Bannerman the Enforcer 46

by Kirk Hamilton

  Yancey said nothing, trying to look both perplexed and innocent. Cato kept his face carefully blank. The doctor settled his gaze on Yancey.

  “You still figuring to stay here all night?”

  “If it’s okay with you, doc. Denver just might come round and there’s a few questions I’d like answered.”

  The doctor grunted. “No harm to be done, the way he is. Not sayin’ he mightn’t be lucid for quite a spell, but chances are against it. However, if you want to spend an uncomfortable night in a chair, that’s your affair. Just let him get his rest!”

  He jerked a thumb in Cato’s direction and then left the room, nodding curtly. Yancey gathered up the cards and as Cato settled down, the doctor’s house girl brought in some blankets and shyly handed them to the big Enforcer. He took them with thanks for it grew chilly during the night up here on the high plains. He set up two chairs between Cato’s and Denver’s beds. He sat in one, put his feet up on the other and draped the blankets around his legs, pulling one up across his chest.

  Then he blew out the table lamp and eased his Peacemaker out of its holster, nursing it in his lap, a thumb resting lightly on the hammer spur.

  The only light coming into the room now was through the draped window on the house’s side wall. It was very dim and all Yancey could make out was the vague silhouette of Denver’s form beneath the sheets. He couldn’t see Cato at all on his other side as there was only a dark wall beyond the Enforcer’s bed.

  “Sweet dreams,” Cato called in a falsetto.

  “You too, sweetheart,” Yancey answered lightly and settled down under the blankets.

  He only dozed. He was unable to sleep deeply because of the snorting, heaving sounds made by the wounded Denver. The man’s breathing was harsh and ragged and Yancey kept thinking the man was dying and it was the death rattle in his throat. But each time, just as he was about to get up and call the doctor, the outlaw’s breathing settled down again. Then Yancey dozed for a few more minutes before the rattle stirred him once more.

  He was still dozing fitfully well after midnight.

  Once again he came up blearily from the edge of sleep, cursing Denver, but realizing through the haze in his mind that it had been a different sound this time that had disturbed him. Yancey stayed dead still, from old habit. He swiveled his eyes but moved no other muscle. He could just make out Denver’s sheet-shrouded form silhouetted against the window.

  But there was a darkness moving across the drapes. Something outside the window.

  Even as Yancey watched, his thumb notching back the gun hammer silently under the blanket, he heard the window start to slide up in its frame. It jammed and had to be pushed hard. It cleared with a scrape and slight thud and the movement ceased, as if someone was testing, waiting to see if the noise had disturbed anyone inside. Yancey knew it had been a similar sound that roused him.

  He pushed the blankets aside and eased off the chair, dropping to one knee silently between the beds, the gun cocked now and aimed at the window as the drapes were pushed aside by a rifle barrel.

  Yancey could see the shape of someone filling the frame between the drapes now. Then a leg was thrust over the sill and the intruder came in warily, slowly, swinging the rifle in a short, menacing arc. The Enforcer hardly dared breathe. There was a soft, slithering sound as a foot touched the floor, a small flurry of movement at the drapes and then the intruder was in the room, padding quietly towards Denver’s bed.

  Yancey lunged up suddenly, striking with the gun barrel across the bed. There was a dull clang as his Peacemaker struck the rifle from the startled hands of the intruder, a gasp, and then the stranger dived for the window.

  “Hold it!” Yancey snapped.

  The visitor froze and Yancey heard Cato stir. A vesta flared behind him and Cato leaned out of bed and touched the flame to the lamp wick. In the glow Yancey was not surprised to recognize Texas in her unflattering, ill-fitting clothes, standing beside the window.

  She glared angrily at him, flicked her eyes beyond him to where Cato sat propped up on one elbow, his cocked Manstopper in his hand.

  “Damn you, Bannerman!” she hissed.

  “Johnny, meet Texas,” Yancey said, not taking his eyes off the girl. He moved the gun barrel. “Move away from that window.”

  The girl obeyed sullenly and stood at the end of Denver’s bed, looking coldly at the wounded man.

  “Come back to finish him off?” Yancey asked.

  “No!” she denied hotly. “I—I told you I wanted to question him.”

  “He ain’t much up to talkin’,” Cato pointed out.

  “Is he dying?” she asked anxiously.

  “Doc says he’ll be lucky to make it through the night.”

  Texas tightened her lips. “Damn!” she hissed.

  Yancey frowned and for the first time noticed that she was wearing a plain gold wedding band on her left hand. It glittered in the yellow lamplight.

  “Thought you wanted him dead.”

  “Not till he answers some questions.”

  “Look, ma’am, I think you’d better answer some questions,” Yancey said tightly. “I can throw you in jail, keep you there till a Circuit Judge comes along, charge you with breaking and entering, suspicion of theft or attempted murder ... just about anythin’ I can think of that’ll make life kind of difficult for you. Now, you strike me as a gal who could get along without that kind of aggravation. And I reckon you will—long as you tell us what’s behind all this.”

  She flicked her gaze towards Cato. “Us?”

  “Sure. He’s an Enforcer, too. Now, you gonna do it easy? Or is it the town jail for a spell?”

  Texas tightened her lips into a razor-thin line, her eyes cold as she looked from Yancey to Cato. She tapped her fingers against her elbows, arms folded across her bosom.

  “You son of a bitch!” she hissed.

  Yancey’s and Cato’s expressions did not change. Texas glanced at Denver as the man stirred, muttered something unintelligible. Her face turned rock hard with hatred and for a moment Yancey thought she was going to fling herself on the man and throttle the life out of him.

  “Hell’s sakes, woman, tell us what’s behind this!” he snapped. She leaned back against the wall, looking defiant.

  “Start with your name,” Yancey prompted. “Your real one.”

  She didn’t reply for a time, then said very softly, “It’s Emily Svendborg. Mrs. Emily Svendborg.”

  Yancey nodded slowly. “Means nothing to us, ma’am. And Mr. Svendborg?”

  Her eyes were dulled now as they looked into his face. There was absolutely no expression in her voice as she said, “Dead.” The Enforcers exchanged a glance.

  “Recently, ma’am?” asked Cato quietly.

  “About five weeks ago. No. Exactly four weeks, three days and—and—seven hours.”

  There was still no expression in her tone; no suggestion of a sob; no wetness in her eyes, only the dullness.

  “I see, ma’am,” Yancey said slowly, “and this feller Denver—he had something to do with your husband’s death?”

  “Something. He didn’t kill him. A man named Laramie Kane did that. This scum wounded Lars, but it was Kane who put the final bullet through his head.”

  Yancey frowned. The girl’s complete lack of emotion bothered him. It was almost as if she herself were dead, too. Dead inside.

  She was speaking without prompting now and he and Cato remained silent, listening.

  “We found this canyon, ‘Lucky’ Canyon Lars called it, because he had located a good pocket of placer gold. We worked it together, Lars and me and—and little Erik, our baby, only weeks old.”

  She paused, her eyes out of focus now, looking back down some corridor of memory that was closed to the Enforcers as they waited patiently. She started speaking again without any change of expression or a sigh or anything to indicate she was ready to continue.

  “There were five of them. A bunch of bearded, stinking desert rats, in from th
e wasteland. Laramie Kane, Denver, Kid Ringo, Buck Gentry, Boots Stacey. Oh, I didn’t know them when they arrived, but I knew all their names before they left. I knew, too, they’d robbed an Army payroll up in Montana and they’d lost some of the loot on the way down to Texas where they had a hideout. But there were too many men after them: the Army, the law, bounty hunters. They were talking about splitting up, going their own ways ... It was our bad luck that they chose our canyon to do it in.”

  Again she paused and the only sound in the silent room was Denver’s ragged breathing.

  “They’d picked off Lars from cover before they rode in. He was barely alive when they rode up and Kane shot him through the head. They—turned to me then. They—raped me. All of them. I fought at first. Then a kind of dullness came over me and instead I looked right into their faces, making sure I remembered every line and scar and detail. They can never hide from me. I know each and every one of them.” She paused briefly. “When they had finally—finished with me and divided-up their loot, they threw me in the river, thinking me too weak to swim and that I’d drown. But while I was carried away and they used me as a target for their guns, the bullets didn’t hit me and I somehow managed to get to shore miles downstream. I struggled back to our canyon and looked in the back of the wagon where I had left little Erik. Kane and his men must’ve been rummaging around looking for valuables. They’d dumped the bedding over Erik’s cradle. He’d smothered. So I—I buried him and Lars, burned the wagon and rode a horse out of there, carrying Lars’ rifle. That one on the floor there. I swore on his and Erik’s grave that I would track down the men responsible, one by one, and kill them.” Her eyes focused abruptly and she gave that characteristic toss of her head, thrusting out her jaw defiantly. “And that’s what I aim to do. I’ve started with Denver. I got onto his trail by sheer luck. I want him to tell me where I can find the others.”

  She stopped speaking and the Enforcers were quiet for a long time. The doctor came in, carrying a lantern, and was startled to see the girl standing there, the naked guns in the Enforcer’s hands.

  “It’s all right, doc,” Cato told him. “Just a visitor. We were expectin’ her. Go on back to bed.”

  “Now listen, that man may be an outlaw, but he’s my patient and ...”

  Yancey turned towards the medico and the sawbones was shocked to see the hardness of his face, hear the coldness in his voice as he said:

  “That’s lousy scum in that bed, doctor. Not worth the powder it’d take to blow him to hell. Just go back to bed and leave this to us.”

  “Good God, man, what’s going on!”

  “Do like we say, doc. Leave this to us.”

  The medico opened his mouth to protest but the look on Yancey’s face and that of Cato stilled the words before he could utter them. He glanced at the girl and frowned: her face, too, disturbed him.

  “Young lady—are you all right?”

  “I’m—fine. Thanks.”

  He was doubtful still, but he finally nodded and with a last glance at Yancey said, as he went out, “I hold you responsible, Bannerman, for—whatever happens.”

  “G’night, doc,” Yancey said grimly.

  His face softened a little as he looked back to Texas.

  “You’ve been through a lot, ma’am. Been through hell. You’re driving yourself into the ground, though. You should leave the tracking-down to professionals. I guess you didn’t go near law of any kind?”

  The girl’s jaw tilted again. “This is my own affair, Bannerman. I don’t want the law in this. I’ll handle it.”

  “You can’t do it alone!” Cato protested.

  The girl indicated Denver. “I caught up with him. I’ll catch up with the others, too. I’ve got the rest of my life to do it in. I don’t have anything else to do with it now.”

  Yancey felt compassion for this girl. Not for one instant did he consider not believing her. It was all there in her eyes and her face, in the tonelessness of her voice. She spoke the truth and she was being eaten away by hatred and a desire for vengeance. And he could savvy how she felt: there had been a time or two in his own life when he had been consumed by the same emotions.

  But it was this slim, vulnerable girl’s determination to carry it through alone that got to him ...

  “You understand now why it’s so important that I question this Denver?” Texas asked.

  Yancey nodded. “Sure. But he mightn’t make it. Might not even come round or tell you anything.”

  She shrugged, “It’ll be easier if he can help. If he can’t, I’ll find them just the same.”

  The casual determination brought a look of admiration to the faces of the Enforcers.

  Yancey sighed, turned towards Denver’s bed, moving the lamp closer.

  “Well, let’s see.” He reached down and gripped the wounded man’s shoulder, shaking him gently. There was more response than he expected.

  Denver rolled his head, moaning, muttering, then opened his eyes and stared straight up into Yancey’s face. As soon as she saw the man’s eyes open, the girl moved to the side of the bed and peered down past Yancey’s shoulder.

  Yancey saw the shock of recognition in the outlaw’s face. The man’s mouth worked awkwardly.

  “Scum!” she breathed. “You know me! I didn’t die in that river. It was me who shot you and I aim to shoot your friends, too! Where are they?”

  She reached past Yancey to grab the man’s bandages and shake him. The Enforcer gripped her hand and pulled it away, fighting her back.

  “Easy, easy!” he growled, staring straight into her blazing eyes. “Let me handle this!”

  She still tried to wrench her hand free and then Yancey used some of his own strength and she felt the pressure on her bones and knew she could not fight such power. Reluctantly, tight-lipped, she nodded.

  Yancey turned back to Denver who was breathing faster now, his eyes showing that he was quite alert.

  “Listen, feller, you’re dying. No use trying to tell you different. Nothing anyone can do can change that. You’re gonna be dead by sun-up.”

  Denver looked scared. His face was bone white, eyes staring out of their sockets.

  “Gospel, Denver,” Yancey told him unsmilingly. “You’re all through. Nothing to be gained by keeping things to yourself. You believe in the Hereafter, might go easier for you to get a few things off your chest.”

  The man swiveled his eyes from Yancey to the girl’s grim face, thrown into highlights and shadows by the lamplight.

  “Where are the rest of the bunch?” Yancey asked relentlessly, keeping the pressure on while the man was still shaken. “Laramie Kane, Kid Ringo, Boots Stacey, Buck Gentry ... Oh, yeah, we know who they are. You apparently did a lot of talkin’ while you—abused this here gal. We’ll find ’em no matter what, but you can make it easier for us, sort of atone a mite for what you did to the gal.”

  Denver closed his eyes and remained that way for a spell. He started speaking without opening them. They had to lean close to catch his words for his voice was very weak.

  “We separated when we left that canyon. I lost my share in a poker game in New Mexico. Ridin’ the rails out of Santa Fe when I met an old pard, busted, too. But he said he’d heard that Kid Ringo and Boots Stacey had opened up a saloon in Albany, Texas.” He fell silent again and the girl frowned at Yancey. “Albany?” she asked softly. “Not too far from Amarillo, is it?”

  Yancey shook his head but, before he could speak, Denver began talking again.

  “Figured to get me a stake from ’em—blackmail my way in if I had to ... I could get ’em—hung for that—payroll job in Montana ...”

  Yancey glanced across at Cato who nodded slowly: that confirmed the girl’s story for both of them. If it had needed confirmation ...

  “My pard on the trails was gonna join up with the Magowan brothers. Said they had big plans. Figured I’d join ’em for a spell, till I got me a stake ...’’ He shook his head slowly from side to side on the sweat-soaked pillow.
“Mistake—shoulda gone on—to—to Albany ...”

  “Ringo and Stacey you said, in Albany,” Yancey prompted. “What about the others?”

  Denver rolled his head on the pillow again. “Dunn—dunno. Gospel ...”

  He was very weak now, his words barely audible.

  The Enforcer turned to Texas. “It’s a start. Two of ’em in Albany.”

  She nodded and stooped to pick up the rifle from the floor. Yancey stiffened as she held it, looking at Denver. The man’s eyes were still closed. His breathing was more difficult, ragged. The girl looked at him dispassionately.

  Then she turned away and started towards the door, looking at Yancey, nodding.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Yancey crossed the room swiftly, reached past her and placed his hand on the latch so she could not open it. He looked into her face.

  “Listen, you’ll get yourself killed. You said you’ve never shot a man before today. You’re going up against a bunch of coldblooded killers.”

  Her eyes held his gaze. “Come with me, then. Back me up.” He was startled that she should make the suggestion.

  “You owe me something,” she reminded him. “I don’t mind calling in my debts. I’ll do anything that’ll help me catch those murderers. I’m not interested in the gold they took from us. If you want it, it’s yours.”

  “Not interested,” Yancey told her shortly. He glanced towards Cato. “Seeing as it was an Army payroll Kane and his wolves stole, I reckon the Governor couldn’t really object to my getting involved. What d’you think, Johnny?”

  Cato smiled crookedly. “I reckon that’s the kind of reasonin’ I’d use if I was up and around.”

  “You could do a mite of soft-soapin’ when you get back to Austin. If necessary, I mean ...”

  “Sure, why not?” He flicked his eyes to the girl. “You might be able to teach her how to use a gun properly. She’ll stand more chance that way.”

  Emily Svendborg looked interested. “That would be fine with me. But we’re wasting time, Bannerman. What’s it to be?”