Bannerman the Enforcer 1

by Kirk Hamilton

  Dukes nodded. “Yancey,” he said, “I want those two escaped bandits brought in. If they’ll provide me with evidence to nail Magnus, all charges will be dropped against them.”

  “Well,” said Yancey, “if you announce publicly that Boden and McEvoy can get amnesty if they come out of hiding, I figure you’ll bring them in.”

  “They’re likely down in Mexico by now,” Cato said, dubiously.

  Dukes shook his head. “I doubt it. I’ve had Rangers searching for them all over this state and I’ve tightened the border patrols. If I promise them a pardon, I’ll need someone I can trust to put the deal to them and bring them in safely. They won’t dicker with the Rangers, or any lawmen, that’s for sure. But they might well deal with you, Yancey.”

  Yancey’s face showed his surprise and Kate laughed softly. “I agree with father,” she said. “You’ve got a big name in Texas and you’re known as a square-shooter, a ‘man to ride the river with,’ I believe is the expression ... Boden may be from San Francisco, but McEvoy will know your reputation. I think they’ll be glad to accept an offer of a free pardon.”

  “Makes sense,” Cato agreed quietly and Yancey nodded slowly.

  “Well, I’ll be glad to handle it for you, Governor. Count me in—and Johnny Cato, too.”

  Cato nodded energetically and Dukes smiled. “Good! Good! I’ll make out papers now, appointing you and Mr. Cato as my special agents. I’ll have news of a free pardon spread as fast as I can. The Rangers will know how to plant it in the most likely places. You have my authority to promise both men safe conduct out of the state of Texas after they have given me the evidence I need.”

  As Kate fetched papers and the Seal of Texas, and Dukes started to write, Yancey said, “From what Chuck has told me of Hank Boden, he might try to stop McEvoy. Boden sounds like a real killer. Could be he’s loco enough to want to go down fighting. In which case, McEvoy will be a dead man as soon as he tries to ride out.”

  The governor looked up from the legal document and there was a hard glint to his eyes as he regarded Yancey. “If Boden passes up a free pardon, it’ll be your job to bring him in alive. If the promise of amnesty doesn’t influence him then ... well, there are more ways than one of skinning a cat.”

  Yancey looked swiftly at Kate, saw the tension around her mouth. She knew what her father meant and Yancey saw that the governor would go to any lengths to bring law and order and a measure of decency to Texas. He was a man who had dedicated his life to this ideal and the realization stirred fresh admiration in Yancey for Lester Dukes. The man could die at any time with his heart condition, but he would have bet his last dollar that right up to the moment of his death, Dukes would be working for Texas.

  ~*~

  As it happened, Dukes had a mild heart attack that very afternoon, not long after Cato and Yancey had left him. It wasn’t a serious attack, but it was sufficient to send Kate hurrying for Dr. Boles. The medic refused to be responsible for the governor’s life if he travelled within the next week. Dukes almost had another seizure right then but Kate got him calmed down and convinced him that the best thing he could do right now was to rest up in bed. The crusty old man reluctantly agreed ...

  Meanwhile, the word went out through the length and breadth of the state about the free pardon being offered to Hank Boden and McEvoy.

  When J. J. Magnus heard about it he knew at once that his days were numbered if the governor’s action was successful. He called Hawke Venters in immediately. “You heard?”

  The one-eyed gunfighter nodded. “Boden won’t let McEvoy take advantage of it.”

  Magnus glared at him. “You see that neither of them take advantage of it, Hawke.”

  Venters looked surprised. “Boden won’t be tempted, J.J.”

  “You make sure he isn’t. You understand?”

  Venters looked into the cold, glittering eyes and nodded slowly. “If you say so. But we’ll be getting rid of a good man.”

  “He’ll be a better one—and safer—when he’s dead.”

  Venters sighed. “I’ll see to it. But what happens if Dukes recovers from his attack and sets out for San Antonio again? I mean, which is more important? Stoppin’ Boden and McEvoy, or stoppin’ Dukes?”

  Magnus frowned, rapping his fingers irritably against the carved desk edge. The gunman went on:

  “Since Yancey Bannerman and that Cato hombre wiped out the gang in the bank, we’re kind of short on experts, J.J. There’s really only you and me until you can arrange something else with Landis in ’Frisco.”

  “All right, all right,” Magnus snapped. “You’ve made your point. We’re in a spot.” He thought for a moment, then his face brightened. “We can always buy Boden and McEvoy. Money talks big with them.”

  “And Governor Dukes?”

  “Take him.”

  ~*~

  Two days later, Dukes said to hell with Dr. Boles, he couldn’t keep the Mexican government’s envoy waiting any longer. He had to get to that meeting: it was vital, if the wetback trade was going to be smashed. With the worried Kate and the tight-lipped medic at his side, Dukes made arrangements for a special train to be readied for the journey ...

  About the same time as these preparations were being made, Yancey and Cato got word that contact had been made with Boden and McEvoy. A small-time outlaw named Kirkland had ridden into Waco, presented himself at the law office and offered to tell where the bank robbers could be found in exchange for a pardon for himself. Yancey never did find out whether Kirkland got his deal or not, but the Waco law office passed the information along that the outlaws were holed-up in an arroyo in an area southwest of Austin known as the Citadels. It was a place of eroded sandstone spires, honeycombed with caves. Yancey had been there once, chasing steers stampeded from the nearby Goodnight Trail and he had only recovered half the number of beeves that were missing. It was a likely hideout and the Waco lawman had apparently had no reason to doubt Kirkland’s story.

  So Cato and Yancey readied themselves and rode out. They made good time, cutting across country, into the Citadels. When they reached the broken country they were forced to slow down.

  “Judas!” breathed Cato. “It’ll take a month to find ’em in here!”

  “Maybe we can get ’em to come to us,” Yancey said grimly and put his mount down the slope. Cato followed.

  They rode through country like a moonscape with spires and blocks of sandstone rising grotesquely.

  “Been in happier places,” Cato remarked, looking around, hand riding the butt of his gun. “Boden could be drawin’ a bead on us from anywhere up there, Yancey.”

  The big man nodded, his eyes scanning ahead and above. “I figure they’ll be deeper into the Citadels, where the dry river beds get lost amongst the broken hills.”

  “We’re likely to get lost, too.”

  “Could be.”

  Cato reined in abruptly and Yancey started to lift his Peacemaker free of its molded leather holster, but paused when Cato whistled softly.

  “Will you look at that there rock? Just like a gal with no clothes on!”

  Yancey looked and smiled faintly. “Guess you’ve got a better imagination than me ... But keep it in mind as a landmark.”

  “My pleasure,” Cato allowed as they rode on.

  When they reached the big arroyo, Yancey led the way to a high outcrop of rock and cupped his hands around his mouth, startling Cato as he shouted:

  “Hank Boden ... ! Tad McEvoy ... !”

  The names echoed and re-echoed from the crags and Cato spurred up along Yancey.

  “Hell, man! You’ll get us shot!”

  Yancey glanced at him, spoke quietly. “Trying to bring ’em to us is all …” He lifted his voice again. “It’s Yancey Bannerman and John Cato here! We’re here to talk about Governor Dukes’ pardon. We’ll camp by the waterhole at the base of the sentinel spire. We’ll wait a day. Then a troop of Rangers moves in ...”

  He listened to his words dying away amongst the ancient
rocks and turned back to the frowning Cato. “My guess is McEvoy is the weak link. He’ll be wanting to grab that offer of a free pardon. So maybe they’ll fight and we’ll hear ’em. Or maybe they’ll try to jump us.”

  “Great! And you had to tell them where we’d be!”

  “Had to ... You’re right. We’ve got to draw them out, Johnny. A little risk now and then kind of spices things up ... ”

  “And sometimes a little risk turns out to be a damn big one!”

  Cato looked glum but put his mount forward and followed Yancey down the steep rock slope to the glistening rock pool at the foot of an awesome spire towering three hundred feet into the scorching sky.

  “What the hell am I doin’ here?” Cato asked abruptly, looking belligerently around. “Why in hell am I still ridin’ with you? I’m a nut. I should be in room seven at the Gilded Cage with Hoe-down Hanna.”

  “She can likely do with a rest. Think of it that way,” suggested Yancey.

  Cato scowled. “It’s who she’s restin’ with that bothers me!”

  They had just reached the pool when they heard two gunshots, so close together that they had to be from separate guns. The sounds slapped against the rock walls, distorting direction.

  “There!” Yancey snapped, pointing to the north. “From one of those caves. How did you read it, Johnny?”

  “Yeah ... ” Cato said slowly. “Could have been from there.”

  Yancey was already riding, drawing his long-barreled Winchester from the saddle scabbard, Cato spurring after him. The small gunsmith had tuned Yancey’s rifle, tightened the action, making it smoother, and he had added a tang sight that folded away when not in use. It was a metal post screwed into the iron tang of the gun’s action where it fitted into the woodwork of the butt. There was a small peephole drilled in the flattened top of the post and when it was raised, this automatically centered the blade of the foresight, which Cato had also filed and repositioned on the barrel tip. The eye instinctively adjusted when looking through the peephole, with the result that it meant little more than lifting the rifle to the shoulder to be lined up on target. Yancey had tried it out and had been amazed at how swiftly he centered on target and how accurately he could shoot, in a fraction of the time he had been used to.

  Suddenly a rifle blasted at them from above and lead fanned the air close to Yancey’s face. He reined aside instinctively, lying over his mount’s neck. Cato also reined away in the opposite direction, giving the gunman two separate targets to shoot at. Yancey, still riding fast, holding on with his knees, threw his Winchester to his shoulder, centered the foresight blade on the cave where he saw the pall of gunsmoke hanging, and triggered. His shot hammered at the same time as another from up there. Yancey slipped his boots free of his stirrups and, as his mount raced past a sand-patch, he quit leather with an awkward flying dive, hitting the top of the hump and somersaulting over, skidding down the far side as two bullets kicked dust from the sand crest.

  He saw Cato still racing his mount across the face of the slope, snapping shots with his handgun at the cave. The gunman up there fired three times, fast, with his rifle, and Yancey tensed as he saw Cato’s mount go down abruptly, falling sideways and, it seemed, on top of the small gunsmith. Yancey didn’t wait to see just how badly hurt Cato was. He got to one knee, threw the Winchester butt to his shoulder and levered off four fast shots at the cave rim. That would pin down the gunman, and give Cato a chance if he was still alive.

  Cato’s mount was threshing wildly, trying to rise, but Yancey couldn’t get a clear look at Johnny. Then a bullet clipped his left ear and sent him tumbling back down the slope, blood spraying down his neck. His head rang and he knew how close he had come to death. Shaking his head and blinking, he ran in a crouch around the hump to the rocks further up the slope. He was now to one side of the cave and for the first time, he could see the bushwhacker clearly. The man was still aiming at the sand hump and Yancey knew he would never get a better shot than this. He checked his run, dropped to one knee, rested his left forearm on a rock to steady his aim, and drew a swift, deadly bead on the vague shape up there. He fired and saw Hank Boden rear upright, clawing at his head, flinging his own rifle aside. Yancey made sure and shot the man through the body and Boden pitched sideways, tumbling over his shelter and rolling and crashing down the slope. Before Boden had stopped rolling, Yancey was running across the slope, levering a fresh shell, the rifle barrel trained on Boden. But the man was dead and he looked down the slope in time to see Cato yank his trapped leg out from under his dead mount.

  “All right down there?” he called.

  Cato waved briefly, and Yancey turned and climbed up to the cave, entering warily, swiftly flattening against the wall so that he was not silhouetted against the sun. He let his eyes accustom themselves to the gloom and saw the signs of the crude camp. Something moved back in the shadows. He swung the rifle that way but eased down the hammer when he heard a man groan. Yancey went forward swiftly and knelt beside the wounded McEvoy. The man had been shot through the chest and was coughing blood. Yancey figured there was nothing he could do for him.

  “Guess Boden didn’t want to try for that free pardon, huh?” he said quietly and McEvoy looked at him wide-eyed, breathing raggedly, knowing he was dying and afraid. “Nothing I can do for you, McEvoy ... Sorry.”

  McEvoy nodded. He reached up a blood-slippery hand and grabbed at Yancey’s shirt, urging the big man to lean closer.

  Yancey put his ear almost against the bloody froth on the man’s lips.

  “Drink ... ”

  Yancey hesitated and then fetched a canteen from beside the cold campfire and put it to McEvoy’s lips. The man swallowed greedily but vomited it back a moment later.

  “Better not, Tad ... Just rest easy. Unless there’s something you want to say or want me to do for you?”

  McEvoy looked up at Yancey with pain-filled eyes but there was a tinge of gratitude in them too, and he nodded slowly, tugging feebly at Yancey’s shirt again, pulling him down close so he could hear the dying man’s words.

  ~*~

  When Yancey came down out of the cave, Cato had caught up with Yancey’s mount and also located the two horses belonging to the outlaws. He was limping.

  “Leg hurt bad?” Yancey asked, slipping and sliding down in a small landslide.

  “It’s okay ... What’s the hurry man?”

  Yancey reached the bottom and immediately caught up the reins of his mount, sheathed his rifle and swung up into the saddle. “Mount up, Johnny. We’ve got some hard riding to do.”

  “How so?” Cato asked, mounting one of the outlaws’ horses. But Yancey was already spurring away and he had to run the horse fast to get alongside. “You keepin’ it a secret?” Cato yelled against the wind as they gathered speed.

  Yancey glanced towards him. “McEvoy talked before he died ... Magnus wanted that drought relief money to frame Governor Dukes. Aimed to make out that Dukes had misappropriated the cash and staged the bank raid himself. But it backfired and now the only way Magnus can stop Dukes is to blow up his special train ... ”

  “Great Hades!” Cato breathed, and the wind whipped the words away. “Think we can catch it? Train was about ready to leave Austin when we rode out.”

  “McEvoy said they’re going to try at the trestle bridge over Halo Creek. We might just be able to head it off if we cut across country, but it’s going to kill the horses, most likely.” Cato didn’t say anything. He concentrated on riding. The parched, blazing land stretched away to infinity before them and, dancing like a mirage along the heat-quivering horizon was a very faint dark smudge that might have been the smoke-trail left by the recent passing of a train.

  ~*~

  Halo Creek had cut a hundred-foot gorge through the low range of hills and dropped down gradually to become the Alamo Falls two miles below the trestle bridge. The bridge was a great feat of engineering. Not only did it span the gorge, but it curved so that the railroad tracks were able to follo
w the face of the slope and ride high above the roaring water of the creek. Only the waters were sluggish in that time of drought and the Alamo Falls trickled rather than thundered over their rocky ledge. If the bridge had not been built in a curve, the railroad men would have had no choice but to drive a tunnel clear through the mountain.

  But the long curve of the trestle was a weakness, putting a great strain on the timbers of its structure.

  Magnus knew this and it was here that he had Hawke Venters place the dynamite. Only one span would be needed, for when it blew, the whole bridge would collapse into the gorge, spilling the governor’s special train with it. There were seven pounds of dynamite sticks roped beneath the tracks out there and Venters came walking gingerly back along the ties, paying out the long fuse. J. J. Magnus waited impatiently in the rocks beside the tracks, sweating, uncomfortable, but wanting to witness the destruction of Governor Dukes with his own eyes.

  “Hurry, man!” Magnus called. “I can hear the train!”

  The tracks were shaking slightly beneath Venters’ feet as he leaped from tie to tie, paying out more of the fuse as he worked his way off the trestle and over towards the rock where Magnus crouched. He didn’t waste time on words. As soon as he reached the rocks, he snapped a vesta into flame and touched it to the fuse. It sputtered and began to burn, hissing and sparking, a thin wisp of smoke rising.

  Magnus smiled. “Nothing can stop that dynamite blowing now ... But you make sure of the engineer just in case he spots something, Hawke.”

  Venters nodded. He knew the plan backwards. He grabbed up his rifle and climbed over the rocks to a stand he had built out of flat stones. He stood on this. It was just the right height to allow him to rest his elbows on the boulder for steadiness. Beyond, racing along the tracks towards the hidden trestle bridge, came the governor’s special train, belching smoke from its funnel stack, its two cars rocking and swaying as it sped towards the gorge around the bend.

  Venters saw the engineer at the cab window and drew his bead carefully.