Bannerman the Enforcer 44

by Kirk Hamilton

  Benbow tried to hit him with a punch but succeeded only in falling to his hands and knees. Brandon King kicked him almost casually in the ribs and then lurched back to where Mary was being held. Saloon girls, the piano player and the house gamblers stood silently near the stairs. Si Cordell was in the doorway of his office, tense and gray-faced, but not daring to interfere with Brandon King.

  The arrogant rancher stopped in front of Mary and grabbed at her long golden hair. He let silky strands trail through his fingers. Mary shuddered in fear and revulsion. King’s face hardened at her reaction. He thrust his face at hers and breathed whisky fumes over her. She turned away, grimacing.

  “Kind of uppity, ain’t she?” King growled. He reached for her hair again and let it slide through his fingers. “Feels kind of nice, this hair.” He turned to the gagging, dazed Benbow. “Must be nice to have this on the pillow beside you each night, huh?”

  Benbow started up but stumbled and fell to his hands and knees again. Brandon King laughed and whipped out a clasp-knife. He opened the blade swiftly and Mary sucked down a sharp breath as he turned to her, waving the blade only an inch from her face.

  “Don’t worry, sweet-stuff,” King slurred. “I ain’t about to carve you up. But I do aim to have me some of that golden hair.”

  Before she could move, he grabbed a handful of her hair and hacked it off at the shoulder-level. Mary cried out as Brandon King held up his prize, but the others looked uncomfortable now. There was something ugly in this kind of violation. But King chose not to notice and hacked off another length of hair on the other side, shorter this time.

  Benbow growled deep in his throat and hurled himself bodily at King. His shoulder cannoned into King and knocked him against the bar. King dropped the knife but held onto the cut hair. His face ugly, he pushed himself away from the bar as Benbow, staggering wildly, tried to free Mary from the grasp of the two cowhands who held her. She screamed and Chad Barnes moved forward. King waved him back and then whipped Benbow across the face with the handful of hair.

  Benbow wrenched his head back and King laughed and kicked Benbow’s legs out from under him. Benbow fell onto his side on the floor and Mary screamed again. King, panting a little, turned to her, glared, then stooped and picked up his clasp-knife. He stuffed her hair into his pocket, then reached out for her bodice with his left hand.

  “Hey, Brand!” yelled Chad Barnes, startled. “What the hell are you doing?”

  King turned his cold gaze onto the ramrod. “We said we’d have a little fun, didn’t we? Well, I ain’t started yet. I ain’t never seen a pregnant female without her clothes on...”

  “No, Brand! Hell, man!” Barnes tried to stop him but King slashed at him with the knife and the ramrod had to jump back swiftly.

  Then King turned back to the girl, grabbed her bodice and began to cut the cloth. Mary’s legs gave way and she would have fallen if the two cowmen weren’t holding her arms. As King hacked at her clothing the batwings opened and a tall man stepped out of the bright sunlight.

  Two men moved towards him from the side but the heavy shotgun the stranger carried swept around in a short arc, smashed one man halfway across the room, swung back and caught the other in the face, dropping him where he stood.

  The room was suddenly hushed. King stood frozen, his knife blade poised. All eyes turned to the big stranger as he strode into the room, stepping past the semi-conscious Cannon and Lincoln, his eyes on Brandon King. Chad Barnes stepped forward and the twin shotgun barrels hit him in the midriff, doubling him over. The cowhands released Mary and she sat down against the bar, dazed. Brandon King crouched and swung the knife blade towards the big man as he came relentlessly on.

  King slashed wildly. The stranger moved casually to one side and swung the shotgun barrels down. The snapping of King’s wrist was a sharp cracking sound in the big room, followed immediately by a scream of pain. The two barrels moved again in a short jabbing motion that Brandon King took in the chest. He coughed and floundered against the bar. The big stranger then swung the butt of the gun under King’s jaw and smashed him into unconsciousness.

  Before King’s body struck the floor Benbow yelled a warning and the man turned with blurring speed, crouching, the shotgun butt braced against his hip. The big gun thundered and a hardcase who’d drawn his six-gun was blown through the batwings to land in the dust of the street, most of his chest blown away.

  The big man stood stall, the hammer back on the unfired barrel as he raked his chill gaze around the silent room.

  “Someone get that lady a jacket or something,” Yancey Bannerman ordered coldly, looking towards the saloon girls by the stairs. “If anyone else moves, I’ll blow them in two.”

  Three – The Iron Men

  No one had noticed the freight train pull into the siding a short distance from town. There had been too much happening at the saloon and most of the townsfolk stood at the windows and near the batwings to see what was going on. Consequently, when the seven-car freight rolled in, only the railroad agent was at the depot.

  Yancey had stepped down stiffly, feeling grit and cinders inside his clothes from the long, uncomfortable ride in the caboose with the guard. He hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words since leaving Fort Wakeman and the guard had given up trying to make conversation.

  Yancey was still bitter about Jim Colby. Trust was a funny thing, he decided. Trust and friendship. And pride. Trust given could make a man feel proud and strong. Trust betrayed could sap a man’s strength, eating away at him like acid, leaving only bitterness and hurt in its wake.

  That was how it was with Yancey; he still couldn’t get used to the idea that Jim Colby had tried to kill him. Twice. By sending him into that ambush and then with the shotgun.

  The Brennecke slugs had intrigued Yancey and he had taken them and Colby’s Ithaca shotgun with him on the freight train. He knew Cato would want to see this ammunition that turned a shotgun into a veritable cannon.

  When he arrived in Calico Wells after the long, silent journey and found the situation with King and his men in the saloon, it suited Yancey just fine. He was in a killing mood; he wanted—needed—to lash out at something or someone. Finding a bastard like King cutting the obviously pregnant woman’s clothing had been just what he required.

  It had taken a lot of restraint on Yancey’s part to keep from killing the man outright.

  Now, with the King Ranch hands anxiously bending over King and Barnes, Yancey stood in the street with the bruised and bleeding Cannon and Lincoln as a pair of townsmen carried away the man Yancey had blasted almost in two. Mary and Will Benbow were at the doctor’s house.

  “By God, Jarrett,” Cannon said, dabbing at his mouth with a blood-spotted handkerchief, “you sure chose the right moment to arrive!”

  “Yeah,” put in Lincoln. “We’d just about given up on you gettin’ here.”

  Yancey frowned at them. “What’d you call me?”

  The storekeeper and the blacksmith looked uncertain at Yancey’s tone.

  “Ain’t you Speed Jarrett?” asked Cannon. “The gunfighter we sent for?”

  Yancey shook his head, “I’m Yancey Bannerman, gents, and I’m only passing through. I just happened to walk into that mess in there. I heard the woman screaming and wondered why in hell folks were standing around outside doing nothing. I’m still wondering for that matter.”

  Cannon made a helpless gesture. “Well, you’d have to know what goes on in this town to savvy things, I guess,” he murmured. “Feller named Nathan King from out in the valley runs things around here. He’s got this town lickin’ his boots, we’re ashamed to say. You just saw his son Brandon in action—the one with the knife.”

  “He’s lucky he’s still able to breathe,” Yancey said, squinting at the storekeeper. “Guess you can’t be too bad, if you say you’re ashamed for knucklin’ under. Shows there’s some spunk there somewheres. You just need to bring it out more is all.”

  Lincoln sighed. “We thought this
Jarrett feller might help do that. You know, set an example, make the town pick itself up and face Nathan King and his men.”

  Yancey frowned. “Speed Jarrett, you say?”

  “Yeah,” said Cannon. “We sent him two thousand dollars five weeks ago, after he agreed to come for that price. So far he ain’t showed.”

  Yancey shook his head slowly. “He won’t. First off, you were loco sending the money to him. Should’ve sent a deposit to show good faith and then paid him the rest on arrival.”

  Lincoln looked startled. “You think he lit out with our money?”

  “That’s not the reason I say he won’t be showing. He’s dead. Pard of mine killed him a few days ago in a ghost town shoot-out. He tried to nail my pard from a roof but my amigo was too fast for him. He was a member of an outlaw gang led by an hombre called Cat Mulvane.”

  The men stared blankly at Yancey for a spell and then Cannon asked quietly, “Just who are you, Bannerman?”

  “I work for the Governor,” Yancey said curtly.

  “What’re you doin’ here?”

  Yancey’s face tightened. “Trying to forget something that happened.” He looked down at the shotgun he held and then thrust it at Lincoln. “Here. Guess I shouldn’t’ve brought this thing along.”

  “What the hell did you shoot out of this?” Lincoln asked. Then, at a sign from Yancey he broke the gun at the breech and extracted the second Brennecke slug. He whistled. “Looks like a cannon shell!”

  Yancey nodded. “Recent development in Europe. The buffalo hunters here are aiming to try them out and—”

  “Watch out!” Cannon yelled suddenly, starting to run. Lincoln froze, the empty shotgun in one hand, the Brennecke slug in the other. Yancey spun, his hand streaking to his hip in an instinctive movement.

  Brandon King was leading his hardcases out of the saloon, his broken wrist thrust inside his shirt He held a Colt in his left hand, and his face was ugly with hate. Chad Barnes and three others held guns and it was plain that they meant to kill Yancey—and Cannon and Lincoln, too.

  But Yancey’s Colt started roaring before Brandon King could even drop hammer. The young rancher spun violently as lead took him high in the body. He cannoned into Chad Barnes and knocked the man sprawling. The other men crouched and started shooting wildly at Yancey, who was down on one knee now.

  Yancey’s Colt bucked and a man somersaulted over the hitch-rail. Another lurched into the saloon wall, clawing at a bleeding shoulder. The last man threw his gun away and raised his hands high.

  Brandon King was slumped against an awning post, blood pulsing from a hole in his chest. Chad Barnes got up slowly, his empty hands high. The wounded man sat down and was sick. The rest of the King hands made no move for their guns.

  Yancey straightened slowly through the gun smoke as Cannon, Lincoln and many of the townsfolk stared at him in awe.

  “Get your dead and wounded and clear town pronto,” Yancey ordered.

  Chad Barnes seemed only too pleased to obey, but he looked worried when two men lifted the dying Brandon King to his feet. The ramrod wasn’t looking forward to toting the dead man back to Nathan King.

  As the men rode out on Main Street several minutes later, Jed Cannon touched Yancey’s arm.

  “Man,” he said, “you gotta stay and help us! You just gotta!”

  Doctor Stedman tied off the bandage that encircled Will Benbow’s face, the thick pad of cotton over his nose causing the young rancher to tilt his head slightly so that he could see properly.

  Mary Benbow lay on the couch across the room, her hands folded over her breasts, breathing deeply and steadily as instructed by the medico. The doctor, in his early sixties and bent a little with arthritis, shuffled across to her and placed his stethoscope against her swollen stomach. He listened, watched closely by a worried Will.

  “Well, Doc?”

  Stedman waved him to silence, moving the stethoscope around. Finally he straightened. “Baby’s fine,” he announced, and Will felt the tension drain out of him. He even managed a smile with his broken lips as he looked at Mary, but the smile faded as Stedman added, “However, we can’t have Mary taking any more shocks like that.”

  Will Benbow tensed and Mary opened her eyes to stare soberly at the doctor who signed that she could sit up and stop the breathing exercise. Will stepped forward to help her swing her legs over the side of the couch. She swayed against him, clinging tightly to his arm.

  “One other thing,” Doctor Stedman added quietly. “Like I said, the baby’s fine. But it could be a breech birth.”

  Benbow, looking both puzzled and alarmed, flicked his gaze from the medico to Mary and back to Stedman again. “Which is...?”

  “It means that I think the baby, instead of being head-down in the birth canal, might be head up, which means he would be born feet-first.”

  Will looked none the wiser. “That’s bad, doc?”

  “Afraid so, boy. We need to have the baby’s head first to maneuver. Otherwise he could strangle on the umbilical cord.”

  Will smothered a curse and tightened his grip on Mary. She seemed calm as she looked steadily at the medico.

  “Will I need to have a Caesarian section, Doctor Stedman?”

  “It’s possible. At this stage, only possible. I won’t know for sure for another—oh, maybe two weeks or a little longer. But I stress that the baby’s got a strong heartbeat and is quite active.”

  Mary jumped suddenly and placed a hand on her abdomen, smiling. “Very active! It just kicked.”

  Will felt a shade embarrassed by this kind of talk, and his uneasiness put a sharp edge to his voice. “What’s this Caesarian thing? An operation?”

  “Exactly that, Will,” Stedman said. “If there is going to be difficulty in the baby being born normally via the birth canal, a doctor may elect to make an incision in the abdomen and remove the baby directly from the womb,” He smiled faintly as Will grimaced. “It’s a safe enough procedure but it’s used only if there is going to be any danger to the mother. In fact, it was first performed back in the days of the Ancient Romans, hence the name Caesarian.”

  Will wasn’t interested. He held up a hand. “You said Mary’s gonna be in danger givin’ birth to our child, didn’t you?”

  The doctor sighed heavily. “I can’t tell you that until it comes time for the birth, Will. If, as I suspect, it’s going to be a breech birth, then I will certainly give consideration to the Caesarian section. It will be much easier on Mary, I assure you, and safer for the child.”

  Mary squeezed her husband’s arm. “It’s all right, Will. I’ve read all about this. I’m not afraid. I’ll do whatever Doctor Stedman thinks best. I want our baby, Will, you know that, and I’m willing to go through whatever I have to.”

  Will kissed her lightly on the cheek, wincing as he hurt his bandaged nose. Then he turned to the doctor.

  “This operation—is it expensive, Doc?”

  Stedman waved a hand. “Don’t worry about the expense, Will, not at this stage ...”

  “But is it expensive?”

  “Well, of course, it costs more than a normal delivery, but you know I’m not one to press folk for money...”

  Will straightened a little, “And you know I’m not one for goin’ into debt if I can avoid it, Doc. I clear my debts as soon as I can. You just go ahead and do whatever you think is best for Mary and the baby. I’ll find some way to pay.”

  “Will, it’s only a possibility right—”

  “One I’ll prepare for if I can, Doc,” Will cut in, taking Mary’s arm. He smiled at her, ignoring the pain it cost him, and then he flicked at the hacked ends of her hair. “I’d better get out the shears and see if I can trim this for you, hon.” He sobered, “Too bad, in a way, that the stranger gunned down Brandon King; I’d’ve sure liked that pleasure for myself.”

  Mary frowned and Doc Stedman shook his head.

  “Now that kind of talk Mary can do without, young Will. You both go on back to your spread. I
think that after this day’s happening in town, Nathan King is gonna be very quiet for some time to come.”

  Will looked doubtful about that.

  Jed Cannon and Marv Lincoln had called a meeting of the Town Council, which normally consisted of half-a-dozen other businessmen from the town plus a representative from the valley, usually Will Benbow. But no one wanted to press Will into attending the special meeting on this day, not after what he and his wife had gone through.

  Yancey Bannerman, smoking, one boot up on the edge of a flour barrel, watched Will Benbow help his young wife into their buckboard across the street through the big storefront window. They started to drive out of town, but then Will reined in, turned the vehicle around and drove back, pulling up outside the store. He said something to Mary and hurried inside, stopping dead when he saw the gathering of men as Jed Cannon called the meeting to order.

  “What’s this, gents?” Will asked.

  “Oh, just a meetin’ of the Council, Will,” Cannon said swiftly. “You came for your supplies, I take it?”

  He gestured at the goods Benbow had left on the counter when swamper Mel Stoddard had run in to tell him about the abduction of Mary. Will nodded absently.

  “I usually get invited to Town Council meetin’s,” he said quietly.

  Lincoln shrugged. “We figured you had enough to do lookin’ after Mary.”

  “I’m grateful for the thought, Marv. But what’s the meetin’ about? Anything that’s gonna affect us out in the valley?”

  Cannon, Lincoln and the other councilors looked towards the silent Yancey.

  “Well, it kind of depends on Bannerman here,” Cannon said. “We want him to stay on and help us square-up to King.”

  “Well, that’s sure a good idea!” Will enthused. “I’ll just tell Mary I’ll be another twenty minutes or so ...”

  Before they could stop him he dashed outside: he was back moments later, looking at Yancey.

  “You gonna stay and help us, mister? We sure could use you.”