Yancey also put them through an ‘ambush’ course, using live ammunition, with himself and Cato placing their bullets precisely, within inches of the scattering trainees. Only one man flunked that test; he panicked when he realized it was live ammunition. The shock of it paralyzed him just long enough for him to have been killed if it had been a real ambush. The others, shaken, but having used their heads to get out of the trouble spot, came through fine.
One by one, the trainees were weeded out until there were only six men left and they all seemed equal in prowess. But there had to be some differences and Yancey had the job of sorting them out, whittling the group down to four.
And that gave him more trouble than anything connected with Ironsite to date.
Five – Funds
Burdin’s group had grown to six. He, with Steed and Darren, when trying to outrun a posse in West Texas, found themselves in Comanche country and before long they were attacked by a bunch of renegades. They were trapped in an arroyo and it looked like Burdin’s wild plans to ‘free’ Texas were going to end right there in the red dust. They were outnumbered three to one, their ammunition was low, and they had only a half-canteen of water between them.
The Indians were fired-up with whisky and bloodlust. They had the white men pinned and they knew it. They toyed with them for three days, shooting just enough to keep them in their protective rock circle, separating them from their horses. The Comanches made no attempt to rush them. They knew the heat and thirst and hunger would wear them down. And they were right. Steed was nearly out of his mind with thirst and Burdin and Darren twice had to restrain him from running wildly out, shouting hoarse curses at the Indians. Then the renegades had decided to finish them off and had come in fast with guns blazing.
Just as it looked as. if they would overrun Burdin and his men, four riders had appeared with Winchesters cracking in a merciless crossfire, riddling every Indian there. The arroyo was strewn with bodies and dead horses. Then the men came over to Burdin’s hideout and the fanatical rebel had recognized the leader as Luke Meeker, an old outlaw pard from years ago. Meeker and his bunch were on the run from the law too, and, at the same time, had been trailing the renegade Comanches. It had been Meeker who had sold them the whisky, but they had paid him with inferior buffalo hides. No one pulled that kind of trick on Meeker and got away with it.
Meeker had decided to join up with Burdin. He knew this neck of the woods and could outrun any posse that might show. So he had brought the whole bunch safely through the badlands and down to the muddy waters of the Pecos River. There, Burdin told Meeker that he aimed to build up his Freedom Army again.
“You won’t find a hell of a lot of men willin’ to join you just for the fun of it, Sam,” Meeker told him flatly. “Not too many with ideals to match yours, or your kind of hate for Governor Dukes. Only way you’ll get yourself an army of so-called freedom fighters now, I reckon, is to bring in mercenaries. They’ll fight for anythin’, providin’ they get a dollar for the use of their guns.”
Burdin’s near-crazy eyes blazed but Meeker was unflinching. He was not afraid of Burdin, or any man. He merely puffed on his cigarette, staring back at the rebel leader through the haze of smoke. Finally, Burdin nodded.
“Yeah. Could be you’re right, Luke. Anyways, I don’t care why they fight, long as they stick with me and we kill Dukes and take over Texas and make it a true Lone Star State again!”
His voice was beginning to rise with excitement and Meeker shrugged.
“Mighty ambitious idea, Sam, but it sure would have some mighty fine pickings if you could pull it off.”
“I’ll pull it off!” Burdin vowed. “I’ve sworn an oath to get the hombres who wiped out my men in the Sierra Blancas and to kill Dukes. I’ll do them things and I’ll take over Texas, too!”
“Not without funds, you won’t,” Meeker told him. “A lot of dinero is gonna be needed, Sam. A real heap.”
Burdin frowned. “Yeah, reckon you’re right. We’ve raided a few ranches lately and picked up a few bucks and some food and ammunition, but we ain’t pulled any big jobs. Been tryin’ to lie low. Didn’t want Dukes or his men to know for sure I got out of that canyon alive.”
“Thought you said you had a posse on your trail when you ran into them renegade Comanches?”
“We did, but that was because they’d been waitin’ for us. We made the mistake of hittin’ several isolated ranches around these parts. They figured out which one had to be next and were holed-up, waitin’. They don’t know who it was, just that we were a bunch of bandits.”
“Well, it’s time to get into some real action, Sam. You need big money to finance a deal like you got in mind. And you’ll have to show yourself to get it.”
“That’s okay. I can wear a mask. They might still recognize me, or think they do, but they won’t be sure. Thing is, where are we gonna hit around these parts? Not a lot of big money out here, and the closer we move in to the big towns, the more law we’re gonna run into.”
“The hell with the law! We can handle that. But we don’t need to go right into the big towns, Sam. There are railroads and stagelines and some of these cowtown banks sure keep a stack of money around when the buyin’ season’s on.”
Burdin nodded. “Yeah, never have held up a train before. Ought to be somethin’ to look forward to. You got any ideas about which one we should hit first?”
“The Texas-Gulf run from Del Rio always carries a lot of cash in the express car. It’ll take dynamite to blow it open, though.”
Burdin looked at him grimly. “I can get that. You just find out the route and times the train runs. We’ll open that express van like a can of beans.”
Meeker grinned crookedly. That was the kind of talk he liked to hear.
~*~
Jud Landon was a heavy-set man with a good enough disposition as long as everything was going his way. But when things went against his wishes, he could turn mighty mean. And right now, he was as mad as a snorting bull.
His big hands were clenched up into hard, knotted fists and his jaw muscles were ridged and working as he stared at Yancey Bannerman. They were standing outside the simulated saloon building in the Ironsite grounds.
“You’re playin’ favorites, Bannerman!” Landon growled. “I can shoot as straight as any of the four hombres you picked to stay on and better’n some. I can lick ’em all in a fight, and I can out-ride most of ’em. You been ridin’ me all through this course, makin’ me do more than the others, repeatin’ things. Now, when I get a chance at joinin’ the unit, for more pay and prestige, you tell me I’m through!”
“Not just you, Landon,” Yancey told him equably. “Will Storm was dropped too, and he was as good as you in most ways. But he’s a shade slower in reacting and I figure he’s got something wrong with his left eye that needs attention, so I had to drop him out.”
“I ain’t no half-blind cripple!” Landon snapped. “What reason you got for not pickin’ me to go in the unit?”
Yancey gave him a hard look. “You’re answering yourself every time you open your mouth.”
“Huh?” Landon frowned, having no idea what Yancey meant.
“Just listen to yourself, yelling and cussing, making wild accusations, sounding like you’re being persecuted. There’s more to this job than just being able to ride and shoot and use your fists well. You’ve got to have the right temperament and you’ve got to be able to get along with all kinds of people. I don’t figure you measure up in that department.”
Landon’s mouth was drawn into a razor-thin line, his eyes slitted down. “You don’t, huh?” he gritted.
“No, I don’t. Your record in the Rangers speaks for itself, anyway. You’ve been promoted to troop sergeant twice, then had your stripes ripped off for using excessive violence on ordinary citizens, just to complete a job. I should’ve gone through all the records, way back, instead of just taking the recommendations of the commissioner. It was only when I got down to six of you and had to make
the final choice of four that I started digging. Look, I’m sorry, Landon, but you’re just not suited. As a Ranger, under constant discipline, you seem to be able to get by. But as an Enforcer, you’d be working alone most of the time and you’d have to make decisions that could affect a lot of people, from the governor on down. Or up, in some caste. I’m willin’ to recommend that you do some special duty for the Rangers, but I can’t have you in the Enforcer Unit.”
Landon’s mouth twisted. “Sure not! ’Cause I wasn’t one of your favorites.”
Yancey sighed. “It’s no use continuing this, Landon. I’ve told you you’re through here. Now grab your things and report back to the Ranger post.”
Yancey turned to walk away, weary of arguing with the hotheaded Ranger, but Landon’s fingers dug into his upper arm like a steel claw. He spun Yancey back and the Enforcer’s face hardened with anger, but before he could speak, Landon’s fist crashed into his mouth and sent him staggering, lips split and bleeding, head jarred by the blow. He stumbled and started to go down, but put out a hand and stopped himself halfway.
Landon leapt in, face twisted, boot driving at Yancey’s side. The Enforcer spun away from the kick, rolling to hands and knees and then bouncing upright. He saw Cato and the other Rangers running across, then Landon charged in, fists hammering in a swift barrage. Yancey got his guard up but it was battered aside by Landon’s blows. He retreated swiftly, working around to the side, getting Landon to come after him until the man’s back was to the fake saloon wall. Then Yancey propped and warded off a couple of blows, took one to the head, ducked, and hammered two savage, rib-cracking punches into Landon’s midriff. The man’s breath escaped with a violent ‘whoosh!’ and he started to double. Yancey hooked him under the jaw, slammed him in the neck, snapped a knee up. Landon went backwards, arms flying wide, his shoulders smashing into the saloon wall. He grunted as the back of his head rapped the boards. Yancey stepped in close, worked on the man’s thick midriff with arms going like pistons. The Ranger’s legs buckled and he started to slide forward.
Yancey stepped back and hit him with a looping blow on the side of the jaw. Landon’s head jolted but he instinctively threw his arms forward and they clamped around Yancey’s hips. Yancey twisted his fingers in Landon’s hair, yanked his head back and drove a clubbed fist down into his face. The Ranger let out a roar and with the strength of a berserk bear, suddenly lunged to his feet, lifting Yancey high into the air. This was no mean feat as Yancey weighed well over two hundred pounds and he was all muscle. But Landon, still roaring, staggering, heaved the Enforcer from him and Yancey slammed with stunning force into the saloon wall. He felt the building shudder, then he dropped heavily to the ground, lights whirling in front of his eyes, his body feeling as if a mountain had suddenly fallen on it.
Landon staggered forward, stood over him, and abruptly dropped, his knee driving at Yancey’s throat with all his massive weight behind it. The Enforcer twisted desperately and the down-driving knee smashed into his shoulder and pinned it to the ground. Pain knifed through his collarbone and shoulder blade. Nerves were crushed and his arm seemed to be shot through with hot wires, his fingers tingling.
Then Landon lost balance, the knee slid off and he fought to keep from falling to all fours. Yancey seemed to be able to move only in slow motion. He lifted his shoulder but his left arm hung like a dead weight as he twisted and struggled to get his legs under him. Landon was bouncing to his feet by that time and he grinned as Yancey got to one knee and started to thrust upright with his good arm.
The Ranger charged in, swinging up a fist to club down on Yancey’s neck. But, before he could start the downward blow, the Enforcer butted him in the midriff and sent him staggering backwards. It wasn’t hard enough to wind Landon, but it made him lose balance momentarily. Yancey flung himself forward, all his weight behind his right fist, driving it deep into Landon’s mid-section. The man gagged this time and started to double up, legs bending at the knees. Yancey whipped his arm back, clubbing his fist onto the back of Landon’s right knee. The leg collapsed under him and he fell sideways. Yancey smashed the back of his knuckles into the man’s face, just under the nose. Blood spurted and Landon’s eyes glazed. Blinking, he fell full length in the dust.
Yancey dragged himself forward and drove his right fist against the man’s forehead. The back of Landon’s head thudded into the ground and, as he lay there dazed, Yancey fought upright, swaying unsteadily, moving his feet about to retain his balance.
Then the Ranger rolled over and started to climb to his feet. He did it by degrees, getting to his knees first, then, pressing his hands flat against the ground, started to push up. Yancey staggered forward and swung his right boot. It hooked Landon under the jaw and sent him flying backwards. He fell, spread-eagled, a yard away, bloody-faced and unconscious.
Cato steadied Yancey as the other Rangers gathered around.
“What the hell caused that?” Cato asked.
“He didn’t like being told he couldn’t get into the Unit,” Yancey gasped, leaning heavily on Cato, rubbing at his damaged shoulder. He glanced around at the four Enforcers-in-training. “See he gets his things and goes back to the Ranger post.”
They nodded and moved towards the battered Landon. Cleve Shann paused and looked at Yancey as Cato started to lead him back towards the office building.
“You’ll have a bad enemy here, Yancey,” the Ranger said, gesturing to Landon. “He’s a mighty poor loser.”
Yancey nodded wearily and stumbled along beside Cato, wanting only to wash up and find a bunk where he could stretch out for a spell. In every sense of the word, he was plumb tuckered.
Cato helped him get cleaned up but Yancey’s shoulder wasn’t any better and his hand and fingers were still numb. Cato took him to the big mansion on Capitol Hill and turned him over to Dr. Boles who said the shoulder was going to need heat and some manipulation to free the crushed nerves. He refused to allow Yancey to leave the rooms he used as a small infirmary in such instances. The big Enforcer, too weary to argue, simply lay back on the hard bed and closed his eyes while the medic applied steaming hot towels to his shoulder, then began to manipulate muscles and tendons with deft fingers. It was relaxing and Yancey soon started to drift off to sleep.
Cato left the medic to it and returned to the governor’s rooms to tell him about Landon. But when he walked in, he found the governor talking with a man who had an armed guard standing behind his chair. The man was filthy and gaunt and looked as if he had been ill. He turned sunken eyes towards the small Enforcer as Cato entered and Dukes nodded.
“Come in, John. You should be in on this.” He gestured to the gaunt man. “This feller claims to be called Tad Mercer. Says Sam Burdin left him for dead a couple of weeks ago in the big river out back of Horsehead Crossing.”
Six – Dangerous Boredom
The armed guard had been dismissed by Dukes almost as soon as Cato arrived. He knew the small Enforcer could handle anything that Mercer might try to pull. But the man seemed to be only interested in getting his revenge on Burdin.
He told how Burdin and some others had escaped the raid on the training canyon base and how the rebel leader had killed the wounded man rather than have him tag along and slow them down. He told, too, how Chuck Speers had been killed in the mountains and how he himself had been chased and shot while swimming the river, his body being swept away by the current.
“I was lucky I got washed into a quiet pool just before the rapids,” Mercer added. “Beyond that was the falls, I could hear ’em, and I knew if I went over them it’d be the finish.” He looked around to see if he was getting any sympathy, but both Dukes and Cato regarded him with sober faces. “Well, I figured Sam and the others might come lookin’ for me, so I hid out under a cutbank all night but there weren’t no sign of them. I’d been hit in the chest.”
He paused here to rip open his worn shirt and show the puckered scar on the left side of his chest. “I was bleedin’ a lot and weak a
nd cold. I reckoned I wasn’t gonna make it and I passed out someplace in the woods. Next I knew I was in a shack that belonged to an old sourdough prospector. He’d found me and had cut the lead outa me and nursed me back to health. I’d lost a week of my life somewheres, while I was in fever, but he pulled me through. Soon as I could, I moved on and in a town I picked up some trail gossip, but I figure it’s got a heap of truth in it. About Burdin.”
He paused and looked at the others. “I figured maybe I could make a deal with you, Governor.”
Dukes looked at him coldly. “What kind of deal?”
“My freedom and maybe a reward of some kind; safe passage to Mexico. I know Burdin would never catch up with me there ’cause he hates greasers and wouldn’t set foot on their land if he could help it. What do you say?”
“What do you think you’ve got that’s worth tradin’?” Cato countered. “You said yourself it’s only trail gossip.”
Mercer looked cunning. “Yeah. But since hearin’ it I’ve seen somethin’ that makes it more gospel than gossip.”
“Let’s hear it,” Dukes said crisply. “We’ll talk deals later. And I’m not promising a thing, Mercer. You’re a rebel against my state.”
“No dice! You give me your word we got a deal or I don’t say another word.”
Cato lifted the heavy Manstopper from its holster. As the apprehensive man watched, he pushed the toggle across on the hammer, then pulled it back again. He did it several times, then flicked open the loading gate and spilled out the cartridges one by one until there was only one left in the cylinder. He spun the cylinder and held the gun close to Mercer’s ear so he could hear it slowly clicking to a stop.
“Now you’ve heard of the Manstopper,” Cato said. “The shot-shell is fired via that hammer toggle you just seen me flick back and forth a few times. I ain’t looked at it since. I’m not sure whether it’s on the shot-shell or the cylinder for the ordinary .46 cartridge. But I do know there’s a twelve gauge shell in the chamber and only one .45 in the cylinder. Now, if I’ve left that toggle switched across to the shot barrel, it's gonna go off as soon as I let the hammer drop. If it’s for the cylinder, it could fall on an empty chamber and no harm done. Or it might fall on the chamber holding the cartridge.”
Bannerman the Enforcer 7 Page 6
