Bannerman the Enforcer 10

by Kirk Hamilton

  He was almost there when the single shot cracked out through the depot.

  Yancey instantly spun towards the Governor and started running, his eyes taking in the thin old man in the chair, Cato staggering back, clawing at his left arm, and Kate’s hands going to her mouth as she screamed.

  The crowd yelled and milled in panic as Yancey threw himself bodily in front of the Governor, beating two Special Rangers by one long stride. He spun to face the crowd, knowing that Cato wasn’t badly hit and that he was already heaving the chair onto the car platform. Kate and Boles were helping and in a few seconds they would have the Governor safely inside.

  Meanwhile, Yancey’s gaze raked the crowd and he leapt onto the car rail, clinging to the roof overhang with one hand.

  There was a man running down the rear edge of the crowd, half doubled over. He wasn’t carrying a gun but the fact that he was clearing away from the depot when everybody else was running towards it, marked him as a likely suspect. Yancey leapt to the cinders and sprinted the length of the train, ducking under the couplings between the tender and locomotive, and coming out of the rear of the depot building. He was just in time to see his quarry darting around a corner of a shed.

  Yancey raced after him and skidded around the corner of the shed. A gun blasted ten yards ahead and to his right. Splinters flew from the clapboard beside his face. He threw himself flat, triggering the rifle as he rolled. The man was making for a heap of railroad ties and he paused to fire two more shots at Yancey from a Colt.

  The Enforcer lunged to his knees as the man leapt at the ties and started for the top. Yancey fired three shots so fast they sounded as one. He aimed for the man’s legs, hit them and saw them shoot out from under the killer as if jerked by a wire. The man started to fall, then gave a brief scream before he hit the ground.

  Yancey sprinted across, his rifle at the ready. But he wouldn’t be needing the weapon. The man had broken his neck.

  ~*~

  The train rolled out of Austin, swiftly gathering speed as it moved onto the plains, belching smoke and sparks in a long plume.

  Yancey braced himself against the back of a seat as he watched Boles work on Cato’s flesh wound in the arm. The Governor was ducked up in his bunk, pale-faced but seemingly none the worse for his close call. Kate fussed around her father, arranging his pillows.

  “How’s the arm, Johnny?” Yancey asked.

  Boles answered for him.

  “It’ll be fine—I just hope there’re no after-effects of shock on the Governor. That’s why I’ve decided to be with him. You killed the man, I take it, Yancey?”

  The Enforcer nodded. “Aimed for his legs and got ’em, too, but he fell and broke his neck. Complete stranger—but I have a vague notion he could’ve been one of Callaghan’s men.”

  They all looked at him sharply.

  “Tryin’ to get his own back, you figure?” Cato asked, wincing as Boles poured iodine into the wound.

  Yancey pursed his lips.

  “Could’ve been made to look that way.”

  Kate frowned at him and the old Governor gave him a quizzical look.

  “You think it was an organized assassination attempt, Yance?” Dukes rasped.

  “Might be, Governor. You’re vulnerable, moving about this way. They might think even an unsuccessful attempt could bring on another attack.”

  “Yancey,” cried Kate, horrified.

  “I’m sorry, Kate, but we’ve got to face facts.”

  “Yancey is right,” Dukes said. “My enemies’ll try anythin’ when I’m down. All right—we’re prepared for ’em now. But you’ll have to be doubly careful about checkin’ out anyone who applies for that ranch manager’s job, Yancey.”

  “I know it,” Yancey said grimly.

  ~*~

  Senator Jonas Kinnane angrily paced across the room and swung back to face Cherokee Morgan and Callaghan. Latigo lounged against the door, picking his teeth with a vesta sliver.

  “You’ve likely alerted him now,” the Senator snapped, his face turning red. He was a man in his early fifties, healthy and vain about his appearance, particularly his thinning hair.

  He shook a finger in Cherokee Morgan’s direction.

  “You should’ve held off, Cherokee, I’m holding you responsible.”

  “Calm down, Jonas,” the woman said quietly. “The attempt was made in good faith and Curt here showed good sense in using one of the men booted off Bighorn. It’ll be put down to the man trying to square things. A personal grievance.”

  “It was only pure chance that the man was killed,” roared Kinnane. “Bannerman shot his legs out from under him, a sure sign that they wanted him alive. It was only our good fortune that the man snapped his neck when he fell. Otherwise, everything may well have blown up in our faces.”

  “I don’t see how,” Cherokee said a little irritably. “The man knew nothing—only that Curt had slipped him a double eagle to try to kill the Governor, with a promise of more when he succeeded. I think Curt showed initiative.”

  Kinnane glared, moved his gaze to Callaghan and then grunted and quickly sat down in his chair. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk.

  “All right,” he said finally, “I concede that it was well-intended. However, it doesn’t change the fact that Dukes and his men are alerted. They’ll be looking for new attempts.”

  “Maybe not. In any case, the way I hear it, Dukes’ll be at Shadow Mesa for at least three months, maybe longer. It gives us plenty of time to get things set up, Senator.”

  Kinnane looked at her tightly.

  “I want the Governorship of Texas within the next three months! So that’s our time limit, Cherokee. Three months. Twelve weeks. I want Dukes dead in that time.”

  “You’ll have it,” the girl assured him, and she gestured to Callaghan. “Curt here has a score to settle with Bannerman and Cato. He’ll gladly get rid of them for us. With his two top Enforcers out of the way, Dukes won’t be difficult to handle.”

  Kinnane stood and leaned his hands on the edge of his desk.

  “I sincerely hope you’re right, Cherokee. For all our sakes. You given any thought to getting a man on the inside?”

  She smiled. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. They’re looking for a man to manage the Bighorn spread. It’s an ideal opportunity.”

  Kinnane smiled faintly.

  “Glad to see you’re using your head—I won’t forget any of you once I’m in the Governor’s office. That I promise.” Callaghan frowned as Latigo and the girl exchanged glances. There seemed to be some hidden meaning in the looks.

  ~*~

  Walt Chisholm was a tough hombre with a lean look, that spoke of strength and agility.

  Yancey noticed immediately how the man carried his gun: low down, in a cutaway, tied-down holster on his right thigh. The butt was deer horn and the back of the hammer spur had been milled so that the thumb could get a better grip when cocking.

  It was a professional rig and Chisholm had all the earmarks of a gunslinger. He walked so that the inside of his wrist was brushing the butt of the gun at all times. He used his left hand for most motions; removing his hat, and pulling out a chair and so on. It was an instinctive thing with him which told Yancey that he’d been at it a long time.

  Yancey sat opposite the small, cluttered desk in the ranch office and looked at the man’s papers. Cato lounged in the doorway, his face impassive, his arms folded.

  “Walt Chisholm. Born thirty years ago in Saginaw County, Nebraska,” Yancey read aloud. He looked up at the man. “You’ve travelled a deal, Chisholm.”

  The gunfighter shrugged. “Went where the notion took me …”

  “The notion—and ... ?”

  Chisholm frowned.

  “You sounded like you hadn’t quite finished,” Yancey said.

  Chisholm shrugged again. “I was kinda wild in my younger days, I guess. Did a lot of—dodgin’ around. But I learnt plenty about the cattle business.” He gestured to the paper
in Yancey’s hand. “You can see I got writin’ an’ readin’. Helped me no end. I got taught tally-book keepin’, account ledgerin’, orderin’ supplies and, once, keepin’ a wages book. I was foreman on most spreads I worked the last five, six years, top hand on the others I got listed. Might be some I’ve missed. Can’t recollect all I worked on.”

  “Sure is a list. Scattered to hell and gone. What kept you movin’ around so much, Chisholm?”

  The man met and held Yancey’s stare.

  “Itchy feet, I guess.”

  “No—troubles?”

  Chisholm hesitated a few moments before answering.

  “Like I said, I was kinda wild in my younger days …”

  “It’s the last few years I’m interested in,” Yancey said, consulting the papers again. “You’ve worked a lot of spreads, in a lot of places. Man your age ought to be about through with itchy feet by now.”

  Chisholm sighed and nodded.

  “Yeah, I guess so. But I get ’em occasionally. Gettin’ longer between times, though, as much as a year. But I feel I’m about ready to settle down now. I looked over this Shadow Mesa good before I came in here, Mr. Bannerman. It needs some work, this place, and it’s what appeals to me. I like to put somethin’ of myself into a place. I could build this up into a payin’ proposition for you.”

  “Well, not really for me,” Yancey pointed out.

  Chisholm nodded. “Sure. The Governor—I’d be proud to serve a man like Lester Dukes. I’d give him good and loyal service and he’d have no worry about me stealin’ from him. I’d keep my books accurate.”

  “Until you got itchy feet again.”

  “Well—it’s a chance, I guess,” Chisholm admitted. “Like I said, I got me a feelin’ I’d like to settle down now. I don’t feel I’ve got itchy feet or likely to have ’em comin’ on for quite a spell, but I got to be honest with you: it could happen.”

  Yancey pretended to study the papers but he was thinking about Walt Chisholm and the impression he had of the man. He seemed ideal for the job of manager of the Bighorn but there was the way he carried that gun rig and the overall impression of toughness and wildness.

  The Enforcer figured the best approach was the direct one.

  He looked up from the papers and stared directly into Walt Chisholm’s icy blue eyes.

  “Chisholm—you tote a gunfighter’s rig.”

  “Could be an advantage,” the man pointed out calmly. “I’d be willin’ to use it on the Governor’s behalf.”

  “Or a disadvantage,” Yancey said flatly, “if you aimed to use it against him.”

  Chisholm stiffened. “No,” he said sharply.

  Yancey held his stare.

  “You got any law after you, from anyplace?”

  Chisholm shook his head.

  “Nope. You won’t see me on no Wanted dodgers. That’s gospel.”

  Yancey nodded slowly.

  “Well, I’ll tell you, Chisholm, we’ve had over a dozen applicants and you shape up the best so far. You stayin’ in San Antone?”

  The man nodded.

  “Okay. You go back there and I’ll check out your background and let you know. Fair enough?”

  Chisholm stood.

  “Fair enough.” He gestured to the papers again. “What’s in there’s gospel, Mr. Bannerman.”

  Yancey nodded and the man turned and walked out. When he’d gone Cato closed the door and leaned against it, looking quizzically at Yancey.

  Yancey tapped the papers he held.

  “It’s what’s not in here I’m interested in. How did friend Chisholm strike you, Johnny?”

  “Very, very tough. He might be a good cattleman but he’s just as good with that Colt he’s packin’ if you ask me.”

  “My thoughts, too. Right. You hold the fort. I’ll get on in to San Antonio and burn up a few telegraph wires and see just how honest Walt Chisholm’s been with us.”

  Five – Shot in the Dark

  In San Antonio, Yancey got off a battery of wires to some of the places where Chisholm was supposed to have worked. While he waited for replies, he went to see the local sheriff and the town marshal.

  The sheriff knew nothing about Chisholm, but the marshal, Briscoe Tane, asked Yancey to describe the man. He did so, and Tane pursed his lips.

  “Well, now, I don’t want to stop any man gettin’ an honest job and I sure wouldn’t want to put the hex on any wild ranny who’s hauled rein and is tryin’ to make a go of things—but—Walt Chisholm sounds pretty much like a feller by that name we had in the Canyon City pen a couple of years back.”

  Yancey stiffened and frowned at the marshal.

  “How come you know that?”

  “I was a guard there. I recollect Chisholm. He was a hold-out durin’ a riot.”

  “Hold-out?”

  “Yeah. The hard hombres wanted to start a riot to use it as cover for a break. They did, too. Chisholm was told to be in on it and do what they told him. He refused. He’d only three months of his sentence to go. He’d have been loco to get mixed up in any riot. The hard boys didn’t trust him. They figured if he wasn’t with ’em he must be against ’em, so they tried to stick a knife into his ribs. No one knows to this day what happened for sure, but the knife man was found with his own shiv jammed to the hilt through his ticker.”

  Yancey became very interested.

  “What happened?”

  “Aw, the riot went ahead an’ a couple of tough hombres tried to kill Chisholm, but they were both found with busted necks. The riot was over in a couple of hours and the eight convicts that escaped were all back on the rock pile within a week. They left Chisholm alone after that.”

  Yancey frowned. “He didn’t join the riot, but he didn’t warn the prison authorities, either.”

  “Hell, no. That weren’t Chisholm’s way. He simply didn’t want nothin’ at all to do with it. He just kept to himself. They tried to fix him—but he whipped every critter they sent. He earned his privacy. He was respected—and, I guess, feared. But, like I said, he only had three months of his sentence to go.”

  “What was he in for?”

  “Armed robbery. Him and two others. One was hung for an old killin’, the other was transferred to Idaho where he was wanted for murder and rape.”

  “Chisholm kept right fine company,” Yancey said.

  The marshal held up a hand.

  “I ain’t sayin’ it’s the same man, mind you, Bannerman. But it’s the same name and, as I recollect, it’s about how he looked. There’s a good chance it’s the same feller.”

  “He have a record before then?”

  “That I ain’t sure about, either, but I—well, I think so.”

  “He told me there were no Wanted dodgers out on him.”

  Briscoe Tane smiled thinly.

  “Hardly expect him to say anythin’ else, I guess.”

  Yancey grunted and stood abruptly.

  “Well, thanks, Marshal. I’d be obliged if you’d look through your old dodgers and see if there’s anything more on him. I’ll have to send off some more wires to various states and see if there’s anything out on him. He ever have any political leanings that you know of?”

  Marshal Tane stretched his long arms high above his head and arched his lean body.

  “Wouldn’t like to say one way or the other, Bannerman. Seems I heard once he was ridin’ for ‘Repeal’ Ryker in Missouri. He was a fanatic, wanted slavery reintroduced and a Bible-by-law in every home and so on. He kicked up dust for a spell, and had a kind of suicide squad that was all set to assassinate the President in Washington ... But it was only rumor and I wouldn’t tag a man with that. I mean, Ryker had a bunch of hardcases that did nothin’ else but ride around holdin’ up banks and stage depots just to get funds to finance his shenanigans. Most of those fellers were in it for the profit, not the politics.”

  “Well, you’ve created a mighty lot of doubts, Tane. I couldn’t hire a man with all those question marks hanging over him, not to mana
ge Dukes’ spread. But I’ll check it out as thoroughly as I can before I make a decision.”

  Tane nodded, yawned and lifted his boots onto the chair that Yancey had vacated, crossing his ankles, tilted his battered greasy hat forward over his eyes and folded his long, thin arms across his chest.

  He was snoring before Yancey had stepped into the street.

  The Enforcer sent some more telegraphs and picked up replies to some of his earlier ones. It seemed that Chisholm had mostly told the truth about his past employment at spreads across the country. He had stretched the time in a couple of places and once he had only been top hand and not ramrod as he claimed, but these were minor discrepancies that could easily be overlooked.

  But the prison term bothered Yancey: Chisholm hadn’t mentioned that and, in fact, had claimed he’d been trail herding in Montana and Utah during that period, and had ‘forgotten’ the names of the outfits he worked for.

  It didn’t look good to Yancey. If Walt Chisholm had once been associated with the notorious ‘Repeal’ Ryker, then he might still have political leanings that would make him antagonistic to Dukes. And it would be an ideal way for the Governor’s enemies to plant a killer within easy reach of Dukes—with three months in which to formulate a plan for assassination ...

  Yancey ate his evening meal at a cafe and decided that he’d visit Chisholm at his hotel. He’d be able to tell if he were lying during the course of a conversation when he could watch the man’s face and eyes and listen to the intonations in his voice.

  But Yancey didn’t get to the hotel.

  It was dark by the time he had finished supper and, walking down the street, he was surprised to see Johnny Cato strolling along the walk opposite. Yancey called out and swiftly crossed over to him.

  “How come?” Yancey asked.

  Cato winked heavily.

  “The Governor was feelin’ a mite better and started to fuss about all the guards around him and kicked ’em all out. I tried to calm him down but it only upset him more. He insisted that you an’ me have a night off to unwind.” He shrugged and grinned. “Well, I wasn’t about to argue any more. So here I am and ready to go.”