Bannerman the Enforcer 10

by Kirk Hamilton

  Callaghan slammed him in the neck and then in the face, using the point of his elbow on Yancey’s temple. The Enforcer stumbled to one side, instinctively brought up his guard as Callaghan started to follow through. He blocked the blow with his left forearm and Callaghan was wide open. Yancey stepped in close and ripped his right hard into the man’s stomach. The ramrod folded abruptly and Yancey clubbed him behind the ear.

  Callaghan slumped to the ground and lay still.

  His legs quivering, Yancey made his way unsteadily to the porch and sat on the steps, gasping for breath. Cato looked around at the group of ranch hands and he saw that some of them appeared to want to take it further. The Manstopper slid swiftly into Cato’s hands—and the cowpokes changed their minds abruptly.

  Two of them lifted the unconscious Callaghan and carried him towards the horse trough. The remaining hands looked at Cato and Yancey uneasily then shuffled away. Cato swung down beside Yancey.

  “You aim to look through the house now?”

  “Well, I sure as hell didn’t get into that fight just to ride back to San Antone,” Yancey muttered, spitting out a mouthful of blood, and reaching up a shaking hand. “Gimme a hand, pard.”

  Cato supported Yancey as the two Enforcers crossed the porch and entered the big house.

  Three – Vultures Gather

  Abe Kennaway was a grizzled oldster in his late fifties with tough, brown skin and long, silver hair hanging to his shoulders. He frowned, looking up from the deed papers at the polished desk in Governor Dukes’ study and stared at Yancey.

  “Rustlin’? You tellin’ me that Curt Callaghan was rustlin’ my stock?”

  Yancey nodded, glancing at Kate Dukes and Cato.

  “Seems that way to us. We took a good look around and there’s a well-worn trail from your home pastures into the hills that leads to a narrow canyon. There’s plenty of sign there where cattle have been ironed, held for a spell in corrals then driven into the Musket Breaks—where stolen cattle can be sold easily.”

  Kennaway’s mouth tightened.

  “Well, I guess I suspected Callaghan was up to somethin’. He told me about stampedes and cattle runnin’ into bogs and havin’ to be destroyed, wolves takin’ calves and yearlin’s ... All small losses, but, I reckon if you tote ’em up over the two years he’s been runnin’ the place, it amounts to a sizeable lot.” He shook his head grimly. “My fault. Lost interest in ranchin’ after my wife was killed by a hoss. I just turned it over to Callaghan to manage an’ threw myself into other ventures—like this riverboat deal I got goin’ now. I wanted to keep busy; didn’t want to give myself time to think, and I sure didn’t want to go back near that spread on Shadow Mesa. Too many memories. I guess if I been robbed blind, I deserve it.”

  “Wouldn’t go so far as to say you were robbed blind,” Yancey told him, “but Callaghan must’ve made a nice little profit for himself and the men he had in with him. About a third of your crew, I figure.”

  “What’s happened to them?”

  Yancey shrugged. “Johnny and me weeded ’em out and drove ’em off. Told ’em if they showed their faces around San Antone again, they’d be charged with rustlin’ and strung up.”

  Kennaway frowned. “I seen Callaghan in town on my way over.” He smiled thinly. “He didn’t look any too chipper. Hardly recognized his face.”

  Yancey smiled faintly and touched his bruised features.

  “Well, we did kinda have an argument of sorts, but it’s up to you whether you charge Callaghan or not. He’s finished with Bighorn, either way, now that the Governor’s definitely buying.”

  Kennaway looked grim for a few minutes, then shrugged and picked up the pen and laboriously signed his name to the deed papers.

  “To hell with Callaghan—if you’ll pardon the French, Miss Dukes. I reckon you cut him down to size, Bannerman. He won’t get another penny out of me and as long as he stays out of my hair I guess I don’t care too much. Truth is, I’m glad to be rid of the spread. Too many bad memories. Not all that long ago, I’d have hung Callaghan an’ his pards, but most of the fire’s gone out of me since Ettie died. I’m fixin’ up a suite of rooms on my riverboat an’ I aim to travel up and down the waterways for the rest of my life—right away from the cattle business …” His voice faltered. “Well, gents, that seems to be the last signature. So I guess the deal’s about complete.”

  Yancey examined the deeds, then handed over Governor Dukes’ check.

  “Well, I hope the Governor gets well real soon and manages to make a little profit out of Bighorn,” Kennaway said. “If there’s ever anythin’ I can do for him—or any of you—let me know.”

  He shook hands all round and left the office. Yancey folded the papers and placed them in an envelope which he sealed with wax and impressed with the Governor’s private seal. He handed the papers to Kate.

  “Shadow Mesa’s now the Governor’s, Kate,” he said. “When d’you plan to move him out there?”

  “As soon as Dr. Boles says it’s all right,” the girl told him. “I think probably by the end of the week. You’ll be coming, won’t you?”

  “Sure. He wants both Johnny and me to kind of take charge of things for a spell. It’s no big chore. We can get that spread operating in no time at all. Main thing is to find a good ramrod who can be trusted.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard,” Cato said.

  “He’ll have to be checked out thoroughly, John,” Kate said. “We can’t afford any mistakes, not with someone who’s going to be living almost under the same roof as Dad.”

  “That’ll be my job,” said Yancey. “I’ll check out whoever we consider. What’s your opinion of the Governor’s condition, Kate? Boles is mighty pessimistic, but you’ve got a feeling for things like this, having seen your pa through so many heart attacks. How d’you think he really shapes up?”

  Kate frowned. “Not very good, I’m afraid, Yancey. This was by far the worst heart attack he’s had. I—I really don’t feel he can take another one like it. That’s why it’s so important that he be right away from Austin and the immediate political scene for a spell. Beyond San Antonio, he ought to have that break.” She flicked her gaze from Yancey to Cato and back again. “It’s our job to make sure he gets the chance to recuperate.”

  “He’ll get it,” Cato said emphatically. “Yance and me’ll see to that.”

  Kate smiled and put a hand on Yancey’s forearm, looking at Cato as she spoke.

  “I know you will, John. He couldn’t be in better hands. And I’ll be coming to stay at the ranch, too. I’ll keep in touch with Austin by telegraph. That way, I can intercept any immediate problems before Dad starts worrying about them.”

  “Good idea,” Yancey said, winking at her and slipping an arm about her slim waist. “A very good idea.”

  Kate smiled.

  ~*~

  Curt Callaghan was morose and depressed as he hunched over his glass of redeye in a rear corner of the San Antonio Alamo Saloon. His face was sore and swollen and it hurt him to breathe.

  He was a mess and it rankled to know that the whole town knew he had taken a beating at the hands of Yancey Bannerman.

  He knew his men had been weeded out from the spread and had been told to leave the area—again by Bannerman and his sidekick Cato. The Enforcers had smashed a lucrative deal he had had going eighteen months. Kennaway hadn’t been interested in the spread and it had been easy for him to cut out a few prime steers and yearlings, change the brands, fake bills-of-sale, and drive the cattle into the Musket Breaks where there was always a ready market. He had had to take about six hands into his confidence, yet he had chosen well and they had made a good team.

  But they were scattered far and wide, thanks to Bannerman and Cato. He knew he was taking a chance hanging around San Antonio, for, while there was no solid evidence about the rustling—he had made damn sure of that—no one could tell which way old Abe Kennaway was going to jump. The man might suddenly decide to throw the book at Callaghan or e
ven try to take the law into his own hands, as he had in the old days. Then again, Bannerman and Cato might have found enough evidence to charge him with rustling.

  But his pride wouldn’t allow him just to ride out, even though it meant showing his battered features around town. He had to let folk know that he wasn’t afraid of Bannerman or anyone else. And so he had deliberately remained in San Antonio. He would drift out the following day, he thought. Meantime, if there were a chance that offered itself to square accounts with Bannerman and Cato, then he would take it—whatever the risk.

  He didn’t aim to let either of them get away with it, whether they worked for the Governor or not.

  Callaghan poured himself another redeye and sipped it. The raw spirits stung the cuts in his lips. He cursed, then snapped his head up, his right hand dropping below the table edge, as a shadow fell across the table.

  The redhead looked up at a man in range clothes standing by the table. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties and he was wearing a low-slung gun. His face was sober and unsmiling but he nodded pleasantly enough.

  “You Curt Callaghan?”

  The ramrod studied him carefully, then finally nodded.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Name’s Latigo, but that don’t make no never mind. I’m just a messenger.”

  Callaghan curled his lip.

  “I ain’t interested in any messages.”

  “This one’s from Cherokee Morgan.”

  Callaghan blinked.

  “I don’t know no Cherokee Morgan.”

  “Sure. But she knows you, I guess.”

  Callaghan’s frown deepened. “She? A woman?”

  Latigo’s thin lips moved slightly to form the beginning of a smile.

  “A lot of woman.”

  Curt Callaghan’s interest stirred and he downed the rest of his drink, sucking in a sharp, hissing breath as it stung his lips again. He dabbed lightly at them with the end of his neckerchief.

  “What would this Cherokee Morgan want with me?”

  “Why don’t you come and see for yourself?” said Latigo. “She’s got rooms over at the Palace.” He leaned a little closer. “It’s got somethin’ to do with your recent—trouble.”

  Latigo indicated Callaghan’s battered face.

  “She anythin’ to do with Kennaway? Or the Governor?”

  Latigo laughed. “Nope. I can sure guarantee both of them things. She told me to tell you there could be a heap of money in it for you.”

  Callaghan scrubbed a hand down his battered features. Money always interested him. He stood and saw Latigo smile thinly as he let his hand drop away from his Colt.

  “You’d never have gotten it out in time,” Latigo said quietly and Callaghan flushed, jamming his hat on his head.

  “Let’s go,” he growled.

  They left the saloon and walked across the plaza to the Palace. Callaghan was impressed by the fact that the mysterious Cherokee Morgan stayed in the biggest and most expensive suite of rooms in the hotel. There was a man seated outside her door with a shotgun resting across his knees.

  Callaghan saw him tense but relax almost immediately as he recognized Latigo. The man stood, opened the door and poked his head inside as Latigo and Callaghan came down the passage. By the time they had reached the door, the man was holding it open. He nodded curtly to Latigo but his eyes were cold as they regarded Callaghan.

  The former ramrod went inside, then stopped short.

  Across the room was a tall woman with blazing red hair and startling green eyes. She smiled and moved gracefully towards him. The sudden smell of her perfume made his senses reel. Callaghan had always been one to appreciate beautiful, sweet-smelling women.

  “Curt, isn’t it?” the woman asked. He ran his tongue over his cut lips and nodded, grabbing a little wildly to remove his hat. He felt like a boy.

  Suddenly he was annoyed with himself: it was a long, long time since any woman had affected him that way.

  “Let’s sit down, Curt, and talk about this.”

  She reached out and took his elbow, piloting him across the room to a small couch. Bottles and glasses were set out on an occasional table in front of it. Cherokee Morgan flicked her green gaze at Latigo and nodded slightly. He returned the nod and gave Callaghan one last look before going through a door into a room off the parlor.

  Callaghan and the woman sat on the couch and she poured two drinks. She gave him one and lifted her glass in silent salute. He lifted his glass and sipped the whisky appreciatively: it was vastly superior to the snake juice served in the bar.

  “First of all, let me say I know all about your brawl with Yancey Bannerman and how he fired you—on Governor Dukes’ behalf,” the woman said, smiling, not sitting too close yet close enough to make him uncomfortable.

  Callaghan said nothing.

  “I also know about the little rustling racket you had going on the Bighorn.”

  Still Callaghan said nothing but his mouth was grim.

  “Don’t worry. There’ll be no trouble. I can see to that. Or some of my friends can. We’re a powerful group Curt.”

  “Group?” He frowned. “Latigo didn’t say nothin’ about no group. What kinda group you talkin’ about?”

  She studied his face for a while.

  “You don’t really need to know a lot about us at this stage. Not until I find out a few things about you.”

  “You sound as if you already know all there is to know,” he snorted.

  “Not quite. For instance, exactly how do you feel about Yancey Bannerman?”

  Callaghan stiffened and glared at her.

  The woman smiled broadly and took another sip of whisky. “I guess you answered that question for me well enough. Now, how about Governor Dukes?”

  “Dukes?” Callaghan seemed a little puzzled and he shrugged. “I ain’t given him a deal of thought one way or the other.”

  She leaned a little closer. “But you’ve no love for the Governor? I mean, he did cost you your job, there’s no two ways about that.”

  Callaghan frowned. “No, I’ve no love for Dukes—or the things he does. Why? Is it important?”

  “It may well be.”

  She drank the rest of her whisky and set the glass on the table. She took a cheroot from a silver box and pushed an end into a slim, silver holder. She smiled as Callaghan hurried to dig out a vesta and snap it into flame on his thumbnail. She held his hand steady with cool fingers while she dipped the end of the cheroot into the flame. She smiled as she straightened and blew a plume of smoke into his face.

  “Thank you, Curt. Now, I think you’re the man I’ve been looking for.”

  “To do what?”

  “To help with a job I—we want done.” She studied him closely. He shrugged.

  “Latigo mentioned money—a lot of money.”

  Cherokee smiled and there was a hint of triumph in her green eyes as she looked into his battered face.

  “Yes. A lot of money. What we’ll actually be doing is paying you to get your own back on Yancey Bannerman—and the Governor.”

  Callaghan stiffened, then nodded very slowly.

  “I get it now. Politics, huh?”

  “Politics, Curt. We’re using you, I admit that openly, but you’ll have every chance to take your revenge on Bannerman—and Cato, too, by the by, for he’ll have to be removed, too—so that we can have a clear run at the Governor himself. He almost died from that last heart attack. If he had there would’ve been no worries. But he didn’t and—well, certain—people—and myself can’t afford to let him live for very much longer. Are you with us, Curt?”

  There was an unspoken hint of promise in her voice as she asked the question and Callaghan felt a slight quickening of his blood and he barely hesitated before he nodded.

  But he smiled to himself as she poured two more drinks. If Cherokee Morgan had only known it, he would gladly have done whatever chore she had in mind for him for nothing—just for the chance of getting back at Yancey Bann
erman. If she was loco enough to pay him for it, then he wasn’t going to refuse the money.

  No sir. It would only serve to make his revenge that much sweeter.

  Four – Chisholm

  The Governor sat back in the wheelchair and Kate fussed to arrange the blanket around his legs. He was pale, still with the grayish tinge to his features of the heart patient. Ranger Special Guards milled around on the Austin railroad depot platform and folk were kept behind the barriers that had been erected. Dr. Boles came out of a special car and stepped onto the platform where Cato was wheeling the Governor in his chair. Yancey cradled his rifle in his arms as he raked his eyes around, making sure the Rangers were controlling the crowds easily and seeing that no one broke through the barriers.

  Kate walked beside the chair, still tucking the blankets around the Governor who waved her away irritably, though weakly.

  Boles looked at the sick man as Cato halted the chair.

  “Well, Governor, at least you’ve made the first move. I still wish you’d make it a full six months rather than three.”

  “You won a victory—let it go at that,” rasped Dukes. He was breathing raggedly and seemed to need every bit of air he could get.

  Boles nodded grimly and looked at Kate.

  “Follow the directions I’ve given you, Kate, and I’ll join you in a few days, as soon as I clear up things at the infirmary. Should there be any kind of emergency meantime, you know I’m as close as the telegraph.”

  Kate nodded, smiling faintly. Dukes held up a thin hand and shook briefly with Boles.

  “Guess I’ll have to put up with your bossiness out at my spread for a spell,” he growled. “Thanks for all you’ve done, Doc. If I die before I get to Shadow Mesa you can rest easy, knowin’ you did all there was to do.”

  “Hush, Dad,” Kate said quietly. “Don’t talk like that.”

  She made a sign to Cato and the Enforcer turned the chair so that it was facing the cheering crowd, while he backed up to the step near the car’s platform. Yancey crossed to a Ranger who seemed to be having trouble keeping a small section of the crowd behind the barrier.