Bannerman the Enforcer 3

by Kirk Hamilton

  “Relieve you in about four hours, Yance,” Cato called and Julie frowned as she leaned her shoulder against Romero.

  For a few minutes, she had almost forgotten there were dangers above water as well as below ...

  ~*~

  There was an early morning mist on the river as the Texas Queen nosed her way slowly around the bend. Almost immediately Rupe Harwood, at the wheel, rang the engine room telegraph for ‘Stop’. The boat shuddered as the huge paddle-wheel at the stern was thrown into reverse and water boiled, bringing mud and debris to the surface. The boat lost way and slowly began to drift, silently and eerily, with tendrils of mist clammy against Harwood’s face as he leaned out of the wheel-house and called to the men in the bows to let go the anchor.

  Only a short length of cable went out before the anchor hit the muddy bottom and Harwood’s mouth tightened. Just as he had feared: the river not only narrowed dramatically here, but there was also a big build-up of silt. As the riverboat rode up on the anchor before drifting to a halt, there were several thuds as it brushed by barely-submerged objects.

  Governor Dukes and Kate appeared on the deck below as Harwood went down the ladder. He walked across to them, pushing his mariner’s cap to the back of his head.

  “Progress will have to be dead slow from here on,” he told them. “Narrow, brush-clad banks, silted channel ... We’ll have to use the grab line every foot of the way ...” He looked at Dukes. “Just how far up do you expect Yancey to be working, Uncle?”

  “Going by the map and your river chart, I’d say he’s a mile or two up into the ranges,” Dukes replied.

  Harwood frowned. “Could take us all day to get that far. Or we might strike it lucky and find there’s a channel anyway and we could be there in an hour. I’ll get a man in the bows with a sounding lead and we’ll inch forward as soon as this mist lifts. I want to be able to see a long way ahead if possible.”

  He turned and began bawling orders, sending the crew of the riverboat hurrying about their chores. Kate clung to her father’s arm.

  ~*~

  Luis Romero’s head broke the surface of the green river water and a cloud of yellow mud spread around his slim body as he swam to the bank with sure, knife-hand strokes. He pulled himself up onto the grass where Yancey, Cato and Julie Summers waited and sat there, dressed only in a loincloth, getting his breath.

  They looked at him expectantly.

  Romero nodded, grinning fleetingly. “They—they are down here!” he announced, still panting. “Both cannon! One is deep in the mud with only the last foot or so of the carriage showing, but the other is on its side with a complete wheel, part of the axle and a few inches of muzzle clear of the muddy bottom.”

  “Then that could be the one that spilled out the coins,” Yancey said.

  “Si ... I reached inside and I felt something, but mud has seeped in, too. I guess there was a current strong enough at some time to wash out some coins that had worked their way to the end of the muzzle. They were rolled and carried downstream and now mud has sealed up the end again.”

  Julie looked around slowly. “Then there’s little doubt that that shallow ford downstream was where pa was killed by Mesquite.”

  “I guess that’s right,” Cato agreed slowly. “I had a look around early this morning, before the mist lifted, and I found some corrals back yonder in the brush and an old campfire. Could have been a wide-looper’s set-up.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Julie snapped.

  “Didn’t see the point, Julie,” Yancey said easily. “We weren’t sure, but now it looks like this is the place where your father died. And now you know, does it help any?”

  The girl flushed. “I—I suppose not ...” She made an obvious effort to come back to the job at hand. “Well, Luis, what’s the next move?”

  “I will dive down and put a rope around the gun-carriage wheel of the cannon that is on its side. That should be the easiest to pull up, though it will still be difficult, I think. The river will not release its hold willingly.”

  “How dangerous is it down there?” Yancey asked as Cato went to fetch ropes.

  Romero shrugged. “It is very dark, murky. I work by feel. I think I have dived in more dangerous situations. But ...” He shrugged and made a helpless gesture. “Que sera, sera.”

  “What will be, will be,” translated Julie quietly, sudden concern showing on her face. She put a hand on Romero’s forearm and looked anxiously into his face. “Luis ... There’s no sense in taking chances. If it’s too dangerous we can leave them, come back with better equipment ...”

  Romero gave her a crooked grin and patted her hand lightly as he took the rope from Cato and tied it to the belt that held his loincloth in place.

  “The cannon have been waiting a long time for me, Julie. It is fitting, I think, that I should be the one to go down to them, being the grandson of one of the men who put them there so long ago.”

  Julie smiled and nodded. “Yes, of course, Luis. But ... take care.”

  Romero nodded, turned to face the river and lifted his arms. He stayed like that, a glistening bronze statue of a man, for about a minute, gulping down air into his lungs and exhaling in explosive gusts to rid his lungs of all residue of carbon dioxide. This way, with lungs full of air, the reflex action for the desire to breathe ... triggered, normally, by the carbon dioxide in the lung tissues, and not the lack of oxygen ... would be postponed and he would be able to stay under the water longer.

  When working for the pearl fishers, every extra moment that could be squeezed out of a diver for gathering shell was important. Even at the risk of the diver’s life. He could be replaced ...

  Romero dived in cleanly and they watched his blurred, pale form swim down into the green depths until he was lost to sight.

  “How deep do you reckon it is?” Cato asked.

  “Twenty feet, I guess ... No great depth for a pearl diver, but I sure wouldn’t want to be down there. Must be currents and underwater snags and working in the mud it’d be hard to know which way’s up.”

  Cato nudged Yancey and flicked an eyebrow in the girl’s direction. When Yancey saw her worried face he cursed himself for a fool. She had sure changed since that day she had stormed into the governor’s hotel suite in Dallas and practically demanded that he mount an expedition to search for the guns. As time passed, Julie slowly became more human and less aggressive.

  The change in her had been even more noticeable after Romero’s arrival and there was little doubt in Yancey’s mind that she was strongly attracted to the handsome young Mexican. He was showing an interest in her, too, and the way the pair acted kept reminding him that Kate Dukes was with Rupe Harwood all this time, living in close proximity aboard the riverboat ...

  “I think he’s comin’ up.”

  Cato’s words broke in on his thoughts and he stirred himself as a cloud of mud spread through the water just below the surface. There was movement there and a moment later, Romero’s head broke the surface, gasping. He trod water for a minute, getting his breath under control, then swam to the bank where Cato and Yancey hauled him out. He untied the rope from around his waist and placed it in Yancey’s hands, trying to grin, but still breathless.

  “Pull!” he gasped.

  Cato grabbed the rope with Yancey and they heaved, seeing it spring taut and water spray from the fibers as the strain increased. It thrummed and spread ripples across the surface where it disappeared into the green depths. Yancey and Cato dug their heels into the turf on the bank and lay back on the rope, muscles straining. Romero staggered across, picked up an end of the rope and lent his weight, also. Then Julie worked her way between Romero and Yancey and they all heaved together.

  They might as well have tried to move the mountain behind them.

  Panting, they rested, then tried again. Just as their faces congested and they began to slip on the turf, they felt a slight movement, and then they eased up abruptly, gasping.

  “Think she moved,” Yancey
panted.

  “About an inch!” Cato growled.

  “It’s a start!” Yancey said. “Come on! Heave!”

  They threw their weight back onto the rope again, and again and again. It wasn’t until the seventh attempt that they felt a definite movement and, with aching muscles and tortured lungs, they made one final, concerted effort. Clouds of mud and small pieces of debris seemed to boil to the surface and they thought they heard, through the blood roaring in their ears, muffled creaking sounds from beneath the river.

  Suddenly they found themselves flat on their backs, in a wild, panting, dizzy tangle, the rope slacker but still disappearing beneath the water. Yancey was the first one to get to his knees and he gave the rope a tentative tug. It became taut and he felt the resistance of a massive weight.

  “It’s still attached!” he panted. “Thought it might have snapped, but it must’ve been the cannon that moved! Come on!”

  With renewed strength they got on the rope again and heaved. It came in this time with something on the end, but they knew it wasn’t the cannon, not three tons of iron and bronze. It looked like they had busted loose some part of the whole ...

  It was a gun-carriage wheel and the spokes, rotten after so long underwater, had broken away around the hub. It came up hung with weed and dripping mud and they hauled it out onto the riverbank and stood around it, looking down at the result of all their labor.

  “Gonna need somethin’ more than manpower to shift them guns,” Cato said grimly.

  Julie was kneeling beside the wheel, running her hands over the rotting wood and the iron tire. She looked up, her eyes bright.

  “We know we have the cannons now ... There’s no hurry any longer. They’re there and this is the proof. We can come back and rig up some kind of derrick to break them free of the mud and ...”

  A bullet ricocheted from the iron tire, making it ring like a gong as Julie cried out and threw herself backwards ...

  Cato and Yancey had their guns in their hands, even as Romero grabbed the girl and dragged her behind the low rocks nearby. They both lay full length as lead screamed off the rocks and Yancey and Cato made a dash for the protection of the big bronze cannon further back at the edge of the brush.

  Nathan Cross and Lang Brodie were leading in maybe twenty men, thundering across the ford and onto the gravel stretch, up towards the campsite, guns hammering. They would soon overwhelm the four treasure hunters. They splashed their mounts into the river again as it twisted back on itself, water spraying. Cato’s Manstopper boomed but the range was far too great for the shot shell to have effect. But a good thunderous shot now and again did wonders for the morale and often made the ranks of attackers break by pure instinctive reaction. It had that effect this time and Cross’ band scattered, some going back to the bank, others continuing up the river, still others heading for the bank nearest the campsite.

  Yancey’s rifle cracked and he brought down a horse and shot its rider as the man staggered to his feet. Romero had his six-guns now, one in each hand and they were blazing. Julie had her own small Colt Sheriff’s Model in .41 caliber and its tiny crack made a distinctive sound amidst the other sounds of battle. But it was Yancey’s deadly rifle fire that finally broke up Cross’ charge. He worked the lever fast, shooting steadily, each shot counting. He downed three men in a row and that was enough for the others. They turned and raced their mounts back across the river, bunching up in the trees on the far side of the gravel spit.

  “Must have been watching us,” Yancey called to Romero and the white-faced girl as he reloaded swiftly. “Saw the carriage wheel come up and figured that was good enough for ’em. They’ll come back and we might not stop ’em this time.”

  “We will,” said Cato and Yancey snapped his head around at the man’s confidence. “Give me a hand.”

  Yancey blinked as he saw Cato holster the Manstopper and grab the cannon’s carriage, throwing his weight against it and beginning to turn the weapon so that the glittering bronze muzzle pointed towards the trees and the gravel spit.

  “Great Judas!” Yancey breathed.

  “Come on!” growled Cato impatiently. “It’s our only chance of evenin’ the odds!”

  “What happens if it blows up in our faces?”

  “You can be kinda dumb at times, Yance!” Cato snapped and Yancey grinned, threw his weight against the cannon. He saw Romero starting to get up from behind the rocks but he waved him back.

  “Stay there! Johnny and I can manage! As soon as we fire, whether it blows up or not, there’ll be one hell of a cloud of smoke. You take Julie and get back into the brush and ride like hell!”

  “I cannot leave you like that!”

  “Do it for her!” snapped Yancey, straining, looking across the gravel spit and seeing the raiders beginning to bunch up outside the line of trees. “They’re gettin’ ready for another charge, Johnny!”

  Cato didn’t answer. He ran to the powder keg, ripped up the top which had been opened previously and dug in with the scoop measure, made of copper so as to avoid striking sparks. There were no linen bags to take the charge so he poured it directly down the muzzle and hoped it would all reach the base. He tore off his shirt and stuffed it down with the rammer on top of the powder-charge as the wad and Yancey rolled in one of the cannon balls. It was blistered with rust and they had to slam down hard again and again with the rammer to get it down the muzzle to where Cato judged it was resting on top of his shirt.

  A volley of lead spattered around them and there was a wild yell as Cross and Brodie put their men to a charge having split them into two separate factions, giving Cato two targets and only one shot. The small Enforcer cursed as he ran to the rear of the cannon and poured powder into the touch-hole. Romero’s guns were hammering and Yancey got his rifle working, shooting as fast as he could, not bothering to aim carefully. Lead spanged off the bronze cannon as Cato levered it up and drove a wedge under the rear end to steady it.

  The raiders were pouring into the river-crossing now, water flying, guns blazing, horses racing, men shouting and yelling. In another minute or so they would be across the spit and thundering up onto the grass of the riverbank …

  “Move, Johnny! Move!” shouted Yancey, firing his last shot and shucking fresh shells out of his cartridge belt.

  Then he was knocked flat by the concussion of a tremendous roar close by and thick white smoke billowed across him but he got his face up out of the grass in time to see the thundering horsemen split down the middle as if chopped by the blade of some giant axe. Men and horses and bits of each flew violently apart as the cannon ball ripped through their ranks, and blood stained the shallow waters of the Sabine River and splashed onto the white gravel of the spit. The cries of men and animals pierced the roaring in Yancey’s head as he staggered to his feet.

  Smoke curled lazily from the muzzle of the bronze cannon as Cato, looking dazed, grinned through the black grime on his face and leaned on the rammer’s handle.

  The raiders had scattered but there was still the second bunch under Lang Brodie. They had hauled rein as soon as the cannon exploded but now Brodie yelled at them to get moving, to ride in and finish them off before they could reload the big gun.

  But he thundered on alone.

  The men behind took one look at the carnage on the spit and then turned tail and raced back into the brush. Brodie ran his horse in, teeth bared, a six-gun in his massive hand looking like a toy as he leaned from the saddle and began firing at Yancey as fast as he could notch back the hammer and let it fall. Yancey dropped his rifle, snatched his Peacemaker from its holster and threw himself aside all in one blurring movement. He fired while still in mid-air, hit hard on his shoulders and lay there as Brodie’s mount reared above him. Yancey snapped two more shots almost straight up and rolled aside as the hoofs thudded down beside him and then Lang Brodie’s big body crashed to the ground a yard away and rolled down the slope to flop face-down into the river as his terrified horse ran on into the brush ...
>
  Cato helped Yancey to his feet. “You all in one piece?”

  Yancey nodded and they all snapped their heads up at the sudden sound of a steamboat’s whistle. Looking past the heads of Romero and Julie Summers, Yancey blinked as the bulk of the Texas Queen rounded the river bend, smoke belching from her smokestacks, men ... and one woman ... crowding the rails anxiously.

  ~*~

  Kate Dukes clung tightly to Yancey’s arm as they stood on the riverbank and watched the grab line dangle over the bow of the riverboat and then plunge beneath the surface of the Sabine River. There was little doubt that she was glad to see the big Enforcer alive and well.

  “You didn’t write much,” she admonished him quietly, glancing towards her father where he stood with Cato, Romero and Julie Summers. Then her eyes went to the riverboat and she could make out Rupe Harwood’s figure as he directed the men working the donkey-engine and the winch.

  “Not much to write about,” Yancey said. “Anyway, I didn’t find a big batch of letters waiting for me from New Orleans when I got back to Austin, either.”

  “I was ... busy,” she said, smiling a little.

  “On the social carousel, I guess.”

  “Mmmmm,” she said noncommittally.

  “With Rupe, no doubt,” he said, tight-lipped.

  “Well ... yes. He was my escort,” she said and then she burst out laughing and Yancey frowned in annoyance. “If you could only see your face! You’re jealous, Yancey Bannerman!”

  He stared at her soberly. “Have I any reason to be?”

  “Maybe ... No, I won’t tease you. Rupe was my escort all the time I was in New Orleans ...”

  Yancey’s face fell but she went on before he could speak.

  “Rupe ... and his fiancée!”

  Yancey stared. “His ... ? You mean he’s got himself a gal? That he’s engaged to be married?”

  “Oh, yes! He gets married next month. In Austin. She’s a Texas girl. She’s coming over from New Orleans by coach and he’ll be meeting her there ...”

  “And all this time you let me think you were over there alone with him, living it up and ...!” Yancey broke off as she smiled coquettishly.