cold-eyed gunhawk who had taken over the town of Condor.
Bannerman the Enforcer 18 Page 5
