Bannerman the Enforcer 16

by Kirk Hamilton

  “I don’t aim to,” Yancey said a trifle shortly. “But I don’t aim to get into any brawls, either. Not tonight.” He stepped down from the saloon porch, lifting a hand in vague salute. “You go ahead. See you tomorrow. I’m going across to the emporium and buy myself some new duds. Adios, pard.”

  “So long, you old prairie wolf,” Cato said with a grin and a wave. “I’ll be thinkin’ about you. But not all the time!”

  Yancey grinned, watched Cato go through the batwings, then turned and walked across the street to the general store that was still open. He went in and took his time strolling around, selecting a couple of denim shirts and a corduroy one for the trail, and a pair of brown whipcord pants. He bought a new tan belt with a square brass buckle, some Bull Durham tobacco, and a box of Aztec Prince cheroots. As he was paying for them, he noticed a plaited leather hatband and bought that as well, and the clerk behind the counter wrapped all his purchases into a single large package. Yancey spent a few more minutes yarning with the man about generalities and then strolled out onto the street again. He figured he would walk back to the Lincoln, have a final, slow bourbon in the bar, then go up to his room. He turned back up the street in the direction of the plaza and was about halfway down the block when he heard his name called. He turned and was surprised to see Johnny Cato hurrying towards him. He smelled fairly strongly of whisky but he was steady enough on his feet. Cato could hold his liquor. The smaller agent grinned at Yancey and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Had me a few drinks and kind of nudged a couple of cowpokes but their trail-boss was there and he warned ’em if they got into a fight he’d fire ’em on the spot, so I couldn’t sort of have myself any fun.”

  “No women in the bar?” Yancey asked, deadpan.

  “None that I felt a hankerin’ for. Hate to admit it, old pard, but I’m a mite weary myself. Figured I might just have me an early night and keep my hellin’ for tomorrow night.”

  “Now who’s the old prairie wolf!”

  Cato shrugged, grinned, and they set off back towards the Lincoln Hotel. “A wise old prairie wolf. I rest up tonight and I’ll be able to have twice the fun tomorrow night!”

  Yancey laughed and they swung across the plaza and onto Alamo Street, seeing a bunch of cowboys step out of an alley well ahead and hurry on in the same direction as themselves.

  Outside the Lincoln, a woman drove up in a surrey with the top folded down and brought the two-horse team to a halt, fighting the bits. The animals were jumpy and the woman kept sawing away with the reins, almost yanking them back onto their hind legs. Yancey mentally thought, ‘Crazy damn woman don’t know how to handle a team’ and shook his head slowly as he and Cato approached.

  He tensed as the group of four cowboys suddenly veered across the street towards the woman and the surrey. The cowboys were laughing and, while pretending to help the woman by grabbing the horses’ heads, were actually making the animals more jittery, forcing them back so that the whole rig went backwards and one rear wheel mounted the boardwalk in front of the hotel. The woman pleaded with the cowboys to stop, to help her get the horses under control and the cowboys assured her, laughingly, that they would sure do that for her ... and promptly set the animals backing up further so that the second rear wheel mounted the boardwalk, too, and the tail of the surrey crashed against the porch awning post of the hotel.

  “Oh, please stop it!” the woman cried and Yancey could see her plainly now in the light coming from the front of the hotel. She was somewhere around thirty, he reckoned, with a good figure, and flaming red hair that didn’t look natural. She seemed handsome enough but she was obviously terrified at the moment.

  “Come on!” Cato snapped abruptly and charged forward.

  “Hold up, Johnny!” Yancey snapped. “I don’t like the looks of this ...”

  But he was too late. Cato was wading in already. He grabbed the nearest cowboy by the shoulder and swung him around, planting a fist in the middle of the man’s surprised face. The man went down and before he hit the ground, Cato was swinging at the next cowboy. This one blocked the blow and threw a punch at Cato but the smaller man dodged nimbly and kicked the man’s legs from under him, driving a boot into his chest as he moved on to the next man.

  Yancey sighed and shook his head slowly as he stood and watched, seeing other townspeople come running. Cato caught a blow in the face that sent him staggering and the fourth cowpoke was moving in now, slamming him across the kidneys. Cato staggered and the red-haired woman got the horses under control and drove the surrey on a few yards, stopping once she was away from the fighters to stand in the seat and look back. The crowd was yelling now as Cato rolled in the dust with two cowboys wrestling with him. He wriggled out from under, kicked one in the head, stomped on the other’s hand and spun to meet the rush of the first man he had hit. They slugged it out toe to toe and the second cowpoke joined the first and Cato’s back went up against the rear of the surrey. The woman grabbed at the seat rail to stop from falling and she watched intently as Cato blocked blows that rained down on him, dodged to one side, deftly spun around and drove a boot heel into one man’s belly. The other he uppercut with his left fist, continued his move and hooked a third man under the jaw with his elbow. The fourth man came in and clipped Cato on the side of the head, sending the small man staggering back into the crowd. Yancey caught him one-handed, holding onto his parcel of clothing with the other. Cato was dazed and bleeding and Yancey steadied him.

  “Jumpin’ Jericho!” Cato panted. “Lend a hand, pard!”

  Yancey grinned and shook his head. “You’re doing fine ... for an old prairie wolf!” He winced as the fourth cowboy followed through and slugged Cato in the belly. The smaller man grunted as he jack-knifed and dropped to his knees. But the cowboy, instead of finishing Cato off, swung abruptly on Yancey and caught the big man unawares. A fist cracked against his jaw and he stumbled sideways, dropping his parcel, hand groping for support. Men in the crowd, eager to see as much action as possible, shoved him away and into the fighting area where Cato was staggering to his feet and grappling with another of the cowboys who had gotten his own legs under him again.

  Yancey felt a knee crash into his ribs and he straightened, caught hard knuckles in the mouth, but managed to block the next blow that was aimed between his eyes. He ducked under the man’s guard, drove a fist hard into the ribs and smashed his other fist into the man’s throat. The cowpoke went down gagging and Yancey spun to meet the charge of another. He backpedalled, blocking and fending off blows, but taking two hard ones in the chest. Then he propped, braced himself and exchanged a barrage of hammering blows with the other man, grunting and watching for an opening. He saw it and looped a right over the top of the man’s straight left, blocking the blow as he felt his knuckles mash the man’s nose back into his face. The man’s arms dropped to his sides and Yancey clipped him on the jaw and he went down, eyes rolling up into his head.

  Panting, he swung around and saw that Cato had stretched out one man and was down on the ground himself now, the last remaining cowpoke preparing to stomp his high boot heel down into Cato’s bloody face. Yancey rammed his shoulder into the man, sending him staggering into the surrey. He heard the redhead gasp and give a small cry as she hung on, and then he grabbed the man’s hair, smashed his forehead against the porch awning post and yanked him back hard, flinging him out into the street where he fell sprawling and moaning beside his bloody pards.

  Yancey helped Cato to his feet and the first of the dazed cowpokes was just getting to his feet. Bannerman swung towards him but the man had had enough. He snatched up his crushed hat from the ground and staggered away down the street. One by one, his comrades followed him. Cato leaned against the surrey, panting, mopping at his face with a kerchief. Yancey wiped blood from his mouth as someone handed him a torn and trampled parcel with his new clothes hanging amongst the wrapping paper. He swore softly.

  “Thank you. Thank you both,” the red-haired woman said suddenly
, climbing down from the surrey. Cato staggered forward to help her, holding her fine-fingered hand as she smiled warmly at him. “I—I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along ...”

  “You could’ve tried using the buggy whip on ’em,” Yancey said, pointing to the whip that was still in its socket.

  The woman arched her eyebrows. “I—I never thought. I was afraid to let go the reins ... I—I’m not very adept at handling horses. Oh, just look at your face! And your mouth, sir ... You must allow me to take you to my rooms in the hotel here and send for hot water to clean you up ... No, no, I insist! I have some very good bourbon, too, that might help dull your aches and pains.”

  Cato grinned, winced at the pain the movement caused him. “Now that’s thinkin’ along the same lines as myself, ma’am ... I’m John Cato, by the way, and that big hombre spittin’ out a busted tooth is Yancey Bannerman ... At your service.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you both, gentlemen. My name is Jeannie Devon. I’m from San Francisco. But, please ... let’s get better acquainted in my suite, shall we?”

  “Suits me,” Cato said, taking her arm and starting for the porch. He glanced back at Yancey. “Comin’, pard?”

  “Reckon not,” Yancey said quietly. “I was plumb tuckered out before the fight ... now I’m feeling about dead.”

  Cato arched his eyebrows. “Not me! That just set my blood tinglin’. Mind you, I sure could stand some doctorin’ and a drink or two of fine bourbon …”

  He winked at the woman and she laughed, tightening her grip on him. “Come on, then. Sure you won’t join us, Mr. Bannerman?”

  “No, thanks.” He frowned, watching as Cato gave him a final wink and went into the hotel on the woman’s arm.

  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a hunch that something wasn’t quite right here. By the time he had reached his own rooms and was once again soaking his aching muscles in a hot bath, he had decided that it was the woman. There was something wrong with the way she had acted when those drunken cowpokes had rousted her in the surrey.

  But just what it was he couldn’t quite figure. Maybe Cato would be able to throw some light on the subject in the morning. He sure wasn’t expecting to see the small agent again tonight.

  Two – The Hunch

  In fact, Yancey didn’t see Cato until after noon and then the small agent came in whistling and already unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Howdy, Yance, old pard, old pard,” Cato greeted him, obviously in high spirits. He moved about the room, setting out a change of clothes, talking animatedly as he undressed. “How goes it? And, before you answer, might I say that if things are goin’ for you just a smidgen of how well they are for me, then you’re havin’ one hell of a time, man. Luckiest thing ever, us happenin’ along just as those cowpokes started roustin’ Jeannie Devon!” He winked. “You ain’t sore that I went off with her, ’stead of you, are you? I mean, I know you’re kinda riled at Kate but I didn’t figure you’d be interested in ladies—”

  “Slow down, Johnny, for Pete’s sakes!” Yancey cut in irritably. “Judas, man, I’ve never ever heard you say so much in such a short time! You act like someone was jammin’ guthook spurs into your tongue!”

  Cato raised his eyebrows in surprise, then shrugged, grinning at the big man.

  “Guess my blood is singin’, Yancey, and it’s kinda keyed me up. She sure is a whole lot of woman, that Jeannie Devon.”

  “Yeah, she looks it,” Yancey conceded. “Getting back to how you met, Johnny. That rousting by the drunk cowboys.”

  “Like I said, lucky we happened along when we did, huh? Why, if I’d stayed drinkin’ in that saloon instead of walkin’ back with you, I might never have met Jeannie!” He combed back his hair carefully. “Believe me, pard, that sure would’ve been a tragedy!”

  “I reckon you’d have met up with her some way.”

  Cato’s comb paused and he frowned puzzledly at Yancey’s reflection in the mirror. “You believe in fate or somethin’?”

  “Not what I meant,” Yancey said soberly, walking across to stand near Cato. He looked down at his friend as Cato turned towards him. “Johnny, did you figure anything was strange about that rousting-up Jeannie Devon took?”

  “Strange? Why? She was alone, a fine-lookin’ woman ... bunch of liquored-up cowpokes out for some fun. Seen it happen a hundred times. So have you.”

  “Sure. Cowpokes pickin’ on a lone woman was nothin’. I meant the way the woman handled it. Or didn’t …”

  Cato frowned. He remained silent for a spell. “Yeah, I recollect you sayin’ somethin’ to her, askin’ her why she hadn’t used her buggy whip on ’em ...”

  “That’s right. Would have been the most natural thing to do when the whip was in its socket right beside her hand.”

  “Well, as she said, it likely happened so fast she didn’t even think of it.”

  “Maybe,” Yancey said dubiously. “But then there was the cowboys themselves. They suddenly stepped out of nowhere and hurried on ahead of us and right outside our own hotel they start funnin’. I’ve been up the street today, Johnny. I saw where they came from. A small alley not six feet long, leads to a goods platform of the small store there, a door opening right into the store. Nothin’ there for a bunch of drunken cowboys to spend time on. And there are no empty whisky bottles lying about so they can’t have been drinking in there.”

  Cato studied Yancey’s face closely. “What is it you’re tryin’ to say, Yance?”

  “Well, Johnny, looked to me like those cowpokes could’ve been waiting for us to show, then hurried on ahead to set up the rousting of Jeannie Devon ...”

  “Set it up?” Cato echoed. “And I s’pose they just knew that I’d buy into it and try to rescue her?” He shook his head slowly. “They were damn hard punches they threw, Yance. Take a look at your own face if you don’t believe it.”

  “Sure they were,” Yancey agreed. “They tried like hell to put you down to stay down. They were testing you.”

  Cato’s mouth sagged. “Testing me?”

  “That’s what I figure, anyway. Don’t ask me the whys and wherefores, Johnny, because I don’t know. But it’s all I can conclude. Now, I didn’t smell liquor on any of those cowpokes, and I’ll bet you didn’t, either. What’s more, that lady is a redhead—should be full of spirit, not the damsel in distress type.”

  Cato’s face was hardening. “Everyone’s different, Yancey. Not all redheads are fiery-tempered fighters. Same as not all dark hombres are Mexes or half-breeds.”

  “I know all that, Johnny. I’ve argued it out with myself all morning, but I still come up with the hunch ... a mighty strong hunch ... that you or me or both of us were set up by those cowboys and Jeannie Devon. You know my hunches. I’m not often wrong.”

  “Well, I sure reckon you are this time, man!”

  Yancey shrugged, “Could be. All I’m saying, Johnny, is … go easy. If this is some kind of set-up, I don’t know what for, but in our job we can expect anything. Just keep your eyes open, eh, pard?”

  Cato met and held his gaze soberly for a spell and then grinned abruptly. “That won’t be hard because Jeannie’s sure easy on the eyes! But you’re way off on this one, Yance. Jeannie’s a beautiful woman and she’s lonely, kind of lost out here on the frontier after the kind of life she was used to in San Francisco.”

  “What kind of life was that?” Yancey asked swiftly.

  Cato shrugged. “Aw, social, I guess. She mentioned a couple places I’ve heard you speak about. Nob Hill ... that’s where your pa lives, isn’t it? ... Yeah, figured so. She says she was at a dinner party there once. Went with someone who knew your sister.”

  “Did she say who?”

  Cato thought about it then shook his head. “Maybe, but I can’t recollect. She’s quite open about it all, Yance. She don’t have anythin’ to hide. You’re way off.”

  Yancey grinned suddenly. “Let’s hope so, Johnny.” He gestured to Cato’s fresh clothes.
“Where you off to?”

  “Stroll through Pease Park down by the river.”

  “You’re taking your gun?”

  Cato grinned. “Sure. It’s in her room. Hanging on the chair beside the bed.” He winked and Yancey smiled. Cato headed for the door. “Mustn’t keep her waitin’. See you later, Yance. And watch them hunches, pard. They could make an old man out of you before your time!”

  He went out laughing and as the door closed behind him, the smile slowly left Yancey’s face. He walked across to a table, took a cheroot from the box there and fired it up thoughtfully. Then he grabbed his hat and gun and went out to the post office and sent an urgent wire ... to his sister Mattie in San Francisco.

  Cato and Jeannie Devon strolled along arm in arm down Poquonock Road, turned into Pemberton Avenue and entered Pease Park. It was no more than a gravel walk that had been leveled by the Austin authorities because of its popularity as a thoroughfare.

  It was a balmy afternoon and there were a lot of people in the park, sitting around, strolling, some picnicking, kids running wild with shrill cries of excitement. The creek glistened and the water was clear so that bass and old steel eyes could be seen swimming about with the catfish amongst the weeds on the gravel bottom.

  Cato and Jeannie found a vacant log only a few feet from the water’s edge. Cato picked up a piece of discarded bread, crumbled it and tossed it to the fish.

  Jeannie Devon watched him with serious green eyes, and when he looked around at her, she smiled and the skin around her eyes crinkled.

  “You’re enjoying yourself, John,” she said in that contralto voice that had whispered endearments to him only an hour earlier in the hotel room.

  Cato shrugged, watching the fish take the bread. “It’s relaxing ... don’t get many chances to relax in my job.”

  “What is your job, John? You still haven’t told me.”

  He gave her a sober look, then shrugged casually. “I travel ’round a lot. Kinda trouble-shooter.”