Bannerman the Enforcer 42

by Kirk Hamilton

  Now Kate stamped her foot. “Damn it Yancey, don’t you laugh at me! And don’t you tell me you can’t take me to the theater tonight because you’re going to be best man at Big Bad John Early’s wedding.”

  Yancey fought to keep a sober face as he lifted his hands out from his sides. “I’m sorry, Kate. I gave my word. And I didn’t even know you’d be back in Austin by now.” He couldn’t resist adding, “You didn’t write much.”

  Kate tensed, flushing a little. She felt a mite guilty about that but she had deliberately held back from writing, to Yancey when she had been away, having some romantic notion that not hearing from her might make him a little more anxious and so that much more pleased to see her when she finally did return. It had backfired on her, because he had not been here when she had come back ...

  “All right, Yancey,” she said quietly. “I know you’re not petty enough to have arranged things this way, but it is most inconvenient! More so since the wedding will never take place.”

  Yancey frowned; it was his turn to look blankly puzzled. “What d’you mean?”

  Kate made a disparaging gesture. “It’s ridiculous. A man like Señor Morales would never allow his daughter to marry someone like Big John Early.”

  “You know Morales?”

  “Of course. He has been here, to Capitol Hill. Oh, you weren’t here at the time, off on some assignment, I guess, but Father had several of the Mexican hidalgos from ranches near the border here, together with representatives of the Mexican Government. It was to do with some sort of Treaty about the Mexicans importing U.S. cattle for breeding and so on. I don’t know. But I remember Morales at the reception. A very stiff, Castilian type, mighty proud of his Spanish ancestry. His daughter had accompanied him. The other men had brought their wives but it seems Morales’ wife had died some years ago and so Conchita acted as his companion. She conducted herself perfectly, with all the old grace and formality of a Spanish duenna ... She had been trained well, Yancey, brought up very strictly.” Kate shook her head. “I cannot for the life of me believe that Morales would give his blessing to her marrying someone like Big John Early. It’s just ... too incredible.”

  Yancey was completely sober now. “Kate, you’re wrong. Conchita and Big John are gettin’ married in Del Rio. He’s even turning Catholic for her. Morales has given his blessing.”

  “I’m sorry, Yancey, I don’t wish to disbelieve you; of course, you know what you have been told, but I can’t see a wedding taking place.”

  Yancey frowned more deeply than ever and genuine worry crept into his face.

  “There was something,” he said quietly. “When we were riding down into Mexico with Benito, Morales’ head vaquero, I mentioned the wedding twice and he veered off both times, refused to discuss it. I thought mebbe he was keen on Conchita himself ... ”

  “That is even more unlikely than Señor Morales blessing the union between his daughter and Big Bad John, Yancey.”

  Yancey nodded slowly: he had a gut-feeling now that something was badly wrong somewhere and he was anxious to get to Del Rio to find out what it was.

  Governor Dukes had readily agreed to both his top Enforcers taking two weeks’ leave after their arduous chore in tracking down the Burdins. Kate hadn’t been any too happy, of course, but she understood now that Yancey had to go to Del Rio and attend this wedding—if it was to come off, but she still believed it would never happen.

  She understood, but she wished Yancey would stay with her in Austin ...

  “Big John and me go back a long way, Kate,” Yancey had told her. “We’ve saved each other’s lives so many times that neither of us knows who owes the other. But if this wedding blows up in his face, there’s gonna be hell to pay and I’ve got to be there with him and try to hold him back in case he cuts loose and does something loco.”

  “Well, that’s almost a foregone conclusion!” Kate had retorted, unable to keep the trace of bitterness from her tone. “But, go ahead, Yancey. I’ll be here when you return ... ”

  They were words that had seen Yancey Bannerman through many a rough time and he and Cato rode the night train out of Austin with them ringing in their ears.

  The train pulled into the Del Rio siding and depot around noon on the third day after leaving Austin. It was the day before the wedding was to take place and Yancey breathed something of a sigh of relief when they stepped down to the cinders at the depot just outside of town. There were cattle in the loading pens and they were being hazed up chutes and into open flatbed wagons, in readiness for the train to hitch on and ship them north.

  Shouldering their saddles, as they walked through the dust and noise of the cattle yards, Yancey and Cato both noticed that apart from the meat packing house’s paint mark, the cattle carried local brands: Venters’ Block V; Hunnicutt’s Bar H; the Diamond F; Flat-iron; Hashknife; Cross B and Rocking W.

  “Looks like the locals came to their senses and decided to sell at reasonable prices,” Cato opined.

  Yancey nodded in agreement as they cleared the dust haze and headed towards the town.

  Before they got much closer they both stopped dead, dropping their saddles and war bags, hands instinctively reaching for guns as a series of spattering gunshots came from somewhere in the town. Other passengers from the train stopped, too, and exchanged worried glances.

  Some others, apparently local cowboys just back from a train trip somewhere, kept on going, laughing briefly, nudging each other as they cast sidelong glances towards the Enforcers and other passengers.

  Yancey heard a wild rebel yell, echoed by several others. There were more gunshots. Then the clatter of hoofs. His eyes slitted as he saw a horse galloping wild-eyed down the street past the edge of town, out towards the other side of the holding pens.

  There was a naked man tied to the saddle so that he was riding back-to-front.

  There was blood plain to see on his face and dripping onto his chest.

  A bunch of hard case cowboys staggered into view, some loosing off guns into the air, others drinking from a stone whisky jug that was being passed from hand to hand.

  “Oh, well,” commented Yancey, shouldering his saddle and war bag, keeping his right hand free and close to his Colt butt.

  He started forward with lengthened stride, as Cato hurried to catch up.

  “Somethin’s happened, Yancey,” the smaller Enforcer said.

  “Yeah,” Yancey agreed heavily, increasing his pace if anything. His face was grim as he swung past the buildings on the edge of town. Then he turned towards the house where Big John Early had taken them, after the saloon brawl weeks earlier.

  It still looked the same outside, but Yancey felt there was some subtle difference as he went up the path and knocked on the door. Then he realized what it was: he could hear the faint sound of a baby crying from inside the house. He spun towards Cato, frowning.

  “This is Big John’s place, isn’t it?”

  “Was a few weeks back, leastways,” Cato replied carefully.

  Then the door opened and a haggard-looking woman stood there, bouncing a crying baby on one hip, an infant with dirty face clinging to her work skirts. She was in her mid-thirties and pushed a wisp of stringy, colorless hair back from her eyes.

  “Yeah?” she asked with infinite weariness. “If you’re lookin’ for Shad, he went out to the holdin’ pens to see if he could pick up a day’s work ... ”

  Yancey and Cato doffed their hats.

  “No, ma’am, I’m lookin’ for John Early. Big John Early, the sheriff.”

  The woman’s jaw sagged as she stared at Yancey. “Big John?” she echoed a little vaguely, ‘shushing’ the baby as it increased its cries, jiggling it up and down on her hip. She shook her head and raised her voice above the baby’s cries. “Big John don’t live here no more. Hasn’t done for nigh on a month now.”

  Yancey felt a knot forming in his belly. “You know where I might find him, ma’am?” Yancey asked tightly.

  She squinted at him, flick
ed her watery gaze to Cato. “Just come in on the train?”

  “Yeah. Ma’am—about Big John ... ?”

  She shrugged. “Guess you’d best ask the sheriff.”

  “Sheriff?” echoed Yancey. “Big John Early is the sheriff!”

  “Not no more he ain’t,” she told them, starting to close the door. “Beau Hunnicutt’s the law around here now. But he does just what Brad Venters tells him, of course. Now, I’m busy ... ”

  She closed the door firmly in the stunned faces of the two Enforcers.

  The town seemed to be wide-open.

  That was the impression that both Enforcers got when they walked down the hill and turned into Main, heading for the plaza and law office. Cowpokes were riding recklessly around, up on boardwalks, into and out of stores, sending citizens running for cover, spilling their goods. They were drunk and gun hung and it was obvious that they had the town buffaloed.

  Two whisky-reeking cowpokes drove their mounts towards Yancey and Cato, expecting to see them scatter. Instead, the Enforcers dropped their saddles and war bags, snatching rifles from the scabbards as they did so. They both swung the Winchesters by the barrels and slammed the butts across the midriffs of the startled cowpokes. They were smashed from their saddles and crashed to the dust as their mounts raced on by. Both men were winded and dazed and Yancey kicked the nearest in the ribs. Cato stomped on the groping gun hand of the other, then they picked up their saddles again and started down towards the plaza, aware that folk were watching from behind drawn drapes.

  The plaza now was wild and dirty. There was garbage in the gutters and in the middle of the plaza itself. Empty bottles, food scraps, a dead dog’s carcass, and what could have been a dead man, though maybe it was only a drunk sleeping it off, half in the gutter, half on the walk.

  “Don’t look good, Yance,” Cato said.

  “If Big John was still around the town would never be in this state.”

  It was such a contrast to the last time they had been here. But they had to find out what had happened to Early and Cato was about to stop a passerby and ask, when Yancey nudged him and nodded across the plaza towards the law office.

  A man had come out of the door and was leaning against the awning post, cleaning his nails with the point of a clasp-knife blade. Sunlight glinted from the brass star pinned to his vest.

  “Beau Hunnicutt,” Cato breathed. “Lookin’ worse and worse, Yance.”

  The big Enforcer said nothing but lengthened his stride and in a few moments they were both standing at the foot of the porch steps. Hunnicutt gave no sign that he had seen them.

  “How come that star’s hanging on your vest, Hunnicutt?” Yancey asked without preamble.

  The sheriff looked up languidly from cleaning his nails, flicked his bleak gaze from Yancey to Cato and then looked down at his nails again, examining them.

  “’Cause I’m the new sheriff,” he said flatly.

  “Who elected you?” demanded Cato.

  Hunnicutt smiled crookedly. “Brad Venters and the local ranchers.”

  “And the townsfolk?”

  Hunnicutt shrugged. “They had their chance to vote an’ didn’t.”

  “Rigged in other words,” Yancey opined. “Where’s John Early?”

  “Early?” Hunnicutt feigned a thoughtful look. “Aw, yeah, Early. Used to be lawman here. Not now.”

  Yancey stepped up onto the porch and Hunnicutt straightened immediately, looking apprehensive. He looked into Yancey’s hard face and ran a tongue across his lips.

  “Come inside,” the sheriff said quickly. “Early’s in here.”

  Yancey and Cato dumped their saddles against the office wall and followed the man into the office. Hunnicutt didn’t stop in the front room. He went through the doorway that led into the passage beyond and the cellblock. The Enforcers followed hard on his heels.

  Hunnicutt seemed to hesitate, as he glanced behind, and then he turned a corner and stopped, gesturing ahead.

  The Enforcers came up beside him and saw that he was pointing to one of the cells with bars running from floor to ceiling. Inside the cell, sprawled half on and half off the bunk, one leg and arm trailing, head dangling over the side, was Big John Early. He was filthy, beard-shagged, hatless, bootless. There was stale vomit on the bunk and on the floor, and a broken whisky jug underneath the bunk. Early’s face was blotchy and puffed, showed old fading bruises and a couple of blood-caked cuts. His hands were streaked with blood from split knuckles and his shirt had been half ripped off.

  “What in hell happened to him?” Yancey demanded, his face savage.

  Hunnicutt backed off at the look on the Enforcer’s face and instinctively held up his hands placatingly.

  “Easy, Bannerman! I had nothin’ to do with it. He done it to himself. Threw one almighty drunk an’ damn’ near wrecked the town. Smashed up the saloon, kicked in the big windows in the stores that fronted onto the plaza, pulled down the cattle pen fences an’ stampeded the steers through town, riding a loco bull. You never seen nothin’ like it. I wouldn’t’ve thought any man had the strength to straddle that bull’s neck and shoulders and guide him just where he wanted to go by the horns. He was as loco as a loon.”

  Yancey’s eyes were narrowed now and he didn’t move his gaze from Hunnicutt for a second.

  “What sent him loco?” he asked quietly.

  “Guess it was that gal, the greaser.”

  “Conchita?” Yancey asked, stiffening a little.

  “Yeah. She called off the weddin’, went back to Mexico an’ left Early holdin’ the bag.”

  “When?” demanded Yancey.

  The sheriff shrugged, a little more confident now that Yancey didn’t appear as if he was going to start throwing punches. Early snored drunkenly in his cell.

  “Few weeks back. Not long after you fellers cut out. Morales hisself showed an’ next thing we know him an’ the gal were headin’ back to Mexico and Big John Early cuts loose an’ near wipes Del Rio off the map in a four day drunk this place is gonna long remember.”

  Yancey stared coldly, then walked silently to the bars, staring down at Big John Early.

  “So Venters figured it was a good time to set up his law in this town an’ jumped in, right?” Cato asked tightly.

  Hunnicutt lifted a hand. “Hold up. I told you I was voted in.”

  “Sure. Bet you scared the town to death, warned ’em what’d happen if they was loco enough to vote agin you, or even vote at all.”

  The sheriff said nothing. He jumped slightly as Yancey suddenly rattled the cell doors.

  “Open up and get him out of there,” he ordered.

  “Now wait a minute! I can’t do that.”

  Yancey turned on Hunnicutt, his eyes very dangerous. “And why’s that, amigo?” he asked with deceptive quietness.

  “’Cause he’s been arrested for bein’ drunk an’ disorderly, disturbin’ the peace, damagin’ property, endangerin’ life an’ limb ... Man, you can’t turn him loose! He’s like a wounded buffalo!”

  “Yeah, he’s been wounded all right, and I want him out,” Yancey said, his hand closing threateningly over the butt of his Colt.

  Hunnicutt licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak and then another voice said from down the passage;

  “Don’t try that, Bannerman, you got no right here.”

  The Enforcers spun towards the sound.

  Brad Venters stood just inside the front office door, with four hard cases backing him. They looked ready for trouble. The big rancher smiled crookedly.

  “Figure it had to be you two knocked them two cowpokes off their broncs,” he said. Then he gestured to the cell. “Big Bad John ain’t so big right now, is he, Bannerman? And that’s the way he’s gonna stay. He’s been legally arrested and charged and he’s stayin’ put till the Circuit Judge gets here.”

  “What happened to the resident judge?” Yancey asked quietly.

  Venters grinned and pulled at his left ear lobe. “Why, I do believ
e he left town. In somethin’ of a hurry so I hear. Health reasons, I reckon.”

  Venters continued to smile as he shrugged. “Who knows? Anyway, Del Rio don’t have no resident judge now so we have to wait for the Circuit man.”

  “Put in a request for one to call?” Cato asked.

  Venters looked blank and then muttered a curse. “Well, hell, now I ain’t sure! How about you, Beau? You ask for one to call in here?”

  Hunnicutt was much more confident now that Venters and his men were here. He smiled and shook his head.

  “Thought you said you was gonna, Brad.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I might’ve, too. Been kinda busy, though. Guess I must’ve forgot. Aw, well, no matter. Just means Early’ll be stayin’ locked up a mite longer is all.”

  Yancey flicked his gaze from Venters to the four tough-looking cowboys and then back to Venters.

  “Johnny, I reckon it’s up to you and me to see that Big John gets an even break. And he won’t while he’s locked up.”

  Cato nodded and suddenly his Manstopper was in his hand, so swiftly that the cowmen gasped and backed off as they saw that yawning shot barrel. They had all heard about its deadliness since Cato had used it that night on the raid on the storekeeper who had provisioned the Burdins.

  Yancey’s Colt came up smoothly and covered the others. “Get the keys and unlock that door, Hunnicutt!” he snapped.

  “You won’t get away with this, Bannerman!” Venters said coldly. “You’re breakin’ out a prisoner, duly arrested by an elected officer ... ”

  “Shut up,” Cato told him wearily. “You, Hunnicutt! You gettin’ them keys or you aimin’ to walk with a limp the rest of your life when I blow your kneecap off?”

  Hunnicutt swallowed and sidled down the passage to the front office. He came back in a moment with a ring of keys, fumbled through them until he found one to fit the cell door. He unlocked it and swung it halfway open, holding it for Yancey. The big Enforcer started into the cell. “John? Big John?”