Bannerman the Enforcer 2

by Kirk Hamilton

  Cato’s head spun dizzily as he felt the blood begin to flow again and he dearly wanted to flop back and rest. But hesitation now would be fatal. Tucking his useless left arm inside his shirt, Johnny Cato dragged himself forward in a half-sitting position, focusing his eyes on the gun even as the fire died down. He knew the cougar would be preparing to move in now but he couldn’t take the time to glance in its direction in case he lost sight of the glint of gunmetal in the deepening shadows. The breath tore in his throat and seared the tissues, his head spun and his ears roared with pounding blood, chest heaving. His right arm collapsed once and his face plowed into the dirt. He shoved up with a sob of effort, scrabbled on, hearing the growl of the cougar once more. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the movement as it ran forward, belly dragging, getting closer into position for its spring.

  Judas! Three yards! It seemed like three miles! Wouldn’t he ever get close enough to pick up that gun? He had to risk a look at the cat now. There it was, right on the edge of his vision, just as the last twig collapsed and the fire died to a heap of glowing coals again. It was tensed, muscles bunched, ready to spring. And his gun was still a yard away ...

  He yelled with the effort as he heaved himself bodily forward, ignoring the crushing agony in his shoulder as he rolled onto it, right hand darting out towards that dully-glinting metal. His fingers touched the butt, strained forward, curled around it and he grabbed the weapon, rolling onto his back as he heard the heavy body leave the ground in a leap at him. Cato saw only a moving black shape streaking across the stars and plummeting towards him. There was a flash of white, a deep, throaty growl, a yellowish glint ... and then he was triggering as fast as he could cock the hammer, the gun flashes lighting the moving cat in nightmarish tones. It screamed and he screamed, too, as the warm, heavy body fell across his legs and the muzzle of the gun was right against the rank pelt when he fired again. The gun bucked from his hand and he scrabbled desperately for it, but there was no need. The cat was shuddering in its death throes and he could feel its blood soaking through his trousers.

  Panting, the world spinning in a red haze shot through with bright lights, Cato lay back and fell into oblivion as black as the cougar’s pelt.

  ~*~

  It had been a lot trickier getting down off the mesa than Yancey had figured. Hondo had led them up that secret trail the evening before, but he had twisted and turned through a boulder field at the top so that when they had finally emerged onto the flat ground, Yancey hadn’t been able to locate the trail again. He knew Hondo had done that deliberately and obviously the same thing had happened to the Slades. They had had to search for over an hour before they located the trail down.

  But it had turned out to be a different one to that used for the ascent. The Slades had made a mistake somewhere and they went down a very steep and dangerous and narrow path, having to dismount and lead the horses. Yancey’s buckskin was still nervous and he had to talk soothingly to it all the way. The girl followed close behind, with Reno leading, Lem bringing up the rear.

  It was precarious and in parts they had to literally drag the protesting animals over rock falls, push them through narrow defiles, and coax them around ledges no wider than a couple of feet, the ancient rock crumbling away beneath their hoofs. Anya slipped and had to swiftly grab at her stirrup as, for a brief moment, she hung suspended over a hundred foot drop. She instinctively cried out and, to Yancey’s ears, it was unmistakably feminine. There was no way that that thin sound could be mistaken for a youth’s yell and he looked swiftly ahead at Reno but the man had his own problems, fighting his mount around a narrow bend. Lem, though, was looking sharply at the girl, frowning, as Yancey moved back and helped her get to solid footing. He looked into her white face and tried to warn her with his eyes that she had made a mistake. He didn’t know if she realized it or not but it was too late now to worry about it. He figured Lem was suspicious ...

  They finally reached the plains safely and they paused to squat down and roll cigarettes. As they fired up, Lem nudged Anya’s arm and held out the linen sack of Bull Durham and the blue folder of Wheatstraw papers.

  “Twirl one up, kid?” he said.

  Anya shook her head, giving a faint smile. But Lem was insistent, forcing her to take the tobacco sack. “Go on ... you’re old enough. Roll one up and join the men. You want to be thought of as a man, don’t you? Not some sort of namby-pamby, or—a gal?”

  Yancey smoked slowly, eyes narrowed as he regarded Lem. “He don’t smoke,” he said quietly. “Got a chest ailment. Makes him cough.”

  Lem glanced at Yancey and smiled faintly, taking back the tobacco and papers. “Want to rub some bear grease into your chest if you got lung trouble, kid ... Think I got some in my saddlebags. Be glad to show you how to do it some time.”

  “I—I’m all right,” Anya said trying to deepen her voice.

  Yancey blew a plume of smoke, not speaking, but watching Lem closely. Reno frowned, aware that something was taking place but he was out of it.

  They rode out onto the plains with Reno pointing the way. After they had been riding for a half hour or so, Reno dropped back alongside his brother. Out of the corner of his eye, Yancey saw them in earnest conversation and he had an idea they would be discussing Anya and Lem’s suspicions. He didn’t like the idea of them riding behind and gradually slowed his mount, dropping back and out to one side. The Slades didn’t seem to notice or attach any importance to it. They spoke affably enough as they rode along in line, but Yancey noticed that both of them were trying to engage the girl in conversation. He figured they were making up their minds whether she was masquerading or not. Anya answered a few questions, keeping her voice as deep as she could, punctuating her words with coughs as dust rose about them. It gave her an excuse to cover the lower half of her face with a kerchief and this served to further muffle her voice.

  The Slades dropped the attempts at conversation after a spell and they rode on across the plains in silence.

  “How far’s this Missouri trail?” Yancey asked some time after noon. They ate as they rode, munching on venison from Hondo’s camp and washing it down with water.

  “We’ll hit it by sundown or first thing in the mornin’,” Reno answered. “You gettin’ anxious?”

  “A mite,” Yancey said, pointing off to the left.

  He heard Anya gasp behind her kerchief as she saw the column of smoke rising from a distant crag.

  “Injuns,” Lem said quietly. He glanced swiftly at Reno who didn’t seem perturbed.

  “We’re cuttin’ across a corner of their huntin’ grounds, I reckon. If we keep goin’, we oughtn’t to bring ’em down on our necks. But we better not stop till we’re clear, even it means ridin’ after dark ... They figure we’re stoppin’, they’ll come in and try to lift our scalps.”

  Anya put her mount in closer to Yancey’s and her eyes above the masking kerchief were wide.

  They increased their pace and veered away from the distant crags, knowing that Indians were likely already all around them, even though they couldn’t see them. Yancey didn’t tell the girl but she saw him loosen the rawhide thong that held his gun snugly in the holster and then he handed over her Smith and Wesson. She looked into his eyes but he kept his face carefully blank and she swallowed the questions that rose to her lips as she took the little gun and dropped it into her holster. The Slade brothers said nothing but they exchanged glances and then Reno pulled his rifle from the saddle scabbard and rode with it across his knees.

  But they reached the old Missouri trail just before sundown without seeing any Indians and Reno said they would be safe now. Yancey wasn’t so sure: just because they were a few yards from what the Indians regarded as their hunting grounds didn’t seem a big enough margin of safety to him. Reno likely figured the same because he said they should keep riding for a spell, even after the sun had set, and put as much distance between themselves and the Indian land as possible.

  Anya stayed very close to Yancey an
d they reached a small spring just as the moon rose above the hills. They made camp and Anya’s job was to collect wood for a fire. She did it reluctantly, not wanting to venture far from the others in the dark, and suddenly Yancey leapt to his feet, his six-gun whispering out of leather, as she let out a piercing scream. As he ran forward, he thought that the Slades would know for sure that she was a girl now: only a female could yell like that.

  “What is it?” he called as he ran up to her, seeing her face twisted up, her arms loaded with wood she had gathered, eyes staring. He looked in that direction, hammer clicking back to full cock as something moved not more than ten yards away.

  “I—I think it’s an—Indian!” she stammered, dropping the bundle of wood at last and grabbing at Yancey’s arm. The Slades were coming up with leveled guns.

  “Injuns?” Lem asked.

  “Nope,” Yancey said, moving warily forward towards the dark, slowly-moving shape. “Looks like someone’s hurt ... Yeah. White man.” He knelt swiftly beside the form, gun ready in case it was some kind of a trap. “Easy, pard ... Who are you?”

  The girl and the Slades stood back, guns at the ready.

  The wounded man made several attempts to speak and then harshly, he said a word that Yancey didn’t believe he had heard: ‘Mundy!’ He frowned. Chet Mundy! What the hell ... ?

  “Did he say Mundy?” Reno Slade asked, coming forward. “That you, Chet? Reno and Lem here, pard.”

  “It’s ... me ... ” groaned Mundy.

  They got him back to the campsite, Lem snapping at Anya to hurry up and get that fire built. She gathered up the wood she had dropped and Yancey helped her get the fire started. He whispered to her as he touched a vesta flame to the kindling.

  “That scream gave you away for sure. They’re more interested in Mundy right now, but be ready later when they remember.”

  Tight-lipped, Anya nodded. “I will be ready,” she said, voice trembling a little.

  When the fire blazed up, and while the girl set about putting on coffee and warming some beans and the last of the sowbelly, Yancey joined the Slades as they knelt by Mundy waiting to see how badly the man was hurt He winced when he saw him:

  Mundy had been half-scalped.

  There were two bullet holes in his hide and the broken shaft of an arrow protruded from under his ribs. The Indians, never ones to ease a man’s suffering, had started to scalp him alive and then ridden off. Yancey had heard of it happening, as well as other atrocities, and he fully understood why the old hunters always kept that last bullet for themselves. It was better to die swiftly than by slow torture.

  He kept Anya away from Mundy and to do this he had to go back to the fire with her and help her prepare the meal. He took a cup of coffee across to where the Slades were still with Mundy.

  “Maybe he can use this,” he said.

  Reno stood, grim-faced, and looked at Yancey. He shook his head. “All he can use now is a grave ... Died just this minute.”

  Yancey sighed. “He say what had happened?”

  “Yeah ... ” Reno walked back to the fire with Yancey and took the plate of sowbelly and beans that the girl handed him but he just held it, making no attempt to eat right away. Lem carried Mundy out into the night and Yancey could hear him stacking rocks over the body.

  “Seems Mundy and another pard of ours, a Mex named Jiminez, got themselves lost and rode into an Injun burial ground,” Reno began. “Had to fight their way out and finally got back to the Missouri Trail, but the Injuns were doggin’ their trail. They met up with another hombre last night. They took him into camp, figurin’ three white men were better than two, but seems Jiminez got suspicious of him, picked him for some kind of law. Or, leastways, the man lied about where he’d come from. There was a shoot-out and Jiminez was killed, the other ranny wounded. He managed to put a bullet into Mundy who got away with the hosses, leavin’ him afoot … Chet figured to cut across to Anvil Mountain where he knew we were, as it was a lot closer than the Missouri Line, but them Injuns were waitin’ and they got him ... He spotted us against the sunset… ”

  Reno was looking hard at Yancey and Lem came back dusting off his hands. He squatted down, picked up a plate of food and began to eat in silence, to one side and slightly behind Yancey and the girl.

  “Don’t you want to know the name of the other white man Mundy and the Mex had a shoot-out with?” Reno asked Yancey.

  Yancey shrugged. “Not likely I’d know him, but who was it?”

  “Johnny Colt,” Reno said flatly.

  Anya rattled her plate and cup as the name dropped and tried to recover but not fast enough. Yancey figured there was trouble brewing fast now and moved so he could get at his gun better but he froze as a gun muzzle pressed coldly against the back of his neck.

  “Don’t do it, Banner!” growled Lem, crouching with his rifle. “And you keep your hands right away from that toy, kid!”

  Anya froze with her hand halfway back towards the butt of the Smith and Wesson. Reno got up almost lazily and came across, disarming Yancey first, then the girl. He took Yancey’s Hunting knife as well, searched him to make sure he had no other weapons on him. He grinned as he moved towards the girl and she leapt to her feet, startled, seeing his intention. Reno grabbed her as she made to swing away fast, yanked her back and began searching her thoroughly. Yancey made a move forward but Lem clipped him with the rifle barrel, just hard enough for a warning. Anya’s face was beet red when Reno had finished and he stepped back, breathing a little heavily.

  “Well, guess you were right, Banner, when you said the kid had chest trouble,” he grinned. “Like no boy’s chest I’ve ever felt before!”

  “Leave her alone!” Yancey snapped.

  Reno still had hold of her arm and dragged her into the firelight, shoving her roughly so that she fell to her knees. Lem clipped Yancey across the top of the skull again and, as Yancey’s legs buckled slightly, the Slades both shoved him so that he fell to his knees beside the disheveled girl.

  “You got some talkin’ to do, Banner,” Lem gritted. “You told us Colt was dead, inferred you’d killed him so you and the kid wouldn’t have to share that payroll loot with him. But he turned up in Mundy’s camp ... Rumor we heard was that all three of you pulled that robbery. Why’d you split up? And what’s that kid doin’ dressed up like a boy?”

  “She’s my kid sister,” Yancey panted, barely hesitating. “We were on the run and I figured it would be safer for her if she dressed like a boy ... that’s all.”

  Reno pursed his lips. “Maybe. How about this Johnny Colt deal?”

  “Well ... I didn’t exactly say I’d killed him … ”

  “As good as!” Lem growled.

  “No, I said Colt had kind of lost interest in the loot ... Not the same thing at all.”

  “Don’t get smart with us, Banner!” Lem snapped, stepping forward and kicking Yancey hard in the ribs. The girl gasped as Yancey groaned and fell onto his side. He straightened slowly, hugging his ribs, glaring up at Lem.

  “Okay. I let you and Hondo and the others think the kid and me had killed Colt. What we did was lose him along the way. He went looking for water and we slipped away just on dark, managed to shake him in some hills and get away from him.” He shrugged. “I wanted Hondo to think I’d killed him so he’d figure he had a tough ranny on his hands and maybe wouldn’t try anything.”

  He saw the Slades thinking this over and he figured that maybe Reno might believe him but Lem wasn’t about to. He hadn’t forgotten that beating he had taken at Yancey’s hands at the mesa and he wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to get his own back.

  “Lot of hogwash!” Lem said to his brother. “Mundy said Jimi figured Colt for a lawman.”

  Yancey forced a laugh. “Now that’s real funny! Johnny Colt a lawman? Hell, the law was like a red rag to a bull to Colt! He’s killed more lawmen than you can count!”

  “Then how come no one had heard of him until he pulled off that payroll robbery with you?”
snapped Lem.

  Yancey shrugged. “Colt wasn’t his real name. I never did know what it was, but he came from up north, Dakota way, I think ... ”

  Reno squatted down, holding Yancey’s gun loosely, looking at the big man and the girl. “Okay, we won’t worry much about Colt. He’s got Jimi’s knife in him, somewheres out there ... ” He gestured vaguely into the night. “But you’re here, Banner, you and the kid ... the kid sister. You still claim you pulled that army payroll job?”

  “Well, what the hell you think we’re doing here?” Yancey snapped angrily. “We sure wouldn’t be here by choice. We had to get out of Texas fast and the Nations seemed the best place ... ”

  “Okay. Then how come you ain’t carryin’ the loot?” Lem asked. “We got to your saddlebags before Hondo turned that big bear, Vulture, loose on you. There’s no gold there, or in your other things.”

  Yancey was surprised to hear that and he let it show, figuring there was no point in trying to hide it. Anya moved a little closer to him and both Slades stiffened, their guns covering the girl.

  “We hid it after shaking Colt,” Yancey lied. “Just in case he caught up with us.”

  Reno frowned at Lem who shrugged and said reluctantly, “Could make sense. Sort of thing I’d have done.”

  His brother nodded slowly, turned back to Yancey and the girl. “All you got to do now, is show us where it is.”