Bannerman the Enforcer 44

by Kirk Hamilton

  His bloody face wild and frightening, Yancey turned to the others, his fists pumping. They backed off, terrified of this iron man who could still fight after the terrible beating he’d taken.

  Yancey put out a hand to lean against a rock, his fury spent. He let his head hang while he controlled his breathing. When he looked up his eyes were cold.

  “I don’t aim to bust my hands on scum like you,” he said. “Shuck your gun belts, all of you. Then take off your boots.”

  “You heard!” Benbow snapped.

  The men, staring at Yancey, dropped their gun belts and removed their boots.

  Yancey nodded. “Now your clothes. Move!”

  In a few minutes the men were naked.

  “Strip Barnes,” Yancey ordered.

  When it was done, the Enforcer dabbed at his swollen mouth with a kerchief and gestured at the still unconscious ramrod, now spread-eagled naked in the dirt.

  “Pick him up and take him back to King. Tell King that the next time he sends men after me, I’ll kill every one of them. Now vamoose!”

  Yancey picked up one of the discarded six-guns and drove four shots into the ground near the closest bare feet.

  Stepping gingerly on the rocks, King’s men left the dry wash, carrying Barnes and the body of the man Benbow had killed. Yancey grinned as he looked up.

  “Thanks, Will. But King’s really going to be after your hide now.”

  Benbow smiled. “It’s worth it. Man, I never saw anything like that! Look at ’em hop! Like a bunch of frogs on hot coals!”

  His derisive laughter drifted out of the dry wash and reached the ears of the naked cowhands.

  “Will Benbow again!” Nathan King said savagely.

  He heaved out of his chair. Unable to contain his angry energy, he paced across the room in the big ranch house. Suddenly he spun around to stare back at his battered foreman, no sign of sympathy in his face. Barnes could hardly speak intelligibly; his jaw was so swollen and sore that he had to force words out.

  “You were a damn fool jumpin’ him so close to Benbow’s spread!” King snapped.

  “Figured the wash was the best place,” mumbled Barnes, wincing at the pain the effort of speaking cost him. “We had Bannerman! We had him cold!”

  “But you let Benbow get on top of you!” snarled King. He sucked in a deep breath. “All right. I’ve been thinkin’ some, makin’ plans in case this didn’t work.”

  He gave Barnes a cold look and walked to the sideboard where he splashed two shots of whisky into glasses. He picked up his own drink and went back to his chair, gesturing at the other drink. Barnes shuffled across the room to get the whisky.

  King hooked down the shot and rolled his empty glass between gnarled fingers. “Way I see it, we got two big thorns in our sides, Benbow and Bannerman. Cannon and Lincoln we can handle any time. Benbow’s shaped up a lot tougher than I expected, I don’t mind admittin’, but there are ways of cuttin’ him down to size. I got one way all figured out. And there’s also a way of gettin’ at Bannerman, I just found out, a way that don’t have to involve us at all, so Governor Dukes could hold any kind of investigation he likes and he’ll never be able to tie us in to Bannerman’s death.”

  “I sure hope I can be around to see Bannerman get his,” Barnes said between his teeth.

  King smiled faintly. “Don’t see why not. First, though, I want you to ride down to the telegraph station at Lowrey Creek and send off a wire for me.”

  He handed Barnes a piece of paper and the ramrod frowned. “Why the hell go all the way to Lowrey Creek? There’s a telegraph office in Calico Wells and it’s not half as far.”

  King gestured impatiently at the piece of paper. “We don’t want to get tied into that message in any way,” he growled.

  Barnes glanced at the message scrawled in thick, smeary lead pencil. He stiffened and snapped his head up, staring at King. “Who’s this hombre?”

  King looked smug. “Had a cattle buyer through here this mornin’ while you was on the range. We got talkin’. I told him about Cannon and Lincoln sendin’ for a gunfighter and so on.” He nodded at the piece of paper. “He gave me that bit of info. Now do you see what I mean when I say we can take care of Bannerman without gettin’ involved?”

  Barnes moved his lips a little and the rancher guessed it was as close to a smile as Barnes could manage.

  “I see all right,” the ramrod said.

  “Then get that message off. When you come back we’ll set things up so’s Will Benbow gets taken care of, too.” King rolled the glass between his fingers again. “I reckon that by the end of this week I’ll have this valley and Calico Wells right where I want ’em!”

  Six – Backfire

  It seemed to Yancey Bannerman that he had a couple of broken ribs. After the beating he had taken in the draw, this was no surprise. He had gone back to Benbow’s place after driving the King men off naked and barefoot. He and Benbow had taken the men’s horses with them, turning them loose after sundown. The animals would find their way down the valley to their home on the King Ranch during the night.

  A concerned Mary Benbow doctored Yancey’s wounds as best she could. After supper he turned in, sleeping on the floor in the parlor as there wasn’t a spare room or even an extra bed. It suited him fine with the Indian rug from the wall draped over him.

  But when he awakened he felt the full soreness and stiffness of his injuries. He was barely able to roll over on his right side and then, by degrees, gradually push and strain to a sitting position. Every time he took a deep breath it felt like a knife blade was driving into him.

  He had suffered broken ribs before and recognized the feeling. He pulled up his shirt and examined the skin over his rib cage; it was red and purple, raw. He pressed his fingers there and a groan ripped from his lips.

  Yancey snapped his head up and saw Mary Benbow standing in the doorway, a knitted shawl around her shoulders against the morning chill. She looked worried.

  “What is it, Mr. Bannerman?”

  “Reckon I’ve got a couple of busted ribs, ma’am. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t. Will’s been up for hours, doing some chores. Would you like some breakfast?”

  “I reckon I’ve been enough trouble already.”

  “Nonsense. I have pork and beans ready to heat and Will has brought in a basket of fresh eggs. I could fry a couple for you.”

  Yancey grinned. “That I can’t resist, ma’am. Much obliged.”

  Yancey started to climb to his feet and jerked back in pain, gasping. Mary hurried forward and took his arm to help him up. When he was standing, doubled over, her gentle fingers probed the sore area. He sucked in a sharp breath and grimaced.

  “Yes, I’m afraid you could be right, Mr. Bannerman. It seems that at least one rib may be broken. Will can take you in to see Doctor Stedman after you’ve eaten.”

  “I can ride in, ma’am. No need for Will to leave you.”

  She smiled. “I can assure you that you’ll be much more comfortable lying in the buckboard than you would be sitting a saddle.”

  Yancey’s protests were to no avail. After he had eaten the generous breakfast Mary cooked for him, Will Benbow came into the kitchen and announced that the buckboard was hitched up and ready to go, with Yancey’s hired mount tied to the tailgate.

  “We’ve put a couple of old deer hides in the tray,” Will added. “Mary’s got harness straps rigged up to buckle round you so’s you don’t get jolted all over the place.”

  Yancey raised his eyebrows at that.

  “A broken rib can easily puncture a lung, Mr. Bannerman,” Mary told him.

  Yancey glanced at Will. “As long as my shooting hand is left free.”

  Mary and Will had to help Yancey up to the buckboard. He was glad to feel the straps around his body, holding him close against the buckboard wall.

  “Be back by sunset,” Will said, kissing Mary. Then he patted her swollen abdomen. “And don’t you get any ideas
about puttin’ in an appearance just yet, you hear?”

  Mary flushed, then kissed her husband and watched him climb into the driving seat. She waved farewell to the prone Yancey as Will drove the buckboard slowly out of the yard.

  Mary watched the vehicle climb the hogback rise and roll out of sight, then she turned back to the cabin. There was some weaving and spinning she planned to get done today.

  “Well, you’re lucky, young feller,” announced Doc Stedman as he straightened after examining Yancey on the couch in his office. “One rib’s so close to busted that I guess it don’t matter. Two others are at least badly bruised. I’ll make you a plaster-of-Paris cast. You’ll need to wear it for a couple of weeks to give the bones a chance to heal.”

  Yancey raised his head but the medic gently pushed him back.

  “Stay put.”

  “That plaster won’t inhibit my movement any, will it, Doc?” Yancey asked, still breathless because of the pain from the probing of his ribs. “I might have to—”

  “You’ll still be able to get your gun out in a hurry,” the sawbones said as he pumped water into a large enamel bowl preparatory to mixing the powdered plaster for the cast.

  Yancey lay still, trying to breathe shallowly to minimize the pain.

  “I’ll plaster and bandage you pretty tight,” the medico said.

  Yancey nodded: it hurt even to speak.

  “After it’s on you won’t be able to move for twenty minutes to half an hour,” Stedman went on, rolling up his sleeves and picking up the bag of powder. “It’s important that you stay perfectly still so the plaster can mold itself to your rib cage. If you go jumping about I’ll have to cut the stuff away and start all over again. That’ll make me real mad and I won’t be near as gentle the second time. Savvy?”

  The Enforcer smiled. “I get you, Doc.”

  “Fine.”

  The medico began to mix the plaster in the enamel dish.

  He had just finished smoothing the third layer of plaster around Yancey when the door opened and Will Benbow entered, carrying his shotgun, which was fast becoming a sort of personal trademark. The doctor, white with powder to the elbows, looked up irritably.

  “Can’t you knock, Will, damn it!”

  “Sorry, Doc, no time.” Will stepped past the doctor to look down at the prone Yancey. “Yance, three strangers are ridin’ up the street. They’ve got a look about ’em. Seem mighty like hard cases to me.”

  Yancey started to roll off the couch.

  “Goddamnit!” shouted Stedman. “Didn’t I just tell you to be still?”

  Yancey clutched his partly plastered side and limped to the window to peer into the haze of the sunlit street.

  “By hell, Bannerman—”

  “Hush up, Doc,” Yancey said, wincing as he looked at the three horsemen coming slowly up Main Street. They looked prosperous enough. Two were dressed in hip-length jackets and the other wore whipcord trousers and a leather vest. Their horses were rangy, bred for speed and stamina. One man had a dark handlebar moustache, but the others were clean-shaven. As Will Benbow had said, all had the look of hardcases.

  “Know ’em?” Benbow asked as the men stopped their mounts at the hitchrail outside the Calico Gal.

  “I know the one with the moustache,” gritted Yancey, ignoring the mutterings of the medical man behind him as Stedman prepared to make a second mix of plaster. “He’s Nick Ralls, a mighty slippery customer whose specialty is bank robbin’.”

  “Hell almighty!” Benbow breathed, taking out his pocket watch. “Bank opens in five minutes. You don’t think—”

  “Could be,” Yancey said. “They dismounted outside the saloon right next door to the bank. And look—they just rested the reins on the rail—they haven’t tied ’em. Yeah, it could be that they’re gonna hit the bank, Will.”

  “Look at the one in gray,” Benbow said. “He used the flap of his jacket to cover the six-gun he eased out of leather. I better get over there!”

  Yancey grabbed Benbow’s wrist. “Hold on, Will. You can’t take ’em on alone!”

  “I’ll do it from inside,” Benbow said, “I’ll go into the bank the back way and I’ll be waitin’ in there if they try anythin’.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Yancey snatched at the windowsill, gagging, then he stumbled. Doc Stedman caught him, messy hands and all, and eased the protesting Enforcer back onto the couch as Benbow disappeared out the door. Yancey fought back feebly before going into a coughing fit that left him pale and sweating.

  “Doc, I can’t let him tackle those three by himself!”

  “You can and you will,” Stedman said firmly, testing the bandages and plaster encircling the lower part of Yancey’s ribs. “Ya’ can’t go more than a few steps without being stopped dead by pain. You’ll be better off when you get this plaster brace all set around you, but that won’t be till you learn how to stay still, damn it!”

  Yancey sighed and nodded. “Can you do it with me sittin’ up? I want to see ...” He gestured at the window.

  “Goddamn stubborn Texans!” muttered the medico, but he arranged the padded flap on the rear of the couch so Yancey could sit up.

  “Luckily,” Stedman told the Enforcer, “the plaster is still hard against your ribs so I won’t need to start again. But, by Godfrey, if you move before I say so I swear I’ll bust a few more ribs for you.”

  “Sure,” Yancey said as he looked out the window, tensed, his fists clenched in frustration as he watched the three strangers look around them as they crossed the street and started up the bank steps. The man in the gray jacket pulled out a watch, checked it and nodded to the man Yancey knew as Ralls.

  Ralls and the man in the dark jacket drew their guns and said something to a few men standing nearby. The townsmen turned and began to run down the street.

  Yancey’s teeth were clenched. He hardly noticed the pain as Stedman continued to wind on bandages and smear on plaster. He wondered if Benbow had been able to get into position.

  Then the double doors of the bank opened and the three men rushed towards them. The startled bank clerk took one look at the hardcases and slammed the doors closed again just as the men reached them. They flung themselves against the heavy panels but apparently the clerk had managed to shoot home the bolts. Yancey swore. The clerk had probably spoiled things for Benbow if the young sheriff was waiting inside for the bandits to charge in. There had probably been no time to warn the bank staff.

  Ralls fired his six-gun at the lock and raised a boot to kick the door in.

  Then Yancey heard a roar that sounded like a clap of thunder and suddenly a fist-sized hole appeared in the door panel. Ralls spun around, his left arm dangling from his shoulder by shreds of flesh and muscle. There was a second thunder-clap and another large chunk of wood erupted from the doors. The man in the dark jacket backed away, almost falling down the steps. The man in gray leapt down the steps, abandoning Ralls who was down on his knees, his right hand clutching his ruined left arm.

  The doors opened and Will Benbow charged out of the bank. The man in gray turned and fired three shots, the bullets sending splinters and brick dust flying around Benbow. The young lawman dropped to one knee and his six-gun bucked.

  The bandit stumbled, fell, pushed himself up and then, holding his left side, tried to reach his mount. Benbow fired again. The man went down in a heap in the middle of the street.

  Doc Stedman stood beside Yancey at the window now, his hands thick with plaster. He swore as he turned to wash his hands.

  “Don’t you dare move!” he yelled at Yancey as the Enforcer started to swing his legs down. “By hell, you stay right where you are. Benbow’s on the way over with the wounded man.”

  Yancey remained seated and moments later Benbow pushed the sobbing, gray-faced Ralls into the room. The medico sat the outlaw down and began to work on his arm. Benbow, his hands shaking a little, nodded tightly to the Enforcer. Ralls rolled his head in agony and Stedman gave him a mix
ture to kill the pain while he worked. The robber’s gaze went to Yancey and he gave a start.

  The Enforcer, smiling thinly, nodded to Ralls. “That one sure backfired on you, didn’t it, Nick?”

  Ralls swayed, his body jerking as the doctor worked. “Bannerman, are you in on this ... deal?”

  Yancey and Benbow exchanged a glance. “What deal?”

  Ralls groaned in pain. “Doc, you gonna save the arm ... for me?”

  “Be still and I might be able to tell you,” Stedman grunted.

  “Why’d you try to hit the bank, Nick?” Yancey asked. “It hasn’t got much money in it this time of the year.”

  Ralls licked at his lips, but didn’t answer.

  Stedman stood back, shaking his head. “It’ll have to come off. I can’t save it.”

  Ralls sobbed. “Judas, Doc, no! You—you ain’t gonna carve me up!” He tried to stand but was too weak.

  Stedman shook his head soberly, glanced at Benbow. “I’ll need a hand to hold him down, Will. You can help too Bannerman. That plaster’ll be set by the time I’m ready.”

  “No!” Ralls screamed.

  “I’ll get some whisky,” Stedman said. “Be best if he’s in a drunken stupor.” He left the room.

  Yancey looked into the outlaw’s frightened eyes. “We could see you don’t get any pain killer at all, Nick.”

  Ralls’ eyes bulged. “You couldn’t do that! The sawbones wouldn’t let you!”

  “I’m in charge here,” Yancey snapped. “The doc’ll do exactly what I say. Have you got something to tell me, Nick?”

  Ralls let out his breath. There was no fight left in him. “King sent for us,” he muttered. “Those other fellers were Trace Killen and Drag Whorfe.”

  At Benbow’s questioning look, Yancey said, “Gun-slingers. Killers.”

  “He said to hit the bank,” Ralls went on. “We could keep whatever money we got, but he wanted us to make sure we nailed the sheriff. We told some townspeople outside the bank to go tell the sheriff we were robbin’ it. King was gonna pay us five thousand.”