Bannerman the Enforcer 3

by Kirk Hamilton

  “Someone’s there,” he whispered. “You slip out the back, Johnny ... I’ll give you a count of fifty to get in position, then I’ll throw up the window and get the drop on him when he moves.”

  “If he don’t blow your head off when you poke it out!”

  “Go on, move, amigo!”

  Cato slipped silently out of the room and Yancey stayed where he was, watching that patch of shadow where he had seen the movement. There was nothing now to indicate that anyone was there: just the unbroken line of deep shadow. Yancey was counting silently, and as he reached forty, he felt for the latch and eased it open. At the count of forty-eight he gripped the bottom of the window in both hands and at fifty he paused another five seconds to give Cato just a little more time should he need it, then he heaved upwards, starting the motion with both hands, but, as soon as the window began to slide up in its frame, he kept it going with his left hand only. His right hand had the Peacemaker cocked and thrusting out over the sill before the window was all the way up.

  As the window crashed against the top of the frame, he saw the man outside burst from the shadow, startled, both hands dropping to his sides and whipping back up with phenomenal speed. There was a glint of moonlight on gunmetal, a gun in each of his hands ...

  “Hold it!” Yancey yelled.

  “Be a right good idea!” Cato called from the corner of the house and the man spun that way.

  Yancey swiftly triggered a shot into the air and the man froze, flattening himself back into the shadows and Yancey brought his gun down, intending to shoot along the line of the house wall, knowing he couldn’t help but nail the intruder then. But abruptly, the man stepped forward, into the full moonlight, his hands empty and raised above his head. Light gleamed from a leather hat, vest and trousers and polished halfboots.

  “Don’t shoot, señors!” called Luis Romero. “I have put my guns back in their holsters!”

  “And just in time,” Cato said, stepping out from the corner of the house. “I damn well stabbed my thumb with the gun-hammer to stop it from hitting the cartridge primer ... Who the hell are you?”

  “Luis Romero, señor ... I am sorry to arrive at this hour but there have been ... difficulties, and I did not know my way. I intended to wait in the yard until daylight. I am sorry I have disturbed you.”

  “You surely have done that, Señor Romero!” came Julie Summers’ voice as she leaned from her bedroom window with a double-barreled shotgun in her hands. “And you almost had a charge of buckshot in you as well ... John, you’d better bring him in so we can get a better look at him.”

  Cato gestured with his Manstopper and Romero kept his hands raised as he moved towards the house.

  A couple of minutes later, disarmed, he stood in the ranch kitchen against the wall, hands in front of him where they could be seen at all times, while Cato and Yancey covered him and the girl put on a pot of coffee.

  “Well, now, Señor Romero,” Julie said, turning and clutching her robe about her as she faced him. “What are you doing on my land in the early hours of the morning? Did Nathan Cross send you?”

  Romero’s teeth flashed white against his dark skin. “In a way ...” He saw them tense, then held up his hands placatingly. “I am sorry. That was a foolish thing to say ...”

  “You’re spending a lot of time being sorry, mister,” Yancey said quietly.

  Romero looked at him, shrugged. “What I meant was that I was driven out of Tyler’s Landing by one of Cross’ men, and possibly several townsfolk. I didn’t look back to see who was doing the shooting.”

  “You’d better start at the beginning,” Yancey suggested, face grim.

  “That is always the best place to begin,” the Mexican agreed lightly and commenced to tell them about his arrival in Tyler’s Landing and his fight with Lang Brodie, and how he had been directed to the ranch house by a homesteader. By that time the coffee was brewed and Julie poured four cups and they all sat down at the table, though the Enforcers kept their guns within easy reach.

  “That explains how you got here,” Julie said when Romero was finished. “But it doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

  His piercing black eyes looked directly into the girl’s face. “You do not remember my grandfather, señorita?”

  Julie frowned. “Your grandfather? Did he work here?”

  Romero shook his head. “No, señorita, but my grandfather was here at this rancho. He died here. His grave is on your land, on a knoll, overlooking the river, I believe.”

  Julie’s mouth opened in surprise. Then she exclaimed, “The old Spaniard? The man who was shot and wounded when he was caught trespassing on our land?”

  Romero nodded, his black eyes bright. “You nursed my grandfather, señorita, but he was old and he died,” Romero continued. “But you forwarded his possessions to my mother and wrote explaining the circumstances of his death. The family was grateful for that ... Now, among my grandfather’s things there was a leather box with a lock on it which I inherited.”

  “I remember that box!” Julie exclaimed. “It was beautifully carved and inlaid.”

  “Si, it was of Cordovan leather and had been tooled by the Moors in Castile, later brought to Mexico by one of my ancestors and handed down to my grandfather. May I reach inside my vest for a moment, señors ... ?”

  He looked quizzically at Yancey and Cato and both men tensed. Cato slid the Manstopper into his hand, cocked it and nodded. “Go right ahead ... But slow and easy does it, amigo.”

  Romero nodded and carefully open one flap of his leather vest to show them that there was a deep pocket sewn into the lining. He drew out what appeared to be a square of buckskin, unfolded it and spread it out on the fable. It looked like the hide from some small animal and there was a map drawn on it in faded colored ink. The Mexican’s slim fingers smoothed out the skin and there seemed to be affection in that simple movement.

  “The carved leather box was my legacy from my grandfather,” he said quietly. “This is one of the things he always kept inside the box. Here is another ...”

  One corner of the small hide map seemed heavier than the others and they saw that there was a small triangular pocket sewn into the edge. From it, Romero eased out a gold escudo and none of them had to examine it closely to know that it would match the ones that had been recovered from the Sabine.

  “These things, and the story of the flight to Nacogdoches and the Spanish Peaks, my grandfather left me ... You know about the treasure, I am sure, for there are rumors all down the trail as far as the border itself, that you have located it here on your land.”

  He ran his glittering eyes around the trio, his expression intense.

  “And you came north to get your share?” Cato asked.

  Romero shrugged. “Perhaps. I think I have as much claim to it as any Americano, perhaps more, as it was my grandfather who helped hide the treasure.”

  “And loot it in the first place,” Julie pointed out.

  Again Romero shrugged. “Soldiers in time of war do many illegal things, señorita. For years I planned to come and search for this treasure and it was always my intention to share it with you should I find it.”

  “Now that’s real considerate, seein’ as it’s hidden on Miss Summers’ land!” Cato said.

  “As I said, señor, I think we both have a claim to it.”

  “We could dispute that, especially if we’ve already found it,” Yancey said.

  Romero smiled slowly. “As rumor has it, eh, señor?” He shook his head slowly. “You haven’t found it yet.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Julie asked.

  “I saw your faces when I unfolded that map ... By the way, it is only half of the map that will help us locate the sunken cannon and the treasure. The other half is well hidden where only I know about it.”

  Yancey smiled faintly. “I figured you wouldn’t be loco enough to put all your cards on the table at once.”

  Romero bowed slightly. “One must be careful.” H
e paused and glanced from face to face. “Like that man Brodie, others must believe that I am here to help you locate the treasure ...”

  “But our prime target is not the treasure,” Julie cut in. “You can look as disbelieving as you want, but it’s true. We have the backing of the governor of Texas. In fact, Yancey and Johnny are two of his top men. We plan to use the trail of coins to locate the lost cannon. They have historical significance. The treasure is only of secondary importance.”

  Romero thought about that for a moment before replying.

  “To you perhaps, but not to others ... myself included.”

  “Well, no doubt Governor Dukes would agree to you sharing the treasure should we find it,” Julie said, looking sharply at Yancey, who nodded. “It would depend on how much you can contribute.” She glanced pointedly at the map.

  Romero smoothed the skin again. “Drawn by my grandfather when he returned home to Mexico after being wounded in the battle with Burden’s troops. He drew it while landmarks and details were fresh in his memory. It was many years before he was able to return to these parts to begin his search ... And he was mistaken for a rustler and killed for his efforts.” He held up a hand swiftly as Julie stiffened. “It is a thing of the past, señorita. I no longer have any hatred for your father. Or for you.”

  “Me?” she blinked.

  “It was your father who shot my grandfather. It was natural for me to want revenge, at first. But you made my grandfather’s passing easier for him and when I grew older I appreciated this. Now, this map shows the old Texas Trail as it was called, the one taken by the Mexican troops into the Spanish Peaks. It shows the country as it was in 1836. No doubt it has changed over the years, but there may be some landmarks or place-names that are still familiar.” He turned the map about and pushed it across the table towards the girl. She looked at him sharply.

  “I thought you said this was only half of it?”

  “Si. But this portion here would now be your land. You do not recognize any landmarks? Or place-names?”

  Julie studied the map carefully for a long time. She looked up and slowly shook her head. “The country doesn’t look anything like this now. The river’s changed its course.”

  “Si, that could well have happened. But the place-names?”

  “Well, there are a couple that I recognize but the areas don’t look anything like the lie of the land drawn here.”

  There was a faint discernible excitement in Romero now and Yancey watched the man closely as he went around to stand by the girl, peering over her shoulder. “Show me! Show me these places.”

  Julie placed a finger on the map. “Here ... Dos Lagunas ... Two Lakes. They no longer exist. There are brush-choked arroyos there now that are said to be all that’s left of the lakes, that they drained away or dried up when the river changed its course, during the big floods.”

  “Yes, yes,” Romero said, taking a stub of pencil and circling the areas on the map. “And somewhere else, señorita?”

  Julie’s finger touched the map again. “Here, this place ... I can’t make out the name properly, because its smudged, but it looks like something ‘blanca’. If it’s Cabezablanca it would be the White Head, and that’s what we call that part of the range ... There is lime there, a whole deposit of it, and the rock looks very white in summer.”

  “And where does the ‘head’ part, the ‘cabeza’ part, come into the name, señorita?”

  Julie frowned slightly. “It’s a big limestone rock jutting out from a wall. It does resemble a man’s head at times, if you get the light right, but the weather is wearing it away all the time, changing the features. It’s honeycombed with holes and tunnels worn by the rain ...”

  “All that in forty or fifty years, señorita,” Romero said with rising excitement. “Think of what would happen to a limestone wall over the centuries! The rock is soft, it wears away easily. It could be riddled with caves!”

  “The cave where the other cannon was left!” Yancey said abruptly, snapping his fingers, feeling excitement, too. “Romero, are you telling us that that rock known as White Head could be blocking the cave where the Mexicans left the one cannon they didn’t push into the river?”

  “I am saying it is very possible, Señor Bannerman,” the Mexican told him. He picked up the map and studied it closely. “Si, the writing is blurred, but there is something else there, too.

  I think it reads, ‘White Head knows’ ... Not the white head of an old man, though that, too, I think, but the white rock! It knows what lies behind the wall!”

  Julie looked at them as all eyes turned to her and she shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry to disappoint you …” She took the map from Romero and spread the small hide out on the table. Her finger traced the line of the old Texas Trail. “See? The trail on the map here passes by the White Head area and continues on into the ranges ... But that part of the trail is gone now, has been for years. The rock we call White Head juts out of the wall above a hundred-foot sheer drop. There is no way of reaching it!”

  Romero’s shoulders slumped and he sat down at the table, murmuring something in Spanish. Yancey and Cato felt the tension, too.

  “To be so close ...” Julie said, a catch in her voice. “So close to history ...”

  “There must be a way!” Romero said suddenly, thumping his hand flat down onto the hide map. “There will be!” He looked around at the others. “Limestone is soft. We will blast a path to the rock!”

  “Mightn’t be anything behind it all,” Cato said.

  Romero looked at him steadily. “If we do not look, señor, how can we be sure?”

  Cato held his hands out from his sides, at a loss to answer. He looked at Yancey. “Romero’s right. We could blast a trail out there, I guess. I’d have to see the place to be sure, but, if that’s out, maybe we can get to it from above, drop a rope or a system of ladders. But, I think we should take a look behind that rock if we can. It’s the best lead we’ve had so far.”

  Julie stood up abruptly. “Very well. We’ll do it. We’ll ride out there at sunup and look the place over.” She turned to Romero. “It might help if you were to show us the second part of the map, Mr. Romero.”

  He hesitated, looking from one to the other. “I think I should keep that until ...” he began and then abruptly shook his head and stood up. “No. If we are going into this together, we must trust each other. I will get the other half of the map.”

  He went out swiftly and Cato glanced at Yancey. “What do you think, amigo?”

  “I think we can trust him,” put in Julie before Yancey could answer. “I mean, he’s got everything to gain by helping us ...”

  Yancey nodded slowly. “But I’d sure like to know why he’s been so long getting here. He’s had years to come and took for the treasure, so why choose just this time? When traces of it begin to appear? Seems like a pretty big coincidence to me.” Julie and Cato looked at him blankly. As usual, Yancey had hit the nail squarely on the head.

  Chapter Eight – The Old Texas Trail

  Yancey ran down the slope as fast as he dared go, placing his feet carefully despite his speed. If he fell at this speed and on this steep slope he would roll and bounce all the way to the bottom and by the time he got there, they wouldn’t find a lot to sweep up. For the slope dropped off in a sharp fall onto a great rock pile.

  He dived headlong over the boulder in front of him and somersaulted expertly, twisting around and grabbing at the rope that Cato and Romero held ready. His fingers closed on the rope and his progress was abruptly halted. His arms were stretched in their sockets and he hung on as the two men hauled him bodily into the shelter close behind the boulder. All three of them huddled down, fingers in ears, and then there was a succession of rapid explosions. Great gouts of limestone and clouds of rolling white dust boiled down out of the side of the steep slope and rained down around the three men.

  Fist-sized rocks clattered on their shelter and one, the size of a man’s head, thudded into the gr
ound only inches from Cato’s foot. He whipped his leg under him swiftly and shook his head to clear it of the noise of the explosion. They stood up and the landslide they had created spilled down onto the rock fall below like a waterfall. Then it came to an abrupt halt and the dust cloud slowly lifted. They strained to see through to the limestone face and when it had thinned sufficiently they turned to each other, unable to hide their grins of satisfaction.

  The seven sticks of dynamite had blasted the first ten yards of trail that would eventually lead them out to the big, jutting rock known locally as White Head ...

  “I think you are an expert with explosives, Yancey,” Romero said, brushing dust from his leather pants.

  “Had some experience with powder,” the big Enforcer admitted. “Luckily, the limestone comes away in big chunks. Makes it easy to leave a ledge wide enough for a man and horse, long as you place your charges right. I cut it pretty close.”

  Cato pointed to the big jagged lump of rock that had almost crushed his foot. “I wouldn’t want it any closer, amigo!”

  “That’s only a marble to some of the chunks we’ll blast out with the next series of charges,” Yancey told him. “Now I’ve seen the way the rock splits, I can use cluster charges at regular intervals, fired from simultaneous fuses. We ought to have ourselves a trail out to that rock in a day or so. Well, come on. Let’s get that ledge cleared of rubble and the next set of charges planted ...”

  They moved out from behind their shelter, climbing laboriously up the slope and gingerly testing the newly blasted ledge with their weight before stepping out onto it. Stripped to the waist, but all wearing their gun rigs, they began heaving the rubble left by the blast over the edge and down the steep slope.

  “Last one’s gonna be the trickiest,” Yancey said, grunting as he heaved a large slab of limestone aside. “If I don’t place the charges right, it might collapse any cave that might be there and we’ll have done all this for nothing.”