Bannerman the Enforcer 17

by Kirk Hamilton

  “His men must be getting aboard right now!” Yancey yelled. “Who’s gonna stop ’em if we don’t?”

  The sergeant cursed and then threw open the door and shoved Yancey out onto the platform. He turned and yelled at one of his men, “Close it behind us and don’t open it again. Not for anything!”

  The soldier nodded and Chuck licked his lips, crouching down with Little Flower and Red Dog as the door clanged shut and the bolts were shot home.

  Yancey and Sergeant Flack went to opposite sides of the platform, leaning out. Yancey spotted a horseman running his mount alongside the now speeding train and he snapped a shot at the man as he leaned from the saddle to grasp a grab-rail. The bullet missed but it threw the man off balance and his fingers slipped from the rail. Swaying, he couldn’t get back into the saddle and fell, screaming, between his thundering horse and the wheels of the train.

  The Gatling gun hammered and Yancey slammed back against the wall as lead chewed at the corner of the express van, showering him with splinters. He crouched and triggered at the careering wagon. He saw his lead clip the heavy wooden shield around the gun and then shifted aim, drawing a bead on Grizzly. The gun bucked as he held it with both hands, resting them on the platform rail. He fired twice and Grizzly jerked with the striking lead, stood up and turned to look towards the train, teeth bared in savage anger. He dropped the reins and the horses ran on for a while before slowing. Grizzly swayed and Yancey saw the blood running down his face as he stepped clear off the still-moving wagon and crashed solidly to the ground. He started to get to his feet but was cut down by a hail of lead from the express van. There was shooting from the passenger cars now too, as the men got their wits about them and joined in the defense of the train which was slowing a little as it went towards the top of the grade in reverse. The outlaws knew they had to get a foothold before it reached the top, for then it would be on the down grade and would gather speed and outdistance them.

  Edge left the Gatling gun and jumped into the driver’s seat of the wagon, whipping the team into action again and running in alongside the train. A rider veered away from the train towards him and ran his mount alongside. Yancey recognized Jethro Kidd and fired his last shots at him, and missed. He started to reload. Sergeant Flack’s carbine was hammering down his side of the train and Yancey looked out and saw an outlaw clambering up a ladder on a passenger car, blown clear to crash to the ground beside the tracks.

  Edge and Kidd changed places expertly in the wagon and Edge went to the Gatling gun again, started cranking, and raked the train indiscriminately with the heavy bullets. Then the crank seemed to jam and the barrels refused to turn and he couldn’t get it to fire. Savagely, almost berserk with fury at the failure of the raid so far, he hammered and kicked at the big gun, then, screaming, grabbed Kidd and pointed in towards the train.

  Kidd edged the wagon in alongside and Yancey looked up at a noise above him and saw an outlaw, a Mexican, crouched on the car roof, drawing a bead. Yancey dropped down and triggered all in one motion. His lead tore up through the flimsy roof-overhang and the Mexican yelled, reared upright for a moment before toppling over the side. When Yancey spun back to look for Edge and Kidd, he saw the wagon veering away from the train with only Kidd in the driving seat. Then a heavy boot slammed into his face as Edge swung onto the platform from the side of the express van. Yancey went down, dazed, and Edge leapt across him, slugging at Sergeant Flack with his gun. The army man had half-turned but was not fast enough to dodge the blow with the gun and it took him across the forehead. He sagged and Edge grabbed his legs swiftly and tipped him off the train. He spun back towards Yancey and the big man lashed out with his boots, taking Edge just above the knee.

  The outlaw’s leg buckled and his shot went wild. Yancey made a lunge for his own gun where it had fallen on the platform and Edge fired again. His lead burned across Yancey’s hand and the governor’s agent whipped the hand back, rolled onto his back, and kicked upwards with his feet together. His boots hit Edge’s gun hand and sent the Colt flying. Yancey bounded upright and slammed his shoulder into Edge, driving fists into his belly in a savage barrage.

  Edge back-pedaled, his back slamming into the low platform rail. He lifted his legs instantly and caught Yancey as the big man surged forward, fists ready. Yancey gagged as the boots’ high heels rammed into his stomach and he spun against the van door. Edge fought for balance on the rail, dropped his boots to the floor and heaved forward as Yancey cannoned off the wall, still winded. Edge struck with lightning speed, both arms working like pistons, using his body weight to force Yancey back against the door again. Yancey’s boots skidded on the metal floor-plate and he went down to one knee. Edge rammed a knee into his face and Yancey’s head rapped the heavy van door hard.

  He was dazed and slipped down onto his backside. Edge kicked him in the chest and then stooped almost casually to scoop up Yancey’s Colt, baring his teeth as he notched back the hammer and drew a deliberate bead on Yancey’s head.

  Yancey didn’t hear the shot but he saw Edge lifted off his feet, his face sagging in surprise and pain. Then a second bullet took the outlaw chief and spun him against the rail. Yancey lunged across the platform, slamming his fist down on Edge’s gun hand and knocking his Colt loose. The gun exploded into the floor and, beyond Edge’s sagging body, Yancey saw Johnny Cato riding at speed, a smoking gun in his hand. Cato lifted the gun in brief salute and swung away as Jake Edge toppled over the rail and his body thudded to the ground beside the tracks, flopping and tumbling lifelessly.

  Yancey scooped up his Colt and saw Cato running his mount alongside the rear of the wagon holding the Gatling gun. Kidd was still at the reins, pacing the train but slowly losing ground now as the train gathered speed. Cato leaped into the back of the flatbed and Kidd turned, startled to see his old enemy. He put the reins in his left hand and dragged at the Manstopper with his right.

  Cato went sprawling in the wagon and he lost the six-gun he had taken from Glass. He jumped for the Gatling gun as Kidd hipped and triggered wildly. The lead whined off the big brass breechblock cover and Cato, crouching, spun the wheel on the oscillator and swung the barrels to the front. Kidd went white and jumped from the driving seat. The wagon careered on driverless and Cato spun the gun’s barrels again, working the crank. It was jammed.

  Kidd rolled to a stop after his leap and tried to catch the horse Cato had been riding, but it swerved away. Then he turned and snapped off the shot-shell in the Manstopper but he was too quick and the charge of buckshot clattered harmlessly against the Gatling gun’s wooden shield.

  Cato pulled the crank off the side of the gun as the wagon slowed, and fitted it onto the main crankshaft protruding from the end of the Gatling. He spun the oscillator again and as the barrels came around in a short arc, he worked the handle. This direct drive almost doubled the Gatling’s firepower and he saw a near-continuous line of dust spouts streaking towards Kidd who had given up trying to catch the horse now and was just turning to run. The line of dust spouts ran right up to Kidd and then they stopped as Kidd’s body was flung into the air as if kicked by a horse. Cato stopped working the handle and went forward to pick up the trailing reins of the wagon horses and haul back on them. There was no need to look at Kidd twice after being hit by a charge from the Gatling gun ...

  Dead men were strung out along the track for a quarter of a mile, the distance the chase had lasted from the top of the rise when the train had been really going fast in reverse. Two of the bodies were those of Sergeant Flack and a civilian passenger who had done his part in fighting off the outlaws.

  The locomotive panted hollowly as it came to a halt and Yancey grinned as Cato climbed up onto the platform outside the express car.

  “You’ve got the damnedest trick of being in the right place at the right time,” Yancey said.

  “You complaining?” Cato said with a faint grin.

  “Not me,” said Yancey and turned as the express car door opened slowly and a soldier
stepped out with a Wells Fargo guard at his side, both armed with sawn-off shotguns. They looked at Yancey and Cato and, satisfied that the outlaws’ attempt at robbery had failed, they nodded and stepped aside. Red Dog and Little Flower came out and the chief spoke swiftly, looking at Yancey who, in turn, glanced quizzically at the girl.

  “My father said he is impressed with the way your people fought to protect him,” she told Yancey soberly. “In gratitude, he will agree to whatever proposals your governor makes.”

  “Well, that’s fine, ma’am. Tell him that—”

  “Tell him what, Mr. Bannerman?” she cut in sharply. “That you were really only protecting the gold? That his life was of secondary consideration ...?”

  Yancey frowned, caught briefly off-guard.

  “I heard your sergeant tell you to get that ‘goddamn Indian’ out of the way, Mr. Bannerman!” She was tight-lipped and obviously angry.

  “The sergeant’s job was to protect the gold, ma’am,” Yancey said tautly, realizing that this girl held the power now to set the whole of southwest Texas aflame if she chose. “Mine was to guard you and your father. All I can do is point out that you’re both not only alive, but without a scratch. It’s up to you what you tell the chief—”

  Little Flower looked at Yancey very steadily and Red Dog, frowning, snapped a question at her. She replied briefly and then turned back into the van.

  The chief of the Kiowas looked hard at Yancey and then followed his daughter into the van.

  “Your troubles ain’t over yet, old pard,” Cato said quietly, but unnecessarily.

  Capitol Hill was ablaze with lights and the lawns were hung with paper lanterns as guests strolled in the grounds, awaiting the summons to the dinner inside that Governor Dukes was giving in honor of Red Dog and Little Flower.

  Yancey Bannerman, uncomfortable in broadcloth suit, white silk shirt and black string tie, offered his arm to Kate Dukes and they strolled out onto the flagged patio overlooking the lawns where most of the guests mingled.

  “As father said, Yancey, ‘a battle well fought and a job well done’,” Kate said smiling. She squeezed his arm. “It’s good to have you back.”

  “Was a bit chancy there for a spell ... But the ‘job well done’ part was nothing more than a piece of luck.”

  She frowned, shaking her head slowly. “I can’t believe that.”

  “It’s gospel, Kate. If Little Flower had told Red Dog what Sergeant Flack said, we wouldn’t be celebrating a treaty, we’d be preparing for war.”

  “She’s a very intelligent girl, Yancey. She knows what’s best for her people.” She gave Yancey a smile. “I—ah—sort of spoke with her about it just after you arrived and told me what Flack had said.”

  Yancey nodded. “The woman’s touch? Well, as I always say—”

  He stopped. His father, with Chuck beside him, was standing only feet away. They had stepped out of the shadows onto the flagged area. It was the first time Yancey had seen his father in more than six months.

  “Evening, Miss Dukes,” old Curtis Bannerman said, bowing deeply from the waist. “A pleasure to see you again. I’ll allow that you’re more handsome than ever!”

  Kate exchanged pleasantries with C.B. and Chuck, who moved uneasily as the old man continued to ignore Yancey. But Yancey didn’t intend to let it go on much longer.

  “You’re looking well, Pa,” he said at last, breaking in on some inconsequential remark of C.B.’s. “You should get out onto the frontier more often, leave some of the paperwork to the people who work for you in ’Frisco.”

  C.B. turned stiffly towards Yancey, looking at him coldly and Yancey felt the old barriers rise between them. Nothing had changed, it seemed. Nothing ...

  “Obviously your interests do not lie in San Francisco,” C.B. said tartly. “Not even in your own family’s affairs.”

  Yancey arched his eyebrows. “When I came west in the first place, Pa, you told me the family business was barred to me from the moment I walked out your door.”

  Chuck cleared his throat but C.B. merely glared at Yancey before saying, “You still have family loyalties, surely. You could have advised me of the availability of land in the southwest and that Governor Dukes was considering a treaty that would allow those parts to be thrown open to settlement! A simple telegraph was all it needed! Indeed, Chuck had to learn of it by other means ...”

  Yancey stiffened, starting to bristle. “My loyalties are to Governor Dukes. You’ll never be able to use my association with him to put more dollars in your pocket!”

  “A typical reply!” snorted C.B. “Just about what I would have expected from you. You’re still an irresponsible young whelp!”

  Kate sighed and she and Chuck moved back along the patio as Yancey fended off C.B.’s insults.

  “Do you think they’ll ever be friends, Chuck?” Kate asked.

  “Doubt it,” Chuck said. “They’re two of a kind. Neither one realizes just how much alike they are.”

  Kate nodded in agreement. It was true enough. They were two tough, stubborn men, neither of whom would be the first to proffer a hand in friendship to the other.

  Later, she smiled faintly to herself when Yancey was introduced to a senator from the east and the man asked:

  “Any relation to the San Francisco Bannermans?”

  And Yancey had replied, offhandedly, but with a hint of pride he couldn’t disguise, “Yes, sir. My father is Curtis Bannerman.”

  Still later, Kate overheard a group of businessmen praising the treaty and its land-boom implications. Old C.B. lit a cigar and cleared his throat before saying, in exactly the same sort of tone Yancey had used to the eastern senator:

  “My youngest son was instrumental in bringing it about.” Maybe they would never openly declare their affection for each other, but it was there just the same. Affection and respect.

  BANNERMAN 17: TALL MAN’S MISSION

  By Kirk Hamilton

  First Published by The Cleveland Publishing Pty Ltd

  Copyright © Cleveland Publishing Co. Pty Ltd, New South Wales, Australia

  First Smashwords Edition: April 2018

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with The Cleveland Publishing Pty Ltd.

  About the Author

  Keith Hetherington

  aka Kirk Hamilton, Brett Waring and Hank J. Kirby

  Australian writer Keith has worked as television scriptwriter on such Australian TV shows as Homicide, Matlock Police, Division 4, Solo One, The Box, The Spoiler and Chopper Squad.

  “I always liked writing little vignettes, trying to describe the action sequences I saw in a film or the Saturday Afternoon Serial at local cinemas,” remembers Keith Hetherington, better-known to Piccadilly Publishing readers as Hank J. Kirby, author of the Bronco Madigan series.

  Keith went on to pen hundreds of westerns (the figure varies between 600 and 1000) under the names Kirk Hamilton (including the legendary Bannerman the Enforcer series) and Clay Nash as Brett Waring. Keith also worked as a journalist for the Queensland Health Education Council, writing weekly articles for newspapers on health subjects and radio plays dramatizing same.

  More on Keith Hetherington

  The Bannerman Series by Kirk Hamilton

  The Enforcer

  Ride the Lawless Land

  Guns of Texas

  A Gun for the Governor

  Rogue Gun

  Trail Wolves


  Dead Shot

  A Man Called Sundance

  Mad Dog Hallam

  Shadow Mesa

  Day of the Wolf

  Tejano

  The Guilty Guns

  The Toughest Man in Texas

  Manstopper

  The Guns That Never Were

  Tall Man’s Mission

  … And more to come every month!

  But the adventure doesn’t end here …

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  The Adventures continue…

  The Home of Great Western Fiction!

  More on Kirk Hamilton

  i A story told in Ride the Lawless Land

  ii As told in The Enforcer

  iii Again, as told in The Enforcer