Bannerman the Enforcer 8

by Kirk Hamilton

  “What’s to remember?” Yancey replied. “You’re dead set on going for your gun, so why don’t you go for it?”

  Becker stiffened. “When I’m good and ready!”

  There was a murmur amongst the crowd. They wanted action. Becker spun towards them and cursed them to silence. Then he wheeled back to face the man he knew as Sundance and pointed with his cigarette.

  “I got a funny feelin’ about you, mister. You don’t look the way I remember Sundance. And you’d just have to remember me, by name, if not by sight! I’m the last of the Becker family, the ones you wiped out in Aberdeen, South Dakota, when you used us as hostages in that range war. You figured you’d killed me, too, but I pulled through, as you can see. I know you’d have to remember me, Sundance, because I’m the one put the bullet in your back. But you had saddlebags thrown over your shoulder and the lead glanced off somethin’ metallic inside. So, only thing I can figure, if you don’t recollect me, is that you ain’t ...”

  “Shut up and draw, you son of a bitch!” Yancey broke in harshly, figuring it had gone far enough.

  Becker stopped talking abruptly, his face tightening at the insult. Then his right hand streaked across his body in one of the fastest cross-draws Yancey had ever seen. The Enforcer’s hand dipped and rose with the strange six-gun and he swore as the smooth black wood butt slipped a little in his grip as he cocked the hammer. But it slid back and he depressed the trigger, recocked and fired again, the gun bucking with the double explosion.

  Becker’s gun was out and working, but the barrel was angled down into the dust and the bullets kicked up stones as the dark man reeled, twisting and staggering like a puppet with cut strings. He went down with eyes bulging and mouth working, watched by the crowd.

  Yancey reloaded before Becker’s boot-heels had stopped drumming. He was tensed, wound up tight inside. By hell, that had been close! That slight fumble had almost cost him his life. If Becker had been just a shade faster he would have had Yancey nailed dead to rights during that split-second of fumbling. What’s more, he knew it was something that would never have happened with the real Sundance.

  He looked around at the crowd gathering close to Becker’s body. A few men glanced at him puzzledly but looked away swiftly when they met his gaze. Then one heavy-shouldered hombre with gray hair showing beneath his hat walked over and nodded curtly. Yancey regarded him warily.

  “I seen a man called Sundance outgun a hombre up in Montana maybe ten years back,” he said in a gruff voice. “I reckon you could be the same man. But, whether or no, I’d like to say you’re the fastest gun ever hit this town. And Becker was no slouch. He’s been around these parts for quite a spell. Now I guess he’ll be around forever. Up on Boothill.”

  Yancey nodded. “You can carve on the headboard that he was killed by a man called Sundance.” He took some coins from his pocket and handed them to the puzzled man. “That’ll pay for it.”

  He heeled and walked back towards the saloon where he had his room. As he went, he heard men talking as they gathered around the man with the gray hair.

  “What’s the money for, Silver?”

  “Headboard for Becker. He’s Sundance, all right. It’s one of the things that hombre does, when he faces a man down, fair-and-square. Becker just didn’t recognize him proper.”

  And Yancey hoped that was the word that would pass on down the trail: Sundance was heading into Mexico and had killed a man in Sabinas.

  It would help establish his authenticity, because if there was any doubt at all that he was the real Sundance, he could well be riding to his death.

  Four – Deadly Trails

  Johnny Cato rode down the old Monterey trail, two days after leaving the Rio. There was a shorter way to reach Acuna Parral, but he figured with the cutthroats who were abroad in this part of Mexico, it would be safer to stay on the well-travelled trails. It didn’t always work out that way, of course, but he thought that, in this case, it would be best.

  He would pass through many small cantina towns where he could drop the word that a man called Sundance was coming down this same trail. It would help establish Yancey’s assumed identity before he arrived and maybe make things a mite safer for the big Enforcer. It wouldn’t be easy taking on the identity of a man with a reputation like Sundance. Yancey would have to live up to it in every respect if he was to carry off the masquerade successfully.

  In a cantina town called Lampazos Cato found several tough-looking gringos sitting around drinking tequila and pulque and by the practiced way in which the latter drinkers strained the bugs and flies through their teeth, he knew they were probably desperadoes who had now made their homes south of the border. They regarded him with suspicion and he figured some of them would suspect him of being a lawman of sorts.

  Cato’s cover was that he was a man on the run, who wanted to get as far south of the United States’ border as possible.

  He was not surprised when they decided to check him out. The man who strolled across to his table was lean and gap-toothed and had long stringy hair. He smelled strongly of stale sweat and horses. Kicking out a chair and straddling it, he folded bony arms across the back and nodded to Cato.

  “Howdy,” he greeted.

  Cato merely looked at him, toying with his glass of tequila. The man nodded to the drink.

  “There’s a knack in gettin’ it down without it burnin’ a hole clear through the back of your neck. Toss it down fast, then take a deep breath with your mouth open, quick as you can. Give it a try. It works fine.”

  Cato knew how well it would work. It was a sure way to get the full blast of the tequila’s raw strength, to have his throat and vocal chords scorched by the fiery liquor. He knew the deal about licking salt from the back of your hand, tossing down the drink and keeping your mouth closed tight till it got past the throat, then swiftly sucking a sliver of lime or lemon. That way a man not only got some flavor to the otherwise tasteless drink, he diluted its burning qualities. But only a man who had lived along the border, or who had spent time in Mexico previously would know that. And right now, those things weren’t part of Cato’s cover.

  He looked interested at the lean man’s suggestion, then lifted the tequila, looked at it critically, and tossed it down in a gulp.

  “Quick now!” urged the lean man. “Take a gulpin’ breath!”

  Cato did and went into a paroxysm of coughing as he had expected feeling the blood congest his face, the tears squeeze from his eyes. And through the gagging, gasping for breath, he heard the raucous laughter of the gringos and the few Mexicans in the cantina. The lean man stood up, holding his midriff as he laughed at Cato’s over-acted convulsions.

  The Enforcer kicked over his chair, grasped the edge of the table, and bent double as he sucked down a series of breaths, feeling them cooling his seared throat. He looked savagely at the grinning man.

  “Very funny!” he rasped, surprised at the gravelly sound of his voice and how it hurt to talk. This tequila was, of course, brewed up by the cantina owner out back and was likely full of undistilled fuesil oils and paraldehydes that could kill a man if he drank enough of it.

  The lean man clapped him on the shoulders and straightened his chair for him, signaling the cantina owner with his free hand. The Mexican brought over a clay pitcher of cool water and Cato nearly drained it, then sat down blowing out his cheeks. He still looked angry.

  “Hell, man, just a little joke!” the lean hombre said. '‘We wanted to see if you’d been in Mexico before and you sure ain’t!”

  His companions laughed again and Cato glared at them, stood up slowly and reached for his kerchief to wipe his face. When he was returning it to his pocket, he suddenly whipped out the big Manstopper and slammed the heavy barrels across the side of the lean man’s head. The blow sent the man crashing across the table. He slid off to the floor, unconscious, bleeding from the mouth. Cato whirled and his gun covered the man’s pards who were on their feet, hands hovering near gun butts.

 
'”Don’t!” he warned, backing up the order by cocking the hammer of his gun. “This gun’s got a shot barrel. I could blow you all to shreds just by droppin’ the hammer.”

  They backed off, hands lifted out from their sides. They weren’t loco; they didn’t aim to get themselves shot for their companion.

  “Okay, mister, okay,” the youngest member of the group said swiftly. “We didn’t mean no harm. But we got to be careful about Americans who show up in these parts. Lots of undercover Rangers.”

  Cato stiffened but showed interest. “This far south?”

  “Clear down to Mexico City,” another of the gringos told him. “Why? That bother you any?”

  Cato looked at him bleakly. “Mebbe. Then again, mebbe it’s none of your business.”

  “Sure not!” the man said swiftly. “Hell, no. Your reasons for bein’ here are your own. Providin’ they don’t include us.”

  “Never seen you hombres before, nor am I interested in what you’re doin’ here,” Cato growled, not making any attempt to lower the gun hammer. “All I’m interested in is headin’ south without too much delay. I got more than Rangers to worry about.”

  That got their interest. “What the hell could worry you more’n Rangers?” asked the young one.

  Cato gave him a crooked smile and shook his head slowly. “You ain’t gonna live to a ripe old age askin’ questions right out like that, kid! But, guess it won’t hurt none to tell you. There’s a feller somewheres along my back-trail. He might come down into Mexico after me and he might not. I don’t aim to stick around to make sure. But his name’s Sundance and he’s a killer. If he shows, I wouldn’t try that tequila trick on him. Not unless you’re mighty tired of livin’.”

  The men exchanged glances. “Hell, mebbe you better tell us what he looks like so we don’t make the mistake,” suggested the kid.

  “Don’t see why I should, after what you pulled on me.”

  “Hell, we didn’t mean no harm! But if he’s a killer, we don’t want to get shot-up.”

  Cato regarded them all carefully for a spell, then nodded slowly. “I guess it won’t hurt. You’ve learnt a lesson, wouldn’t wonder.” He described Yancey, but threw in some of Sundance’s background.

  He smiled to himself when he saw the worried looks of the others. They’d be sure not to tangle with Yancey when he showed up. And they’d have his identity well and truly established long before he got here. With any luck, word would go ahead of him down the trail to Acuna Parral.

  And Brandon would be waiting, looking for a man called Sundance to turn up. He figured it had been a tolerably profitable stopover.

  ~*~

  The bank manager was a small man, thin, balding, with a prominent Adam’s apple, and an ill-fitting stiff collar that gave it plenty of room to move up and down as he spoke. It had always fascinated Lila Lorrance and she had to consciously stop herself from looking at it for fear he would think her rude. She didn’t want that; she wanted to stay on the good side of him as much as possible. For, he, literally, held the future of her ranch in his hands.

  “And while I was willing to go along with you, and stretch things a little, actually going outside the bank’s stated policy, Miss Lorrance,” the manager was saying, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down wildly, “I’m afraid that I can’t wait indefinitely for this reward money to come through.”

  Lila forced a smile and nodded jerkily. “I understand that, Mr. Hines. But it has only been a week or so.”

  “A week or so past the deadline of your contract with this bank,” Hines told her sternly. “You and your brother undertook to pay back the mortgage by installments or in full at call, and, there’s no dodging the fact, young lady, the bank is calling in the loan.” He held up a bony, long-fingered hand swiftly. “Now don’t dare think that we are being unreasonable. We have a legally-binding contract and we are not in business to dispense sentiment or compassion.”

  “I fully understand that,” Lila said and she was unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  Hines arched his thin eyebrows, sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, bony elbows resting on his narrow chest. “Hmmm. I believe I detect a note of sarcasm, young woman, which you would do well to eliminate from your tone when you are dealing with me. I have been scrupulously fair with you, which is more than I can say you or your brother have been with me.”

  “Leave my brother out of this,” she warned in a low, trembling voice, hands twisting together in her lap. “He’s dead. You are dealing with me now.”

  He looked at her sharply from behind his pince-nez spectacles, lips pursed, prune-like and smug.

  “Then let us deal in facts,” he said sharply. “Your mortgage is overdue and I cannot grant another extension. The answer is quite simple: pay up, or the bank will be forced to foreclose and confiscate your ranch.”

  “‘Forced’ my foot!” Lila said angrily, standing. “You don’t need my few dollars! You could buy and sell Amarillo ten times over, and still have plenty! You don’t need to pressure me, Mr. Hines!”

  “A bargain is a bargain, and it’s time you learnt that lesson, young woman,” he said thinly. “If I granted extensions to everyone on our books, where d’you think this bank would be?”

  Lila forced herself to remain calm. “Mr. Hines, for some reason, Sheriff Lacy has delayed putting in my claim on the reward. But the money is as good as mine—you can ask him. There is something about some papers found on Sundance, that’s all. It’s only a delay. There has been no refusal to pay me the reward. Can’t you be patient a little longer? Please?”

  He frowned, tapped his bony little fingers on the edge of his desk, looking sternly up at the young, troubled woman. After a long minute he nodded very slightly.

  “Very well. I will give you until the end of the week. By then, you must not only have your claim for the reward in, but must be able to bring me either the money itself or a document officially telling me that the reward money is on its way. Without either of those things, the bank will foreclose. Now that is my final word on the subject. Good-day to you, Miss Lorrance.”

  He picked up his pen and dipped it in the inkwell and pulled a paper towards him.

  “Th-thank you, Mr. Hines,” Lila forced herself to say, but he did not look up as she made her way to the door. As she opened it and went out, the light flashed across his bald head. She would have liked to have broken a chair across it.

  Leaving the bank building, Lila went down the street and crossed over to the law office where she found Nick Lacy oiling a rifle, some of its internal parts spread out on his desktop on a sheet of greasy paper. He nodded to her as she came in.

  “Howdy, Lila. I hear that Old Man Hines was wantin’ to see you.”

  “He saw me,” she said tightly, confronting the lawman with her hands balled into fists down at her sides. “Sheriff, I want you to put in my claim for that reward money. Right now. Today.”

  He glanced up at her, wiped off the breech bolt and began to assemble the rifle as he spoke to her.

  “Can’t do it, Lila.”

  She dropped into a chair, face contorted, hands making a helpless gesture. “For heaven’s sake why not? You keep saying that I’m entitled to the reward money. Why on earth can’t you forward the claim? I need that money and I need it now, Nick! If I don’t get it by the end of the week, Hines will take the ranch.”

  The lawman looked at her sharply. “Aw, I don’t think he’d do that, Lila.”

  “He damn well will! I couldn’t control myself altogether this morning. I was sarcastic to him and spoke sharply. You know what he’s like if he doesn’t get what he considers to be his due respect.”

  Lacy sighed and put the assembled rifle down on the desktop, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Hines is inclined to be childish about such things. Mean little sonuver. Loves the power he holds over the community and the way folk have to go to him for money.”

  “I know all those things and I’m not interested in them now,” sh
e cut in sharply. “I need that reward money, Nick!”

  “Yeah. I guess so. Look, I’ll have a talk with Hines and see if he’ll hold off a little longer.”

  “For God’s sake, why does he have to hold off any longer? The money’s mine! Why can’t I have it?”

  Lacy regarded her soberly, his lips pursed and then nodded. “Guess you’ve a right to know, Lila, but you’ll have to keep it to yourself.”

  Frowning, she nodded slow agreement and Lacy told her about the letter he had found in Sundance’s saddlebag and the rough outline of its contents.

  “Seems it was more important than I figured,” he went on. “It finished up on Governor Dukes’ desk and he’s acted on it in some way. I guess by the instructions I’ve had about keepin’ Sundance’s death quiet, that he’s got one of his agents playin’ the role of Sundance. I dunno the whole deal, but I reckon any claim for a reward would soon get out and if it’s known the real Sundance is dead, then this agent who’s usin’ his identity would pretty soon be in Boothill, too. That’s why I can’t put in the claim officially, Lila. A man’s life hangs on it.”

  The girl was silent for a time, thinking it over. Then she looked up at Lacy with a sad face. “That’s all very well, Nick, but my future’s at stake if I don’t get that reward by the end of the week.”

  He reached forward and pressed her shoulder. “I’ll talk with Hines and explain things. I can come down on him a mite and pressure him some, throw a scare into him about what could happen if the governor’s plan blows up because of something he does. He scares easy, does Hines, even though he makes out he don’t. That’s why he’s such an unpleasant little sidewinder.”

  There was vague hope in Lila’s face but she still seemed very worried.

  “I’ll be able to stall him a little, I reckon,” Lacy said, more confidently than he felt. “Anyways, who knows? The whole deal might be finished in a day or so.”

  The girl gave a wan smile. She would dearly like to believe that.

  ~*~

  Yancey Bannerman’s masquerade was nearly over right at the very moment that Lila Lorrance was sitting in Nick Lacy’s office.