Yancey forced himself to remain cool. “Johnny, you’ve got to remember who we work for. That we just brought in a political prisoner who’s awaiting trial And it’ll be our testimony, in the main, that puts a rope around his neck in the end. There could be a connection!”
Cato was too angry to listen. “If there is, I’ll find it! Without any help from you!” He went to the closet, hauled out his warbag and began stuffing clothes into it. “Anyway, you won’t have to worry about me from now on. I’m movin’ out.”
Yancey watched him pack angrily in silence for a minute. “Moving into her rooms with Jeannie?”
Cato glared. “If it’s any of your business, I’ve rented a cabin up on Castle Hill.”
Yancey was surprised but kept his face blank as Cato shouldered his bag and made for the door with a curt nod of farewell. He turned at the door.
“Quit ridin’ me on this, Yancey,” he said curtly.
Then he opened the door and went swiftly out into the passage. The door slammed behind him and Yancey frowned, staring at it thoughtfully.
He lit a cheroot and slowly smoked it down and then took hat and gun and went out. There wasn’t enough on Jeannie Devon for him to take to the governor. Hunches didn’t count, though he had no doubt that Dukes would listen and, to be on the safe side, would order Cato back or send him out on some pretext so as to get him away from the woman. But Yancey didn’t want that. He knew it would only widen the gap between himself and his friend. What he wanted to do was to make sure that Cato was safe. It didn’t matter a damn whether he was proved right or wrong, as long as the smaller man came out of this escapade safe and sound.
They had been partners for a long time and had ridden many dangerous trails together. Yancey sure didn’t want to break up the partnership and he would do all he could to preserve it.
He walked into the post office, figuring that, if there were no reply from Mattie by now, he would send off another telegraph message. But it wasn’t necessary. Mattie’s answer to his query was waiting for him in the pigeonhole behind the wire screen over the counter.
Yancey ripped open the yellow envelope and unfolded the paper. His mouth tightened as he read Mattie’s message:
SORRY DELAY REPLYING STOP CHECKING DIFFICULT STOP JEAN DEVON LATE SAN FRANCISCO MARRIED RICHARD ‘DUKE’ EARLY LAST JUNE STOP MOVED TEXAS SAME MONTH STOP NO MORE KNOWN STOP WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO VISIT US QUERY C.B. AND CHUCK SEND REGARDS STOP LOVE MATTIE
Yancey swore silently, crumpling the message form but not throwing it away. He stood by the counter, looking thoughtful for a spell, then straightened out the message form, read the words once more, and folded the paper. He put it into his shirt pocket and buttoned the flap, signaling the clerk.
“If I wanted to rent a cabin, where would be the best place to go?”
The clerk pursed his lips. “Guess it’d depend on where you wanted to rent it. If it was down in the Mex section, for instance ...”
“No,” cut in Yancey impatiently. “Up on Castle Hill.”
The clerk raised his eyebrows. “Up with the class, huh? Well, sir, I guess you’d have to go to one of those house and land agents down on Tremont Street. They handle all the fancy neighborhoods.”
“Much obliged,” Yancey said and turned and hurried out. The clerk looked after him and shook his head slowly. That big hombre in the range clothes was sure going to be in for one hell of a shock when he found out what those house and land agents charged for places up on Castle Hill. He didn’t look like he could afford to pay much.
No doubt that was what the land agent had thought when Cato first approached him about renting his cabin but when the small man had shelled out the requested rent without a murmur, the agent’s manner had changed noticeably.
Now Johnny and the girl had moved in and stood in the center of the small and tastefully-furnished parlor looking at each other.
Johnny said, “You don’t seem as happy as I figured you would be.”
She gave him a fleeting smile and shrugged. “Well, I ... John, I don’t want you to think I make a habit of setting up house with every man I meet.”
“Hell, no, I never thought—”
“I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression,” she went on. “I mean ... there was something about you, right from that first moment I saw you leaping to my rescue when those cowboys were annoying me. It was ... well, maybe I saw you as a sort of champion. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just felt something between us, right away.”
Cato nodded, feeling a mite awkward himself. “Yeah, I guess I know what you mean.”
She smiled slowly and stepped in closer. “Perhaps this’ll show you better what I mean.”
She slid her arms up around his neck and their lips met and he felt the familiar fire coursing through him as her body wriggled against his and she made a small sound in the back of her throat. His arms tightened about her ...
They sprang apart as the door was kicked in violently and Cato’s right hand dropped towards his hip but he froze when he realized he had taken his gun off and hung it over the back of a chair.
Four men stepped into the parlor, guns in their hands, and he recognized the long-faced, black-haired man in the leather vest with the conchos as Storm, one of the men who had rousted Jeannie outside the Lincoln Hotel the other night. The others could have been the same cowpokes but he wasn’t sure. And he didn’t have time to get a good look at them. They moved in fast. Storm slammed the flat of his gun into Cato’s midriff and he doubled up, gasping. The ramrod moved on and grabbed the startled, white-faced woman’s arm.
“You’re headin’ for a heap of trouble doin’ this sort of thing, Mrs. Early!” he growled.
At his words, Cato snapped his head up, pain forgotten for the moment as he stared at Storm. The other three men stood by alertly.
“What did you call her?” he gasped.
Storm turned his head slowly, putting his bleak gaze on Cato. “I said ‘Mrs. Early’. Maybe you didn’t know it, mister, but you got yourself shacked-up here with Mrs. Duke Early, my boss, and he don’t take kindly to rannies who fool around with his wife.”
Cato glared at the pale-faced woman as she struggled in Storm’s grip.
“Is it true?” he demanded.
“John ... I was—I was going to tell you,” she gasped. “I—I just didn’t know how ...”
“Should’ve tried just openin’ your mouth!” Cato answered bitterly. “Words would’ve come out. Though likely they would’ve been lies!”
Storm nodded and two of the other rannies moved in fast and slugged Cato to his knees.
“Don’t hurt him!” cried the woman. “He didn’t know! He didn’t know anything!”
Storm looked at her, then shook his head at the man who had his fingers twisted in Cato’s hair and was raising his gun barrel. The man looked disappointed, lowered the gun but didn’t take his fingers out of the agent’s hair.
Storm looked down at him. “Mebbe that makes you lucky, but the Duke’ll still want to see you. You’re headin’ back to the brasada with us, hombre.”
“Like hell!” Cato snapped and he wrenched free of the man holding him, spinning on his knees and driving a fist into his groin. The man yelled and doubled up, clasping himself, retching. Cato rolled away across the floor, kicked Storm’s legs out from under him and bounced to his feet, crouching, ready to meet the rush of the others. The woman put the back of a hand to her mouth as she was knocked aside by one of the cowboys and she crashed against the wall. Cato swept a chair into the path of one man, blocked a swinging gun with his forearm and hooked the fourth man in the throat. The man staggered back, gagging, and Storm came lunging up, yelling at his men not to shoot.
Cato was carried back against the wall with a jar that shook loose two framed pictures and he kicked out blindly, feeling satisfaction as his boot hacked into the shins of one ranny. He got an arm free, drove a fist into Storm’s face and sent him stumbling back into the man. he had hit in the gro
in. They floundered to the floor and Cato caught a fist flush on the jaw that sent bright lights dancing behind his eyes. He lashed out, missed, felt something hard smash into his ribs and knew he had been hit with a gun barrel. The breath gusted from him and his knees sagged but heavy blows rocked against his head and someone pinned him against the wall. He was slugged in the face again and then he felt himself spun about violently and his head was slammed against the woodwork. Dazed, consciousness slipping from him rapidly, he was vaguely aware of voices talking urgently and then he felt his hands yanked behind him and held. A thin rawhide thong bit into his flesh as his wrists were tied together and by the time his senses had returned he was securely bound.
Storm shoved him out into the middle of the room and looked around at his bloody-faced companions. “Got ourselves a real heller,” he panted. “The Duke ought to be pleased ... Go get their things.”
Two men moved into the bedroom and Storm grabbed the arm of the white-faced woman. The other man rammed a gun barrel against Cato’s spine, urging him forward. He was shoved roughly out into the yard and he saw six horses there. He glanced across at the woman, his eyes bleak.
“I—I’m sorry, John,” she said huskily.
He didn’t answer as they shoved him towards a horse and the two men lifted him bodily and dropped him into the saddle. The others came from the house carrying Cato’s warbag and the woman’s suitcases.
They all turned swiftly at the thunder of hoofs and Cato felt his heart lurch when he saw the rider coming up the slope of Castle Hill, forking the big gray, riding one-handed as he slipped the long-barreled Winchester rifle from the saddle scabbard.
“Yancey!” he bawled. “Go back, man! You were right!”
Then Storm slammed him in the mouth with the back of his hand and snapped a shot at Yancey as the big agent came thundering in. The men on the ground dropped their burdens and snatched at their guns. The other mounted cowboy whipped out his six-gun and spurred his horse forward to meet Yancey, dragging iron. The big agent shot him from the saddle, then ducked as the others opened up and lead sang past his ear. He lay low over the gray’s neck, working the rifle lever one-handed, spinning the rifle around by the trigger guard, allowing its own weight to cycle the action and pump another cartridge into the breech. He fired under his horse’s neck and saw one of the men on foot sit down with a thump, looking in surprise at his bleeding side.
Yancey used his knees to swerve the gray away from Storm as the long-faced ramrod rode in, gun blazing. He hadn’t had time to lever in a fresh shell but he swung the rifle and the octagonal barrel caught Storm across the belly, knocking him clean out of the saddle. But the other cowboy on foot had picked up one of the woman’s carpetbags and he flung it as Yancey raced by. It caught the big agent as he was straightening and he started to slide from the saddle. He snatched at the saddlehorn for a grip and lost his hold on the Winchester.
Cato was coming out of his daze and, through a mist, he saw his pard yanked clean off his horse by the ranny and flung to the ground like a bundle of laundry. Yancey rolled and somersaulted and tried to get his legs under him, right hand instinctively diving for his Peacemaker. Storm, just getting up, holding his own six-gun braced into his hip, fired almost point-blank and Yancey’s head snapped back and he crashed over to the ground, blood coursing down his face.
Cato opened his mouth to yell, trying to urge his mount forward, but he found that the reins were being held by the woman. Puzzled, he turned to look at her, frowning, and then something slammed across the back of his head and he felt himself falling into the blackness of oblivion.
Four – The Search
The man’s name was Harlan and Yancey had seen him around Government House on Capitol Hill from time to time, moving silent and unsmiling through the corridors. Yancey never did know exactly what the man’s job was but he found out at least part of Harlan’s duties when he came to his senses in the infirmary.
It was night and Yancey had lain in the bed for a couple of hours, his head bandaged and the doctor fussing about him, telling him he was lucky to be alive, that Storm’s bullet had merely creased his scalp and laid him out. Just a fraction lower, and they would have been laying him out on slab in the icehouse instead of an infirmary bed. As it was, he had no more than a thundering headache and maybe mild concussion. The furrow in his scalp would soon heal but the sawbones warned him he would have to rest up for two or three days to be on the safe side.
The way Yancey felt he wasn’t capable of climbing aboard a horse anyhow. In fact, he wasn’t even able to get out of bed and he hated like hell to have to ring that hand bell for one of the nursing ladies to come and tend his needs. But he frowned when he recognized Harlan, the tall, lean, cadaverous man who prowled the governor’s mansion in chill silence, leaving the feeling that a ghost had passed by. The man came up to the bedside and looked down at Yancey. The corners of his thin lips twitched and Yancey figured it was meant for a smile.
“Howdy, Bannerman,” he greeted quietly. “Just been talking with the doctor. It’s okay to move you back to the governor’s house. Doc Boles’ll take care of you there.”
“Listen, what about Cato?” Yancey asked. “You get my message?”
“Yeah. Someone’s tracking that bunch. Don’t know the details. My job’s to get you to the governor quick as I can. Got a surrey outside with a folded down seat. I’ll give you a hand to dress.”
Yancey found he needed all the assistance that Harlan could give him. He was weak and tottery, constantly having to reach out for support. It angered him but the more he tried to be independent, the more he realized how weak he was.
At the big house on top of Capital Hill, he received Dr. Boles’ ministrations in silence. Boles was the governor’s personal physician, gentle but deft.
“I’ll leave you a potion for that headache, Yancey,” the medic told him, gathering his things. “The other doctor was right. You’ll have to take it easy for a few days. Then after that don’t go doing anything stupid, like riding a racing horse for miles over rough trails, or getting into fights. Be the best part of a week before you’re feeling spry again, I reckon.”
“A week!” Yancey echoed. “Hell, we’ll have lost Cato for keeps in that time!”
“You think you’re the only one capable of trailing him? That Lester Dukes doesn’t have anyone else working for him? Take my advice, Yancey: go easy, or we could be burying you.” Boles nodded curtly and left the room.
Yancey lay in the bed staring at the door, already feeling frustrated. He put a hand to his bandaged head and was still holding it a few minutes later when the governor entered. Yancey gave him the story about Cato in detail, or as much as he knew. When he had finished, the governor frowned.
“Why would they set him up, Yancey? Then abduct him? It doesn’t make sense. If they wanted to kill him, they had plenty of opportunity.”
“I figure they want him for something,” Yancey said. “The woman was there to keep him happy and get him in a position where Storm and his men could move in and get the jump on him.”
Governor Dukes said, “You think it’s information they want from him, Yancey? About me? Or the government?”
Yancey shrugged. “No idea. Johnny wouldn’t be able to help ’em much in that line, anyway. No, somehow, I figure they want Cato for what he can do, with his fists and gun.”
The governor sighed. “Well, I’m sorry to say that we haven’t anything to go on. After they left Castle Hill, it’s as if they suddenly sprouted wings and flew off. No tracks, no sightings, no indication which direction they took.”
Yancey scowled. “Storm put it around that he was a ramrod for some Nueces outfit, but I guess that’ll be plain hogwash. Likely he’s come from somewhere in the opposite direction.”
“Which gives us all of Texas to search, Yancey.” The governor stood up, his face grim. “Even the Nueces and brasada country would take an army of men to comb. Terrible country down that way. Ever been there?”
The governor nodded. “I’m afraid it doesn’t look too good for John, any way you look at it. I’m alerting the Rangers and getting them on the job. Now you get some rest. I mean that. Goodnight.”
Yancey nodded, lifted a hand weakly in salute and watched the governor go out. Nice to know the Rangers would be on the job. If anyone could get a lead on where Cato had been taken, it would be them. He rubbed his head gently, eyes closing against his will, as the bed began to spin again. Slowly, he sank down onto the pillow and pulled the sheet up to his chin. Before he had finished the movement, he was asleep.
But the Rangers found little to go on during their first investigation. They scouted from house to house all around Castle Hill and while plenty of people had seen bunches of cowboys riding past, no one had taken any particular notice, for the town was full of hard-riding cowboys almost constantly. Storm and his men had been traced to a trail-drivers’ rooming house but the woman who ran the place knew nothing about them. To her, they were just another bunch of men in from punching cows up the trail to the railhead. The Rangers were now spreading their field of enquiries outside city limits, checking out the main trails that left Austin.
Yancey didn’t hold out a lot of hope that the Rangers would come up with anything useful and he fretted away two full days in bed, and, despite Dr. Boles’ protests, got on his feet after that. He wasn’t as spry as he figured he would be but he was damned if he was going to stay in bed, wasting time when he could be out doing something useful. The governor was no more willing than the medic to let Yancey go but the big agent refused to argue. He buckled on his gun, picked up his gear, and went down to the long rows of stone and adobe stables attached to Government House. He selected the same big gray he had been riding when he had been shot, had one of the stable hands saddle up for him, then lashed his gear behind the cantle and checked out his Winchester rifle before sliding it into the scabbard. Sitting the saddle wasn’t easy and he felt dizzy for a time. Just as he was about to ride out, the governor appeared with Harlan hovering in the background, silent and corpse-like as usual.
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