Bannerman the Enforcer 16

by Kirk Hamilton

  The town was in almost total darkness when they reached it, only a few lights showing. Yancey reined down the weary gray and half turned to the girl who had been fitfully dozing against his back these last few miles. He shrugged his shoulders to stir her and she sat up sleepily.

  “Here we are. Laredo,” he told her. “You want to come on in with me? Or you want to take off?”

  Jeannie brushed a strand of her red hair out of her eyes and looked around her. She shivered, hugging close to Yancey.

  “My God, it was like a nightmare! Is that really Laredo?”

  “It is, and there’s a light burning in the Ranger post. There’s always someone on duty, or sleeping on the premises. You could likely find a room for the night. If you’ve got any money.”

  She nodded. “I have money. But I’m a mess. Not too many places would want to take me in, I guess.”

  “Then you’d better come to Ranger headquarters with me and we’ll see if the captain can get you accommodation some place.”

  She glanced at him sharply. “But maybe, he’ll ...”

  “There won’t be any charges,” Yancey told her curtly. “Far as he’s concerned, you’re just Early’s wife and you’d had enough of him and took the chance to get away while he was off on this Uvalde deal. You helped me escape and that’ll be to your credit …” His eyes hardened. “And that’s all I aim to do for you. After that, you’re on your own.”

  “All right. That’s fine with me.” She sounded a mite breathless and he knew she wasn’t as confident as he was about her being able to walk out of Ranger headquarters, free.

  He put the weary gray forward and they rode slowly down the dark street towards the low adobe building at the far end. There was an archway with a flagpole above the gateway and the sign had been carved into the wooden plank: ‘Texas Ranger Post—Laredo, Texas.’ In smaller print, and in paint, were the words, ‘Captain Cliff Young, Cmdng. Officer.’

  They dismounted outside and the woman grabbed Yancey’s arm tightly, looking up into his face, caked with blood and dirt, seeing the iron jaw and the hardness still in those eyes.

  “I did save your life,” she reminded him.

  “And I’ll save yours in return,” he said curtly. “Don’t worry, Jeannie. I don’t go back on my word. And if you’d been any deeper involved in this, I’d be turning you in, make no mistake about that.”

  “Just what kind of lawman are you? Federal Marshal?”

  “Governor’s Enforcer,” he said shortly and started up onto the porch.

  She stared after him, mouth dropping open. “My God!” Then she laughed briefly. “Well, Duke sure never expected to tangle with you fellers! I guess that means Cato’s one, too?” Yancey hammered on the door first before nodding to her. “Look ... I—I think I will just go try to find a room myself,” she said a little awkwardly. “I—I ... well, goodnight.”

  Yancey’s gun whipped out of leather and the hammer cocking back froze her as she started to turn away. “I guess maybe you’d better stay where we can see you. At least, until a Ranger troop gets on the trail.”

  She started to protest but then sighed and walked up onto the porch to stand beside him. He hammered on the door with his free hand and then the door opened and a rifle barrel was poked through. Behind was a lantern and the glimpse of a uniform.

  “Speak up,” demanded the Ranger.

  “Yancey Bannerman, Enforcer for Governor Dukes. Need help urgently. This woman’s Mrs. Early.”

  “Got somethin’ to prove who you are?”

  Yancey dropped his hands towards his belt to unbutton the secret pocket that held his papers and the rifle poked him in the chest.

  “Easy!” the Ranger warned.

  Yancey carefully took out his identification and held it so that light washed over it and the Ranger read slowly, muttering the words. The rifle disappeared and the door swung open.

  “Okay, come on in and tell me your story,” he said authoritatively. “I’m Cliff Young, commander here.”

  As they entered, Young struck a vesta and touched the flame to the wick of a lantern on his battered desk and light filled the office. He gestured to chairs and Yancey and the woman sat down gratefully. Yancey noticed that Young kept hold of the rifle as he leaned a shoulder against the wall, a spare, middle-aged man who aimed to reach retiring age. He sniffed through a long nose and his longhorn moustache twitched slightly.

  “You got the floor, Bannerman.”

  Yancey told his story swiftly and succinctly. When he was through, Captain Young stared at him for a spell, grunted and then swiveled his gaze to the woman.

  “You’re lucky Bannerman ain’t bringing charges agin you ... We’ll put you up till we get this sorted out.”

  “I—I’d prefer to stay at a hotel.”

  “Sure you would, but we’ll put you up, like I said. When it’s over, you can ride on out. You’ve got my word.”

  He sat down heavily.

  “I’ve heard tell the governor had himself some personal trouble-busters he calls Enforcers. Never knew if it was gospel before. Your papers say you’re to get all the help you need.” He lifted his hands off the desk in an expansive gesture. “So tell me what you need.”

  “A Company of Rangers, to start.”

  “No trouble. I can roust ’em out whenever you say. Can maybe get down a troop from Skidmore if we’ve got time.”

  Yancey shook his head. “We haven’t.” He paused, then added, looking directly at Young: “We’ll have to go over the Rio.”

  Young stiffened. “That’s out.”

  “No other way. If we can, we’ve got to stop that gold even leaving Mexico. Only way to do it is to hit Early’s bunch around Uvalde.”

  The Ranger captain shook his head adamantly. “Can’t be done, Bannerman.” He started shuffling papers around on his desk. “Got me a memo here from the governor himself, about keepin’ my men north of the border. It stresses that under no circumstances, repeat, no circumstances, are Rangers to pursue wanted men onto Mexican Territory. Seems he’s negotiating with the Mex Government now, tryin’ to come to some arrangement with ’em to allow it, and he don’t want any ‘incidents’ in the meantime that might louse things up. So looks like you’re in trouble, Bannerman.”

  “We’re all in trouble, captain,” Yancey said grimly. “The whole damn country. If that bullion gets onto U.S. soil there’ll be a hell of a lot more trouble raised than if a few Rangers cross the Rio and shoot up a bunch of Yankee robbers.”

  Young shook his head. “I’ve got my orders, Bannerman. I’ll assemble my troop and we’ll accompany you as far as the river. After that, you’re on your own. We’ll wait at the border if you like, but you’ll have to get Early back onto U.S. soil before we can move in.”

  “Hell almighty, don’t try to tell me you’ve never turned a blind eye when one of your men has crossed into Mexico in hot pursuit!”

  “It’s happened,” Young admitted. “But it can’t happen again. My offer still stands, Bannerman. It’s the best I can do under the circumstances. Take it or leave it.”

  “You know damn well I’ll have to take it,” Yancey growled, angry and frustrated. “But surely you can see how important it is to finish it with the gold still on Mexican soil—”

  “I know all that,” Young interrupted. “But I can’t go against a direct order from the governor. Would you?”

  They were gathered now amongst rocks on the edge of the plain in the early morning light. It had been a cold camp, no fires by Early’s explicit orders, and the men were growling that they couldn’t make coffee to help keep out the morning chill. The sun was not properly risen yet and the ragged low silhouette of the town a mile away stood out like a cardboard toy.

  Cato was in the center of a group of men, all armed, and Early handed him his gunrig with the Manstopper in the holster. It was not yet loaded and Storm silently held out a box of shot-shells.

  Cato buckled on the rig, took a handful of shot-shells and dropped
them into his shirt pockets. He began taking cartridges from his belt and loading them into the eight-chamber cylinder as Early spoke.

  “You’re our ladies’ man, Cato,” he said. “You were the gallant who came to Jeannie’s aid and she has assured me that you have a certain—ah—way—with women.” His mouth was tight and there was some resentment showing on his face but he covered swiftly. “Well, we need your talents in Uvalde.” Cato paused, pushing home the last cartridge in his gun and he saw one of the guards standing by with loaded shotgun, tense, and get a firmer grip on his weapon. Cato closed the loading gate and dropped the Manstopper back into its holster. He would load the shot-shell into its special chamber before he reached the town.

  “How come?” he asked quietly but, as Early opened his mouth to speak, a man came hurrying down from a vantage point high on a tall boulder. Early turned towards him expectantly. The man was holding a brass-bound telescope.

  “They’re movin’ out now, Duke. Headed in the direction of Presidio Blanca.”

  Early nodded, dismissing the man with a curt gesture, and turned back to Cato. “Good. Valdez is moving out to the rendezvous. We saw them assembling earlier and he must have ninety percent of his men with him. Which means we will still have twenty or thirty hard-nosed gunmen to contend with in Uvalde. We do not, as yet, know which building he is keeping the gold in. It will not necessarily be the place that looks strongest: it could be in the back room of a cantina, or behind a vegetable market stall. It could be anywhere.”

  “Including not in Uvalde at all,” Cato said.

  Early’s face was suddenly ugly. “What d’you mean?”

  Cato shrugged. “Well, you say the train was robbed and Valdez has brought the gold to Uvalde. I dunno how reliable your information is.”

  “It is reliable, that’s all you need to know!” Early snapped and the quirt began to thud against his leg, his eyes narrowing. He did not like his word being questioned.

  “Ever occur to you that Valdez might pull a smart one, too?” Cato went on, undeterred by the thudding quirt. “You told him you got three thousand guns and ammunition for him, but you ain’t got a one. He’s told you he’s robbed a train of two hundred thousand dollars in gold bullion. Maybe he hasn’t, maybe he just lied. So you’d bring the guns to the rendezvous and he’d ambush you and take the guns and it wouldn’t cost him a cent ... not even the risk of having to rob a train full of government gold.”

  Cato dodged as the quirt struck out and whistled past his face. His gun was clear of leather in the blink of an eye and Early poised with the quirt raised for another blow. Cato spoke to the man with the shotgun without turning around.

  “Don’t try anythin’ or he’s a dead man. Even if you get me, the hammer spur’ll fall from under my thumb and I can’t help but blow a hole in him at this range.”

  The guard looked bewildered. Duke Early slowly lowered the quirt, his eyes hating Cato.

  “No one plays me for a fool, Cato!” he whispered.

  Cato shrugged. “Just pointin’ out that you could’ve underestimated this Valdez ... you sure he pulled that bullion robbery?”

  “He damn well better had!” Red Sloane said, pushing through to the front of the crowd and confronting Early. The other gunfighters came through and ranged themselves alongside Sloane. They were all hard-eyed and had their hands near their gun butts. “You got a question to answer, Early!”

  “Mister Early, or Duke!” the man in black snapped, raking Sloane with his glittering eyes.

  “The hell with that hogwash,” spoke up George Rainey. “We’re through with that kind of thing. We want to know if that gold’s there or not. And, believe me, Early, it better be!”

  Monk Chater and Brad Hannis said their piece, too, along the same line. Early was shaken but he tried to keep his authoritative attitude and slapped the quirt against his thigh almost constantly now in his tension.

  “My information is reliable!” he snapped. “The train was robbed! Valdez has that gold waiting in Uvalde. All we have to do is find out where.”

  “And how do I do that?” Cato asked.

  “There is a woman, Merida Yumas. She is Valdez’ woman, in her early forties. But she has a liking for men younger than herself. Which is why she was attracted to Valdez, no doubt. With your—uh—charm, Cato, you should have no trouble getting her to tell you where the gold is being kept.”

  “Hell! How much time you givin’ me?”

  “An hour, perhaps a little longer.”

  Cato scoffed. “You’re loco! You reckon I can ride straight in there, ask for this Merida Yumas, turn on the charm, and get her to tell me where her boyfriend’s keepin’ two-hundred thousand in gold, all in an hour? Great name! I might manage it in a day if I was pushed.”

  “One hour!” snapped Early, looking pointedly at the big gun that Cato still held on him. “And might I remind you that we still have your friend back at Broken-T? I think you will manage it in the time allotted, Cato.” His smile became cold and deadly. “If you want your friend to live.”

  Cato sighed and slowly lowered the hammer on his gun. He flipped the cylinder open and took out a shot-shell from his shirt pocket. He slid it into the special chamber in the center of the cylinder and closed the gun up, making sure the hammer toggle was set for the .45 caliber barrel. He looked at Early.

  “I’ll try.”

  “You will do it,” Early told him, very much in charge again now. He raked his gaze around at the grim-faced gunfighters. “For all our sakes, he will do it. Tell him he will.”

  The gunfighters nodded, watching bleakly as Cato swung aboard his horse.

  “One hour, Cato!” growled Red Sloane.

  Cato returned his hard look, pulled on the reins and walked his horse away from the group and out across the plains towards the distant buildings of Uvalde. A lot could happen in one hour, he figured. One hell of a lot.

  Ten – The Prize

  There were twenty Rangers riding behind Yancey and Captain Young as they thundered down towards the sluggish waters of the Rio. Presently, Young held up his hand and reined down.

  Yancey stopped the bay he was forking and hipped in leather to look back.

  There were no Ranger uniforms in those days and the men hauling rein behind them looked a nondescript bunch, like cowpokes in from trail-herding with a thousand miles behind them. They were rugged, unshaven, supplying their own weapons and mounts in the main, working for lower than cowboy wages to bring law and order to the border country. Some of them were killers, not much better than some of the men they hunted down so relentlessly. They chewed tobacco, they cussed and they stank every bit as bad as range herders in for a spree after long months in cattle country.

  No one would ever believe they were Texas Rangers, except for those brass badges pinned to their pockets. Each man wore one, a brass star set on a circle with a number stamped on the reverse side.

  “Far as we go, Bannerman,” Captain Young told him.

  Yancey nodded. “Guess I can’t make you change your mind, eh, captain?”

  “A week ago, I’d have been right with you. But I can’t now. I’m sorry about it. Nothin’ I’d like better than to nail Duke Early’s hide to the wall but it’ll have to be an American hickory wall, not Mexican adobe.”

  Yancey nodded again, impatient now.

  “All right. You’ll wait here till sundown?”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll leave three men posted here for the next couple of days. Soon as they spot you, one of ’em can come roust me out and we’ll be back in full force to welcome Early. If you can get him back here.”

  “Okay. It’s a tall order, but looks like it’s the only way it’ll work. Adios, captain.”

  “Good luck.”

  Yancey put the bay forward and rode out into the shallow water, looking at the far shore, wondering if there were any Mexican border patrols watching. They could be just as much a danger to him as Early’s men, for they had a habit of shooting first and
talking afterwards. About halfway across, he turned in the saddle to glance back to see how Young was deploying his men and he was struck again by the similarity between the Ranger troop and a bunch of Texas cowboys. From here no one could tell them apart. Though when the sun struck the badges in a brief blaze of fire ...

  “Hell almighty!” he breathed and he yanked the bay around so fast that the animal gave a whicker of protest. He slammed his heels into the bay’s flanks and raced back across the ford, spray flying from under the horse’s hoofs. “Young! Wait up, man! Hold your men there!”

  The Ranger captain held up a hand to his men and waited as Yancey came racing in on the bay and skidded to a halt. “What in tarnation ... ?”

  “Listen, Young,” Yancey said without preamble. “You figure you’ll cause some sort of international incident if you and your Rangers are caught over in Mexico, right?”

  “You know damn well ...”

  Yancey didn’t give him a chance to finish. “Okay, maybe you’re right. That’s if they know you’re Rangers! And there’s only two ways they could know that: if you told ’em, or ... by your badges!”

  He pointed to the glittering, polished brass badge pinned to Young’s shirt. Young frowned, instinctively looking down at the badge. Yancey leaned from the saddle and unpinned the badge, folding his hand around it and then gesturing to Young’s shirt again.

  “Now you look like some rancher headin’ a bunch of his cowpokes. That is, if your troop remove their badges, too.” Young snapped his head up, frowning at Yancey. “What are you tryin’ to say? I reckon I know, Bannerman, but I want to be sure.”

  “You’re sure,” Yancey retorted, “but I’ll spell it out for you. Leave your badges on this side of the river and ride with me to Uvalde. If there’s any Mex troops around, we’re a bunch of Texas cowpokes on our way south to pick up a trail-herd. At Matamoros, or some place. We’ve got nothing else on us to make ’em think any different.”

  Young stared at him, his face deadpan.

  “Till we start tradin’ lead with Early’s bunch?”