Bannerman the Enforcer 43

by Kirk Hamilton

  “He was. Locked him in the caboose. Went to question him, but someone had beat his head in with a wrecking bar.”

  The lawman’s eyes slitted and his hand inched casually closer to his gun butt. “While the train was comin’ down the grade, you mean?”

  Yancey nodded. “Guess one of the gang was still hiding on the train. I searched, but he would’ve dropped off as soon as he’d killed the hombre in the caboose.”

  “Why kill him? If he got the caboose open, why not take the prisoner with him? Must’ve been tryin’ to stop him tellin’ somethin’ pretty important. This sounds like there might be more to it than just a hold-up, mister. What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Bannerman. Look, Sheriff, will you just take it that it was an attempt to hold up the train and nothing more?” He fumbled at his shirt pocket.

  “Why the hell should I, Bannerman?” demanded the lawman, sliding out his Colt and covering Yancey. “I reckon we better go on down to my office and talk about this.”

  Yancey glanced towards his father and sister as they spoke with the group of men who had greeted them on the platform. He unfolded the small oblong cardboard wallet he had taken from his pocket and held it out towards the sheriff.

  “This is why you should do just like I ask, Sheriff. You want to check it out further, I’ll give you a telegraphic code in Austin you can wire.”

  The lawman read the Enforcer’s identity card slowly, flushed a little as he handed it back and looked kind of foolish as he lowered the gun hammer and returned the weapon to the holster.

  “Wondered where I’d heard the name Bannerman before—apart from on our bank. All right, if the Enforcers are in on this, I reckon the governor knows what he’s about. But I’d be obliged if you could give me some kind of description of the incident at the tanks ...”

  “You’ll get a full report,” Yancey promised and then nodded and walked over to where his father and Mattie were talking with the others.

  Lincoln Barnett hadn’t changed much: he still looked like a fox with the bellyache in Yancey’s opinion, a completely emotionless man, well-suited to the cold columns of figures and dollar signs of his profession. He had a penchant for foreclosing on mortgages taken out by homesteaders and small ranchers: ostensibly, the man had C.B.’s blessing and this was one reason why Yancey had quit the Bannerman empire: he simply didn’t like the way they operated, and with his father’s blessing, that was the part that galled. That his own father should condone foreclosure on struggling families, ruining their lives, unbending because the contract of loan said such and such an amount was due to be paid by a certain date and, if it wasn’t, then the land and buildings and stock were forfeited in lieu of the cash.

  Lincoln Barnett had always seemed to relish that kind of deal and he had been president of his father’s Texas banking interests for many years now. He was a man in his mid-forties, well-fed and well-dressed, with a narrow face and hairline moustache, gimlet eyes and a large nose that seemed able to sniff out profits large and small. He recognized Yancey now and nodded curtly, still listening with half an ear to what C.B. was saying. He had never gotten along with Yancey, especially since the Enforcer, barely twenty at the time, had punched him in the nose in the middle of his own bank because he considered him to be acting unfairly.

  “How come you weren’t down here earlier, Barnett?” Yancey asked. “When the train was due?”

  The gimlet eyes bored into the Enforcer’s hard face. “I was here.”

  Yancey shook his head. “You’re lying,” he said coldly.

  Barnett flushed and the others fell silent, all eyes turning to the big Enforcer. Yancey ignored them, not taking his eyes off the banker.

  “Look, Yancey, I don’t have to take that kind of talk from you!” Barnett snapped, looking towards C.B. for support.

  “He’s right, Yancey,” growled Curtis Bannerman. “You have no call to talk that way!”

  “I was here earlier. There were folk waiting. He wasn’t with them. I’m wondering why he’s lying about it—and why he wasn’t here at the time the train was expected to arrive. Unless he knew it was likely to be delayed ...?”

  Barnett frowned and the man in the suit with him, whom Yancey realized now was his chief clerk, a man named Samuels, looked uncomfortable and licked at his thick, blubbery lips, flicking his eyes towards the banker.

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Yancey,” Barnett said slowly, holding the Enforcer’s cold gaze now. “But I did come down when the train was due. The agent announced it would be delayed, so I went back to the bank: I had business to conduct. I left word that I was to be notified at first sighting of the train.”

  Yancey held the man’s gaze until he looked away, his expression unchanging. Mattie was frowning at her brother and he winked as he turned and looked at the others in the group. The men in range garb he knew were from the Big-B ranch fifteen miles southwest from town.

  The red-haired man with the freckled face and the bushy sideburns was Todd Loomis, manager of the ranch. He was about forty, tough-looking, big-bellied, ham-fisted, with small round eyes a curious shade of green-brown. He nodded to Yancey, extended his calloused right hand and shook briefly with the Enforcer, not speaking.

  The man beside him was as big as Yancey, thicker in the chest, and seemed to be in his early thirties. He had a mahogany-colored skin with jet-black hair combed thickly about his ears. His hat, too, was black but his shirt and trousers were faded and patched denim. He wore a six-gun thonged low down on his left thigh. There was an arrogant tilt to his square jaw as he looked unblinkingly at Yancey with dark, flashing eyes. The Enforcer figured a lot of women would find him attractive.

  Loomis noticed the men staring at each other and belatedly said, “Oh—Yancey, this is my ramrod, Virg Enderby. Mr. Bannerman’s son, Yancey. He works for Governor Dukes.”

  Enderby snapped his head around towards his boss at these words and then looked swiftly back to Yancey. He nodded, making no attempt to shake hands. Yancey gave him a curt acknowledgement.

  “You’ll be going now, I take it?” C.B. said pointedly.

  Yancey smiled faintly. “I’m on leave, Pa. Figured I’d stick around a spell and maybe lend a hand should you need it.”

  “I won’t need you,” C.B. told him in clipped tones. “Unless you know something about auditing bank books?”

  Lincoln Barnett stiffened, his face showing open surprise at C.B.’s words. Samuels’ left cheek twitched and his tongue flicked across his thick lips again.

  Yancey smiled. “Not really in my line,” he admitted.

  “Then you couldn’t possibly be of any help.” Curtis Bannerman turned to the banker. “Because I aim to audit the books while I’m here, Lincoln. You’ve no objections, of course?”

  “Of course not, C.B.! I welcome it. I wasn’t expecting it, I must admit, but...” He turned to the sweating chief clerk. “I’m sure Mr. Samuels wouldn’t object to working a little overtime to bring everything up to date?”

  “Of course not, sir! My privilege!” Samuels wheezed, smiling nervously.

  “Fine. Then I should say the books would be ready for your attention—ah—day after tomorrow, C.B.?”

  “Have them ready by noon tomorrow,” Curtis Bannerman snapped and turned to Todd Loomis as the banker colored but swallowed his protest. “Todd, I hope you’ve brought a comfortable buckboard this time. If it’s no better than the last, I believe I’ll spend the night in town.”

  Mattie took her father’s arm. “Wouldn’t that be better, Papa? In the light of you wanting to audit the bank’s books tomorrow? It would save you so much extra travelling.”

  Loomis pulled at one of his bushy red sideburns. “Miss Bannerman’s got a good suggestion there, C.B. Trail’s kind of rough. We’ve had some heavy rains and there’s been some washaways.”

  C.B. nodded unsmilingly. “Very well, Lincoln, send that clerk of yours on ahead to book me the best suite at the Dallas Mansion House, will you?”<
br />
  The banker nodded curtly to Samuels and smiled at C.B., but it was a mite stiff. “No sooner said than done, C.B. Mrs. Barnett and I would be honored if you and Miss Bannerman would join us for supper ...”

  “Fine, fine,” C.B. said. “We’d be happy to.” Typically, he didn’t consult Mattie who looked pale and tired. He glared at Yancey, relishing the fact that he had not been included in the banker’s invitation.

  Yancey smiled crookedly.

  “Where will you stay, Yancey?” asked Mattie suddenly.

  The Enforcer flicked his eyes to Loomis who was ordering Enderby to see that C.B.’s baggage was loaded onto the buckboard and taken to the Mansion House.

  “Reckon I’ll ride out to the ranch,” Yancey said.

  C.B. snapped his head around, frowning. Loomis’ face showed that he didn’t like the suggestion but he didn’t quite know how to handle it.

  “What you want to do that for?” he asked a little lamely. “I mean, we got plenty room and you’re welcome but—well, Yance, we’ve started spring round-up and it’s pure hell out there right now. Noise and dust and scratch meals ...”

  Yancey smiled broadly. “Sounds good. Haven’t had any real ranch life for a long time. I’ll enjoy it. And seeing as you’re already rounding-up, Todd, might as well do a full tally at the same time, huh? Mavericks and so on?” Yancey looked towards his father. “Keep your books up to date. I can handle that part for you, oversee it out at Big-B.”

  “Well, hell, Yance, that’s a lot of extra work!” complained Loomis. “I mean, we always do a rough tally at round-up, but book-accurate!” He blew out his lips and shook his head slowly.

  “Men won’t like it,” Virg Enderby said, coming up and glaring at Yancey.

  The Enforcer held his gaze. “The men do what they’re told or they don’t get paid. That holds good from cook to ramrod.”

  Virg Enderby flushed angrily and his big fists knotted up down at this sides. His shoulders hunched and his bull neck reddened. But Todd Loomis stepped in front of him, making it seem casual as he nodded to Yancey.

  “We’ll do what you want, sure. Provided C.B. okays it.”

  Curtis Bannerman had watched the byplay and still looking at Yancey he nodded slowly, speaking thoughtfully.

  “Sure, Todd. It sounds like a good idea. An accurate tally of my stock. Yancey can supervise, as he suggests.”

  Mattie’s mouth opened at her father’s words and she couldn’t keep the surprise from her face as she glanced at her brother. Yancey winked.

  Seven – The Big-B

  It was a long time since Yancey had been to the Big-B ranch. He had been through Dallas on several occasions during the course of his Enforcer duties but had never made the long detour to the ranch.

  There was no one there that he got along with all that well. They tolerated him because he was the owner’s son, but that was all. Todd Loomis was a tough and efficient cattleman and obviously the ranch had shown a profit under his management or else C.B. would have fired him long ago. He had always resented Yancey’s presence when the Enforcer, then trying to make a career for himself in the Bannerman empire, to please his father, had shown-up to learn the ropes from the bottom up.

  Yancey had seen several ways that could make the running of the spread more efficient and he had spoken up and earned Loomis’ enmity when C.B. had ordered their adoption.

  There had been only a few visits to the ranch since that time and on each occasion Yancey had been greeted coolly, politely enough, but there was never any doubt that he was not wanted there.

  It was the same this time. Maybe more so, he thought, as he dumped his war bag on the bunk indicated by the surly Enderby. The cowpunchers had already finished supper and he recognized some of the older hands, nodded to them civilly. They showed their surprise at his appearance but returned his greeting. The punchers he didn’t know stared at him puzzledly. Yancey smiled to himself: he figured his ears would be burning the moment he stepped outside and went to the big ranch kitchen for supper.

  Loomis had pointedly not invited him up to the house to eat with him. Yancey was amused by the man’s pettiness but he had a hunch that, underlying it, there could be something more serious.

  He scrubbed up at the wash bench and then started across the yard towards the kitchen, wondering what kind of bad-tempered grub-spoiler he would come up against this time ...

  Then the door of the main house opened and a wedge of yellow light washed across the porch, almost immediately blocked out by a thick shadow. Yancey saw that it was Todd Loomis and the man called to him, waved and started down toward him. Puzzled, the Enforcer moved to meet the ranch manager.

  “Listen, Yancey. Been thinkin’. I was kinda touchy back there in Dallas. Round-up’s a helluva time, as you know and the Old Man showin’ up in the middle of it—well, hell, you savvy how these things go. Look, come on up to the house and eat supper with me. Only charitable thing to do and I should’ve done it right off. No hard feelin’s?”

  Yancey shook his head but his mind was racing. Loomis was working too hard at this about-face. It was almost as if he had realized he had made a mistake by antagonizing Yancey and that he wanted to cover-up pronto. Yancey knew Loomis as a stubborn man who never backed down. There had to be some reason behind this.

  The Enforcer was about to accept, to go along with it and then figured maybe it would gain him more if he fought the bit instead of jumping the way Loomis wanted. If the man was upset and angry, he might let something slip.

  So Yancey stood back and looked coldly at the manager in the wash of lamplight, hands on hips.

  “I figure I’d rather eat in the kitchen,” he said in a surly tone.

  Loomis stiffened and Yancey could see his face darken even in the bad light. “What the hell you sayin’? You settin’ out to deliberately insult me, Yancey?”

  The Enforcer shrugged. “Just prefer my own company, is all.”

  “By hell!” Loomis snarled and the set of his shoulders showed how the anger was consuming his big frame. But he forced a measure of control into his next words. “No need to get froggy, Yance. House cook makes better grub than the round-up man, anyways, but it’s up to you.”

  “That’s right, Todd, it is.”

  Yancey turned without a word and headed once more for the cookhouse. Behind him, Loomis tugged at one of his sideburns and his eyes were pinched down, lips compressed as he watched the Enforcer’s wide shoulders silhouetted against the lighted doorway of the cook shack. Yancey ducked his head as he entered and Loomis turned away slowly, started towards the main house and then changed his mind.

  He made an about-face and strode swiftly towards the bunkhouse ...

  The grub-spoiler was an old trail cook, one-legged, gnarled and smelly. Yancey had seen his counterpart on a hundred trail drives before joining the Enforcers. He nodded to the oldster who was preparing sourdough biscuits for breakfast. A stew bubbled in the iron pot slung over the fire in the open hearth.

  Yancey breathed deep. “Man, that stew smells good. What is it? Son of a gun?”

  The old cook snapped his head up from kneading the dough, squinted at Yancey. “Most hombres here calls it just plain stoo or rat poison or gut-ache. How come you calls it ‘son of a gun’ stew? That’s an old trailman’s name for it.”

  “Goodnight-Loving under Waco Blythe,” Yancey said. “Summer of ’68. Now that was a stew! A real sonuver. Dry as a packrat’s tail till we hit the Brazos, then we got caught in a flashflood ... Yeah, tough drive. Had some tough winter ones, too, with Dandy Quinn and Cherokee White, But the toughest of all, I reckon, was up the Old Chisum with Jaunty John Wisselling. Injuns, rustlers, fires, stampedes, you name it, we saw it all.”

  The cook leaned closer. “You wasn’t with Jaunty John!”

  “Yes I was, Peggy.”

  The cook’s eyebrows raised at the old trailman’s nickname for a man with a wooden leg—Pegleg, shortened to ‘Peggy’.

  “You’d be too young.”
He wasn’t yet convinced.

  “Sixteen. I was at college in ’Frisco. Had a summer vacation and pa sent me out to this ranch because I pestered the hell outa him to do just that. Jaunty John’s herd was camped down on Buckhorn Creek. Cook needed a roustabout. I never said nothing to pa. Just joined ’em and moved on north with the herd.” He grinned. “It was sure some initiation into trail driving. Had my own contract business for three years.”

  “So you is a Bannerman, huh?” The cook’s slight amount of warmth had suddenly chilled. “Come to put the screws on us all, make sure we is earnin’ our dinero?”

  Yancey grinned as he sat down at the table. “Old man’s not well. He’s staying in town. I’m here to do a tally at round-up, is all. But right now I need some of that son of a gun stew real bad, Peggy. Belly’s rubbin’ against my backbone.”

  “Supper was an hour back,” Peggy growled.

  “I only just got in! Have a heart, Peggy! You can’t let a hungry man smell a stew as good as that and then send him away.”

  “We-ell—I figures you is connin’ me, suckin’-up just so’s I’ll give you somethin’ to eat when it goes agin my grain to do just that, but ...”

  He lifted his hands out of the dough and started to wipe them off. Then he froze in mid-action and Yancey saw his face straighten as he looked past the Enforcer to the door of the cook shack. Yancey turned slowly.

  Virg Enderby stood just inside the door, hands on hips, glaring at Yancey. The Enforcer stiffened at the man’s aggressive expression.

  “So here you are, sneakin’ into the cook shack and keepin’ our range cook from his bunk!” he growled.

  Yancey glanced at the one-legged cook who seemed surprised that Enderby was showing any consideration towards him.

  “We need him fit and ready to turn on breakfast before sunup, Bannerman. Boss’ son or not, it don’t give you no right to make Peggy work after his day’s chores is done. You go to bed hungry, man, unless Peggy fancies tossin’ you a cold dodger or somethin’.”

  “Now, hold up, Virg!” spoke up the cook, his dirty face coloring a little. “This here’s my territory. If I want to ...”