Bannerman the Enforcer 46

by Kirk Hamilton

  The Enforcer’s rifle was tossed onto the carriage floor and kicked beneath a seat. His Peacemaker was lifted from his holster and he was slammed violently down to his knees between the two seats. A boot was placed between his shoulders and he was driven face-first into the varnished carriage wall. Dazed, Yancey Bannerman felt himself heaved up onto a seat and slammed down, where he huddled, head between his hands, across the aisle from the girl.

  He came out of it slowly and blinked. His gaze touched Emily’s as she looked across at him anxiously.

  “You all right?” he asked huskily.

  She nodded.

  Yancey sat back slowly, wincing a little, and stared up at his captor, studying the man’s face. It didn’t fit the description of either Kane or Gentry. The horse faced man was not one of the killers either.

  Puzzled now, Yancey frowned, looking at the man who held the cocked gun on him, one boot planted firmly on the end of the seat, resting his forearm across the bent knee, staring back with steely eyes.

  “What’s going on?” the Enforcer asked.

  The man didn’t answer.

  “I don’t know you, but you know my name,” Yancey prodded. Then he flicked his gaze to the girl. “What’d they call you?”

  “Nothing,” she replied. “Just ‘lady’ ...”

  “Shut up, Bannerman,” the big man growled, making a threatening gesture with the barrel of the six-gun. “Shut up an’ just set tight. We got a ways to go yet before we reach Fort Worth.”

  Yancey felt the surprise touch his face: these men aimed to keep them under the guns all the way to Fort Worth! What in hell for? What was waiting at Fort Worth for them? Kane and Gentry? He rejected the thought almost at once. If the outlaws had sent these two hard cases after him and the girl, it would have been to kill them. And that would have been done the moment he had swung aboard the platform ...

  Suddenly, the big man grinned down at the Enforcer. “Figured we’d missed you, made a mess of the job, when you didn’t get the train pullin’ out of Brownwood. We stayed aboard and went right through the caboose and them boxcars up front, even scared them greasers white down at the far end by rippin’ off their serapes and sombreros, in case you was disguised ... We was thinkin’ of droppin’ off an’ walkin’ to Brownwood when we seen you ridin’ in lickety-split. Might say you saved our neck for us by bein’ so obligin’.”

  “Who sent you after us?” asked Yancey.

  The man looked surprised. “You’re kiddin’!”

  Yancey frowned. The big man looked around at his horse faced companion.

  “Hey, Hoss, what you reckon? You figure Bannerman’s serious? He dunno who sent us?”

  Hoss scowled. “Don’t make no nevermind to me whether he’s speakin’ gospel or not, Mingo.”

  Mingo shrugged as he turned back to Yancey. “Hoss don’t much care about anythin’. Not really capable of thinkin’ about more than one thing at a time, and right now he’s thinkin’ about gettin’ you two safely to Fort Worth. He ain’t interested in anythin’ else.”

  “Mingo, huh?” Yancey said thoughtfully. “Seen a wanted dodger six months back for a big hombre about your description, name of Mingo—Mingo—Garr? No Garth. Mingo Garth.”

  Yancey smiled thinly, judging by the man’s expression that he was right. He figured to rub a little salt into the wound to see what kind of reaction he got: knowing his captors’ weaknesses and strengths was important.

  “Yeah, Mingo Garth. Hoss Greely. Wells Fargo hold-up, weren’t it? Shotgun guard blew a horse out from under one of you and a little old lady stuck a hatpin through the gun hand of the other.” He dropped his eyes to Mingo’s hand where it was wrapped around the butt of the Colt and smiled when he saw the puckered scar tissue there. He laughed as the man flushed, a white ridge showing round his thin lips. “Didn’t get a dollar! Hoss lost his mask on a brush and was identified. That’s why the dodger’s out on you both for attempted hold-up. Wells Fargo figure to stop you trying again and maybe having a little better luck. But the way you stumble around, it’d be a miracle if you pulled off a job successfully.”

  Mingo hit him with the gun barrel, laying it across the side of his face and knocking him clear off the seat. When the Enforcer climbed groggily back onto the seat, he was bleeding from a short gash on his face and tasted blood inside from where his cheek had been crushed against his teeth. He carefully dug out a kerchief and dabbed at the wound, watching Mingo all the time.

  The man was breathing hard, nostrils pinched. He didn’t like being thought of as incompetent. Yancey filed the information away ...

  “Told you we shoulda growed beards!” growled Hoss.

  “There was no time, you idiot!” snapped Mingo. He flicked his gaze to the pale girl. “Bannerman, you try to get froggy an’ it’s the gal gets hurt, savvy? You make any fast moves and she’s the one who gets the broken arm. To start with ...”

  Yancey nodded slowly, face grim. “I savvy.”

  “Good. Then shut up an’ get down on the floor. Like I said, it’s a long haul to Fort Worth.”

  Yancey sat down in the cramped space between the seats and Mingo made him put his hands under his buttocks. It was a painful and effective way of immobilizing him.

  The girl was allowed to stay huddled in her corner. She hadn’t said anything, barely moved, since Yancey had come aboard. He wondered what was in her mind. If she decided these men were going to keep her from getting to Kane and Gentry, there was no telling what kind of desperate fool move she might make.

  And it could get them both killed.

  It was a long uncomfortable night.

  Yancey’s hands were numbed and aching within an hour, but Mingo refused to allow him to move. The big man moved back to a seat where he could watch both the Enforcer and the girl. Hoss dozed for a spell. Yancey didn’t know how much longer it was before he heard Mingo wake the man, and then it was the big outlaw’s turn to sleep.

  Yancey dozed. The girl had her eyes closed but whether she was sleeping or not he didn’t know. The Mexicans stayed in a tight, silent, frightened group at the far end of the carriage.

  There was gray light showing at the windows of the car when Yancey was prodded awake by a rough boot toe poking him in the ribs. He blinked and yawned as he looked up at Mingo and the man’s gun was only inches from his face.

  “Time to go,” the man said.

  Yancey could barely move his arms enough to slide his bloodless hands out from beneath him. The pain of returning circulation was excruciating and he winced as he shook his hands vigorously in an effort to get the blood flowing again. He stood awkwardly, swaying with the jolting of the train, squinting out of the smudged windows.

  They were travelling across the plains before the mountain range that had to be crossed before they came within sight of Fort Worth. Yancey turned a puzzled face to Mingo.

  “We’re miles from Fort Worth yet.”

  “Shut up and get out on the platform,” Mingo growled.

  Still frowning, Yancey moved awkwardly towards the door, seeing the girl sitting up on the seat, wakening slowly. Hoss impatiently grabbed her shoulder to shake her. She jerked away, slapping at his hand, face hardening as she crouched on the seat, eyes blazing, ready to claw his eyes out. Hoss reared back in surprise at her reaction, but Yancey had no chance to take advantage of the situation. Mingo thrust him roughly out onto the platform.

  The cool morning wind tore at him. It was barely daylight. The sun wasn’t yet fully above the horizon and, even as he watched, pale gold began to flood across the plains. He looked over the rails, past the swaying caboose behind. There was only emptiness. Ahead, all there was to see was the long line of flatbeds and box cars with the big black and green locomotive at the head, belching smoke and sparks.

  Yancey frowned deeper. It looked like they had come to the end of the trail: Mingo and Hoss apparently were going to kill them. But why here and not somewhere during the night in a more remote region he didn’t know ...

/>   Well, if they were going to die, then he would have to fight ...

  But Hoss and Mingo made no move towards either of them.

  The girl stumbled out onto the platform, hugged herself against the cold and pressed up against the rails, keeping a few inches between her body and Yancey’s. She still couldn’t bear the touch of a man. Any man.

  Yancey was going to ask a question, but changed his mind when he saw Mingo staring past his shoulder. The man was looking for something. A good place where he could push the bodies off after shooting them? Or, was he expecting someone ...?

  The plains rolled by. No one spoke. The wind remained chill. Early sunlight touched the train now, threw the outlaws’ faces into relief, making the guns seem to glow with fire.

  The locomotive’s sound changed note and Yancey knew they were starting into the foothills of the range. He was puzzled as all get-out. Miles had gone by. Nothing had happened, except the circulation had fully returned to his hands now and he was half frozen.

  Now the train was climbing into the timbered ranges. There was a glimpse of a stream far down the slope. They rumbled over a short trestle bridge and then both captors tensed and Yancey knew something was about to happen.

  “Ready!” Mingo snapped to Hoss, and Yancey prepared to lunge off the rail, but suddenly Hoss grabbed the girl and, before she could give more than a startled squeal, he had thrown her off the train. Yancey saw her tumbling body strike a sandy slope and begin to roll.

  Then he saw horsemen coming out of the trees towards her and next moment the world was spinning crazily and he was dropping through space. He struck the sand and felt it move out beneath him and then he was rolling, but the friction of the sand soon slowed him and when he sat up, spitting, he saw the caboose’s rear swaying around the bend of the rails high above him.

  Then he saw Mingo’s and Hoss’ tumbling bodies sliding down the slope towards him and a moment later he was surrounded by horsemen, all with guns menacing him. As he lurched to his feet, Yancey was surprised to see that the girl was already mounted, covered by a man with a rifle. A rider moved to the fore with three more saddled horses and Yancey was prodded by Mingo and ordered to mount up.

  He did so, slowly, and settled into saddle, looking around, figuring all these men as cowboys rather than owlhoots.

  They turned and started across the face of the sandy slope and headed into the timber. Yancey was allowed to ride up alongside Texas.

  “Who are they?” she asked quietly, anxiously.

  “No idea,” he told her. “But they’re forkin’ work horses, all with the same brand: Broken Circle. I don’t think they’re outlaws.”

  She frowned. “But you said Mingo and Hoss were.”

  “Well, I know Wells Fargo’s got out a dodger on ’em. Dunno anythin’ else about ’em, but you can bet this was all carefully arranged. I’d say we’re safe. For a spell, leastways. Looks to me like someone wants to see us and we’ve got ourselves an armed escort. Just relax and ride along. Nothing we can do till we know what’s going on.”

  Texas gave him a hard look, then frowned and settled down to ride in silence. Yancey did the same, taking landmarks as he went. He figured they were heading southwest of Fort Worth.

  It led to the ranching country, he knew, strengthening his theory that these men were cowhands ...

  An hour later, he knew he was right; they came within sight of a distant ranch house and its outbuildings.

  They had passed through a drift fence twenty minutes earlier and there had been longhorn steers in bunches on the range, all with the Broken Circle brand burned into their hides.

  As they rode into the ranch yard, the riders moved off, some going to the bunkhouse, others returning to the range. Only Mingo and Hoss remained, holding their guns on Yancey and the girl as they ordered them to dismount.

  They were marched into the house and right off Yancey knew this was a masculine outfit: there was no woman’s hand here in the rough, handcrafted furnishings, the saddle gear strewn around the short hallway, the old range clothes tossed carelessly around the parlor, the stale smell of fat that had been heated too many times, or the wooden shutters instead of glass windows.

  Mingo told them to stop in the middle of the parlor and then a door opened and a medium-tall man stepped into the room, wearing sloppy, stained work clothes. But the gun rig he wore round his slim hips was oiled and all the cartridge loops were filled and the gun itself gleamed with the efforts of a recent cleaning.

  He was balding, but had bushy eyebrows, glittering dark eyes, and a nose twisted slightly to the left. He was neither Kane nor Gentry and the girl frowned puzzledly at Yancey, who shrugged.

  The man flicked his gaze from the Enforcer to the girl and back again.

  “See you didn’t give much trouble, Bannerman,” he said, indicating the small wound on Yancey’s face. “Kind of figured you might put up more of a fight.”

  He looked quizzically at Mingo who shook his head, curling his mouth derisively.

  “Told him what’d happen to the gal if he got froggy, boss. He stayed quiet.”

  The rancher flicked his eyes back to Yancey’s face. “I’m Coleman. I hear you been askin’ round about me.”

  Yancey stiffened. He felt his face tighten.

  “Well, I’ll be ...! So that’s what it’s all about! Damn it, I never figured on this! A check showed a Coleman had bought a ranch near Fort Worth last August 22nd and a Coleman had been released from the State Pen last June. I just didn’t figure it was the same Coleman!”

  The girl’s mouth opened a little as she looked swiftly at Yancey.

  “You mean—This is the man we were after?”

  Yancey nodded.

  “But he’s not Gentry or Kane!” she cried, the disappointment heavy in her voice, even as she realized how stupid her exclamation sounded ...

  Yancey was more interested in the reaction of Coleman to the names. The rancher had stiffened, dropped a hand involuntarily to his gun butt, flicking his cold gaze to Mingo and Hoss. Then, eyes narrowed, he looked back to the Enforcer.

  “What are you after, Bannerman?”

  “First, how about telling me how you knew I was asking about you?” Yancey countered.

  Coleman shrugged. “I got my friends. Look, Bannerman, I did my time in the Pen. I’ve paid plenty for my crime. I don’t aim to go on payin’ by bein’ hounded. Not by anyone, savvy?”

  Yancey pursed his lips. “Someone houndin’ you?”

  Coleman’s eyes pinched down even further. “Don’t get smart with me, Bannerman! You and your Enforcer pards are after my hide for some reason! An’ I won’t hold still for that! I bought this land because I want to be left alone. Hell, man, I was a rancher before I cut loose and went a mite hog-wild one time when the bank foreclosed on my mortgage. Because the bank president wanted to marry the gal I was courtin’.” His mouth took a bitter twist. “He did, too. She said she’d wait for me, but I hadn’t even got into my convict clothes before she was walkin’ up the aisle with him!”

  The Enforcer looked at Coleman shrewdly. “Never did recover the loot, did they?”

  Coleman looked at him sharply. “Nope. Posse chased me after I robbed the bank, ran me off a cliff into the river. They dragged me out half-drowned, but the money must’ve gotten washed away.”

  Yancey continued to stare. “Be kind of handy if it didn’t. Or if it was someplace you were able to come back to when you got out. Would give you a nice little stake for a place like this—not to mention a heap of satisfaction you knowin’ it was the bank president’s money that was paying for your new spread ...?”

  Coleman’s jaw muscles were bunched and knotted.

  “I still want to know what interest the Enforcers’ve got in me, Bannerman?”

  Yancey was silent for a long minute, then made his decision.

  “How about we set down?” he suggested. “It’s a long story.”

  Coleman agreed and Hoss pushed aside saddle gear and empty food
crates to make room on the sofa for Yancey and the girl. The rancher sat opposite on the arm of a torn overstuffed chair while Mingo and Hoss stood, guns held loosely now.

  Emily Svendborg sat stiffly, impatiently. Then Yancey told her story and explained his own involvement. When he had finished, Coleman frowned.

  “That’s it? You just come up with my name after that hombre Ringo mentionin’ it in Albany?”

  “That’s it,” Yancey agreed.

  Coleman laughed shortly, mirthlessly, glancing at Hoss and Mingo.

  “Smoke me! Aw, hell, put up them guns, you fellers. I’ve made a mistake, it seems.”

  “But, boss, he might be lyin’,” said Mingo.

  “With a story like that? Naw. Too many details. Sounds—right, somehow.” He looked at the silent girl. “And the lady sure looks like she’s been through a corner of hell.”

  Emily merely looked at him defiantly. Coleman stood, scrubbed a hand around his jaw.

  “Hell, when I got word you was askin’ questions about me, I thought it was because of the bank loot.” He smiled thinly at Yancey. “Yeah. You were right. I came back for it, used it to buy this place.”

  “Boss!” warned Mingo in alarm.

  “Aw, I know all about Bannerman. He’s a good enough hombre. I figure he won’t do anythin’ about it ...” Then before Yancey could answer, he added, “‘Sides, he ain’t in any position to at the moment.”

  Yancey smiled faintly. “Not right now, but ...”

  Coleman stiffened. “You gonna give me aggravation?”

  The Enforcer hesitated and then shook his head. “Hell, no. Sounds like you got a raw deal, anyway. That bank money was written off. If you ‘found’ it again when you got out, I guess it’s the same as finding a lost treasure. Is, as far as I’m concerned, anyway.”

  The rancher nodded. “Fine.”

  “Well, where does that leave us now?” the girl asked. “We’ve lost the trail of Kane and Gentry. And why did Ringo mention the name Coleman at all?”

  The rancher stood. “Come with me.”

  He dismissed Hoss and Mingo and led the way out into the yard. Yancey and Texas followed him up a hogback rise and through a small stand of timber to an oblong of earth fenced-in with some crudely split rails. There was a hand-carved pine head board at the end of a raised mound of soil.