Kennedy collapsed against his pillar and stayed that way for a long time, too weak to move. It had been a close call! He pulled himself erect by the pillar and his hand closed over the manacle where it was clamped around the limestone. He stopped, fingers probing. He could feel several deep ridges worn into the soft outer covering of the pillar by the hard steel edge of the manacle. It must have been when his weight was on it and he was edging around to get into the deeper shadow. The manacle sawing back and forth had cut into the soft stone, the job that took nature years to do with water.
But steel was much harder than water.
His eyes blazed with hope, the first he had had so far. Frantically, he began sawing back and forth with the manacle ring, keeping the chain taut, laughing involuntarily as he felt the steel grinding slowly into the limestone ...
He hoped the horse would satisfy the cougar’s appetite for a few days, for this wasn’t going to be a fast job. It would take a long time, but he had plenty of that. Though it could run out fast if the big cat returned.
He speeded-up the grinding, cutting motion, trying to ignore the strain and pressure on his wrist.
~*~
Ranger Kibbe came hurrying into the post and went straight to Maguire’s office. He went in without knocking and the sour-faced sergeant snapped his head up angrily. Kibbe held up his hand swiftly.
“Don’t waste time goin’ off at me, Sarge,” Kibbe said quickly. “Just listen: there’s a hombre in town askin’ a lot of questions about Wes Shannon and Lew Kennedy. Mostly about Shannon.”
Maguire frowned and eased slowly back into his chair. He indicated that Kibbe should continue.
“He’s tryin’ to find out if anyone’d ever heard of Shannon before he came here and he wants to know all the details about him gunnin’ down Cougar across in Juarez and his escape ... Like which Rangers were killed by Shannon and did anyone see the bodies; where are they buried, and so on ...”
Maguire nodded slowly. “Sounds like Bannerman made contact and they’ve sent someone to check up on him.”
Kibbe couldn’t suppress a smug grin as he added, “They sure did. They sent Catlin himself!”
His grin widened as he saw the words jolt Maguire. “Catlin! Here in El Paso!”
“That’s right. Blazin’ red hair and all. Ain’t no mistakin’ him, Sarge ...”
“Goddamn!” Maguire breathed. “Catlin struttin’ around right in my territory and I can’t touch him!”
“Why the hell not?” exclaimed Kibbe.
Maguire made an impatient gesture. “Bannerman ... Governor Dukes ... The President himself ... They want this gang busted up and Bannerman’s got the job of doin’ it!”
“And the glory, too, it seems, huh?”
Maguire looked sharply at Kibbe. “Yeah. Looks that way. But if the President’s so all-fired concerned about bustin’ up the Stewart bunch, and we got a chance to get the toughest man in that bunch, I reckon he’d take it kindly, don’t you?”
“Damn right! I mean, far as you know, Bannerman could be dead and Catlin’s in here braggin’ about it. And we know he was in the lead when that robbery took place. I reckon we can’t take the risk of lettin’ him ride out of here, Sarge. We’ll never have a better chance!”
Maguire hesitated a moment longer and then stood up, hitching at his gunbelt, looking squarely at Kibbe.
“Let’s go get us some glory, Kibbe!” he said, starting for the door.
“Now you’re talkin’!” Kibbe said hurrying after him.
~*~
Catlin had learned plenty about the man who called himself Wes Shannon, since leaving the Buffalo Horn and back-tracking Yancey. But the hard-eyed gunman didn’t much like what information he had gathered.
For one thing, he didn’t find Kennedy’s grave anywhere along the trail, though he found the dead bodies of Monk and his sidekick. He picked up Yancey’s and Kennedy’s descriptions in Frijole as two hombres who had stolen some broncs and he had trailed them clear back to El Paso. The general opinion was that Wes Shannon was half-brother to a bolt of lightning with a gun and mean as a rattler with the bellyache.
Yet no one he spoke with had heard of him before the ruckus in Juarez with Cougar, despite all the crimes he was supposedly wanted for on the dodgers. It would be a mite hard to check up as far away as Socorro, New Mexico, of course, but it seemed to Catlin that if a man was wanting to use a background of outlawry for cover, then that was the kind of thing he would do. Catlin admitted he wanted to see ‘Shannon’ discredited, for he hadn’t liked the man or his confidence that he was better than Catlin himself. But he was trying not to let it influence him here.
He figured that the way it was adding-up, this big hellion was a lawman and the whole thing was a careful plant. The man must be good to have gotten as far as he already had. But Catlin wanted an eyewitness account of the gunning-down of Cougar and he figured Cougar’s sidekick, Chip, would be able to give it to him. Catlin simply couldn’t believe that this man Shannon was as fast as everyone said ...
He saw the Rangers gathering near the end of the bridge and he knew right away that something was wrong. Slowing his pace, Catlin took out tobacco and papers, stopped to build a cigarette and fire it up. He used the motions to cover him as he looked around to sum up the situation. Yes, they were trying to hem him in. Four or five Rangers at the bridge, other men, who looked like citizens deputized in a hurry, moving about between buildings with rifles, jumping across alleys, flitting from shadow to shadow.
Someone had figured it was time to take him or, at least, try.
Catlin smiled faintly to himself. They would never hold him. Once he had had a whole damn town try to corner him and he had gotten away ...
He took one more look around and then shook out the match flame casually. But, abruptly, he dropped the vesta and his hand swept up his Peacemaker out of its holster and he was down on one knee, slip shooting as fast as he could cock and let drop the hammer. The five shots he blasted out dropped two men cold in their tracks, scattered the Rangers, one man with a bloody patch on his shirt back, and set a horse rearing. There was one shot left in his gun as he vaulted over the porch rail of the store behind him, rolled swiftly across the boards and kicked in the doors with his boots as lead raked the storefront. Splinters flew and glass shattered as Catlin rolled into the store, bounced upright and swung his smoking gun around to cover the startled storekeeper and his three customers. They were two women and an old man choosing some pipe tobacco.
“Don’t get froggy!” Catlin ordered, settling his gaze on the storekeeper and moving around the counter. He grabbed the middle-aged man by the collar and shoved him over the counter, placing the muzzle of his six-gun against his temple. One of the women sighed and swooned away. The other stood rigid, eyes bulging. “Keep shootin’ if you want a massacre!” roared Catlin suddenly, hurling the storekeeper towards the front door, walking behind him with the gun rammed tightly against the man’s spine. He looked past his shoulder into the street, saw men ducking for cover. “Stay back or I’ll kill everyone in the store! I’ll toss ‘em out one at a time unless you do like I say! What’s it to be, Rangers?” He completely ignored the old man and the other woman customer behind him. The store man was trembling. Catlin just left him standing in front of him as a shield while he reloaded his gun. By that time, the Rangers had made their decision.
“What you want, Catlin?” called Maguire.
“A fast horse brought to the front of the store. Then you all get in the middle of that bridge with your hands grabbin’ at the sky and you stay that way till I’m mounted and out of town. I’ll be takin’ the storekeeper with me so you’ll have to shoot him first if you want me. And I want that hoss, pronto!”
“We can’t let you go, Catlin, you know that!” bawled Maguire from down near the bridge. And then he jumped at the sound of a shot inside the store. All the armed men stared in horror as the storekeeper’s body came hurtling out through the doors and flopped into the stree
t, face down, the back of his head blown off.
When they looked up again, Catlin had a middle-aged woman customer in his grip and the gun was rammed against her ear.
“Where’s that hoss, Ranger?” Catlin called.
“Great flames!” breathed Maguire, shaking now. He turned to Kibbe. “Get him a hoss, for God’s sakes! He’ll massacre the whole town if we don’t do like he says ...”
“Can’t be many customers in there this time of day,” Kibbe mused.
Maguire hooked him in the ribs with an elbow. “You want ’em on your conscience? Or have to explain it all to the governor? No? Well, get that blamed horse, damn you! I should never have listened to you in the first place!”
Kibbe paled, realizing the blame was going to be laid at his feet. Then he ran towards the livery to saddle a fast horse for Catlin ...
It was ready and in position outside the store in a few minutes. Although Maguire had tried to engage Catlin in conversation while the horse was being fetched, the outlaw wouldn’t answer and they had seen him briefly moving about inside the store. As soon as the horse was left in position and Catlin had looked it over from behind the shaking matron, the outlaw called:
“Get your men into the middle of that bridge, Ranger! And I mean all of ’em! Mrs. Lang here comes with me for a spell. How far she rides with me depends on you!”
“All right! All right!” shouted Maguire and he hurriedly called his men to throw down their arms and get onto the bridge. It took some time and there were a lot of folk gathered by now to see what was going on. Maguire figured someone might take a potshot at him on the way out, but Catlin was prepared for that, too.
He came out holding the matron’s arm, a cigar jammed between his teeth. His shirtfront was bulging with sticks of dynamite, all with short fuses, and Maguire knew then what Catlin had been doing while they fetched the horse. He felt sick to his stomach.
Catlin held a stick of dynamite in his hand as he mounted and told the woman to climb up behind him. She did so, awkwardly, and once she almost unseated Catlin, but he righted himself fast, touched the fuse to the glowing end of his cigar and hurled the dynamite out into the street. The crowds scattered and the men on the bridge dropped flat on their bellies. The explosion rocked the storefronts but did no more than blow a hole in the street.
When the smoke and dust had cleared, Catlin was well on his way out of town, with the woman clinging desperately behind. Before he cleared El Paso, he had thrown several more sticks of dynamite, clearing the way, but not without casualties. Several people were injured, a store wrecked.
Catlin sure lived up to his title that day: toughest man in Texas. He was the only man, with the possible exception of Yancey Bannerman, who had ever made the Rangers look foolish.
Nine – Toughest Man In Texas
The big cat was back. Lew Kennedy felt his bowels quake with the knowledge, as he stopped trying to wear the manacle ring through the limestone pillar and tried to steady his hammering heart as he heard the lion cough quietly just outside the cave.
It had been a long time now since the animal had killed the horse somewhere out there: there was no telling how far the horse had run with the cougar clinging to its back before it had finally collapsed and the cat had administered the killing blow. During that time, Kennedy had managed to work the manacles more than halfway through the pillar. The main thing that had slowed his progress was the way they cut into his flesh. His wrist was raw and bleeding from the pressure, even though he tried holding the chain with his free hand to ease the weight. His food was low, too, but he had enough water. If necessary, he could drink the limewater that oozed down the pillar.
He figured he was on the third day now and he wouldn’t have too much more time before Yancey would come back—if he was going to come back at all. The big lawman would move in fast on the Stewart bunch, wipe them out and then return ... Or would he? It had been his father and brother who had been shot; what was it he had said? Likely the old man was dead by this time ... Well, maybe he wouldn’t come back at all ...
Kennedy had renewed his efforts after that thought and he had had an ear cocked for the cougar all the time, expecting to hear it return and hoping he would have the limestone worn through before that happened.
But now the big cat was back. And this time there would be no horse to distract him.
Kennedy crouched in fear by his pillar, mouth dry as cotton, throat aching. It was brilliant daylight outside and it reflected into the cave. He had no shadows of any depth to hide in this time. About the best that could be said for it was that he was able to see every inch of the cougar’s progress ... And the cat was slinking down the cave warily belly to the ground, yellow eyes darting about, lips circled back in a snarl, showing the great white fangs. The animal saw Kennedy towards the rear and went to ground, crouching, unmoving. It stayed that way for maybe ten minutes while Kennedy frantically looked around for some kind of weapon. There was nothing except a few fist-sized rocks within reach.
He stretched the chain as far as it would reach, keeping his eye on the watching cougar all the time, as he gathered a small pile of rocks at his feet. He jumped in fright as the big cat suddenly streaked another five yards into the cave and instantly went to ground again, frozen, watching, silent ...
There were only a few yards separating man and animal now. Kennedy, shaking badly, making small noises in the back of his throat, picked up the nearest rock and threw it at the cat. He was way off target and the cougar didn’t move. Its lips curled up in a snarl but it made no sound. This was somehow more frightening than if its roar had filled the cave. Kennedy hurled another rock and this time it bounced across the floor and thudded into the cat’s side.
The animal roared and leapt four feet to the side, crouching again, yellow eyes watching Kennedy’s every move. The man was on the point of breaking now as he hurled several more rocks. One hit the cougar on the head and the animal retreated with a yelping cough for several feet but, before Kennedy could pick up another rock it was back, closer than ever, crouching, watching.
He hurled another rock and saw that he only had three left. The cat began to inch forward, its pelt rippling as the steel-hard muscles moved. There was a kind of hypnotic grace about the animal as it moved in, stalking for the kill. Kennedy was breathing hard; blood streamed from his wrist where the manacle was biting into his flesh but he didn’t even notice the pain. He started to inch backwards, away from the animal, but there was really nowhere to go. His boots scrabbled on the uneven ground. He fell and this time the pain in his wrist wrenched a groan from him. He threw his rock, snatched up one of the others, but the cougar snarled and stalked him carefully, moving closer, sensing that there was little for it to worry about here.
Kennedy screamed: a full-blown, terror-inspired scream that startled the cat so that it leapt sideways, crouched, and retreated several feet, alert. The scream echoed and reechoed through the cave. Kennedy wanted to be sick. His breath barked in his raw throat. His mouth was dry and burning, his guts like jelly. He was down on his knees because his legs would not support him. And scream after scream came from his drooling lips as he broke.
Then the cat moved in relentlessly, realizing the noise couldn’t harm it: nothing was going to deter it this time and Kennedy knew it. His screams died away abruptly to sobs. He sagged to the wet ground, dangling from the manacle. The cat’s shoulder muscles bunched as it prepared to leap and Kennedy closed his eyes, unaware of the animal sounds in the back of his own throat. He knew he had only seconds to live ...
The gunshot shattered the tension in the cave, thundering like a cannon, and then the cat screamed, caught in mid-leap by the lead. It slammed against the wall, fell near Kennedy and writhed and snapped at itself as blood spurted from its hide. It tried to get up and the gun roared again. The cougar jerked as the bullet smashed its skull and it lay still and ugly in death.
Kennedy opened his eyes and stared at the corpse, unable at first to believe that he
was still alive. Then he heard a boot scraping on the rock and he glanced up. A tall man was silhouetted against the bright sun at the cave mouth. He made his way into the cave, reloading the spent shells in his six-gun. The light was still at his back and Kennedy couldn’t see who he was as he stopped and looked down at the dead cat and slowly swiveled his gaze to Kennedy.
“Howdy, Lew ... Lucky I heard you yellin’ as I was ridin’ by ...”
Kennedy’s belly heaved and he felt his jaw sag. Maybe it would have been better if the cougar had finished him after all.
The man standing above him with the cocked six-gun was Catlin.
~*~
Yancey had more or less had the run of the canyon in the time he had been there but there was always someone close by with a gun to see he didn’t stray too far. He rode down to the narrow end of the Buffalo Horn and saw the deep-flowing river there but figured a man would have to be lucky to cross it on a horse. It was as effective a barrier as if the canyon had been a dead-end.
Stewart didn’t say much, either to Yancey or the others. He kept himself apart, using one of the cabins and letting no one inside. He said he was planning the next big job but wouldn’t say what it was. Yancey gathered from the others that they were not happy that they had not yet received their share of the stolen gold from ’Frisco. They claimed Stewart had had plenty of time to change the gold in Mexico for hard cash but he had been stalling them off, saying it would arrive with a couple of special guards in the next few days. A couple of men figured they were never going to see their shares and one even went so far as to voice his suspicion that Stewart and Catlin were going to deliberately lead them into a gun trap so as to wipe them out and then there would be no need to share the gold.
Bannerman the Enforcer 14 Page 10
