Bannerman the Enforcer 39

by Kirk Hamilton

  “Not yours. The Mining Company’s,” Yancey said and Jordan scowled.

  “It was ours! We planned that robbery an’ it went off perfect. Till them goddamn amateurs bought into it and made us look like dumb fools. But they ain’t gonna get away with it! Or my gold, neither!”

  Yancey said nothing. But he felt that Jordan was right: the Jarretts had to be the ones who had come across them after the guards were dead and the gold was being stolen. Taking the opportunity suddenly offered, they had ridden in and held up the outlaws.

  It had to be that way. From what he knew of them, he reckoned Deborah’s reasoning would be that it was an answer to her prayers for help. The opportunity was offered and so she had seen that the only thing they could do was to grasp it. How much moralizing and recrimination went on, he couldn’t say, but he knew things were strained between the Jarretts. Up until now it had been a mystery.

  “They’re comin’, Major!”

  Salty’s piping voice suddenly penetrated the room as the kid poked his head in the kitchen door. Eagles lunged, grabbed the kid by the hair and hauled him bodily inside, ignoring his cries as he flung him across the room. Eagles looked out the door warily for a long moment and then came back and closed the door properly. His face was grim as he looked at the expectant Major.

  “It’s them, all right! Gal’s even forkin’ that roan!”

  Jordan’s bitter mouth twisted slightly and he lifted his stick and poked Yancey in the chest with it.

  “Get this sonuver locked up in a room and kept quiet. Take that whinin’ kid, too. He’s about outlived his usefulness, I reckon!”

  The Counselor and Eagles grabbed Yancey and the sniffing Salty, herded them roughly into the bedroom Yancey had been using. His eyes went to his rifle and hunting knife but suddenly a gun butt smashed against the back of his head and the world exploded wildly and he fell.

  Chapter Nine – Reckoning

  Tate would be the one to crack, Jordan decided as he stared at the Jarretts, both roped to chairs now in the kitchen.

  They had been surprised easily enough when they had come into the house but it had been the girl who recovered first, and faster than the Major would have reckoned, too. She had been defiant and demanded to know what was going on, refusing to admit that she had been anywhere near the hold-up site.

  Tate, though, had looked to the girl for a lead and he wasn’t any too keen about things now that Eagles had given him a going-over with fists and the massive barrel of the Hawken mountain rifle. Tate hung in his bonds in his chair, chin on his chest, blood dripping into his lap, only half conscious.

  Deborah, pale-faced, struggling futilely against her bonds, but struggling just the same and refusing to stay still, glared defiantly at Mace Jordan, her lips compressed so tightly that they were almost bloodless.

  “Leave him alone, damn you!” she snapped. “You’re hurting him for nothing! We’ve done nothing to you! You’ve come to the wrong place!”

  “No we ain’t,” Jordan told her tightly. “We checked things out. You’re the ones, all right. Had to be you.”

  “You’re wrong!” Deborah worked up a sob. “How on earth can I convince you?”

  “You can’t, lady, so don’t waste your breath,” said the Counselor. “My advice to you is to come clean about the whole thing. If I was defending you in court, that is exactly what I would advise as the wisest course. And believe me, young lady, you are on trial.”

  “With a death sentence as a foregone conclusion!” Deborah snapped, pale bone-white as Tate stirred, moaning, lifting a bloody and misshapen face.

  “Not necessarily, my dear,” the Counselor said, giving a swift sign behind his back for Jordan to be quiet as he started to retort. The cadaverous man leaned forward, smiled, showing his big horse-like teeth. “Miss Jarrett, surely you can understand my companions’ anger? I mean, these are professionals, men who take pride in their work, plan meticulously—”

  “And kill ruthlessly!” Deborah snapped, cutting in.

  The Counselor’s smile tightened a little. “My dear girl, you should be more careful. That could be misconstrued as an admission that you have been a witness to our little group at work!”

  Deborah stiffened and Mace Jordan smiled thinly, nodding approvingly at the Counselor but saying nothing. He figured the thin man was doing well enough as it was.

  “You—you are being quite ruthless with Tate and me,” the girl said haltingly. “It’s only logical to think you would be even more ruthless during a holdup.”

  The Counselor raised his thick eyebrows and nodded slowly. “You have a quick brain, ma’am. I feel it must have been you who seized the opportunity when you came upon us at that ore wagon.”

  Deborah said nothing. She continued to struggle.

  “I see you do not give up easily, my dear. Well, we must rise to the challenge and show we are able to meet it. You realize, of course, that your brother will suffer considerably more than he already has until you decide to admit the truth?”

  “There’s nothing to admit!” Deborah said, fighting down the rising note of desperation in her voice. “Look, we went to Albany, sure, I admit that. We caught the train back to Longbow and picked up our horses at the livery and arrived home here just after dark. We were nowhere near that river crossing where you claim you were held up and assaulted.”

  “What day was this?” the Counselor asked, frowning, looking perplexed.

  “Wednesday, I guess,” she said and suddenly seemed to freeze up, staring at the cold smile on the Counselor’s face. He was shaking his head slowly.

  “Dear, dear, you aren’t as smart as I thought. There is no Wednesday train from Albany to Longbow, young lady. But there is one each Tuesday. Which means you should have arrived home on the Tuesday night. If you didn’t get here until the Wednesday, we would be most interested to know what could have delayed you for twenty-four hours.”

  Jordan was leaning forward in his chair now, face grim and ugly. “You lying bitch! You come across that hold-up, jumped us an’ then buried the gold, likely got caught in that big storm and had to go all the way around the river because it was floodin’! An’ if young Salty hadn’t cut us loose from that rock where you left us we’d of been drowned under ten feet of water! We know about that flashflood! An’ it’s what held you up, ain’t it!”

  He lunged across the table suddenly and the flat of his hand smacked her face with a sound like a pistol shot, almost knocking the girl and her chair over.

  She cried out in pain and shock and the chair rocked back to an even keel as she blinked back the tears of pain and tried to work up a defiant stare.

  “Leave her be!” croaked Tate, struggling against his bonds. Eagles lifted his Hawken and rapped him on the back of the head with the brass butt plate, not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough for it to hurt. He slumped in the chair, moaning.

  Deborah looked at Tate anxiously and then turned her gaze to Jordan and the Counselor. She twisted her mouth into bitter lines.

  “You’ll get nothing out of us! Because there’s nothing for us to tell you! Can’t you see that?”

  Jordan lurched up with a savage oath, leaning heavily on his stick, glaring down at the apprehensive girl. He bared his teeth at the pain in his thigh.

  “You’ll change your tune,” he threatened. “But we ain’t in such a helluva hurry. I need someplace to rest up this leg a spell and this looks as good as any to me. We can work on you two from time to time. Meanwhile, you can tend my wound, gal, an’ cook for us an’ do whatever other chores we decide on. An’ I got Bannerman as a bonus, somethin’ to keep me amused. Mebbe if you see what I do to him you’ll change your mind about talkin’. Make up your mind right now, Deborah Jarrett, talk you will! You stole my gold an’ you got it stashed someplace an’ I want it.” He leaned down and thrust his sweating, fevered face within inches of hers. She turned her head to avoid the stench of his breath. “I’ll get it, gal, make you no mistake about that, I’ll get i
t. You might figure that you’re gonna die anyway so why the hell tell me what I want to know, but you just think about this for a spell: there’s dyin’ and there’s dyin’. Savvy?”

  Deborah was white as a fresh-scraped bone and she had ceased to struggle against her bonds. She was trembling and there was a white ridge outlining her mouth.

  Then Jordan straightened and jerked his head at Eagles. “Throw the man in with Bannerman and the kid, then cut the gal loose an’ she can go to work on this goddamn leg of mine. It feels as thick as a tree!”

  Tate was released, hauled upright and thrust against the wall. His hands were retied behind his back and Deborah watched anxiously as he was shoved across the room to the bedroom door. The Counselor opened it and she had a glimpse of Yancey lying sprawled full length on the floor with a pale-faced kid sitting dejectedly on the edge of the bed. Then Tate was pushed inside and the door closed.

  Eagles knelt behind her and released her hands and Jordan was already seated, unwrapping the crude bandage from around his thigh.

  Salty started up off the bed as Tate was flung unceremoniously into the room and fell across Yancey’s legs. He looked from one man to the other, very nervous.

  Tate groaned and rolled away from Yancey, staring into the Enforcer’s battered face, seeing his shirt wet with blood on his back.

  “Sorry about this, Bannerman,” he gasped.

  “Too late for that,” Yancey said. “Maybe you better tell me about it.”

  Tate glanced at Salty and shook his head briefly.

  “Don’t worry about young Salty,” Yancey said. “He’s in the same boat as us. Outlived his usefulness for Mace Jordan now.”

  “He ain’t tied up!” Tate pointed out.

  Yancey smiled thinly. “They figure he can’t do any harm and he won’t untie me anyway. I’ve tried to talk him into it. But he’s scared and I reckon he’s figuring on slipping out that window as soon as its dark.” He paused and smiled as the kid stiffened at his words. “Sure, Salty, the only thing to do. I don’t blame you. You’ve had a rough time of it from what you told me. You get away soon as you can. I’d sure like you to untie me first, but that’s up to you, I guess.”

  Salty said nothing for a spell, continued to stare at Tate. Then he said, “I seen you. An’ the lady. I was in the bushes when you rode down, your slickers coverin’ you, bandannas over your faces. But the lady’s hair came down from under her hat before you was quite ready, otherwise none of ’em would ever’ve known it wasn’t two fellers.”

  Tate swore. “So we’ve got you to thank for it, you little punk! Judas, if I could just get one hand out of these here ropes ...!”

  “Now you just effectively told him you’re the one, Tate,” Yancey cut in, his words stopping the other’s tirade. “If he wants to get back in the Major’s good books now, all he has to do is go tell him you admitted it.”

  Tate looked at the boy, frowning. “I’ll kill you!”

  Salty shrugged. “You can’t. I could have Mace in here just by yellin’.”

  Tate cussed him good and long but the kid turned away and stared out the window, not listening. It was a long open space between the house and the corrals. He would have to wait until dark to make his run.

  Yancey stared at Tate. “Might as well tell me the story now.”

  “Go to hell!”

  Yancey shrugged. “You got nothing to lose.”

  Tate hesitated. “I’m tellin’ you nothin’. Leastways, not while he’s here. Listen, kid, get your eye to the keyhole for me, huh? Tell me what they’re doin’ to my sister.”

  Salty didn’t move, continued to stare out the window. “C’mon, kid. Please!” Tate asked, swallowing, forcing himself to beg.

  Salty glanced at the two bound men, then got up off the bed and crossed the room. He knelt by the door, squinted through the keyhole.

  “She’s doctorin’ the Major’s leg. Man, it looks—awful! Purple and swollen. She’s got a razor. Heck, she’s gonna—gonna—” He turned away from the keyhole, face white. “I thought she was gonna cut his leg off! But she just lanced the wound. It’s all—like a big boil.”

  “Infection,” Yancey said. “He’s on the verge of blood poisoning. Could send him off his head, eventually kill him.”

  “Good!” Tate breathed.

  “Likely won’t now your sister’s lanced the wound.”

  “Too bad!”

  “He—he’s loco,” Salty said suddenly. “Folk say I’m kinda—dumb an’—a mite crazy, but I ain’t like the Major. He—he likes hurtin’ folk, killin’ people. He—he used me, made me go to a mountain man an’ throw him off guard like he did with you, Mr. Bannerman. Only he killed him. Cold. The man got one of Jordan’s men, too. I—I reckon he’ll kill you fellers. An’ the lady.”

  “We figure that, too, Salty,” Yancey said quietly. “Listen, amigo, he is loco, truly loco. This fever from his wound can only make him worse. He’s known as The Mad Major. He’ll kill you quick as he would us or a cur dog that bit him. Take my advice and vamoose first chance you get. You can squeeze out that window. We couldn’t without kickin’ out the frame and we’d never make it. You slip away soon as its dark.”

  The kid looked at him, tight-mouthed. “I—I ain’t gonna turn you loose. If I don’t do that, he won’t worry none about me. He’ll just let me go. But if I cut your ropes or somethin’, he—hell come after me!”

  “Mebbe we could stop him,” Yancey said. “If we were free.”

  The kid shook his head swiftly.

  “No! I—I’m scared of him. I’m gonna run but I can’t help you. I can’t!”

  “Rotten lil bastard!” spat Tate.

  “That’s all right, kid,” Yancey said. He glanced at Tate. “How long you reckon you and your sister can hold out?”

  “What?”

  “Damn it, listen. How long can you and Deborah hold out? Without telling Jordan where you’ve got the gold?”

  Tate shrugged and winced at the pain it caused him. “Hell, I dunno. I mean, who knows what that maniac might do? Why?”

  “I got a pard in Austin. If I can get a message to him, by the telegraph, he could be here tomorrow night.”

  Tate curled his split lips. “Don’t happen to carry a telegraph around with me!”

  Yancey ignored him, turned his attention to Salty. “Kid, you don’t have to turn us loose if you don’t want to. But you can still help us by ridin’ straight to Longbow an’ gettin’ off a message that I’ll give you. You heard Jordan say I’m a Governor’s Enforcer and that’s exactly right. I can give you a coded message that’ll go priority urgent, straight to my pard at the Capitol in Austin. He’ll do what he can to help us and you can be on your way again as soon as you hand my message to the operator in Longbow. Will you do that for me?”

  Salty looked dubious. “I—I dunno. I was just gonna ride west, look for another ranch.”

  “Don’t do that, amigo,” Yancey said quietly. “Do this chore for me. Take my message to Longbow, and send it. There’s money in my pockets, more in the bottom of my war bag. They left that even though they took my rifle and knife. You can have the lot. Pay for the telegraph, tip the operator a dollar an’ the rest is yours. Better than fifty bucks. That’ll keep you going for a spell. And Tate here’ll let you keep whatever bronc you take from the corrals, right?”

  Tate didn’t look any too happy at first but then nodded. “Yeah, all right. You take that small chestnut with the blaze on its chest. Fast as the wind. Can outrun anythin’ else in the corrals. It’s yours kid. If you cut us loose first!”

  “No!” Salty said without hesitation. “I ain’t doin’ that!”

  “I told you to forget that part,” Yancey said, glaring at Tate.

  “You just take my message and get it away. That’s all you need to do, amigo. I’m not asking anything else of you.”

  Salty was undecided. He kept looking at Tate who was muttering curses. Then he jumped a foot in the air as there was a short, agonized scre
am from the kitchen. Salty, shaking, ran to kneel by the keyhole. He came back, face white.

  “Jordan’s passed out. Blood all over his leg, comin’ from a big gash.”

  “She must have lanced it some more I guess,” Yancey said. He grinned briefly. “Well, you can bet he’ll be out till morning, now, Salty. Tonight’s the only chance you’ll ever get.”

  Salty shook his head. “I dunno. I can’t even—write or read or nothin’.”

  “I can write the message, but you’ll have to free my hands to do it.”

  “No, I said!”

  “All right, all right, don’t fuss about it! You got a good memory?”

  “Tolerable.”

  Yancey sighed. “I’ll have to tell you then and hope you can remember it to pass on to the telegraph operator.”

  “One helluva chance of that!” Tate said.

  “Got a better idea?” Yancey demanded.

  Tate shook his head. “He ain’t even said he’ll do it, yet, the little ...!”

  “Save your breath.” Yancey turned to the kid who was staring out at the yard again and the westering sun. “How about it, Salty? Will you try to get that message off for me?”

  The kid said nothing.

  “We’re dead men for sure if you don’t.”

  Salty turned slowly and looked down at Yancey on the floor. His face was expressionless.

  Chapter Ten – Baptism of Fire

  Deborah knew she had at least a stay of execution now that Jordan’s leg had proved to be so seriously infected.

  She had had to make a large incision and, after draining the wound, had sewn the lips together with needle and yarn, leaving one end open for further drainage.

  By morning, the Major’s thigh had noticeably gone down and there was not the tight, glistening look to the flesh and it had even lost some of its purplish tinge. There was still the redness of inflammation and the wound was still oozing pus, but Mace looked a heap better and confessed to feeling that way.