Bannerman the Enforcer 42

by Kirk Hamilton

  Early blinked, staring at Yancey, and then looked down as the Enforcer’s fingers closed about his arm, urging him to go with him.

  “Drink?” he echoed, the single word slurred.

  “Sure. Doc’s mixin’ you up something ... ”

  “Hell with that,” Early growled, shaking loose from Yancey’s grip. “I wan’ whisky. Redeye!”

  Yancey caught a glimpse of the fat little medic puffing his way across the plaza. He forced a smile.

  “Come on, Big John! Have a drink with me. I’m your pard, right? I want to ... ”

  “Getta hell away fr’m me!” growled Early and he swung a wild punch.

  Yancey wasn’t expecting it and he ducked swiftly, but not fast enough. The hard knuckles bounced off his head. He staggered back against the wall. Early started to turn. Yancey jumped for him. The ex-sheriff swept an arm backwards and sent him sprawling then hit the remaining batwing hard enough to jar it loose from its hinges and readied himself to lurch back into the saloon.

  Yancey scrambled up, signaled to the medic to hurry up, and then drew his Colt. With a look of regret, he strode after Big John Early and slugged him across the back of the head with the Colt’s butt. The big man stopped dead, freezing for a moment, before, incredibly, turning to glare wildly at Yancey. The Enforcer swore; wouldn’t anything stop this rampaging man-mountain, he thought. Then Early bared his teeth and lifted his arms, hands clawed as they reached for Yancey. He took one step and suddenly his eyes rolled up into his head, showing the whites, and his knees buckled and Yancey stepped back as he toppled forward and smashed to the boardwalk.

  Yancey blew out his cheeks in a long sigh of relief.

  Doc Bartholomew came hurrying up and, breathing raggedly, knelt and plunged his hypodermic needle into Early’s arm.

  “Now that one’ll hold him till morning,” he panted.

  “Hope to hell it does,” Yancey said rubbing his head and looking around at the wreckage. Don’t want too many more nights like this.”

  “Amen to that!” muttered the little doctor.

  Seven – Rancho

  One of the guards on the rancho’s main gate was a man who had ridden with the vaqueros that had accompanied the Enforcers on their way south after the Burdins.

  He recognized Cato but kept the big Snider rifle trained on the Enforcer.

  “I am sorry, señor. I ’ave my orders. No one is to come onto Señor Morales’ land unless he personally sanctions it.”

  “Hell, Pedro, you know me,” Cato said. “I have to see him and pronto!”

  Pedro shook his head. The other man with him stared soberly at Cato, his rifle also covering the Enforcer.

  “It’s mighty important, Pedro. Too important for you to make the decision not to let me in.”

  Cato saw that that worried the guard some and when he looked uncertain, added quickly:

  “Might be better if you let someone else have the final word, huh? Get Benito or someone to make the decision and then you’ll be off the hook.”

  Pedro looked worriedly at the other guard and at the man’s quizzical look after he explained the situation swiftly in Spanish. The second guard frowned and glanced at Cato and then shrugged and made signs that the Enforcer interpreted as him telling Pedro he wanted nothing to do with this kind of decision. Pedro spoke to him sharply. They argued briefly, and then the man shrugged, threw a final look towards Cato, and abruptly wheeled his mount, riding off fast across the brown-grass flats towards the distant white oblong of the hacienda on a rise, surrounded by the dark, gleaming green of a grove of trees.

  “We wait, señor,” Pedro said, and refused to speak again until, about twenty minutes later, Cato saw two riders coming down towards the big gateway from the direction of the hacienda.

  It was the other guard and he was accompanied by Benito, the head vaquero. Cato grinned and lifted a hand in greeting. Benito merely nodded unsmiling, sitting his large armchair Mexican saddle, brown hands folded on the horn, eyes glittering beneath the floppy brim of the sombrero.

  “Buenos dias, Señor Cato,” Benito said without much warmth. “You are a long way from your home, I think.”

  “Never mind the polite hogwash, Benito,” Cato said a mite harshly. “I’ve come a long way, it’s true, and I want to see Señor Jose—and Conchita. Take me to them, huh?”

  Benito shook his head slowly. “This cannot be done, señor. You are not welcome here.”

  Cato’s eyes narrowed. “Kind of different to the last time we met, amigo. It was ‘Come visit the rancho!’”

  Benito looked uncomfortable, glanced away. “It is not anything personal. No gringo is welcome at the hacienda of Señor Jose Morales at this time.”

  The Enforcer stared levelly at Benito who would not meet his gaze. “He didn’t find gringos distasteful to him when he was wantin’ to market his steers north of the Rio.”

  Benito shrugged, refused to answer.

  “Listen, amigo, it’s because of Big John Early.”

  Benito snapped his head up, showing interest. “Beeg John?”

  “Yeah. You know, I guess, that Conchita called off the weddin’. Well, it kinda got to him, hit him where it hurt most, if you know what I mean. He’s hittin’ the booze bad an’ he’s gonna kill himself—and maybe some others, too—if he don’t get straightened out pronto.”

  Benito and the two guards exchanged glances. “John is—drunk? All the time? Is that what you say, señor?”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’. Drunk and fightin’ and rampagin’ around Del Rio like a wounded buffalo. He was throwed in the hoosegow when I was there and Yancey and me had to bust him loose. Venters and Hunnicutt are tryin’ to take over the town. And the only way they’ve even got as far as they have is because Big John’s soakin’ up the redeye.” Cato’s voice hardened. “All because he’s been thrown by Conchita tellin’ him she only used him so’s he’d back her father while he sold his cattle. Now that’s a kinda mean thing to hit a man with when he’s expectin’ to get hitched, wouldn’t you say Benito?”

  Benito was silent for a spell and then nodded. “Si, it ees bad, señor.”

  “An’ it’s gonna get a lot worse unless I can get to see Señor Jose—and Conchita.”

  Benito snapped his gaze to the Enforcer. “Conchita?”

  “Sure. I want to hear her tell me herself that she was just usin’ Big John. It sure didn’t look that way to me and I find it hard to swallow. Yancey does, too. That’s why he sent me down here to get the truth.”

  “You already have the truth, Señor Cato.”

  “Then let Conchita tell me herself. Conchita and Señor Jose. They tell me that’s it and I’ll head back north again. But if there’s more to it, I want to know. Big John ain’t such a special friend of mine because I dunno him very well, but he’s special to Yancey and Yance’s is my compadre. You savvy?”

  “Ah, si, Yancey.” Benito’s white teeth tugged at his bottom lip and abruptly he nodded, spat some orders in swift Spanish to the guards. One of them began to argue. Benito cursed him in a long tirade and then the man unlocked the big gate and swung it open far enough for Cato to enter.

  The Enforcer rode in and stopped his mount beside Benito’s, nodding his thanks.

  “Gracias. Hope it won’t make too much trouble for you.”

  “Follow,” Benito said tightly and spurred away.

  Cato urged his mount forward and rode after the vaquero to the distant hacienda. Heavy wooden gates in the wall were opened at a snapped command from Benito and they rode into a flagged courtyard, shaded by trees, with a series of fish ponds set around the perimeter. Two armed guards stepped out of the shadows of some willows but at a brief word from Benito they faded back out of sight.

  Cato hipped swiftly at a growling sound and felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck when he saw another man holding twin leashes at which two snarling wolfhounds strained. The man had a short, slim, tapering whip in his free hand. The dogs snarled and snapped, jaws sla
vering. Benito spoke briefly and the man nodded, threw his weight against the leashes and pulled the dogs back. They went reluctantly back around a corner of the main house.

  Benito grinned at the look on Cato’s face as they dismounted at a stone hitching post set with four iron rings. They tied their mounts’ reins through two of these and Benito led the way onto the porch, past another armed guard and finally into the house proper. He left Cato in a long, high-ceilinged hall, and was shown into a room behind twin paneled-oak doors by a woman in a black frock with a starched white bodice. She looked haughty and disapproving of Cato, but whether it was because of his trail-grimed clothes or the fact that he was a gringo he didn’t know.

  He cooled his heels for the best part of ten minutes and then caught a movement on the winding stairs leading down from the top floor. He snapped his head up, instinctively dropping his right hand towards his gun butt but relaxed when he saw that the slim woman coming down the stairs was Conchita.

  She recognized him almost instantly and her face showed alarm as she glanced towards the doors through which Benito had gone and then she hurried towards Cato. She was wearing a riding outfit, with a small, narrow-brimmed flat hat perched on the back of her head. She smiled tentatively.

  “I saw you from my bedroom window, but I wasn’t certain it was you, Johnny—Why are you here?”

  “Came to see you, señorita, and your father,”

  Conchita stiffened. “Why is this?”

  Cato squinted at her. “Ain’t you gonna ask about Big John?”

  Conchita lowered her dark lashes over her eyes and her fingers toyed with the dark chamois gloves she held. “I—It is all over between Big John and me. You must know that.”

  “Sure. It’s why I’m here.” Cato’s eyes bored into hers as she lifted her pale face, moist lips slightly parted, her eyes haunted.

  “Please, Johnny!” she said huskily, almost whispering. “Don’t—pursue this! There is nothing to be gained! I—I treated Big John badly and I am sorry. Please, go. My father does not much like norteamericanos.”

  Cato smiled crookedly. “No need to be polite, Conchita. I don’t mind bein’ called a gringo. An’ your father don’t seem to mind us so much when we can help him sell his cattle at a mighty good profit; I’d say the price he got in Texas would be—what?—six, seven times as much as he could hope for down here. And he’d have to drive ’em all the way to the Gulf first.”

  “Johnny, you do not understand ... ” she said passionately.

  “Guess I don’t. But I do savvy that Big John’s turned loco because of you an’ your old man an’ I aim to get to the truth of it and hear from your own lips that you just used him, don’t care for him and never did have any intention of marryin’ him.”

  Conchita was concerned, very pale and taut-looking now. “Big John is—drinking?”

  “Damn’ right he is. Threw the biggest drunk this side of Independence Day and tore half of Del Rio apart. Hunnicutt’s the law now and he’s backed by Venters—I tell you Conchita, Big John Early’s in a heap of trouble, all because of you and your pa and ... ”

  The girl put a slim hand on his arm, looking tortured. “Please, Johnny! I did not wish for anything like this! It was only because ... ”

  She broke off and Cato turned as the big paneled doors opened and Benito, looking very grim stood with a small, trim Mexican beside him in rich clothing. Señor Jose Morales had a face like a hawk, but with the eyes of a buzzard: small, dark, glittering, alive with the light of the predator or carrion-picker. A slim, hairline moustache fringed a long upper lip but generally his mouth was razor-thin and, though he smiled now, it was only a mechanical movement of the mouth muscles, totally without warmth. He came forward, thrusting out a small, bony right hand.

  “Ah, Señor Cato. Benito has told me of you and your compadre Señor Yancey Bannerman and what you both did for my men at the beef sales in Del Rio. Muchas gracias, señor, and my apologies for the—incident at the gate.” He shook limply with Cato and shrugged his thin shoulders. So far he had not glanced towards his daughter. “When I gave orders that no gringos were to enter my rancho, naturally, I did not include yourself. I had no way of knowing, of course, that you intended to visit me.”

  “’Course not, Don Jose,” Cato said soberly. “But I’m here now, so I guess that’s the main thing.”

  “Of course.” Then Morales, still with that meaningless smile on his lips, turned to the stiff-faced Benito and spoke rapidly in Spanish. Benito paled even further, his skin very sallow now, and Conchita sucked down a sharp breath but lowered her eyes when her father shot her a bleak look.

  “Si, Señor Jose,” Benito muttered and, looking like a man who had been whipped, hurried down the hallway towards the front door where the hatchet-faced woman in the starched bodice stood.

  She opened it for him silently and Benito stepped outside. The armed guard started to follow him across the yard and that was all Cato had time to see before the housekeeper closed the door.

  Morales flicked his gaze towards his daughter but he spoke to Cato.

  “I have been given to understand that you have come all this way, señor, to hear from Conchita’s own lips that she does not—and never did—have any real affection for this sheriff of Del Rio. Big John Early.”

  Cato’s eyes bored into the little Mexican’s tough face. “That’s right, Señor Jose, the same Big John Early who considered himself your friend, and who risked his neck, goin’ up against the whole blamed valley of local cattlemen so as to give you a fair shake. The same Big John Early who believed Conchita was in love with him, believed it so strongly that he started to convert to the Catholic Faith so’s he could marry her. The same Big John Early who feels now like his innards are spillin’ out because Conchita’s not only jilted him, she’s told him she used him like a fool all along. On your behalf.”

  “Johnny, I ... ” began Conchita but she broke off instantly when her father barked something to her in Spanish. She lowered her eyes. Her hands crushed the chamois gloves nervously as Morales continued to speak, swiftly, incisively, standing close to her, his eyes bright—and mean.

  His whole stance was threatening and the girl began to shake. When he had finished speaking, she slowly lifted her face to Cato and he saw there were tears welling up in her eyes. Her lips moved several times before she was able to speak.

  “J—Johnny, I—I am sorry that—that Big John has taken this so—hard. I—we did not wish to hurt him so. It just seemed—expedient for me to—profess—affection for him.” She paused, swallowed, tossed her head a little defiantly, flicking her gaze briefly in her father’s direction. “I—never did have any intention of marrying him. How could I? I am already promised to a nobleman in Spain and I will be—journeying to marry him in the fall ...”

  Cato was rocked by these words and he strived hard to keep his face expressionless as he drilled his eyes into her. “Thanks for explainin’, señorita. It does nothin’ at all to help Big John but at least I can tell Yancey that I heard you say with your own lips that you knowingly made a fool out of Big John Early.”

  Conchita gave a small sob and suddenly spun, a hand to her mouth, and ran back up the stairs. Morales watched her go expressionlessly then turned to Cato, a thin smile on his dark lips: “Women are so emotional, eh, señor?” He sighed and tried to look regretful. “I, too, am sorry that Big John took it so hard. It is entirely my fault, of course. I had had rather a—difficult time with you gringos one way and another, even though I had permission from your authorities to cross the Rio with my herd. Sheriff Early seemed a compassionate man and defended our cause and our right to trade when the local ranchers under Venters were holding the meatpackers and townspeople to virtual ransom. I am a businessman, Señor Cato. The price offered in Texas was far more than I could hope to get in Mexico. It was worth the trouble of driving my cattle across the Rio and even risking open warfare with Venters and his allies. I had—er—certain debts to discharge and I calculated
that three trail drives north to Texas would enable me to pay them off. So, as an added precaution, I suggested to Conchita that she consolidate our position by giving the sheriff the impression that she was—interested in him.” He paused again and made an expressive gesture. “However, she misunderstood and led him to believe that she would marry him, which was out of the question, of course, and John Early should have realized this himself.”

  “Why?” snapped Cato. “He’s a big mountain man, Señor Jose. He’s had to live by his wits and his physical strength all his life. He knows about guns and survival and hosses and how to tame a wild frontier town. But he sure don’t know about women, ’specially Spanish women who come from so-called ‘noble’ stock.”

  Morales’ face was very hard now. “You are in my house, Señor Cato, but I do not have to tolerate insults. There is no ‘so-called’ about it. I am descended directly from Castilian Dons. Conchita is promised to a nobleman in Leon, Spain, and she will marry him in the winter. You do not understand these things, so I would be grateful if you would refrain from commenting. We are agreed that it is unfortunate Big John Early has taken things so hard, but I accept full responsibility. Perhaps Conchita was a little over-zealous, but she merely tried to please me so no blame can be laid at her feet ... ”

  Cato glanced up at the stairs and kept his face blank, though he was surprised to see Conchita ducking hurriedly back behind the corner at the head of the stairs. He looked at Morales.

  “I blame you both, but it ain’t gonna help Big John Early get any better. Well, I came down here to hear Conchita tell me she’d duped him all along and now I’ve heard it. So I’ll be sayin’ adios.” He nodded curtly and began to turn, but Morales placed a hand on his forearm.

  “Please, Señor Cato—the whole matter is unfortunate. And propriety bids me offer you shelter in my house for the night. It is nearing sundown and I would be pleased if you would share supper with me and spend the night under my roof. Your horse will be groomed and cared for and I will see that your saddlebags are well-stocked for the ride back north ... ?”