However, as the sheriff started to push to his feet, and just as he reached the point of balance, the Winchester man stepped in and crashed a fist into the side of his jaw. The sheriff went down, rolling onto his face. Moaning, he made two feeble attempts to push up but he couldn’t make it.
He flopped back into the dust and lay there, semiconscious.
Huckabee seemed as surprised as the townsfolk that he had won but he sucked at his split knuckles, juggled out a kerchief and wiped his face. He turned to the Enforcers as the crowd gathered around Lindeen.
“I still think he knows more about the robbery than he claims,” he slurred, dabbing at a split and puffy mouth.
“Well, you just succeeded in making him button his lip if he does,” Cato growled. “You know, Huckabee, you’re a real pain in the ass.”
The Winchester man regarded Cato coolly.
“Perhaps so. But both of you only have to put up with me—I have the two of you to contend with.”
He walked away stiffly and with a strange dignity towards the hotel Lone Star.
The Enforcers looked at each other blankly.
Then, leaving the dazed sheriff to the crowd as he came round slowly, they walked to the bank and were shown into Mel Huckabee’s office.
The man was plainly nervous in their presence though they tried to put him at his ease.
“I don’t know just what my brother thinks he’s doing,” he said with a shaky grin. “He seems intent on provoking Sheriff Lindeen, almost as if he blames him for what happened.”
“That he does,” Cato told him.
“But that’s ridiculous.”
“Well, he seems to think the robbery was some sort of set-up,” Cato said quietly. “We know a little about Lindeen. Seems he’s been mixed up in corruption and graft before. And it wouldn’t be the first time that a crooked sheriff has worked in with a bunch of outlaws.”
Mel Huckabee was sweating profusely and he dabbed at his face with a sodden kerchief.
“Well, I—er—really don’t know much about him.” Yancey frowned and leaned forward in his chair. “That seems mighty queer, Mr. Huckabee—especially when you’ve partnered the man in some land deals.”
Huckabee was shocked that the Enforcer knew about that and he swallowed. Then he cleared his throat noisily.
“Uh—that was—strictly business. I meant I didn’t know much about him—personally.”
Yancey pursed his lips dubiously.
“Reckon I’d find out plenty about anyone I was partnering in a business deal.”
Huckabee said nothing.
“Worked out yet just how much was taken?” Cato asked casually.
Huckabee blinked at the change of subject and fussed around with some papers.
“About sixty-three thousand dollars.”
Cato whistled softly but Yancey kept his face blank. “A lot of cash to have on hand,” he said.
“Payroll, deposits, cattle sales. We haven’t shipped to Austin for a few weeks.” Huckabee began to sound more confident.
“What about the money for that land trust fund?” Yancey asked. “The one you and Lindeen set up to sell those acres you bought at Desert Wells? Four months back, wasn’t it?”
Huckabee was nervous again.
“How d’you know all this, Bannerman?”
“We had time to check out a few background things before we caught the train up from Austin.” He smiled fleetingly. “That sort of thing’s right in our line. Figured we’d better get every bit of information we could. We’re—er—kind of anxious to settle things with your brother.”
The banker nodded absently. He was clearly worried that the Enforcers knew so much about his business dealings with Chet Lindeen.
“Well, the trust fund money was taken, too, naturally, as it was in the safe,” he stammered.
“Quite a haul,” Cato said. “Puzzles us why they bothered to take your books.”
Huckabee shrugged: “I can’t answer that, I’m afraid. I guess they just—cleaned out the vault and took everything.”
“But ledgers are heavy; they’d slow down their getaway.”
“I’m sorry, gentlemen. I can’t offer any explanation.”
Cato suddenly snapped his fingers.
“Maybe there’s somethin’ in the books they were interested in.”
Yancey flicked his eyes at the banker who had paled noticeably.
“I—I can’t think why—outlaws would find accounting books—of interest,” he stammered.
“No, but it’s a thought—I’m a trained accountant and an attorney, Mr. Huckabee. Perhaps if I were to examine the books ... ?”
“No. I—I can’t allow that. It—requires more authority than you have, Bannerman.”
Yancey smiled slowly.
“You’re wrong, Huckabee. I have the Governor behind me.”
“You’re here only at Lang’s invitation. This is not an official investigation. It’s a favor for my brother.”
“Is that what he told you?” Yancey asked, smiling crookedly. “Afraid it’s official, all right, Huckabee. You see that presentation rifle, strictly speaking, was the property of the Governor of Texas. Therefore, it has to be official. And Lester Dukes’ authority is the highest there is in this State. So, when I ask to examine your books, I’m being polite. I can demand to see them and you have to comply. Or answer to the Governor himself.”
Huckabee sagged back in his chair. Twice he started to speak but couldn’t get any words out. Finally, he lifted a limp hand and let it fall to the desk.
“I—I can hardly refuse, then, can I?”
Yancey merely smiled and stood, gathering up the ledgers on the desk.
“By the way,” he said, “I guess you’re posting a bounty.”
“Bounty?”
“Sure. For the capture of the outlaws. With so much money stolen, it’s the only wise thing to do.”
“Uh—yeah, I s’pose you’re right—What d’you think? A thousand dollars?”
“Hell, after gettin’ away with over sixty grand?” asked Cato. “More like five. You need to give folk some real incentive. The bank can afford it, Huckabee.”
The banker wasn’t happy with that figure, but finally agreed.
“Er—you’re welcome to work here,” he said, standing. “I—I’m going home. I don’t feel at all well ... ”
“Shock, likely,” Yancey said sympathetically, dropping into the chair vacated by the banker. “Go rest up a spell. We’ll be comfortable enough here.”
Huckabee nodded and seemed a little dazed as he stumbled out. Cato waited a few minutes then went into the front section of the bank and stood at the boarded-up window looking through the cracks between the pine planks, ignoring the stares of the bank clerks. After a spell, he walked back to the office where Yancey was looking through the account books.
“He made a detour on the way home—to Chet Lindeen’s office,” Cato said.
Yancey looked up. His face was grim as he nodded slowly.
Five – Long Memory
“I’m gonna kill that bastard brother of yours,” snarled the sheriff as he glared at Mel Huckabee. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“I feel like killing him myself,” Huckabee admitted, and told Lindeen about the Enforcers’ visit and that they were examining the bank’s books.
“You blasted fool,” breathed Lindeen. “Why’d you hand over the books? I don’t care what Bannerman says, he ain’t officially on assignment for the Governor. Even if he was, you could’ve insisted on a court order and that would have taken a spell. Would’ve given us time to get the books straightened out.”
“We should’ve done that in the first place,” complained Huckabee sullenly. “It was much safer than rigging all this robbery stuff.”
“Sure—and how would you explain the money that’s missin’? Huh?” snarled Lindeen. “Hell, it was foolproof—until that lousy brother of yours showed up.”
“I told you about the gun, don't say I didn�
��t,” Huckabee said petulantly. Lindeen looked at him with narrowed eyes.
“All right,” he snapped. “No use squabblin’ now. What I gotta do is get out to see Hallam and get that rifle back from him. Once your brother gets that, he’ll be satisfied and he’ll call Bannerman and Cato off.”
Huckabee looked worried.
“I don’t think they’ll go that easy.”
“They’ll damn’ well have to—I’ll say I had a shoot-out with Hallam and the hut caught fire and the money went up in smoke. There’ll be some charred bills to show ’em. That’ll be the end of it.”
Huckabee wasn’t convinced, but Lindeen didn’t want to spend any more time arguing. He stalked out and, shortly afterwards, rode swiftly out of town, heading for the hills.
By the time he had reached the foothills, a second rider was leaving town, following his trail.
~*~
Cato didn’t know the country. He had been to Waco on several occasions and out into the badlands to the north, but he had never before ridden in the area he found himself.
It was easy to see how any posse could lose the trail of outlaws they followed there. The ground was hardpan, with sandstone ridges all around and very little vegetation.
The land wouldn’t hold any real tracks. It would take an Indian to trace a rider and even then it would be slow work. Cato had been lucky. He had caught a glimpse of Chet Lindeen’s horse slipping around a bend on a high ledge. If he hadn’t seen that, he really wouldn’t have known which ridge the sheriff was riding.
Even so, it wasn’t easy finding a way up. The heat was savage, despite the season, and was held in by the folds of hills. But it came to the Enforcer’s aid.
The hot air currents rose and mixed with the cooler air and swirled to cause a breeze—which caught small spirals of dust kicked up by Lindeen’s mount and smeared them across the sky. They were only tiny puffs, but they were enough for an alert man with an eagle eye to spot.
Cato had to dismount in several parts and lead his mount up the slope. Indeed, he had to drag the horse in some parts.
Sweating and silently cursing, the Enforcer gradually climbed higher. He felt vulnerable on the open slopes, but there was no place to hide and nowhere else to go. He hadn’t seen any dust from Lindeen’s horse for a half-hour and he was anxious to get around the next bend. But when he did so, there was still no sign of Lindeen. Cato paused and drank from his canteen, wetting a rag and rubbing it around the gums of the panting horse.
It sure was rugged country, thought Cato. Good outlaw territory. It was likely honeycombed with hidden canyons and ravines, possibly caves. He would never find them alone. His only hope was to locate Lindeen’s trail and follow him in. It seemed that the plan he and Yancey had devised was working. Mel Huckabee had panicked and Lindeen, in desperation, had made a run to contact Brett Hallam. Likely he was going to try to get the special rifle back from the outlaw and hope that would send the Enforcers on their way.
Well, he was in for—Cato broke off that line of thought instantly. Mostly he had been looking upwards, for the ridge rose another three or four hundred feet, but as he glanced down he saw Lindeen making his way down the face of the slope of the next range.
The sheriff was concentrating hard on making his way down the steep slope. Cato stepped back into the shadow of a big boulder and pulled his mount with him. Damn! He knew where he had gone wrong: there had been a cleft in the hills earlier and he had seen what he thought was a sign of dust up there. Still, he mused, there might be time to get down and across to the other hill where he could more easily track his prey. But he would have to stay out of sight a little longer and watch where Lindeen went after reaching the bottom ...
Cato whirled, palming up his huge Manstopper at a noise behind and below him.
A rider: coming up on his back trail. But the man looked to be in trouble. His horse had slipped, and both animal and rider were skidding violently down the slope, raising a huge cloud of boiling dust that, caught by the currents, funneled in through the fold of the hills. It blocked Cato’s view of Lindeen, but, worse, would tell the sheriff that there was at least one other rider in these hills.
The Enforcer put away his Manstopper, his mouth grim as he watched the horseman finally get control again, and fight his mount onto an even footing.
Cato swore aloud when he recognized the man as Lang Huckabee.
By the time the cloud of dust had thinned out between the hills, there was no sign of Chet Lindeen. Cato threw up his hands and rode slowly back down to where Huckabee waited patiently.
“Howdy, Cato,” he called when the Enforcer approached. “Bannerman told me you’d spooked Lindeen and were trailing him. Figured I’d come along and lend a hand.”
“Naturally,” Cato said heavily.
Huckabee blinked innocently.
~*~
Lindeen moved a little around the cave, so that the draught coming in through the entrance did not blow Hallam’s stench towards him. The filthy outlaw picked at his nose as he inspected the gold-plated rifle.
It was shaped like a conventional Winchester, but the side plates were gold and the hammer gold-plated. Gold and silver animals were let into the highly-polished mahogany butt: bison, deer, dall sheep, eagles, a coiled rattler at the base of a three-pronged cactus plant, and a rearing horse. The bands that held the barrel to the stock were pure silver, and were engraved with leaf and vine designs. There was silver-and-gold filigree patterns overlaid on the side flats of the hexagonal barrel and the blade foresight was gold. The lever and trigger guard were engraved and inlaid with silver. The top flat of the barrel was engraved with the presentation message: To Governor Lester Dukes From the Winchester Arms Company—Held in highest esteem—Austin, Texas, and the date.
It was a magnificent weapon and was never meant to be fired. It was merely a dress piece, a decorative rifle, embodying the finest work of the firearms industry and that of the master engravers of the day.
“Five thousand bucks, you reckon it’s worth?” Hallam growled at Lindeen. “Well, I ain’t about to hand you five grand, Chet, old pard. Not by a damn sight.”
Lindeen flushed and stirred angrily but there were too many of Hallam’s men present in the cave for him to try anything.
“Look, Brett, you gotta savvy that we got two of Dukes’ top Enforcers sniffin’ around back in Waco. In fact, one followed me into the hills, I think, before I shook him. They’ve already started checkin’ the bank’s books that Blair dropped.”
“Well, I heard you took care of Blair,” Hallam said, staring with red, crusted eyes at the crooked lawman.
Lindeen nodded tightly. “Had to, in case he talked. Anyways, the whole shebang was stirred up by this goddamn Winchester man, Lang Huckabee. He only wants that rifle back so he won’t lose his job. If I can take it back to him, he’ll be satisfied and I reckon I’ve worked out a way to shake the Enforcers.”
He told Hallam about the idea of faking a shoot-out and burning an old shack they both knew of in a hidden canyon and leaving some singed banknotes as evidence.
“I’ll swear the whole sixty-three thousand dollars went up in flames—and they’ll go back to Austin,” Lindeen concluded.
“Hogwash,” Hallam told him, still fondling the special Winchester. “For one thing, Bannerman don’t give up that easy. He’d take a heap of convincin’. For another, it means we’d have to leave a lot of money to get burnt and we only got twenty thousand.” He leaned forward and tapped the lawman with a dirty forefinger. “You and Mel Huckabee got the other forty-three.”
Lindeen stiffened at the man’s tone.
“You sayin’ you ain’t satisfied?”
“Hell, yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’. We get blamed for takin’ all that dinero and the reward goes up accordin’ly, which means we’ll have everyone and his brother tryin’ to earn that bounty.”
“Well, we agreed you’d keep whatever was in the vaults, as long as you got rid of them books …”
&
nbsp; Hallam cut him short.
“Hell, I know what you and Mel Huckabee are up to, Chet. You been shakin’ down folks for months with that dirt up at Desert Wells. Not content with sellin’ ’em useless land, you had to get greedy and ...”
“All right, never mind the details,” cut in Lindeen.
“Thing is, Brett, you fouled-up. Them books are in Bannerman’s hands right now. We gotta get him off the case and, for a start, I need that rifle.”
Brett Hallam stared coldly at the sheriff then put the rifle away in its padded case. The lock showed marks where it had been forced open and the wood was scratched, but these things could be fixed. The outlaw chief sniffed loudly and lay back against his saddle.
“Ten thousand.”
Lindeen stiffened.
“What?”
“Ten thousand bucks. That’s what the rifle’s gonna cost you.”
Lindeen was aghast: “You’re loco. It’s only worth five for a start ... ”
“But you want it,” Hallam pointed out, snarling. “And what you want you pay for.”
“Trash,” the sheriff snapped. “You can’t pull this kinda shakedown on me, Hallam.”
The outlaw chief smiled crookedly.
“No? What you gonna do about it, Sheriff?”
Lindeen flushed and looked around at the others. They stood or squatted or sprawled around the cave. But they were all looking at him and some already had guns in their hands, holding them casually, but holding them out in the open, nonetheless. The sheriff sighed and sat on his hands. He was angry, but not stupid enough to try anything smart.
“Keep the damn gun then,” he gritted and Hallam laughed.
“You know, that’s what I aimed to do all along.”
The sheriff frowned. “That gun’ll be a dead giveaway. You’ll never be able to sell it, show it, or use it.”
Hallam sat up straight. His face was tight and there was a crazy look in his eyes. “No, but I’ll be aggravatin’ Lester Dukes.”
The lawman blinked.
“I got a long memory, Chet,” Hallam continued in a surprisingly quiet—and deadly—voice. “I owe Dukes plenty. He put me in the State Pen. For eight years. On the rock-pile, every day. No remission for good behavior or nothin’. I worked out every single day of that eight years—in leg irons.” He held out a thick leg, pulled up his trousers and rolled down the top of his half-boots. It exposed white, dirt-grimed flesh, but just above the ankles was a ring of calloused, split, ugly flesh. It wept in several places and Lindeen moved his head away from the stench. Hallam pulled up his boot top and jerked down the trousers’ leg. “I ain’t forgot about Lester Dukes and I’ll square it all away with him some day. Meantime, I’m happy to do anythin’ at all that’ll cause him aggravation. And knowin’ I’ve got his special rifle will sure as hell upset him. So, even if you was to come up with the ten thousand, Chet, I’d still be keepin’ the gun.”
Bannerman the Enforcer 9 Page 5
