Bannerman the Enforcer 10

by Kirk Hamilton

  “Aah! So that’s why you’re so poorly.” Then the old medic stiffened. “By Godfrey! Then this is serious, Yancey. It seems that Kate was duped by this woman ...”

  Yancey nodded, his mouth grim. “How long’ve they been gone?”

  “Since about two this morning, I believe. They’ve had a mighty good start. But, of course, no one knows where they went.”

  “I’ll get the Rangers out scouting for tracks,” Yancey snapped, starting to swing away.

  “What about guarding the Governor?” Cato said.

  “You and Chisholm,” Yancey said and hurried out.

  He came back in about ten minutes.

  “If they left any tracks at all, the Rangers’ll pick ’em up. Damn! We should’ve followed through on that redheaded witch.”

  “Hell, Yancey, you can’t blame yourself,” Cato said. “You didn’t even know she was involved till I came out of it properly and by the time you got to the Palace she was long gone. There was nothin’ you could’ve done.”

  Yancey nodded tightly. He knew it was true but it didn’t sit easily with him just the same.

  “What d’you think they’ll do with Miss Dukes?” Chisholm asked quietly.

  Yancey snapped his head up. “Hostage.”

  Chisholm frowned. “For money?”

  Yancey shook his head. “Smacks of too much organization. They tried to get both Johnny and me out of the way first. When it didn’t work, they obviously switched to their plan to grab Kate. But there’s politics mixed up in it somewhere. They’re after the Governor.”

  Chisholm pursed his lips and frowned.

  “Then scattering the Rangers all over the countryside looking for tracks might be exactly what they want you to do.”

  Yancey shook his head. “Don’t much matter now, if they’ve got Kate. They can use her for all the pressure they need to hog-tie us all.”

  “That’s right, Chisholm,” Cato said, rubbing gently at his stomach. He looked at Boles. “Doc, can you give me anythin’?”

  “Just a stomach mix, I’m afraid, John. Something to put a lining back on it. But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the effects to wear off. If you feel you need it, I could give you a stimulant of some kind, but you’ll likely feel worse when that wears off.”

  “Just give me somethin’ for my stomach right now. I got a taste in my mouth like the floor of a stable.”

  Yancey paced restlessly, thinking out his next move. He spun around sharply as Chisholm suddenly snapped his fingers.

  “I dunno if it’s worth anythin’, but one of them fellers I played poker with last night was called Latigo Webb. He mentioned a gal named ‘Cherokee’ a couple of times and joshed about the sweet job he has at the moment. Ridin’ herd on her, was the way he put it, I think. Far as I know, he’s still in San Antone. He had a room at the Palace—next to hers. Might be he’s just a saloon bouncer she’s taken a fancy to, but then again, might be he’s involved in this deal, too.”

  “Latigo Webb,” Yancey said quietly and looked towards Cato who was just swallowing a glass of white mixture. “Recall the name, John?”

  Cato winced as he handed the glass to the medic and wiped the back of a hand across his lips. “Man, that’s almost worse than the Mickey Finn. Yeah, Yance. I recollect the name. Waco, last year. He was ridin’ for that Hawkeye outfit where that fanatic was trainin’ a secret army to rise up against the Gov’ment. He was just a hired gun, but fast and mean as a grizzly.”

  “Reckon he’d remember us?”

  “He’d sure remember you. You put a bullet through him.”

  Yancey nodded grimly. “I’m going into San Antone.”

  “Now, hold up, Yance,” Cato said swiftly. “Reckon that’s wise? I mean, if they got Kate, mebbe we better wait till we hear from ’em. You go in there and go off half-cocked, no tellin’ what misery you might cause her.”

  “I sure as hell can’t wait around here till they get around to contacting us, Johnny,” Yancey snapped, checking the loads in his Colt. “If Latigo’s still around town, it means he’s there as a watchdog. So he’ll know something about it.” He paused. “Believe me, I’ll make him talk.”

  Chisholm arched his eyebrows at Yancey’s grim tone and he felt glad his name wasn’t Latigo Webb. Dr. Boles put a hand on Yancey’s arm as the Enforcer made to leave.

  “Go careful, Yancey,” he cautioned. “Johnny’s right—you could make it worse for Kate.”

  Yancey looked soberly at the old medic. “You reckon bein’ held prisoner by political enemies of the Governor’s isn’t about as bad as it can get for Kate?”

  “I know it’ll be—unpleasant—for her, no matter what, but if you gun down one of their men they might …”

  “By the time they get to hear of it, he’ll have talked—to me. And I’ll be on my way to Kate.”

  “Hell almighty, Yance! You can’t go it alone,” protested Cato, swaying unsteadily to his feet. He grabbed at a chair arm and slowly lowered himself again with a sigh. “I ain’t gonna be any help.”

  “You stay here and guard the Governor,” Yancey said. He turned to Chisholm. “I’ve got to trust you, but one false move and Johnny’ll blast you apart—and ask questions afterwards. Savvy?”

  Chisholm nodded. “You got no worries, Bannerman. I’ll do my job.”

  Yancey held his gaze for a few seconds, then nodded curtly, starting for the door.

  “Keep it from the Governor for as long as you can,” he said, then quickly went out.

  ~*~

  Latigo Webb adjusted his hat before leaving his room in the Palace. He stood in front of the fly-specked mirror and tilted the hat first to one side then the other, settling for a position about an inch above his left eye. This was the eye he closed when sighting down a gun barrel and the hat sitting that way would give his right eye a clear vision.

  He took his gun from its holster and spun the well-oiled cylinder, swiftly checking that every chamber carried a loaded cartridge.

  There was no particular reason for making preparations. As far as he knew, he wasn’t on his way to a gunfight. But he was a man who lived by the gun and he always made sure it was ready for instant use.

  Not that he had much to worry about. Cherokee Morgan and Callaghan were carrying on with Senator Kinnane’s plan and Latigo wouldn’t be likely to be called upon to do anything for quite a spell, if at all. The senator was sure that there would be no need for gunplay: the Governor would be well and truly hogtied once he knew they had his daughter. Dukes wouldn’t be able to make a move against Kinnane. And he would have to call off his wolves, too, if the senator told him to. Which meant that Bannerman and Cato were powerless. They wouldn’t risk anything happening to the girl ...

  But Latigo Webb hoped for just one chance at Bannerman. He had never forgotten that wound he had received at the Enforcer’s hands. It was one reason he had taken the job with the senator and Cherokee; there was a chance he would be able to square things with Bannerman—and Latigo aimed to get that chance before the deal was over.

  But he was ‘resting’ in San Antone. He was on immediate call, of course, should Kinnane decide he was needed, but there was no immediate chore for him to do, so he aimed to enjoy himself while he could. There was another card game about to start downstairs and, with luck, it would go on far into the night. The senator paid well and he had a good stake to start with, even if he had lost considerably last night when playing with Chisholm and the others.

  Latigo paused to check his cash, counted it swiftly, then put it back in his pocket. He glanced at himself again in the mirror then went downstairs to the saloon where the late afternoon light was spilling in through the grimy windows and giving the dingy room something of a glow.

  But the rear alcove behind the heavy baize curtains already had lanterns lighted. It was a windowless room and the walls had been papered in dull patterns that were even duller beneath their coating of grime and smudges of smoke. Some of the paper had peeled in places and was heav
ily water-stained in others.

  There were three card tables in the alcove and the houseman, Ringo, was shuffling a deck of pasteboards idly at the center table while two townsmen lounged in their chairs, watching. There was no game going, but with the arrival of Latigo, the men straightened and began digging money out of their pockets. Latigo nodded to them as he pulled out a chair and dropped into it.

  “I warn you, gents, I’m fresh as a daisy and feelin’ mighty lucky today,” Latigo said, pushing his money into a pile on the table. “So lucky that I feel like playing for five dollar stakes. Anyone can’t match it?”

  Ringo whistled. “Hell! The game’ll be over in a couple of hours with stakes that high. Let’s stick to the regular dollar.” Latigo flicked his hard gaze to the nearest townsman. “Harve?”

  “Five’s a mite high, Latigo. I’d be willin’ to try for two.”

  The gunfighter glanced at the other man.

  “Irv?”

  “Two’s okay with me.”

  Latigo nodded and stared at Ringo.

  “Happy with that?”

  The gambler sighed. “Guess I’ll have to be. Boss won’t like it, though.”

  “Let me worry about the boss,” Latigo said and reached to take the greasy deck from Ringo’s hands. He tossed the cards across the room, scattering them all over the floor. “New deck.” Ringo’s beady eyes slitted but he tightened his mouth, nodded curtly, then got up and went through the curtains. He came back in a couple of minutes and slapped a sealed deck of cards on the table.

  “Open ’em and we’ll cut for deal,” the gambler said.

  Latigo smiled thinly as he picked up the cards and slit the sealing tape with a horny thumbnail ...

  ~*~

  Yancey Bannerman pushed open the batwings of the Palace bar and raked his steely gaze around the room. Men were drinking and talking and arguing, a Negro played the honky-tonk piano and a whore was singing ‘The Old Oregon Trail’.

  No one took any notice of Bannerman as he strode down the room. Perhaps the bartender stiffened a little when he saw the big Enforcer—maybe because he recognized him as a friend of Cato’s, or maybe he simply recognized the fact that he was a man searching for trouble.

  He nodded as the Enforcer breasted the bar.

  “What’ll it be, cowboy?”

  “Forget the drink. I want information,” Yancey said harshly.

  The bartender shook his head. “Dunno about that—I’m paid to keep my ears open and my mouth shut.”

  Yancey nodded and took a gold coin from his pocket and turned it over and over between his thumb and forefinger. He saw that he had the man’s attention.

  “Maybe this could loosen your tongue a mite.”

  The bartender shrugged. “Depends.”

  “Latigo Webb.”

  The man stiffened, ran his tongue across his lips and glanced towards the rear of the saloon. Yancey flicked his eyes in that direction then fixed them on the bartender.

  “Latigo Webb,” he said again, quietly.

  “Listen, don’t mess with that hombre. He can be as mean as a rattler. I wouldn’t tell you anythin’ about that bastard for two double eagles.”

  “I’m not offering you two. Just one. And I want to know where he is. He don’t have to know how I found out.”

  “He’ll know.”

  Yancey let his cold gaze move over the barman’s sweating face.

  “He won’t be in any shape to do anything about it. That’s a promise.”

  The man looked sharply at Yancey, hesitated, then said: “Well—just mebbe you can keep that promise. You look tough enough. But tough ain’t enough. You need to be half-brother to a bolt of lightnin’, too.”

  “I’m full brother—and I’m getting mighty impatient. The offer of the double eagle still stands—for another ten seconds. Then I start bustin’ heads.”

  The barman stepped back, ran his tongue over his lips again, then jerked his head towards the rear of the saloon.

  “Behind the curtains. Card tables. He faces the curtains. You won’t have a chance to sneak up.”

  Yancey curled a contemptuous lip as he flicked the coin into the air. The bartender snatched it swiftly and dropped it into his pocket as Yancey moved quickly towards the curtains. A man standing guard straightened and put a hand against Yancey’s chest.

  “Private game, mister,” he growled.

  Yancey viciously swept the hand away—and broke the man’s wrist. He screamed as Yancey palmed his Colt and cracked it across the man’s skull. There was a sudden silence as the man slid to the floor and Yancey ripped back the curtains. Latigo Webb came half out of his chair, his right hand streaking for his Colt. He froze as Yancey notched back his gun hammer.

  “Easy, Latigo,” Yancey breathed. He nodded towards the cards in the gunfighter’s hand. “Whatever you got there won’t be much use if you blink an eye.”

  Latigo didn’t move. The other gamblers started to slide out of their chairs. They backed off from the table and pressed against the wall. Yancey eased into the alcove, watched very closely by Latigo.

  The Enforcer jerked his gun towards the doorway.

  “You and me, Latigo. Personal.”

  “I ain’t leavin’—just to be backshot.”

  Yancey smiled thinly. “Then you can die right where you stand. Makes no never mind to me. But it won’t be fast. You got some talking to do before you cash in.”

  Latigo paled a little as a crowd started to edge towards the alcove to see what was happening.

  “Listen. You got me cold-decked,” Latigo said, with the suggestion of a whine in his voice.

  Yancey smiled coldly. “I’ll make it all fair and square.”

  Hard on his words, he eased down the gun hammer and then spun the Colt around his finger by the trigger guard before dropping the weapon back into the cutaway holster. He held his right hand out from his side and braced his legs. Only the width of the small room separated them.

  “Draw, you wall-eyed bastard,” Yancey said, forcing the words between his clenched teeth. “Draw—or die.”

  Latigo knew he had no choice. For a long time he had wanted to tangle with Bannerman but he hadn’t pictured the scene as it was. He had figured to be in command of the situation, to call the turns, when and where it suited him. But he was backed into a corner: he had to draw within seconds, or Bannerman would gun him down: he had no doubt about that. The man was on the prod, obviously because Cherokee and Callaghan had grabbed Kate Dukes.

  Latigo knew his moment had come, whether he wanted it or not.

  He dropped his cards and his right hand was a blur as it dipped and came up with a blazing Colt.

  Fast as he was, it was Yancey’s gun that blasted a split second earlier and the bullet took Latigo high in the chest and smashed him backwards. His shot ripped into the ceiling above the doorway, scattering the drinkers from the bar.

  Latigo jarred against the wall and started to slide; his legs unable to support him. But he was game and he brought up his gun for another shot. Yancey deliberately shot him in the right side. Latigo was smashed into the wall again and his face turned towards the grimy paper. He dropped his gun, clawed at the paper and left a smear of blood to the floor. He began coughing blood as Yancey stepped through the gunsmoke, placed his Colt on the floor and picked up Latigo’s. He lifted it, snapped open the loading gate and slowly turned the cylinder, spilling out the cartridges. Then he picked up one cartridge, slipped it back into a chamber, snapped the gate closed and deftly spun the cylinder.

  Latigo’s eyes were glazed with pain, but he was watching Yancey’s movements—and seemed to know the reason behind them. The Enforcer cocked the gunfighter’s Colt with its single load and pressed the muzzle against Latigo’s right kneecap. The man flinched.

  Yancey picked up his own Colt and used it to tilt back the man’s head.

  “You could be dyin’, or you might pull through. Likely it depends on how soon you get to a sawbones. And that depends on how
fast you tell me what I want to know.”

  Latigo began to tremble with fear.

  “I blow your kneecap off, even if you live, you’ll never walk again without a stick—if you walk at all,” Yancey said casually, and abruptly released the hammer of the Colt.

  Latigo sucked down a shuddering breath as the hammer fell on an empty chamber. Yancey coldly cocked the hammer again.

  “I’ve seen men who could wrestle a buffalo crying like babies when they got their kneecaps shot off,” Yancey said in a conversational tone and released the hammer again.

  It clicked loudly and Latigo cringed.

  Yancey slowly shook his head. “The odds are running out fast, Latigo. You only got three more chances at the most. But you’re a gambler. Guess you’ll risk it …”

  “No!” Latigo croaked as Yancey made to lift his thumb from the spur.

  Yancey raised an eyebrow as he looked at the sobbing man.

  “Where’d they take her?”

  “Hold up, Bannerman,” snapped Marshal Tane as he pushed through the crowd. “What in hell’s goin’ on here?”

  Yancey looked at him coldly.

  “Don’t buy in, marshal. This is personal. They’ve got Kate and I’ve reason to believe this varmint knows where they’ve taken her. I don’t have time to talk him around to telling me where she is, so I’m cutting a few corners.”

  “That’s plain torture,” Tane said.

  “Just stay out of it,” Yancey warned, and jabbed Latigo’s knee with the gun barrel. “Forget the marshal. He won’t stop me. You were about to say somethin’, I believe.”

  Latigo was shaking badly and his blood was pooling on the floor. He looked appealingly at Tane, but the lawman’s face reflected nothing. The wounded gunfighter seemed to slump and he began to cough violently.

  “I—dunno where they’ve taken her,” he gasped, then suddenly shrieked as Yancey released the gun hammer and cocked it again. His jaw was quivering so badly he couldn’t speak intelligibly for several seconds. “Honest, Bannerman. I got an idea, is all.”

  “I’ll take ideas,” Yancey said coldly.

  Marshal Tane stepped forward a pace.