Bannerman the Enforcer 18

by Kirk Hamilton

  “Jee-hosaphat!” Yancey breathed.

  Nine – Trail of the Hawk

  Special Operative Luke Loveless, Sergeant, First-class’ Texas Rangers, looked across the ledge at the big man he knew only as Banner and there was hatred in his eyes.

  “Go ahead and finish me off,” he growled as he lay there glaring. “You might as well now you’ve killed Clay and blown the whole deal.”

  Yancey squatted down, holding the Peacemaker loosely in his right hand, the papers of commission belonging to Loveless in his left. He waved the paper under Loveless’ nose. “Clayton was an undercover Ranger, too?” he asked.

  Loveless didn’t answer but his attitude and looks were sufficient for Yancey. He sighed, looking thoughtful as he pursed his lips and whistled softly.

  “What were you aiming to do from up here, Loveless?” He glanced at the ends of the long fuse where they rested, jammed between small rocks with an open tin of vestas beside them. “Blow the pass down on top of Cannon and his guns?”

  “Don’t much matter now what we aimed to do, does it?” Loveless growled. “You’ve fixed it.”

  Yancey nodded in agreement with that. “Stopping this load of guns getting through wouldn’t prevent El Halcon attacking Sonora … He’d go without the guns if he had to. It’d be a little harder for him but by all accounts he’s got plenty of cannon-fodder. The peons rally to his call whenever he makes it.”

  Loveless frowned and looked at Yancey more closely. “You know a deal about it, mister. You worked for Cannon before?” He shook his head almost immediately, answering himself. “No, we’ve been on Cannon’s trail a long time but we ain’t never come across you before, Banner. In fact, you appeared on the scene sort of out of the blue. No one had heard of you until you started notchin’ up the fast guns you shot down ...” He frowned deeper, the first glimmer of doubt beginning to show in his eyes. “Judas, don’t tell me ... don’t tell me you’re an agent too!”

  Yancey merely stared at him soberly, letting the man think about it some more, figure for himself, before coming right out and saying who he was.

  “Hell almighty!” breathed Loveless, and his face was a study in disbelief. He shook his head slowly. “You can’t be a Ranger!”

  Yancey shook his head. “Work for Governor Dukes.”

  “An Enforcer?”

  Yancey nodded slowly. “Looks like we need better cooperation between departments, I’d say. We had no notion the Rangers had a couple of undercover men in here, working on this arms deal.”

  “And we sure didn’t have any notion that the governor’s men were movin’ in on this deal! Hell, man, what a mess! Clayton dead, both of us stumblin’ about and almost blowin’ the deal completely! What we gonna do now?”

  “You’re getting out of here and going back to your Ranger captain and tell him what’s happened.”

  Loveless stiffened. “Wait a minute! We can still pull this off with a mite of reshufflin’ ... We can work on it together and—”

  He broke off as Yancey shook his head almost as soon as he started talking. Loveless frowned, jaw hard and grim.

  “You figure to take over, huh?” he asked bitterly.

  “I’d say we have priority,” Yancey told him easily. “Only the President overrules the governor of Texas and he’s already given his sanction to the assignment. We’ve got a man a lot closer to the top than I am but he needs me as back-up, so you ride out. It’ll work out okay. I’ll tell Cannon I found you and Clayton ready to blow the pass down on him and his wagons. I killed Clayton but you got away. He’ll trust me all the way, then.”

  Loveless released a long hissing breath between his teeth and nodded jerkily. “All right. You got the authority, I guess. But I’d sure like to see somethin’ in writin’.”

  Yancey looked at him levelly and then fumbled at his belt buckle, wrenching it free to reveal the secret pocket which held his commission papers.

  Behind him and below, Cannon’s wagons were coming into sight under a cloud of dust as they rolled into Jacinto Pass.

  Johnny Cato didn’t like the looks of the pass. It was too narrow and twisting for him, a fine place for ambush. He pointed this out to Cannon.

  “No choice now, Colt,” Cannon said. “If we don’t go through the pass we’ve got ourselves a hundred-mile trail around these hills. El Halcon long ago arranged with the local bandidos for our safe passage.”

  Cato frowned, looking up at the towering, narrow walls. “Wasn’t bandidos I was thinkin’ of ... How about I ride on ahead and cheek it out?”

  Cannon shrugged. “Don’t take too long ...”

  Cato started forward as Cannon called to the wagon drivers to stop. But the small agent had only ridden a few yards when he, too, stopped and whipped the Manstopper out of his holster in a fast, smooth motion. Cannon cursed and pulled his rifle from his saddle scabbard, motioning to the wide-eyed Mexicans to grab their own guns.

  A rider was coming out of the pass, leading a horse with a dead man draped across the saddle.

  Cato recognized Yancey Bannerman even from that distance: the big frame, sitting tall and relaxed in leather, rifle butt braced against his right thigh, the barrel up but pointed slightly forward where it could be brought to bear quickly with a minimum of movement.

  “That’s Banner, ain’t it?” Cannon said, squinting.

  “Yeah. And that dead man roped to the saddle looks like Clayton.”

  They waited, tensed, guns at the ready, as Yancey rode, closer and nodded to them curtly. “Howdy, gents,” he said.

  “Heard you had a mite of trouble with some Rangers back at Condor, Banner,” Cannon said and Cato glanced at him sharply. He hadn’t heard anything along these lines, so how in hell could Cannon ...? Then Cato recalled the two dirty, serape-clad peons they had ‘run’ into yesterday morning and how Cannon had ridden off a short way with them before giving them a little food and sending them on their way.

  Cato turned his attention to Yancey, who was looking soberly at Cannon. The big undercover man nodded slowly. “You could say that.” He gestured to Clayton’s body. “Had a little more trouble with him and his pard in the pass. They were aiming to blow it down on top of you.” He told them the full story, as seen through the eyes of ‘Banner’ the fugitive, and concluded with, “Figured I might as well see how much dinero Clayton was carrying after his pard got away ... Looked for a money belt, and in a secret pocket I found these ...”

  He handed over Clayton’s papers, identifying him as an undercover Ranger. The giant gun-runner snapped his head up after he had read them, handed them without comment to Cato. The small agent tensed and gave Yancey a sharp glance. Yancey kept his face deadpan.

  “So that’s why I’ve kept runnin’ into ’em from time to time,” Cannon said. “Loveless and Clayton were gettin’ evidence against me ... Aimed to stop me gettin’ these here guns through to El Halcon, I reckon, if they’d mined the pass like you say, Banner.”

  Yancey gestured to the tops of the pass walls. “Dynamite’s still in place up there if you want to climb up and take a look for yourself. I took the fuses out, is all.”

  Cannon shook his head slowly. “You done well, Banner. Lucky I gave you that rendezvous in Los Moros or you might not have headed this way.”

  “That’s it. Now I’ve got Rangers looking for me back at Condor and I’ll have a heap more after me when Loveless spreads the word I gunned down his pard. So it looks like its Mexico for me for a spell.”

  Cannon looked at him thoughtfully. “El Halcon could sure use a hombre like you, Banner. He won’t forget what you’ve done. You could make yourself a good life with him down here.”

  Yancey looked uncertain.

  “Colt’s decided to come along,” Cannon said. “He tangled with an army officer and killed him, so he sure can’t show his face north of the Rio for a spell ... I could get El Halcon to give you both a commission in his army. You could train his peons, show ’em how to use the guns properly. And the Hawk always
pays off in gold ...”

  Banner glanced at Cato. “Seems I’ve got some news to catch up on. Guess I might as well ride along for a spell and hear about it while I think things over.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Cato said, deadpan.

  “Fine with me,” Cannon agreed, and put a cold gaze on Yancey. “Just don’t take too long to make up your mind, amigo. We’re headed into territory that belongs to the Hawk and, if you ain’t with him, he figures you must be against him. And if that’s so, he won’t want you alive.”

  Yancey returned the hard gaze. “I get you, Cannon.”

  The giant nodded and sheathed his rifle, waving his wagons of firearms on. Cato and Yancey rode side by side, gradually dropping back towards the rear, while Cannon rode at the head of the column.

  “Ranger-killer, huh?” Cato said quietly out of the side of his mouth.

  “Yeah ... Soldier-slayer.”

  Cato smiled faintly. “With us for agents, the governor don’t need enemies!”

  Yancey grinned despite the grimness of the situation.

  During the course of the long trail south into Mexico, Cato and Yancey were able to spend a lot of time riding together without arousing the suspicions of Cannon. They brought each other up to date on their exploits and agreed that they were now riding the long, straight trail that would take them to the end of the assignment. Once they were inside El Halcon’s stronghold and knew its location, they would be able to do something about stopping his planned raid on Sonora.

  The conquest of Sonora would not mean that El Halcon had won the country, of course, but it would be a major coup for him and a victory would rally thousands behind him. He already had vast quantities of American firearms so there was little point in trying to prevent this final shipment reaching the Hawk. But it could be used to lead Yancey and Cato to the rebel leader’s hideout. Once there, it would be up to the undercover men to assess the situation and either try to get out with the information or to take some steps to prevent the attack.

  Either way could be deadly dangerous, if not downright suicidal ...

  But, if Cannon had ever had doubts about Yancey and Cato the giant demonstrated that they were all gone now. At the camps along the way he told the two men something of El Halcon and his cause.

  “He don’t look like a hero-man, or savior of a country,” Cannon told them as they sipped coffee laced with tequila around a campfire one night. “He ain’t any bigger than you, Colt, and a damn sight uglier.” He chuckled. “Someone sliced away most of one nostril in a knife fight, long time back and it makes him look like he’s screwin’ up his face, ready to sneeze all the time. He sniffs a lot and this makes the impression stronger. But he’s got a quick brain and he won’t speak nothin’ but Castilian Spanish. Reckons his ancestors were pure Spaniards and that he don’t have any Indian blood in him.”

  “Mine, neither,” opined Cato.

  “Well, I wouldn’t let him hear you say that,” Cannon warned. “He’s about the meanest son of a bitch I’ve ever come across ... and I’ve met some lowdown hombres in my time. Women, kids, old men, he’s killed ’em all from time to time and never missed a mouthful of chili while doin’ it ... Always got a heap of good-lookin’ women hangin’ about …”

  Cato showed more interest than ever at this and Cannon noticed and lifted a warning hand.

  “Don’t mess with his women, Colt, leastways not till he’s through with ’em and even then I’d be leery of doin’ it. He’s a vain little hombre and he likes to think that everyone of these fine-lookin’ gals prefers him to any other man within a thousand miles. Those that give him cause to think he’s wrong about ’em don’t live too long and they don’t die easy.”

  Cato shrugged. “Just that I’m kind of partial to fine-lookin’ gals.”

  “There’ll be plenty of them,” Cannon promised. “Just make sure they ain’t carryin’ El Halcon’s brand.”

  He went on to say that the Hawk’s ‘army’ at present probably numbered three hundred up here in the north of Mexico. His strategy was to capture the strongest towns in a vast sweep south towards the seat of government in Mexico City.

  “And any man smart enough to have been with him all down the line, trainin’ his men or supplyin’ them with guns, is gonna have a rosy future when the Hawk rules Mexico,” concluded Cannon. “So you’re in on the ground floor, gents, and the only way you can go is up.”

  Yancey took a glowing twig from the fire and touched it to the end of his cheroot, blowing smoke copiously.

  “Wouldn’t pin too much faith in making my fame and fortune alongside El Halcon, if I was you, Cannon,” he said, and the giant frowned. “Well, he claims to be pure Castilian, which is a mite wild to start with, so he don’t want Mexico for gringos. He wants it for the Spanish descendants of the old Conquistadores, and they’ll be the ruling class. The men he uses in his army, the Mexican peasants, they’ll still be peasants, maybe worse off than they are now ... And El Halcon will have his sights set north of the Rio, if he aims to take back all the old Spanish land, from Texas clear across to California. You’re sidin’ with a madman if you ask me, Cannon.”

  The big man looked about him swiftly and seemed relieved that the Mexican wagon drivers were out of earshot, huddled over a dice game beneath one of the wagons.

  “You’re plumb loco if you go talkin’ like that, Banner,” he said. “But, sure, El Halcon’s mad. He has to be, but that don’t mean that a smart Yankee can’t come out of it with a fortune and plenty of muscle. All he has to do is make the Hawk think he can’t do without him. And, for a man who knows the only place El Halcon can get the latest guns, and how to get ’em fast, it ought to be pretty easy.” He looked at them both and winked. “Specially if I’m backed-up by a couple of the fastest guns in the west ... You see, I’ll supply him with all the weapons he needs, when he wants ’em. But ammunition for ’em might not be so easy to come by ... Savvy?”

  “Kind of a dangerous game you’re playin’, ain’t it?” asked Cato.

  Cannon shrugged. “If I’m caught, by either side, I’ll be shot. I might as well die rich as poor. I figure it’s worth a few chances. And you two fellers can be right there alongside me. We’ll live like kings ...”

  “And die like any peasant who don’t measure up to El Halcon’s expectations,” Cato added gloomily.

  Cannon grinned crookedly. “Like I said, I’ll take that chance ... How about you?”

  Cato and Yancey made as if they were thinking it over and finally Yancey blew out a long plume of cheroot smoke and nodded slowly. “Guess I got more future down here than north of the Rio right now,” he said.

  Cannon nodded, pleased, and looked across at Cato.

  The small agent sighed and lifted his hands out from his sides. “What the hell? We all got to die sometime. And I might as well chance it while I’m in my prime and still able to make a good-looking corpse!”

  Cannon roared with laughter, happy now that he had these deadly gunhawks to back his play.

  Yancey and Cato exchanged sober glances.

  Two days later, Yancey detected signs of tension in Cannon. They were riding through rugged, harsh country, brush-choked draws and shadowy canyons, giving way gradually to desolate plains. It was a desolate land and the Mexican wagon drivers were plainly nervous, looking about constantly.

  Cato rode across and put his mount alongside Yancey’s. “Somethin’ seems to be up,” he said, plainly puzzled.

  “Yeah ... Bad country by the looks of it. Could be bandido territory.”

  “Thought El Halcon had ’em all squared away ...”

  “Not all, according to Cannon. Maybe the hombres who use this neck of the woods don’t like the Hawk. Not that I’ve seen anything moving, not even a jackrabbit.”

  “Well, some brush on top of a canyon wall was jerkin’ about a mile back,” Cato said slowly, “but I figured maybe it was a puma or some sort of animal on the prowl. Could just as easily have been a man.”

&nbs
p; Yancey nodded slowly. “Figure Cannon would’ve warned us if he was expecting trouble though. No use hiring our guns if he’s not going to tell us when to expect to use ’em.”

  Cato nodded ahead. “Maybe he figures it’s time to do just that.”

  Yancey glanced ahead and saw Cannon riding back towards them and the wagons, moving fast, shouting something, but they couldn’t make out the words because of the wind howling mournfully through the nearby canyons and whining through the leafless brush. But the Mexican wagon drivers whipped up their teams and the horses slammed against the traces, breaking into a run. By the time Cannon had reached Cato and Yancey, the two agents had their rifles in their hands.

  “Looks like bandits!” Cannon panted, his own rifle sliding out of the scabbard now. “Should’ve warned you fellers earlier. We’ve always had a mite of trouble gettin’ this hombre from around here to come into line. Figured this time he was goin’ to let us through without much trouble as he took the Hawk’s gold a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Guess he figures the guns are worth more to him,” Yancey opined, standing in his stirrups and looking past Cannon’s massive shoulders. He could see a line of a half-dozen men strung out across the mouth of the canyon, maybe a half mile ahead. Even from here he could see the crossed ammunition belts on their chests and the wide, woven straw sombreros of the peon bandista. “What’s he call himself?”

  “The Cat ... This is puma country—and he’s one tough hombre.”

  Yancey nodded slowly. “I guess I’ve heard of him.”

  “And you’re about to hear of him again,” Cato said, pointing.

  Yancey and Cannon looked around and the six men were already riding towards the three wagons which were strung out in a ragged line now. Another half-dozen bandits were sweeping in from behind and to the right. They were yelling and firing their guns into the air, panicking the already terrified drivers.