Bannerman the Enforcer 44

by Kirk Hamilton

  Will Benbow shouted as he fell, his body twisting, the world spinning.

  Then he hit with shattering force and consciousness left him.

  Up on the cliff top Chad Barnes and his riders reined in and looked down at the pale snake of the river. They could hear the roar of the rapids and the waterfall beyond.

  Barnes’ teeth flashed in the darkness as he grinned, ignoring the pain it cost his battered face. He looked around at his men, starlight glinting off the barrels of their guns.

  “That worked out mighty well,” he said. “Benbow’s finished. If anyone wants to investigate, all they’ll find is sign where his mount went over the edge.”

  “S’pose he’s got a slug in him, Chad?” asked one man.

  Barnes shrugged. “Hell, we chased a rustler. Didn’t see who it was, but we could’ve winged him and then he rode in this direction. We lost him in the darkness.” He chuckled. “I’m gonna enjoy tellin’ that uppity Mary Benbow that her husband’s dead. I sure am.”

  “What about Bannerman?” asked one of the men uneasily.

  Barnes didn’t lose his smile. “You leave him to Nate and me. Bannerman’s finished, too.”

  “Chad,” the man said hesitantly as the ramrod turned his mount’s head. “There’s the woman. What happens to her?”

  Barnes looked at the man soberly. “You let Nate and me worry about that, too.”

  Then he spurred his mount away from the cliff edge, riding fast towards the King Ranch, anxious to tell Nathan King the good news about Will Benbow.

  Nine – Pro’s Way

  It was a beautiful morning. Yancey rose early, ate, hired the sorrel at the livery and rode out to the river.

  It was going to be a hot day, but now a pleasant breeze blew across the shallow river ford and touched his face with cool fingers as he sat on a rock, smoking and flicking pebbles into the tea-colored water.

  A man needed a morning like this once in a while, he thought. There were enough dullness and gray patches in his way of life. Sunny days and relaxing surroundings helped get things into the right perspective, even if the relaxation was only temporary.

  There was only one way this thing could end, of course. It was inevitable that there be a showdown between King and Yancey and Benbow. It had to happen. Yancey knew he couldn’t leave Benbow to run things on his own. The young sheriff would make a pretty good fist of things, he had no doubt of that, but he was still too inexperienced to go against a man like King alone.

  Worry nagged at Yancey. Nathan King might display uncharacteristic patience and decide to wait things out, knowing that sooner or later the Enforcer would be recalled by Governor Dukes. Yes, he might be content to wait for Yancey’s departure now that his plans had blown up in his face.

  Yancey couldn’t really see the rancher being that patient, but it was a possibility he did not dare overlook. To counter it, he planned to wire Dukes and ask for a back-up Enforcer to help Benbow if he, Yancey, received orders to return to the capitol.

  That would help foil King some, and maybe it would even push him into making a desperate move before Yancey pulled out. The Enforcer hoped so. He would enjoy going up against Nathan King and Chad Barnes. The world could only be a better place without men like that in it.

  He realized suddenly that the sun was burning his face. He glanced up, squinting. A few hours had gone by judging from the position of the sun. He looked at his pocket watch. It was almost ten. He had expected Benbow before this. Maybe the baby was due. But then surely Benbow would have come riding down the river trail in his buckboard to get Mary to Doc Stedman in town.

  The uneasiness Yancey had felt the night before was back, stronger this time. He went to his mount, swung into the saddle and rode into the shallow water, planning to cross the river and ride to the Benbow spread.

  But halfway across he reined in and stood in the stirrups. Something upstream had caught his eye, something bright on the river bend where gravel and sand had piled up.

  It was a man’s shirt. Now, squinting against the glare of the water, he could see the man himself, lying on his back, his legs dangling in the slow-moving water. He spurred the horse upstream to the bend and leapt from the saddle, splashing through the shallows and recognizing Will Benbow. He put his hands under Benbow’s arms and dragged him to the grassy bank.

  Benbow’s clothes were badly torn and bruised flesh showed through the tattered cloth. One of his legs was twisted at an unnatural angle and there was a deep gash on his forehead just over the right eye. His left arm was badly swollen.

  Yancey drew breath between his teeth as he examined Benbow’s injured leg. The shin bone had splintered and was protruding through the flesh. Though Benbow was unconscious, he moaned when Yancey moved the leg. At least the man was still alive. Yancey placed his ear to the young rancher’s chest. His heart thudded strongly but unevenly.

  The Enforcer knew he would have to splint the leg and arm before he could move the young sheriff. The man’s flesh was cold, like that of a corpse, and he figured he had been in the water for quite some time.

  As he cut down some saplings with his hunting knife, Yancey glanced upstream. He could just hear the distant rumble of the rapids and waterfall. Now it was obvious why Benbow was so severely injured.

  But what of Mary Benbow? Was she still at the cabin, not aware of what had happened to her man? Or had she gone into the river with him and her body was now jammed between rocks in the rapids? Or maybe her sodden body was swirling around in a whirlpool at the bottom of the waterfall ...

  Yancey could spare no time to search. The only thing he could do was splint Benbow’s broken limbs quickly and get him to Doc Stedman, hoping he would be able to tell what had happened after regaining consciousness.

  Benbow moaned again as Yancey straightened out the smashed leg before tying in place the crude splints he had fashioned.

  “He’ll never walk again without limping,” Doc Stedman said. “That leg’s gonna be an inch or so shorter than the other when it knits. But he’s lucky it’s still attached to his body. I’m glad you didn’t try to move him without putting on those splints, Yancey ...”

  He let his words trail off as he shook his head slowly, wiping his hands on a wet cloth to get rid of particles of the plaster he had used to fashion a cast around Benbow’s leg.

  “How about his arm, Doc?” Yancey asked.

  “Simple fracture. He’ll get back full use of that when it comes out of the cast. I’m sure usin’ up a heap of plaster on you fellers.”

  Yancey smiled faintly, then he indicated with a jerk of his head the pale Benbow who lay on the couch under a sheet, his head heavily bandaged.

  “How long before he regains consciousness?”

  Doc Stedman shrugged as he cleaned up at the sink. “Can’t say. That’s a deep gash. Took eight sutures. Bone’s not cracked but he’s had one helluva wallop there. Could be he might have concussion in which case it wouldn’t surprise me if he don’t even remember what happened to him.”

  Yancey stiffened. “Hell, I hope not, Doc! I dunno where Mary is. I was hopin’ he wouldn’t take too long comin’ ’round …”

  “If I was you, young feller, I’d ride out to the Benbow place and find out about Mary. He could be hours coming ’round and, like I said, not recollect what happened. I’m worried some about Mary myself. I’ll have the wife watch Will and come with you.”

  “Might be a good idea,” Yancey said.

  They left together minutes later, the sawbones driving his buggy and Yancey riding ahead on his hired mount.

  Yancey was waiting, grim-faced, in the doorway of the Benbow cabin when Doc Stedman raced his buggy into the yard and hauled rein in a cloud of dust. He took one look at Yancey’s hard-set face and then gazed at the torn-down barn and the corrals.

  “What happened here?”

  Yancey walked forward slowly. “King was here, I’d say. There’s no sign of Mary. Stove’s cold, so’s the fireplace. Looks to me like it happened last n
ight.”

  Stedman sighed heavily and nodded, still looking around. “Knowing Will, I guess he went straight after Mary and ran into trouble.”

  “That’s the way it looks to me,” Yancey said. “I aim to follow his trail. There are tracks at the back that don’t look too old. They point in the direction of King’s ranch.”

  “Hell, man, you can’t go there!” Stedman protested. “If they are holding Mary hostage and they spot you—”

  “They won’t spot me.”

  “They might! They’re sure to have guards posted and they probably expect you to show up. Look at what happened to Will. They must’ve been layin’ for him! It’s plain foolishness, Yancey!”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “Well, I ... hell, I dunno what’s the best thing to do. I mean, for a start we’re only guessin’ that King does have Mary Benbow ...”

  Yancey looked at Stedman soberly and the medico sighed.

  “All right. I guess there’s hardly any doubt at all that King took her off. And it’s obvious why! He aims to use her as bait to make you go after him so he can turn his men loose on you. Either that or he means to use Mary as a lever to make you ride out.”

  “King doesn’t want me riding anywhere except to hell,” Yancey said.

  “Then you’re riding into a trap and you know it! Like I said, Yancey, it’s plain foolishness.”

  Yancey shook his head stubbornly. “I know King’s kind, Doc. I’ve faced them before and I’m still walking around, but they’re dead and buried.”

  “Look, man, your hands are tied! Can’t you see that? If you make any moves against King, Mary’s life is at stake.”

  “That’s no news, Doc.”

  “Then listen to reason. It’s just too dangerous for you to ride in there. What could you do anyway? King’s got two dozen men or more. There’ll be guards every yard of the way. You’d never get past all those men.”

  Yancey nodded in agreement. “Be a mite difficult, I guess. But I’ve been thinking about it, Doc. There’s a way.”

  The medico grasped Yancey’s forearm firmly. “Yancey, I’ve come to know and respect you these past few days. You’re a strong man, likely the toughest ever to ride into Calico Wells. Also, you inspire folk into standing up for themselves. But you’re no superman, and that’s what you’d have to be to get by King’s men.”

  Yancey smiled. “Thanks for the kind words, Doc. I appreciate it. But what King’s men need is something to keep ’em busy. And I know just what.”

  Doc Stedman frowned and shook his head in puzzlement. “Damn if I know what you’re gettin’ at, Yancey.”

  “Leave it to me, Doc. You just get on back to town and take care of Will.”

  “No matter what you’re planning, Yancey, I can’t help thinking that you’re endangering Mary.”

  Yancey looked at him coldly. “I reckon King did that when he grabbed her.”

  Stedman nodded slowly as Yancey stepped into the saddle. “Perhaps I should accompany you. I mean, she may need medical attention.”

  Yancey debated this in his mind for several minutes, but finally he shook his head. “I can do it alone, Doc. I’d never manage it if I had you to worry about. Adios.”

  The big Enforcer lifted a hand to Stedman, turned his sorrel and rode slowly around the side of the cabin.

  Stedman stood in the hot sun and watched Yancey dismount to examine some tracks in the ground. Remounting, the Enforcer rode out of the yard and onto the trail that lead over the mountain towards King’s ranch.

  Yancey settled down amongst a clump of rocks and brought field glasses to his eyes. He adjusted the focus and moved the lenses in a slow arc. The distant King Ranch buildings seemed to jump towards him. He moved the glasses, looking long and hard at the windows, then the open doors at the upstairs balconies. After that he studied the yard, the barn and the root cellar.

  There was no sign of Mary Benbow.

  But there were four armed guards. Two were in the house and the others were behind the barn and the tool shed.

  Scanning with field glasses, Yancey saw riders following the fence lines. Other men sat with rifles across their knees under trees, all watching the trails into King’s land. Yancey could see only a small section of the ranch from his position but he knew that the whole spread would be well guarded.

  He swung the glasses back to the house and saw movement at an upstairs window. He was just in time to catch a glimpse of a woman being led past the window by an armed man. Her swollen abdomen left no doubt that she was Mary Benbow. And the man meant there was at least one more guard in the house than he had reckoned on.

  Yancey leaned back against a rock. Yeah, like he had told Doc Stedman, what King’s men needed was something to keep them busy. And he knew just the thing.

  He stashed the binoculars in a saddlebag and walked his mount through the rocks and down a small knoll. He mounted, rode into a hollow and then up the slope of the timbered mountain beyond. He weaved his way up through the trees, careful to keep to the thickest areas. On the crest he sat his mount in a stand of cedars and looked out across King’s land.

  He could see a lot more of the vast spread now. He smiled as he saw just what he was looking for. He wet a finger and held it up, feeling the touch of the breeze, and his smile widened.

  He rode down into a gulch and followed it until he came to the river. The water was deep and he had to swim his mount across. On the bank he stepped down, emptied his boots of water and dried his six-gun and rifle with the bandanna he had placed beneath his hat before entering the water. Then he mounted again. Soon he came to a sea of dry grass; tall, waving stalks rippling in the wind like ocean waves. From the mountain top he had noted that the sun-dried grass covered acres of ground on this section of King’s land and was bordered by timbered hills.

  He dismounted, turned so that his back was to the wind, and struck three matches at once. He dropped the burning matches in the grass and they went out. He pulled out fistfuls of grass this time and made brands that he lit individually. He tossed the first blazing brand as far as he could, swung into the saddle and dropped the other two as he rode.

  He hadn’t ridden more than fifty yards when flames crackled through the tall grass.

  Yancey galloped for another hundred yards, dismounted, ripped up an armload of grass and tied it to the end of his lariat. He set it afire and mounted. Then, with the end of the rope looped around his saddle horn, he rode through the grass, dragging the blazing bundle behind, leaving a wake of fire.

  A gun whiplashed and he heard the whine of the bullet. He shook the rope free and crouched low over his mount’s neck as it raced away from the shooting behind. The guard who had spotted him came riding fast, rifle to his shoulder, firing wildly.

  Yancey nudged his mount beyond the wall of flame and then slipped his rifle out of its scabbard. He sat his mount and waited. After a moment the guard sent his horse through the flames and looked around for Yancey. The Enforcer’s weapon bucked twice and the man pitched from the saddle with a choked scream, his arms flailing.

  Yancey ran his mount across the face of the slope, below the thundering wall of flame that, fanned by the breeze, surged through the grass. Rising clouds of smoke made the sun look like a massive blood orange hanging in the sky.

  He heard a hoarse shout and saw three riders trying to cut him off. Yancey rode directly at them, momentarily throwing them off guard. His rifle blazed and one man’s horse went down, the rider hitting the ground at a run, falling, somersaulting and coming up, pounding down the slope, his eyes bulging in their sockets in fear as the flames roared down.

  Yancey sent his mount between the other two riders, unseating one man. He lashed out with his rifle barrel and clipped the other in the midriff. The man clung to his saddle, dropping his gun. Then, Yancey was past and the big sorrel needed no urging to gallop away from the fire that had enveloped the hillside and was already eating into the timber.

  The Enforcer jumped the so
rrel into the river and swam it across, hearing shouts behind him; But there was no shooting now. The men were too busy trying to fight the fire.

  On the far side, dripping wet, Yancey loped the animal along the riverbank, keeping the line of trees between himself and the ranch house. Once he stopped and heard riders thundering down towards the river from the direction of the house. He smiled crookedly. The fire would keep them busy all right. But he wanted them even busier.

  He had noticed a large herd gathered in the lower pasture south of the big house. The prime condition of the steers told him that King was getting ready to drive them to market.

  Yancey rode in on the herd like a demon, yelling and waving his hat wildly. The animals were already tense and nervous because of the biting rawness of the grass smoke in their nostrils.

  The abrupt appearance of the screaming rider bearing down on them from out of the brush was too much. The herd moved off as one, bellowing as they surged away from him. He continued to yell until his voice was hoarse, riding up and down and even into the herd at times.

  Yancey hauled rein under the trees at the edge of the pasture and watched as the steers thundered away, crashing through fences, wild-eyed, their horns tossing and clashing as they ran onto the plains and into the valley proper.

  He was pleased to see many bunches breaking for the hills to seek refuge in gulches and canyons.

  Behind him the whole mountain was ablaze and he could see riders frantically trying to control the fire and get stranded beeves out of danger.

  Moving back into the thick timber, Yancey watched as men came riding down from the ranch house, trying desperately to head off the wild stampede before the herd was scattered to hell and gone.

  Now that the odds had been reduced considerably, Yancey reckoned it was time to go to the big ranch house.