The others figured if Stewart had that in mind he need not have even turned up at the rendezvous but the suspicious man contended that Stewart was smart: he wouldn’t want to go through the rest of his life knowing that there would be six or eight men stalking him, planning to kill him, somewhere, sometime. He would want to wipe them out first, leave no threat for him to worry about.
Yancey, knowing Stewart’s cold-bloodedness, figured that the outlaw might have something. When Stewart took to taking rides down the canyon towards the river end by himself, always finding some chores to keep the others busy, Yancey began to wonder ...
Yancey was sitting outside the lean-to, roiling a cigarette, when he saw Catlin riding in across the canyon. He stiffened and narrowed his eyes. But there was nothing he could tell about the man’s attitude from this distance. He was merely a rider returning and one of the outlaws hurried to Stewart’s cabin and rapped his knuckles on the door. The outlaw chief came out, looking irritable at the interruption, but when the man pointed to Catlin riding in he nodded, grabbed his hat and walked down the slope to meet him. The others followed and Yancey finished building his cigarette, watching as they gathered round the redhead, talking quietly.
He was tensed inside but looked calm enough outwardly. He knew his cover was okay, as far back as Juarez at least. They might figure it strange they had never heard a whisper about a man who was supposed to be as tough and deadly as he was, but there was nothing they could prove. Yancey checked with his vesta flame halfway to the cigarette as the group of outlaws turned and started back up the slope towards the lean-to. Then he dipped the end of the cigarette into the flame and puffed smoke. He stood up and waited as they lined up in front of him, Catlin and Stewart in the lead. They stared coldly at him. Yancey returned their gaze equally coldly, smoking casually. He figured to wait them out.
Stewart turned his head slowly to Catlin and nodded very slightly. Yancey frowned as Catlin fumbled at the back of his belt. There was a metallic clinking, then something bright flashed briefly in the sunlight and landed with a thud at Yancey’s feet. Puzzled, he looked down, felt himself stiffen involuntarily.
The bright object was a pair of manacles, flecked with blood. He recognized them as the ones he had used to chain Kennedy to the limestone pillar and he grimaced a little when he thought about what method Catlin must have used to remove them from Kennedy’s wrist ...
He looked up slowly, eyes dangerous and wary. Catlin had his gun out and held it on him.
“You nearly made it, Bannerman,” the gunfighter said quietly. “I just couldn’t pin anythin’ definite on you and I’d have likely told Brad here that you checked out as far as I went ... But a cougar got into the cave where you left Kennedy and I heard him screamin’. He did a mite more screamin’ before he died, but this time you can take it as gospel he is dead!”
Yancey didn’t say anything and Stewart suddenly lashed out with a backhanded blow that caught him across the mouth. But he had managed to turn his head slightly and did not get the full force of it.
“I’m leavin’ you to Catlin, mister,” Stewart said tightly. “You seem to be some sort of hell-raiser in your own right and it’s only fittin’ Cat should take care of you ...” He stood massaging his knuckles, mouth tight, nodding jerkily as he stared at the big Enforcer. “Bannerman, huh? One of them rich sons of bitches from Nob Hill ...”
“Maybe he’s worth some cash to us, Brad,” Catlin said humorlessly. “Someone out there might pay to have him back.”
Stewart chose to give the remark serious consideration then slowly shook his head. “Too far away, ’Frisco ... Too risky collectin’. No. You finish him, Cat, then join the rest of us, other side of the river.”
He turned swiftly to look at the rest of his men who stared back in surprise.
“Yep, gents, we’re ready to move on our next job.”
“Hold up, Brad,” said one man, the suspicious hombre who figured they might not get their share of the ’Frisco gold. “We ain’t been paid for the ’Frisco raid yet and that’s the only reason we came here. For the pay-off. You laid this other chore on us after we arrived. We don’t even know what it is.”
Stewart nodded. “Sure, I know. It’s been kinda rushed, but it only turned up after the other raid. Too good to pass up. A million in gold this time, and we got someone on the inside so we don’t even need to fire a shot!”
“Where the hell is there a million in gold?” the outlaw demanded.
“Less than thirty miles from here,” Stewart said and grinned suddenly. “Look, I been preparin’ this surprise for a while now, and I don’t aim to spoil it. You’ve never had any reason not to trust me. So trust me now, just a mite longer ... There’s a way out of the Buffalo Horn, across that river that I know of but have never told you about, and it’ll put us within a day’s ride of that gold. We’ll be back here in two days, countin’ it out. But we got to get movin’ fast. The inside man’s workin’ to a strict schedule. I’ve been waitin’ for Cat to come back so we can move ...”
There was some more discussion but Stewart was persuasive and within a quarter hour he had the men mounted, armed, and riding with him down the canyon.
Yancey watched them go, sitting on the ground outside the lean-to while Catlin stood by, gun back in holster now, thumbs hooked into his cartridge belt. He was confident Yancey wouldn’t try anything.
“There’s no way out of the canyon that way,” Yancey opined. “I looked. A man’d drown trying to cross that river.”
Catlin looked at him blankly, then one corner of his mouth twitched. “Brad knows that.”
Yancey tensed, looking at the gunfighter sharply. Then he nodded slowly. “What’s he been doin’ these past few days down there? He’s been riding off alone down to that end of the Horn, stayin’ away most of the day ... He setting something up?”
Catlin laughed briefly. “Just a few sticks of dynamite here and there ... In the narrowest part of the pass to the river.”
“Guess he doesn’t aim to share that gold with ’em, huh?”
Catlin shrugged. “Just makin’ sure they never bother him again.”
Yancey looked at Catlin shrewdly. “Might not want to share it with you, either, Catlin.”
The gunman tensed, then smiled slowly, shaking his head. “He knows better than to try that with me.”
“He’s riding out and leaving you standing here,” Yancey pointed out.
“Just so’s I can finish you in my own way ... I’ll be joinin’ him shortly.”
“I’d have figured you’d prefer to finish me in front of an audience, prove you really are the toughest man in Texas.”
“I don’t have to prove it,” Catlin growled.
“You do to me,” Yancey said quietly, needling.
“You? Hell, you don’t matter, Bannerman. You’re gonna be dead in a few minutes, anyway.”
“And you’ll never know for sure then, whether I was faster or not, will you?” Yancey prodded.
“You ain’t!” Catlin snapped.
Yancey shrugged, said nothing.
Catlin’s jaws were clamped hard together and there was a deep frown between his eyes as he glared at Yancey who was idly dropping small stones into a crude circle he had drawn in the dust, between his feet.
“Ain’t no one faster’n me!” Catlin snapped, and he flushed as Yancey shrugged again contemptuously. “Nobody tougher, neither! I blew up half El Paso on the way out, Bannerman! How you like that, huh? Took some old gal with me as hostage. Pushed her off a cliff outside town ... Can you match that kinda thing, huh?”
“Wouldn’t want to,” said Yancey quietly. “I’d just like the chance to square up to you ... because I reckon I can take you.” He sighed. “But I guess you’ll just shove that gun barrel against my head and make sure of me. Like shootin’ fish in a barrel! I don’t call that tough.”
Yancey curled his lip in derision and Catlin’s fists balled up at his sides. “I know what you’re doin’, Bannerman.
You figure to get me riled enough so’s I’ll hand you your gunrig and then square-off, give you a chance ...”
“But you ain’t got sand enough to take that risk,” Yancey cut in.
“Like hell I ain’t!” Catlin snarled. His Colt whipped out of leather and Yancey tensed as the man cocked it. “On your feet! Right. Now into Brad’s cabin and you’ll find your gunrig hangin’ on a wall peg. We’ll go in and get it and you can put it on, take all the time you want. And we’ll square-off and we’ll soon see who’s the fastest, Bannerman!”
He shoved Yancey’s shoulder roughly and sent him stumbling towards Stewart’s cabin. That suited Yancey fine.
In a few minutes, they were both back in the sunshine outside and Yancey buckled on the rig, settled it into position and tied down the holster base. He slipped the rawhide loop off the hammer and snapped his head up as he heard a gun cocking. Catlin had him covered.
“Easy!” Yancey said. “Just want to check it’s loaded.”
Catlin gestured for him to go ahead, and Yancey made a brief but thorough inspection, then dropped the Peacemaker back into the specially-molded leather: it had been shaped to the gun’s contours, merely rested there, snug, ready to slide out easily. There was no slight drag of having to free itself from tightly gripping leather and those split-seconds shaved off the draw time could mean the difference between life and death.
They both snapped up their heads at the sound of a distant rumbling explosion down the canyon and they saw dust and smoke boiling up from the narrow end of the Horn. Catlin grinned.
“Brad’s done his part, I reckon ...”
“I’m ready when you are, Catlin.”
Catlin braced himself at Yancey’s words and they backed off so they were facing each other about twenty-five feet apart. There was no circling, no wasted energy on curses or flexing fingers or arms. It was too late for anything but the draw ...
An unseen signal passed between them: it was as if some voice in both their heads, at the same instant, told them this was the moment, time to draw!
The guns blazed together and both men staggered as lead hit them. Yancey spun away down slope, holding tightly to his gun, spilling, losing his footing, falling on his side and swiftly rolling onto his stomach, gripping his gun butt in both hands.
Catlin had been knocked back several feet by the lead smashing into his left shoulder and his arm dangled limply. But he bared his teeth, even though shattered bone was protruding through his flesh, brought his gun up and around.
Yancey triggered again and the gun bucked and Catlin lifted clear off the ground and was knocked flat on his back, his gun dropping from his hand. Yancey climbed up, beginning to feel pain spreading through the numbed area of his right side where Catlin’s first shot had creased him. He walked forward, gun hammer cocked back, seeing Catlin struggling to a half sitting position, straining to reach his Colt.
He got his fingers on the butt, dragged the gun towards him through the dust and wrapped his hand around it, teeth bared and white against his face. As he started to lift it, Yancey’s boot stomped down and pinned his wrist to the ground. Catlin groaned, biting back a curse, looking up at the tall Enforcer towering over him. His eyes were stubbornly unafraid as he looked right down the reeking barrel of Yancey’s Peacemaker.
“Now you know,” Yancey said coldly. “From now on, I’m the toughest man in Texas, Catlin.”
That got to the wounded outlaw and he tried to wrench his hand from under Yancey’s boot and his head jerked with the effort as he cursed.
Yancey fired coldly and Catlin was smashed back into the earth, lifeless.
The Enforcer left Catlin’s body sprawled there in the sun and waited beside the cabin as Brad Stewart rode back across the canyon. The outlaw chief saw his dead gunfighter as he put his mount up the slope and instantly reached for his gun and yanked the animal’s reins, trying to turn it about swiftly.
Yancey stepped out and Stewart swore, bringing his gun down across his body. Yancey’s Peacemaker palmed up again and Stewart’s mouth actually dropped open at the phenomenal speed of the draw an instant before the Enforcer fired.
Brad Stewart’s body jerked and spilled violently from the saddle. He rolled and flailed down the slope and lay still, on his back, sightless eyes staring up into the sun.
Yancey wearily holstered his Colt and pulled out his shirt to examine the bullet wound more closely.
This chore was ended ... and he was satisfied. He had personally killed the men responsible for the ’Frisco robbery and the shooting of his father and brother.
The only other thing he wanted out of this was to ride back to El Paso and find a wire waiting for him from Mattie.
But he was disappointed; there was no wire waiting for him in El Paso.
But there was a telegram back in Austin, and a smiling Kate handed it to him as he came wearily into the house on top of Capitol Hill a week later. The news was that C.B. had pulled through and was going to make it.
There was another wire for him, too. But this was handed to him by the governor himself.
It was from Johnny Cato in Canada: he needed help with his assignment and he had asked for Yancey.
“Guess I better go buy some warm clothes,” Yancey said to Kate.
She smiled at him and took his arm and led him to a quieter place.
BANNERMAN 14: THE TOUGHEST MAN IN TEXAS
By Kirk Hamilton
First Published by The Cleveland Publishing Pty Ltd
Copyright © Cleveland Publishing Co. Pty Ltd, New South Wales, Australia
First Smashwords Edition: January 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
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