~*~
Yancey Bannerman was dancing with Kate Dukes at the hoedown on the bank of the Pease River which flowed through Pease Park in the heart of Austin, when he saw the Ranger approaching.
The governor himself was patron of the hoedown and had made a brief appearance earlier, said a few words, drunk a little, and had then departed with his personal physician, Dr. Boles, accompanying him. Dukes’ chronic angina pectoris was acting up again and he was forced to limit the length of time he spent at public functions. One reason was the strain he would be subjected to, and the other was that he did not wish the people of Texas to know just how serious his complaint was. He always dreaded being struck down with a severe attack in public. He felt it was better if it was not general knowledge that he could drop down dead at any time, and his daughter, Kate, did her best to help him conceal his condition, though she had been at him lately to consider early retirement.
Dukes wouldn't hear of it; as long as there were things he wanted to do for Texas, he would carry on. He was a man with a great love for the Lone Star State. That was why he had formed a special unit of Enforcers to help administer the law, and, sometimes, to act outside the accepted law of the State. He had started with two men, Yancey Bannerman and his sidekick, Johnny Cato. They had proved such a formidable combination that, recently, he had increased the size of the Enforcer Unit to six. Yancey had not long ago put the chosen four through their paces at a specially-constructed training ground called Ironsite, on Juniper Flats just outside Austin. He had wound up carrying out a grueling assignment in which Dukes’ life had been at stake, and Kate, too, had been threatened. i
That had been three weeks ago and Yancey had been growing restless again. So now, while dancing with Kate, and seeing the Ranger captain from the permanent Guard Unit at the mansion on Capitol Hill coming towards him, Yancey felt a tingling in his spine.
It was time, he figured. There was a new assignment in the offing. And that suited him fine; he felt like some action again, even though Kate’s company had been pleasant these past weeks. Johnny Cato had been on assignment and was about due in again. He hoped it would be something they could handle together.
Kate had seen the captain, too, and she slowed and dropped her arms, looking swiftly at Yancey. He smiled and he saw by her eyes that she knew he was hoping for some action. She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and squeezed gently. She understood, though she would be sorry to see him go.
The captain touched a hand lightly to his hat brim in a brief salute to Kate, then nodded to Yancey. “He wants you, Yance. Pronto.”
“He’s all right?” Kate asked swiftly. “I mean, he hasn’t had an attack ...?”
“No, ma’am. Governor’s fine. Some dispatches were waitin’ for him back at the mansion and he figured to clear ’em away tonight before turnin’ in. But seems there’s somethin’ urgent he wants Yance to handle right away.” He gave a smile and a small bow. “I have permission to stay and see that you enjoy the rest of the dance, if that’s what you want, ma’am.”
“You might as well, Kate,” Yancey told her. “Whatever it is, I won’t be moving out until morning at the earliest. If it is an assignment, of course. So I’ll be sure to see you before I go.”
Kate thought for a few moments, then smiled and removed her hand from Yancey’s arm. “Yes, why not? There would be nothing for me to do back at the mansion while you men are discussing the affairs of the State, I guess. Whenever you are ready, Captain.”
Yancey watched the Ranger whirl Kate out onto the dance platform under the gay paper lanterns, then turned and walked away into the darkness.
When he arrived at the big house on Capitol Hill a half-hour later, he found Dukes eating a late supper in his office. The governor waved Yancey to a chair and offered him coffee and biscuits. Yancey accepted and waited until the governor had finished eating before getting down to business.
Dukes sat back, took out a key on a silver chain that was attached to his vest and unlocked his desk drawer. He brought out a cedar wood box with beautiful red and gold embossed labels on it and took out two Havana cigars, giving one to Yancey. Afterwards he locked the box back in the drawer.
He wasn’t afraid his servants or anyone else would steal his cigars; he was not supposed to smoke them, according to Dr. Boles. So Dukes figured that what the good medic didn’t see, or know, wouldn’t hurt him. And if Kate didn’t find any boxes lying around in unlocked drawers, then she wasn’t likely to confiscate them.
When they were puffing the aromatic smoke, Dukes said quietly, “Johnny’s on his way in.”
Yancey looked at him sharply. “He all right?”
“Far as 1 know. There was some shooting, I’m given to understand, and all the Nixon gang are dead. So I guess that means Johnny took care of them with that Manstopper of his and came out of it unscathed. Or, at least, fit enough to head for home. He’ll be here by morning.”
“Fine,” Yancey said, genuinely pleased. “Must be about time for me to pick up an assignment, Governor.”
Dukes smiled faintly, wincing a little and holding his left shoulder. A twinge of angina. Yancey didn’t miss the signs but he said nothing. Dukes forced the grin back. “I’m all right. And, you’re right, Yance; it is time for you to tackle another assignment. And, in this case, there’s no one else who could do it.”
Yancey arched his eyebrows quizzically. “Sounds interesting,” he opined.
Dukes pushed the supper tray to one side and picked up a manila folder that had some string dangling from it with the remains of red sealing wax attached. Yancey’s interest quickened. Only something very important would be sealed that way.
“Amarillo,” Dukes said. “You hear anything about it lately?”
Yancey shrugged. “Little trail gossip. Some drunken cowpoke cut loose, downed a few folk, includin’ the deputy sheriff. Then the deputy’s wife blew him apart with a shotgun, and killed the saloon gal he was with at the time.”
Dukes smiled wryly. “Story always gains a little in the telling down the trail. Wasn’t quite that way. No saloon gal was killed, and it was the deputy’s sister who killed the other hombre. Story has it he was a drunken cowpoke from Sundance, Wyoming, called himself the Sundance Kid, but his real name was Chick Nancarrow.” Dukes sobered and held his gaze steadily on Yancey’s face. “Leastways, that’s the story that’s being given out.”
“There’s another one?”
“The right one. He was no drunken cowpoke: he was a gunfighter named Sundance, from the Dakotas. A killer, hired assassin. He’d hire his gun out to anyone who could pay a fistful of bloody dollars; range wars, outlaw feuds. He’d even toted badge in a couple of places. And, his specialty was political assassination.”
Yancey leaned forward now. “He was on his way here? After you?”
Dukes shook his head, smiling crookedly. “Not likely. I haven’t been treading on anyone’s corns lately, far as I know. Thing is, Yance, when the sheriff of Amarillo, feller named Nick Lacy ...”
“I know him. Real tough hombre. Straight as a ramrod.”
“That’s Nick. Well, when he was going through Sundance’s things, he found a letter in the bottom of his saddlebags.” He opened the folder, took out the crumpled letter and handed it across to Yancey. “You can read it in full later, but the gist of it is, he was on his way down into Mexico to meet an hombre named ‘Brandon’ in a town called Acuna Parral. Know it?”
“Somewheres near Monterey?”
“That’s it. Well, seems he’d never met this Brandon but whatever they were up to was worth five thousand to Sundance. Then the letter goes on to say that afterwards he can take care of the Texas end of the deal on his way back north.”
Yancey frowned, glancing down at the letter. The paper was very crumpled and stained badly. It looked as if it had been wet at one time. The ink had run and some of the words were indecipherable. And yet, there was something vaguely familiar about that writing. No, it wasn’t writing; it
was printing. Someone had hand-printed the words, not uncommon at that time when reading came hard to most men and many couldn’t read at all or even write their own names.
“Seems I’ve seen this writing—printing—before, Governor. Hard to make out. But can’t recall anyone named Brandon.”
“I’m having the name checked now. Thing is, Yance, Nick Lacy used his head. He forwarded that letter and some other papers to the nearest Ranger post and, in case it was something that needed investigation by us, he spread that story about Sundance being a cowpoke on the prod from Wyoming. He said, too, that the girl who shot Sundance, Lila Lorrance, was waiting to collect the reward but he’s stalled her off from putting in her claim until he hears from us.”
“What’s he getting at?”
“He figures if she claims the reward on Sundance, and word got out, which it damn soon would, maybe it’d hamper any investigation we might be carrying out. While, if this Brandon hombre thinks Sundance is still alive and on his way down to meet him in Acuna Parral, then it’ll give us time to find out what he’s doing.”
Yancey sighed, nodding. “Yeah, well Nick Lacy always was long on brains. Kind of upsetting for the gal who blew Sundance apart, though, I guess.”
“She’ll get the reward eventually. Just can’t risk paying it out till we take a closer look at this.”
“You figure it needs a closer look?”
“Hell, yeah, with Sundance’s background. He never comes this far south and, far as I can tell, he’s never been down into Mexico. Had a loco hatred for anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon. His whole family was wiped out by Confederate troops during the war.”
“Well, where do I come in? How come you say I’m the only one can handle this?”
Dukes smiled as he handed over another paper. “Read that description of Sundance.”
Yancey read swiftly, snapped his head up. “Guess we’re about the same size, but I don’t look much like him facially.”
“Enough to get by, I figure. Especially if he’s never met Brandon before. Neither one would know exactly what the other looks like. What d’you think, Yance?”
Yancey pursed his lips. “Might work, I guess. All pretty vague, though, Governor.”
“Likely deliberately so, in case that letter was intercepted. I figure we have to follow up on this, Yance, seeing as Sundance was what he was and, also, Texas is mentioned. He must’ve been gonna get up to some devilment here and I want to know what it was.”
“Okay, Governor, sounds reasonable. But how long since Sundance was killed? Trail talk had it that it was over a week back.”
The governor smiled crookedly. “Lacy started that. Only happened yesterday. These papers were sent by special messengers. They rode like the wind and must’ve broken the best Pony Express records, I figure. I’ve already sent for Sundance’s guns, saddlebags and his horse. They’ll be shipped out on the train that arrives here tomorrow night. You can take off right away, and if Sundance was keeping to some sort of schedule, you won’t be far behind.”
Yancey glanced at the letter again. “This damn writing bothers me. Reminds me of some I’ve seen. 1 was just looking to see if any date is mentioned.”
Dukes shook his head. “Just says ‘soon as you can get here’, but that could still cover a pre-arranged date of arrival. We don’t want to lose any time on this. No matter what’s behind it, you can bet it was illegal if Sundance was involved. And if he was to assassinate any Mexican official, we’ve got to knock it on the head pronto. Not much good for relations with Mexico if gringos go down there to kill their politicos.”
“Uh-huh. Johnny Cato’ll be back come morning, you said. I’d like to use him as back-up, Governor. Provided he’s not wounded, of course.”
Dukes gave the matter a little thought before nodding in agreement. “Might be a good idea. He can ride on ahead of you and get settled in Acuna Parral, maybe figure out the lay of the land and get a line on this Brandon. He’ll be there should you need help or to get a message back to me.”
“Or the border patrol,” Yancey added soberly.
The Governor of Texas nodded soberly. “Yeah. It could be damn dangerous, Yancey. Using another man’s identity is always chancy. You never know who you’re gonna run into who might know him. I’ve got a description of the clothes that Sundance was wearing and I want you to dress the same. By the time you leave, I’ll have as much background information on him as I can get. Wires are already on their way to the Dakota law agencies. It’ll all come back in code. No use advertising our interest in Sundance over Western Union.”
“Sure. One thing I’ll have to work on, I guess, is this Texas drawl I’ve picked up since I’ve been living here. Reckon a man like Sundance wouldn’t even tolerate the hint of a Southern accent if he hated Rebs like you say.”
The governor agreed. Yancey was originally from the Barbary Coast, San Francisco, where he had grown up in the security of a Nob Hill mansion, with governesses and servants and private tutors. His father, Curtis Bannerman, ‘C.B.’ to most people who knew him, had started in the lumber business and then began sinking part of the profits into land, out West, where the development was taking place. He bought vast tracts of land cheap, spread a few dollars around in the right quarters and got advance information about where the railroads were to be built. He made a fortune almost overnight.
While others grubbed and sweated and fought for gold during the big California rush of ’49 and onwards, C.B. offered transport and shipped in goods that were in short supply. Miners, he found, were willing to pay as much as twenty times the real value for items they considered essential; like picks, shovels, pans and lumber, not to mention coffee and bacon and other food items.
Soon C.B. took less and less of an active interest in such ventures and began speculating on the Stock Exchange. He found he had a natural flair for picking the right investments and soon the Bannerman name was well known in financial circles. From vast profit on the Exchange, it was only a short step to the banking business, and the Bannerman First National Bank now formed the hub of the vast Bannerman financial empire. There were branches of the bank all over the country and there were Bannerman land agencies, cattle agencies, lumberyards, timber mills and riverboats. Just about anything that could turn a profitable dollar had been touched by the Bannerman financial genius at some time over the past thirty-odd years.
During that time, Curtis Bannerman’s wife gave birth to three children; Matilda, the eldest, now ‘hostess’ and manageress of the huge Bannerman mansion on Nob Hill; Charles or ‘Chuck’, in his late twenties now, and an inveterate gambler while, at the same time, being his father’s right-hand man in many a financial venture. Chuck was in and out of many scrapes with gambling debts and when the pace became too hot in ’Frisco, his father could usually give him a chore that took him to various parts of the West long enough for any fuss to die down. C.B. often settled the debts himself, while Chuck was away. He was, of course, Curtis Bannerman’s favorite and could do little wrong in his eyes.
When Yancey, the youngest of the Bannerman brood had been born, his mother had died. Old C.B. had never forgiven Yancey for that. It seemed they were destined to always be at loggerheads. If Chuck could do nothing wrong in his father’s eyes, Yancey could do little that was right. Even if he did somehow succeed, there was no praise forthcoming from his father. But during Yancey’s late teens, when Chuck’s troubles were occurring with more and more frequency, C.B, had taken an interest in Yancey’s future and began teaching him the rudiments of the family business. C.B. could see that Chuck would never make a good fist of things. He would be too rash, too inclined to take chances with depositors’ money. C.B. had seen Yancey’s intelligence and hoped to channel it into the financial side of the business.
Yancey had shown a leaning towards law and C.B. had sent him to law school where Yancey had qualified as an attorney in record time. Then he had dropped the bombshell that had completely estranged him from his father. He had no interest
in the family business; he wanted to get out onto the frontier and help the folk who were building the nation. Nothing could make him change his mind and C.B. had turned his back on him with a gruff, “Just like your mother: stubborn, biting the hand that’s fed you all these years!”
Yancey had ridden out, wandered the frontier for several years, rarely practicing or using his legal qualifications, choosing instead to ride the wild trails with cattlemen and men on the edge of the law. He took temporary law badges himself, finding that he had a natural gun-speed and a quick mind that could get him out of tough and dangerous situations.
During one of these adventures, he had saved Governor Dukes and Kate from certain death, with the aid of Johnny Cato whom he had met during a bloody shootout down in Mexico. And, almost from that time on, he had worked for Dukes as an Enforcer. Almost two years now, he had been Dukes’ top gun and, during that time, he had naturally picked up the lazy Texas drawl.
If he didn’t rid his speech of that tell-tale accent completely, it could well be the death of him on this assignment.
Three – Enemy Guns
Johnny Cato was a small man, five feet eight inches tall and weighing around one-fifty pounds. Most times he would be classed as being of ‘average’ stature, but beside Yancey Bannerman, who stood six-two in his socks and tipped the scales at close to two hundred pounds, Cato looked smaller than he actually was. This fact had put a lot of men in infirmaries all over the country and not a few in Boot Hill graves, too.
Now, he and Yancey were in the bar of the Red Slipper Saloon in Austin, having a quiet drink, their first since Cato’s return from his last assignment. He had not been wounded and was ‘rarin’ to go’ on this new assignment with his pard, though they would travel separately to Acuna Parral.
It seemed that Sundance was very much a loner and shunned the company of other men, even on a temporary basis. Yancey and Cato would leave Austin together and, at a predetermined point along the trail south, they would go their separate ways and Yancey would then change into the clothes and gun rig of Sundance, and become the gunfighter until the chore was over. Or, until someone recognized him as an impostor and put an end to the impersonation one way or another.
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