Bannerman the Enforcer 5

by Kirk Hamilton

  He stopped about ten feet away, thumbs hooked in his crossed cartridge belts. His eyes were pale, kind of flat-looking. Yancey had seen those eyes before; they were killers’ eyes.

  “Banner?” the man asked.

  Yancey merely nodded, drew on his cigarette.

  “What do you want with Mr. Blayne?”

  “That’s between Blayne and me.”

  The man shook his head slowly, lips pulling back tightly across his teeth. “Nope. Right now it’s between you and me. I’m the one who decides whether you get to see Mr. Blayne or not.”

  “That so? Well, okay. I don’t want any trouble. Just want to know where his spread is. Hear tell a pard of mine is riding for him and I figured maybe there was a job for me, too.”

  The gunman’s eyes slitted. “Pard of yours? What name?”

  “John Cato.”

  The man’s face remained impassive. “No. Nobody there by that name. Someone’s given you a wrong steer, mister. Best go back to where you came from.”

  “Not yet. I want to see my pard. Blayne, too. We kind of met in Austin a little while back.”

  The gunman frowned slightly, staring hard at Yancey. Then he shook his head slowly. “You ain’t expected, so ride out while you can, mister. Last chance.”

  Yancey flicked away the cigarette. It landed within an inch of the man’s boots. Yancey smiled. “Sorry. I appreciate your trying to give me a break, but I just got to see Cato.”

  The game was over now; Yancey could see that instantly. The pale eyes seemed to be almost opaque and there was a new rigidity about his shoulders. Tendons showed on his neck but his hands hadn’t moved though Yancey would bet the muscles were just aching to jump them towards the gun butts. But there was plenty of control in this man; he wasn’t a glory-hunter. He just wanted to come out of it alive and he wouldn’t make his move until he was good and ready, and pretty sure he would be the one to walk away.

  “No!” the gunman said flatly, and he was leaving it to Yancey to take it from there.

  Yancey smiled faintly. “You know damn well I won’t leave it at that. I could say I will and pretend to ride out. But I’d hole up someplace along the trail where I could see the town and I’d watch for you to leave and follow you back to the ranch.”

  “Wouldn’t do you no good,” the killer said. “He ain’t there.” Yancey kept his face impassive but he inwardly cursed at the man’s words. “Well, guess I’ll just have to see if I can talk you into telling me where he’s gone.”

  “Nope,” the man said flatly, again throwing the ball back into Yancey’s court.

  The Enforcer sighed. “Well, it looks like you and me’ve got to settle this here and now. Seems kind of stupid, though, that one of us has got to die over a small thing like this.”

  The man shrugged. “I’m paid to take that chance. How about you?”

  “Yeah, I guess it goes with the job,” Yancey told him.

  “You look like a lawman to me. Mebbe a Ranger.”

  “That so? Killing a Ranger’s about the worst thing you can do.”

  The man shrugged. “Well, it’s one of the hazards of the trade, I reckon.”

  His hands didn’t seem to move to Yancey. One second his thumbs were thrust through his crossed gun belts. Next, they were slapping the walnut gun butts and the heavy weapons were starting to lift out of leather.

  Even so, it was Yancey’s Peacemaker that cleared the holster rim a fraction of a second sooner and the big gun blasted that much sooner than the killer’s weapons. The man screamed as his right leg was kicked out from under him when Yancey’s bullet took him through the knee. His own lead went wild, one shot into the ground at Yancey’s feet, the other slashing strip a of bark from the elm and making Yancey’s horse rear and tug, wild-eyed, at its reins.

  The gunman went down, dropping his weapons, clawing at his shattered knee, groaning aloud, writhing, sobbing in agony. Yancey walked across and kicked the two six-guns out of reach, he saw the startled looks on the faces of onlookers and knew this stranger had had a top reputation. Yancey could have killed him easily but had chosen not to, for he wanted some information out of this man and he wanted it fast.

  Yancey knelt, still holding his smoking six-gun. He snapped his head up as he saw some of the crowd starting hesitantly across the street. Yancey snapped a shot into the dust a yard in front of them, and they scattered.

  “Stay back!” he yelled, then he turned to the wounded gunfighter, glanced briefly at the wound and twisted his fingers in the man’s hair. He yanked his head around roughly and looked coldly down into the pain-contorted face. “You’ll live. You’ll walk with one hell of a limp, maybe, but you’ll live. Now, you tell me what I want to know, mister, or I’ll blow your other kneecap off and I’ll do it in such a way that you’ll never walk again. You savvy?”

  The gunman tried to glare at Yancey, but the pain was too intense and his eyes dulled over. His bottom lip was bleeding where his teeth had bitten into it. He was panting, trying to contain the moans that rose in his throat unbidden.

  “Cato,” Yancey snapped. “I heard he came in as Wyatt’s prisoner. That right?”

  The gunman stared back defiantly, but then his cheeks blew out with an explosion of pain and when it was past he nodded. “Blayne—sent him after—Cato. Had all his—notes.”

  Yancey nodded. “Not like Cato to let anyone like Wyatt jump him.”

  “He—he killed two—men first.”

  “That sounds more like Cato. But Wyatt got the jump and brought him back a prisoner. What happened after he got to Blayne’s?”

  The wounded man tried to hold back, even work up enough strength to curse Yancey, but the pain claimed most of his attention. His eyes began to roll up into his head and he came back with an effort. “Blayne laid—laid it on the line. Work for him to—to square the notes—or—die.”

  “Some choice. Okay. So I guess Cato signed on with Blayne.”

  The gunman nodded slowly.

  “Then why in hell isn’t he at the ranch now?”

  “All gone. Whole—fightin’ crew.”

  Yancey frowned. “Fightin’ crew? What’s that?”

  The gunman writhed with an exceptionally excruciating bout of pain and sweat dripped from his yellowish face. Blood was pouring from his wounded knee and Yancey ripped off the man’s neckerchief and tied it in a tourniquet above the shattered kneecap.

  “That’ll hold you for a spell. Now how about this fightin’ crew?”

  “Blayne—keeps a bunch of cowpokes to—work—his spread, but he also has some guns on his—payroll.”

  “Like you.”

  The man nodded. “Like me—and Wyatt. But, once in a while he gathers a bunch of fast—guns—and heads out. Leaves me to take care of things.”

  “I get it. So Cato rode out with Blayne’s fighting bunch. Where’d they go?”

  The man shook his head slowly, saw the tightening of Yancey’s lips and hastily gasped, “No, gospel, I dunno. No one does. Not even the bunch themselves. They just headed south. It’s a good bet they’ll head for the Rio, but that’s as close as I can come.”

  Yancey stared at the man for a spell and decided he was telling the truth. “But you can come a little closer with the trail they took,” he said harshly. “I want to know exactly where it is and I want to know now.”

  He casually swung his six-gun barrel down and rested it against the man’s left kneecap. The man convulsed in fear, sweat flying like spray as he shook his head hard.

  “Oh, God, no, Banner! You got no need to do that! I’ll—I’ll tell you ... I’ll tell you exactly how to get there. But they’re a full day ahead of you.”

  “I’ll make up the time,” Yancey said without removing the gun barrel from the left kneecap. “You just give me the directions and do it right, or I’ll ride back this way and finish you.”

  The gunman knew he was finished anyway in this neck of the woods, and he didn’t hold back. He told Yancey everything he wanted to know
and in twenty minutes, the Enforcer rode out of Vernon, on the trail of Cato and the Blayne fighting bunch.

  Chapter Seven – One More Gun

  They were certainly a tough-looking bunch, Cato thought, as he dropped back a little on the pretext of slowing down while he rolled a cigarette. But he noticed that Waco Wyatt slowed down too and rode within a few yards of him, watching. He wasn’t sure about the gunfighter. Maybe the man simply didn’t trust him, or maybe he really hated his guts and was just looking for an excuse to start trouble. Whatever it was, he didn’t take his gaze off Cato.

  The Enforcer figured that Blayne was deliberately trying to confuse his men, the number of times he twisted and turned along the trail, doubled back and so on. Cato couldn’t see the point in it but then he didn’t know what it was that Steve Blayne had in mind. He had quietly sounded out the others but they ignored him or admitted that they had no idea where they were going, either. Two men he learned had been in financial difficulty and Blayne had taken over their debts and then brought pressure to bear on them. It seemed to be a favorite way of the rancher’s of getting fast guns under his control.

  Some of the faces were vaguely familiar, others he had heard of by name. One man, Sladen, had resented the fact that an ex-Enforcer was riding with them, but Blayne had soon settled that: he told Sladen he wanted Cato along. If Sladen wanted out or to cause any trouble then he was as good as dead right now. Backed up by Wyatt and another man holding a shotgun, Blayne’s words had had the desired effect and Sladen had subsided, muttering. Over the days, he had gotten used to Cato’s presence but he still regarded the small man warily.

  Cato figured it was fear of the Manstopper that held Sladen back. Most of the men had been interested in the big gun and he had given a demonstration of its power and deadliness, blowing a yucca plant clear off at the base with a charge from the shot barrel. Then, with a flick of the toggle, he had fired seven successive shots, fast and accurately, at a line of stones, rusted cans and two bottles. Every shot was a hit and he kept the eighth and last shot in the chamber. If anything, there were glances touched with admiration and a little more respect; a careful man always earned the respect of his peers in the gunfighting trade.

  The Manstopper had been passed around and men had looked at him sharply when they felt the weight of it. For Cato had not merely lifted the gun from holster and taken careful aim; he had whipped it out in a blur of speed, blasted the yucca out in an eruption of earth and, before it had settled, had hammered out the other seven shots and disintegrated the various targets.

  It had been an effective demonstration and Sladen had kept well clear of him since and had said very little to anyone. It seemed that the only one not duly impressed with the demonstration was Wyatt.

  He set his mount alongside Cato’s and his face was hard.

  “Get one thing straight, Cato,” he growled. “I’m ridin’ herd on you, mister, all the way to—where we’re goin’. And that damn Manstopper don’t scare me none at all.”

  “Then you’re loco,” Cato told him easily. “No one but a fool would be contemptuous about a gun like that, toted by friend or enemy.”

  Waco Wyatt looked at him narrowly. “Well, you sure ain’t any friend of mine.”

  “Be a long, cold day in hell before you’d hear me call you amigo, too, mister.”

  Waco stared and his mouth was tight. He nodded curtly.

  “Just so we savvy each other.”

  “I savvy you,” Cato told him unsmilingly.

  “Just so you do.” Waco Wyatt raked a cold, arrogant and insolent gaze up and down Cato. “You still stink of lawman to me.”

  “Better than the polecat smell I get when I’m downwind of you.”

  Wyatt’s right arm jerked involuntarily and then Blayne’s voice barked roughly, “Waco!” The leader came cutting in at an angle, the rifle he carried all the time across his saddle, swinging up and covering both men. The others slowed and watched.

  Blayne raked both men with agate eyes. “Simmer down you two! I mean it. No trouble or I’ll put a bullet in the first man to reach for a gun. I got the right number in this bunch now and I don’t aim to cut it down and then have to go find someone else. You savvy me? Both of you?”

  “I savvy,” Cato growled, and jerked a thumb towards Wyatt. “Just keep this snake away from me.”

  “His job’s to ride herd on all of you till we get to where we’re goin’,” Blayne said shortly. “You don’t have to like it. It’s part of the deal. And you all got the same choice I gave Sladen the other day: come along peaceable or pick yourself six feet of Texas right here.”

  Waco bared his teeth as he nodded jerkily. Cato blew out a long plume of tobacco smoke and shrugged.

  “Might sit easier if you stopped treatin’ us like a bunch of kids and told us where we’re goin’,” he muttered.

  “You’ll find out in the next couple of days,” Blayne said.

  Then he gave them one final hard look and jerked the rifle barrel for them to ride on. Cato lifted his reins and kneed his mount forward. Wyatt, eyes slitted, set his horse going, too, but a few yards behind the smaller man.

  Blayne eased down the hammer on the rifle and motioned to the others impatiently. The whole bunch continued along the mysterious trail down into southern Texas.

  ~*~

  Kate Dukes stopped dead in the doorway of Marnie Hendry’s room and stared at the carpetbags on the bed, the clothing and other possessions spread around the room. There was no sign of Marnie herself and Kate slowly closed the door after her and walked across the room quietly. She knocked on the door of the bathroom.

  “Marnie? Are you in there?”

  “I’ll be out in a minute, Kate,” Marnie’s muffled voice told her through the door.

  Kate could detect the sadness in it even through the woodwork. She went back and sat down on the bed, idly fingering some of the clothing that Cato had bought Marnie after bringing her back to Austin. She felt her jaw muscles harden involuntarily as she saw the carefully folded bridal gown, overlaid with pale blue tissue paper, on the bed head.

  Then the door opened and Marnie entered in a bathrobe, her hair wet and tied up in a towel. She smiled faintly and Kate could see the redness in her eyes and knew she had been crying.

  “Well,” Kate said, forcing brightness into her manner. “I came to see if you’d like to come for a ride around the park, but I didn’t expect to find all this.” She gestured to the bags and clothing. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you, Marnie?”

  The younger girl was very sober as she nodded jerkily and sat down on the edge of the bed near Kate. She looked at her with moist eyes. “I—I can’t see any real reason for staying on now, Kate. Can you? In all honesty?”

  “Yes, I can, Marnie,” Kate told her without hesitation. “I like you, and I think we could be good companions. Also, I have to take over more and more of dad’s duties now because he’s simply not up to them. It means I won’t have a lot of time to look after his health as I should. And as you are a qualified nurse … well, the job’s yours if you’d like it.”

  Marnie stared at her soberly for a long minute and then smiled faintly, putting out a hand to touch Kate’s on the edge of the bed. “Thank you, Kate. It’s a lovely thought.”

  “No it’s not. It’s a practical one,” Kate told her.

  “Well, I still think it was very kind of you to think of it. I—I would like to stay on, but there’s really no point.” She fidgeted with her hands and there was a catch in her voice as she dropped her gaze. “I’d—I’d like to look after the governor but—well, this house, the whole town, I mean, every time I look out my bedroom window I can see the garden where the wedding was to take place. I would have to pass the dressmaker’s where I bought the gown each time I went down the street. And—and there are just too many reminders of what almost was here, Kate. Just so many things to remind me of Johnny ...”

  Her voice broke on Cato’s name and she covered her face with her ha
nds as she started to weep. Kate moved swiftly closer and held her head against her breast, her arms around the younger girl’s quivering shoulders, speaking soothingly to her, trying to comfort her and knowing that there was almost nothing she could do, or say.

  ~*~

  Yancey’s horse was almost jaded. He had pushed it hard since leaving Vernon and the first day had been easy, for the gunman he had crippled had known some of the campsites that Blayne aimed to use. Yancey had followed the man’s detailed directions and had had no trouble picking up the trail of the fighting bunch.

  But, after that, he had run into trouble. The trail was still there but it was a devious one and doubled back on itself in several places. Yancey laboriously followed these confusing trails for a spell and then, tracks lost in a maze of flint and lava flats, paused to wipe sweat from his brow and look up at the battering sun. It was always the same; search and follow the tracks, generally through the most rugged country around, wasting time and energy climbing over rocks and through dry watercourses, threading a careful way along high narrow trails with sudden drops into canyons, floundering across alkali flats and yucca-studded desert.

  The result was always the same, too: when he picked up the trail again and followed it for a few miles before Blayne took evasive action again, it always led due south.

  The Rio was down there, of course, but it was a long, long river and there were many points along its banks where Blayne’s bunch could come out or cross it.

  But tracks leading due south most of the time, could mean the rendezvous point or crossing point or wherever Blayne was headed was on that line. All the other twisting and turning and blank stretches of carefully covered trail were only to confuse anyone loco enough to try to follow. They were also time-wasting and if a man didn’t know just what he was doing, then he could easily become lost himself.

  So Yancey figured to take a chance now, follow his hunches as he had so often in the past. From now on he would ignore the devious tracks and head due south. Sooner or later on that line he figured he would come across the trail of the bunch again or arrive at their rendezvous. If he didn’t, at least he would hit the Rio and then it would be a matter of tossing a coin to see whether he travelled upstream or downstream.