He was concentrating on the big drunken ex-sheriff. Venters shuffled his feet and caught Cato’s attention. Hunnicutt knew he would never have a better chance. He slammed the door violently and Yancey seeing it closing out of the corner of his eyes, jumped back. But the door caught his Colt and knocked it from his hand. Cato spun back and Venters and the others surged forward, overwhelming the smaller Enforcer before he could cock the hammer on the Manstopper. It fell to the floor and fists thudded into Cato, the weight of the men driving them back against the stone wall.
Yancey grabbed the bars of the unlocked cell door and, as Hunnicutt moved in with fists cocked, heaved it open with all his strength. The sheriff tried to dodge and yelled when he saw he couldn’t make it, throwing up an arm protectively.
It did no good. The heavy iron door smashed his guard aside and slammed into him, catching him on the forehead. He went down groaning and bleeding and Yancey stretched him out with a kick to the head, dodged Venters’ sledging fist and came up inside the man’s guard, butting him in the face with the top of his head.
Venters staggered back, blood spurting from his nose. Yancey took a blow on the ear, another on the neck. He gagged, hooked back instinctively with an elbow and felt someone’s ribs crack. A man sobbed in agony and he saw a cowboy sagging against the passage wall, hugging his midriff. Yancey’s legs were kicked from under him and he fell heavily, but rolled, protecting his head with his arms. There wasn’t much room but he kept moving, squirming, rolling, kicking and punching, trying to get to his knees. He knew if he lay still they would stomp on him and leave him a battered and bleeding wreck.
His very persistence enabled him to break free and he suddenly surged to his feet, striking out left and right. His knuckles crushed lips against teeth on one side, bounced off a hard skull the other. Then his vision cleared and he saw Venters coming in with head lowered.
Yancey dodged, grabbed the man’s trousers’ belt and heaved him forward into the stone wall, using his own momentum. The rancher hit hard and gave a sick moan as he clawed feebly at the wall and then slid down, his face scraping on the stonework.
The big Enforcer, bleeding, panting, sweating, turned to meet the next attacker and saw beyond the man’s hunched shoulders, Cato and a cowboy standing toe-to-toe slugging it out furiously. Then Yancey caught a fist on the jaw and his head snapped around and he brought up an arm to parry the second punch, kicked his man in the shins and, when the man doubled, snapped a knee into his face.
He heaved the sagging man aside and dived to help Cato who now had two men hammering at him against the wall. Yancey grabbed them by the necks and smashed their heads together. They swayed drunkenly and Cato pushed off the wall, hit one flush on the jaw and sank his fist into the other’s midriff. They both sagged to the floor.
The Enforcers looked at the heap of bloody, moaning men in the passage and, wiping blood from their own faces, stepped over them, opened the cell door and picked up their guns. Yancey had to put his weight behind the door to move it as Hunnicutt and Venters both leaned against it, semi-conscious.
He stepped inside the cell, followed by a panting Cato and motioned for the smaller Enforcer to grab Early’s bare feet. The big man stank and seemed to weigh a ton.
They lifted him off the bunk and staggered out into the passage with him, stumbling their way past the battered cowmen. Out on the porch they glanced at their saddle rigs and war bags and decided they simply couldn’t manage them and Big John Early, too.
The drunken man moaned and made some strange, harsh noises in his throat. One eye flickered briefly and blearily open and then closed again.
“Where in hell we gonna take him?” panted Cato as folk stopped to stare. “What we gonna do with the big sonuver now we got him out, for hell sakes?”
It had Yancey beat, too, and they stood there on the porch, battered, bleeding, sweating, panting, holding the sagging body of Big John Early between them, wondering what the hell their next move was going to be.
Six – Find the Truth
A rotund little man with a red face and silver-gray mutton chop sideburns came puffing along the boardwalk and stopped in front of the law office. He nodded to the two Enforcers and removed his flat-crowned hat to mop at his balding head.
“Gentlemen, you may not recall me as it was dark last time we met out on the edge of town after a shooting incident some weeks ago, but I am Doctor Bartholomew—‘Old Doc Bart’ as I am locally known. I recollect you two gentlemen as being the Governor’s Enforcers and also friends of Big John’s.” He gestured unnecessarily to the big man sagging between the Enforcers.
“Hell, Doc, if you’ve got somethin’ to say, get on with it, huh?” said Cato. “He’s gettin’ mighty damn’ heavy an’ we got no place to set him down.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” the medic said. “You can bring him across to my office. I think it would be the best possible place.”
“Anywhere!” Cato breathed. “Come on Yance! Move! My spine’s creakin’!”
Yancey nodded and they followed the fat little doctor around the perimeter of the plaza to a side street a half block away before turning into a gate leading to the small front yard of a log-fronted house.
The doctor showed them into his office and indicated to put Big John down on the bed in a small room attached. The medic wrinkled his nose.
“I’ve smelled sweeter, I reckon,” he said, and stooped over Early, rolling back an eyelid and examining his eyes with a small mirror reflecting sunlight coming through the window. He did the same to the other eye and Early grunted, rolled his head irritably, muttered something unintelligible. “Well, he’s out to it and likely to stay that way for a spell, though, there’s no telling for sure with a man like Big John Early.”
“Will he be all right, doc?” Yancey asked.
“In time, I guess. But it’ll kill him if they keep him in that jail any longer. They’ve been feeding him likker just to keep him quiet. I suppose, really, the cells were the best place for him. But Big John did a lot for the folk of this town and I for one would like to do somethin’ for him in return.”
“I’ll go get the saddle rigs, Yancey,” Cato said and stumbled out of the room.
Yancey looked at the sawbones. “What’ll you do to him, doc?”
“Somethin’ he won’t like,” Bartholomew said, staring down at the big ex-sheriff. “I’ll keep him here and away from the booze.”
Yancey pursed his lips doubtfully. “How the hell you gonna manage that? He’ll tear this house down round your ears.”
The fat little man smiled slowly, opened his black bag on the bench and rummaged around amongst the instruments and bottles. He brought out a large hypodermic needle.
“This needle will be the great equalizer, Mr. Bannerman. A small injection twice a day will keep him doped-up and quiet.”
Yancey looked dubious. “You sure, doc?”
“I’m sure. But perhaps we might move him to an abandoned cabin outside of town, in amongst some trees and off the main trail. Oh, it wouldn’t be difficult for—anyone—to find it if they were searching hard enough, but it might be best if he’s out of the way for a while.”
“Well, how about when he wakes up, doc? I mean, you can’t keep him doped-up forever.”
“No-ooo. But he’ll come out of it slowly. I’ll taper off the dosage. I’m not saying he won’t be craving for a drink of whisky, but I think he’ll be somewhat more—manageable. In fact, his legs probably won’t support him, but he’ll be in a mighty mean mood.” He paused and looked closely at Yancey as Cato came back in with the saddlebags. “I’ll need someone to help me control him at that stage.”
Yancey nodded and turned to Cato. “All quiet out there?”
“Well, there’re a few cracked heads and a lot of moans in the law office, but I reckon they’ll leave things ride. I told Venters he’d have to get past the Manstopper if he wanted Big John again and he said the hell with it, keep him.”
“Yeah, well we aim to do that.” Yancey shifted his gaze to the medic. “Doc, d’you know exactly what happened between Big John and Conchita Morales?”
Bartholomew sat back against the bench, folded his arms across his ample paunch. “Mr. Bannerman, no one knows for sure what happened between ’em, except themselves. I’ve managed to pick up some of it and it appears that Jose Morales came into town and immediately took his daughter aside. Next thing, she went to see Big John and told him the wedding was off.”
“We know that much. It’s the details I’m wondering about. I’d’ve bet my last dollar that that Mexican gal really loved Big John and that nothing would make her change her mind about marryin’ him.”
The medic sighed. “Yeah, sure seemed that way. Near as I can make out, though, she told him that she’d used him, turned on the charm so’s he’d back her father and he could sell his cattle here and Big John would protect him against the locals. I guess that’s what hurt Big John, that he’d been used, played for a sucker, by a gal he’d put on a pedestal. It was a mighty hard blow for John and that’s why he turned to the booze and went berserk.”
Cato shook his head slowly. “Goddam Mexes and their snooty hidalgo ways! They look all high-principled on the surface, but they don’t mind dealin’ from the bottom of the deck when a few extra bucks are at stake.”
Yancey scrubbed a hand around his jaw line. “I dunno, Johnny. I don’t read it that way. It just don’t ring true to me. Conchita must be a mighty fine actress if it is. I’d’ve bet my life she was aiming to marry Big John when we saw ’em together.”
“Well, so would I,” Cato admitted, “but maybe Morales used her, too, without her knowin’ it.”
“Then why did she tell Big John she’d done it deliberately?” Yancey shook his head and paced across the small room. “No. Something’s wrong and I aim to find the truth of it. I’m going down to that rancho and face Morales and Conchita, and have it out.”
“Hell, Yance! Easy, man!”
But Yancey was adamant. “No. Take a look at Big John there, Johnny. You only met him a few weeks back but you can see the difference in him. He’s a wreck of a man, compared to what he was. I’ve known him for years and I don’t aim to see him broken to pieces this way. I want to get to the truth—If it’s as bad as they reckon, then I’ll stand by him and help him face up to it. If there’s another part of the story to Conchita throwin’ him over like this, then I want him to know it.”
“Er—Mr. Bannerman,” spoke up Doctor Bartholomew. “I don’t think it would be such a good idea for you to leave now.”
Yancey frowned puzzledly. “Why not, Doc?”
“I told you I’ll need someone when he starts to come around. You seem to be the only one capable of controlling him. Certainly I couldn’t. I don’t think Mr. Cato could, either. Folk in this town sure couldn’t. He needs someone he knows, someone he’ll listen to. Otherwise, I’m afraid he’ll just burst out of here and smash his way into the nearest saloon and start boozing and wrecking our town again.”
“Hell!” Yancey breathed.
“You stay with him Yance,” Cato said abruptly. “I’ll go down to Morales’ rancho. It would be better if you stayed here.”
Yancey snapped his head up. “Would you, Johnny? I’d sure like to know what really happened. I can’t leave Big John like this.”
“I’ll get the truth, amigo. Or break a few heads in the process,” Cato promised, deadpan.
Doctor Bartholomew was tired even before he started on Big John Early. It was not until well after midnight that the effects of the drugs he had given Big John were wearing off. The sawbones was so tired he didn’t even notice at first but after washing up and setting out his instruments for the morning—a ritual he insisted on going through each night before retiring—he was drying his hands on a towel when he became aware of a growling sound and spun swiftly.
Big John Early, dazed and groggy, was sitting up on the edge of his bed, reddened eyes only partly open, running a coated tongue around his scaled lips. He had been cleaned-up considerably by the doctor but he still looked like hell. He turned his bleary gaze towards the doctor.
“Dr—drink,” he growled, the word thick and almost unintelligible, way back in his throat, one hand going to his neck.
Bartholomew looked around swiftly but figured he couldn’t get to the door before Early lunged for him and cut him off. He badly wanted to call Yancey for he knew he couldn’t handle the big ex-sheriff alone. But he had to try.
“Drink, Big John? Sure—just let me go get you one from the parlor.”
Early’s thick, tree-like arm shot out and blocked the medic’s passage. He looked at the little man with cunning. “Doc, I reckon you got somethin’ in here for me,” he grated and the medic realized he was more aware than he had figured. “Somethin’ that won’t knock me out, huh?”
The doctor licked his lips. “Look, John, it’s for your own good, man. You’re gonna kill yourself unless you taper off an’ you can do that best with some help from me.”
Early shook his head and lurched to his feet, causing the medic to step back hurriedly. He swayed drunkenly, and his legs wobbled and a big hand gripped the edge of the bed. He turned his shaggy head slowly, straining to focus. Then a twisted grin curled his mouth to one side of his face and he lurched forward, shoving Bartholomew aside as he clawed at the glass doors of a wall cabinet.
He couldn’t manage the small knob and toggle-lock. He rattled the doors savagely, his bulk blocking the doctor from the door. “Yancey!” Bartholomew bawled. “Yancey, help!”
But Early only had one thing in mind now and ignored the doctor. He lifted a clubbed fist and smashed it through the glass panel on the cabinet, sweeping bottles to the floor in his shaking, desperate need. He gripped the glass-stoppered bottle of clear liquid labeled ‘Alcohol—75% w/v’ and wrenched the top off.
“For God’s sake, man! You’ll kill yourself!” cried the doctor and launched himself at Early, yelling, “Yancey! Quick!”
Early held him at bay easily with one hand, drank from the bottle with the other. He coughed and spluttered as the near-pure swabbing alcohol burned his lips, mouth and gullet.
He reared up and roared, flinging the medic across the room, looking around wildly. Then, smiling, he took a glass beaker in one massive, shaking hand, half filled it with water and then poured in alcohol from the bottle. It swirled and grew warm as the liquids mixed and Bartholomew shook his head dazedly, started to slowly clamber to his feet as Early drank.
Then the door burst open and Yancey came charging in, wearing only his trousers. He took in the situation at a glance and lunged at Early, striking out at the beaker. The thin glass crushed and cut the big man’s hand and mouth. Alcohol sprayed and Yancey caught its pungent odor and cursed. He saw the glazed, crazy look in Early’s eyes and started to swing a punch, figuring the best thing to do was to knock the man out.
Big John Early easily parried the blow, yelled and picked up Yancey bodily, hurling him aside. Yancey crashed against the wall. The room shook. The Enforcer fell on top of the doctor, crushing him back to the floor. Early stumbled forward to the door and Yancey, dazed, head ringing hurled himself at the man, arms encircling his thighs, trying to stop him.
Early kept on walking, dragging Yancey’s bulk with him. He snarled and stooped a little as he smashed a fist downwards. His knuckles bounced off the Enforcer’s temple and Yancey released his grip, fell to the floor, barely conscious. The doctor was still fighting for breath and by the time he had managed to scramble to his feet, Big John Early was out the front door and heading down the street.
Bartholomew stooped over Yancey as the Enforcer shook his head dazedly.
“He’s loose, Yancey! He’s heading for town and the saloons!”
Yancey jerked upright, coming out of it fast now. He swore as he lurched for the door. “Doc, fill your hypodermic and follow me!”
He ran up the stairs to his room and dragged on his boots, snatch
ing his gun rig from the chair beside the bed and running back down the stairs. Naked to the waist, Yancey went out through the open front door, running along the street as he donned his shirt, looking ahead for signs of Early.
Since Venters and Hunnicutt had taken over the town, Del Rio had been wide-open and the saloons still roared with drunken cowpokes and others who felt like celebrating well into the small hours. There were fights and street parties and Yancey ran past them all, charging across the plaza towards the nearest saloon, figuring that this would be Early’s target.
Before he reached it there was some sort of commotion and then a lot of yelling, the shattering of glass and woodwork, a wild roaring, and a man’s body came hurtling through the big, street front window in a shower of splintered glass. Then two more men smashed back through the batwings, tearing one off its hinges and Big John Early roared out onto the boardwalk, with four men clinging to his back and two more trying to trip his legs and bring him down. The big, crazed ex-sheriff smashed out with his arms, dislodging one man, clubbing another loose. He plucked one from his shoulders and hurled him into the middle of the street. Then he stepped back fast and crushed the remaining man between his massive body and the saloon wall.
The two men clung to his legs and Early dragged them forward, reached down, lifted one man, screaming, by the hair and threw him aside as if he was no more than an old shirt. The other man released his hold and swiftly rolled back under the shattered batwings. He had had enough. The man who had been thrown through the window, slowly got to his knees, bleeding and dazed, but he backed away from Early, wanting no part of him.
Early, dazed himself, brain befogged, stared around and, swaying, turned to go back into the saloon. Yancey leapt up onto the boardwalk.
“Hey, Big John! Whoa, man! This way!”
Early hesitated, frowned, turned slowly, stumbled. He tried to focus glazed eyes on Yancey.
“It’s me, your old pard, Yancey!” the Enforcer said warily keeping his distance. “Come on. Let’s go on back to the sawbones. Got a drink for you there.”
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