Bannerman the Enforcer 7

by Kirk Hamilton

  Mercer was sweating as Cato lifted the gun and pointed it at his head. He forced a nervous laugh, looked at Dukes’ sober face. “You wouldn’t let him do it! He might blow my head off and that’d be plain murder! Right here in your office!”

  Dukes flicked his eyes to Cato’s cold face. “Move him so that any blood won’t splash on that new wallpaper, John. I’m kind of partial to that, had to import it all the way from England.”

  Cato nodded solemnly and Mercer looked incredulous as the Enforcer yanked him out of the chair, shoved him into the center of the room, then kicked his legs from under him. Cato shook the man roughly until he knelt, then placed the gunbarrel against his head.

  “No!” Mercer almost screamed. “Judas, don’t! His hands gripped Cato’s knees and the Enforcer shoved him away, lowering the hammer gently, but holding the gun barrels pointing at the man.

  “Let’s hear what you’ve got to say,” he said coldly.

  It took Mercer a few minutes to get his voice back and then he spoke swiftly, his words tumbling over one another in his eagerness to get them out. “You heard about the train holdup on the Texas-Gulf line when the outlaws got away with the payroll and the mailbags. Dunno if you heard about the stage to Presidio bein’ held up, too, but they got away with the express box there, killed the guard, driver and two passengers. But one of the bandits was hit, too. His name was Clegg. He died, but he used to ride with Luke Meeker. And the trail talk I heard had it that Meeker had joined Burdin’s bunch. Now, I reckon it’s gospel. They’ve been pullin’ these raids on the stages and trains to get money to rebuild the Freedom Army. I bet there’s been more hold-ups since that Presidio stage. Am I right?”

  Cato looked at the governor’s face and saw the answer even before Dukes nodded.

  “The San Antone train was robbed yesterday. Bunch of six or seven men, all masked. Killed ruthlessly; blasted open the express van just like on the Texas-Gulf run. All the earmarks of the same bunch. They got away with thousands.”

  “Sure. Burdin needs lots of cash. Have we got a deal now, Governor?” Mercer sounded more confident now of pulling it off, but his face sobered when Dukes shook his head slowly.

  “Best I can do is get your sentence lightened Mercer. You’re a renegade. You were prepared to kill innocent folk, uproot the laws of this state and embark on a spree of violence. You’ve got no hope of getting off scot-free or seeing any kind of reward. A shorter jail sentence after your trial is all I’ll promise.”

  Mercer jumped up, trembling, white-faced. “By hell, Dukes! That ain’t fair! I risked my neck comin’ in here to tell you this!”

  “Hoping to buy your way out to Mexico and the easy life,” the governor told him. “You’ve too many crimes behind you to get off that easy, Mercer. If you like, I could turn you loose just as you are, and spread the word that you’re alive and you’ve been to see me. I’m sure Burdin would get to hear of it eventually.”

  Mercer looked as if he was going to collapse. He grabbed at the edge of Dukes’ desk for support. He shook his head vehemently. “No, No!” he breathed. “I’ll—I’ll take my chances in the courtroom.”

  “Take him out,” Dukes said wearily, and Cato grabbed the man’s arm. But Mercer resisted, pulled back, facing the governor.

  “Listen, one more thing. And I hope you’ll remember it, Dukes! Burdin aimed to assassinate you durin’ the Texas Independence celebrations in Van Horn. You got the big parade cornin’ up at San Antonio, out at the Alamo. Burdin’s pa or grandpa, ain’t sure which, died at the Alamo. He’ll try for you again. I’m—I’m just givin’ you fair warnin’ and, like I say, I hope you’ll remember I done it of my own accord.”

  Dukes nodded and Cato took Mercer out and turned him over to the Ranger guard outside, with instructions to lock him up. When the Enforcer went back into Dukes’ office, the governor was frowning thoughtfully.

  “Burdin’s still a thorn in our sides, it seems,” he said heavily.

  “Yeah, well Yance and me weren’t sure he hadn’t gotten clear. And talkin’ of Yancey, he’s had some trouble with Jud Landon.” He went on to briefly describe the fight.

  “Hmmm. Nothing seems to be going any too smoothly, does it? Well, when Yancey’s feeling a little better bring him along here, John. I want to talk to you both.”

  Cato arched his eyebrows questioningly, but Dukes said no more and Cato nodded and left the governor staring into space, still seated at his desk.

  ~*~

  Yancey’s bruises were still evident and the cuts on his face were only half-healed when he shoved open the batwings of the Tophand Saloon on Meredith Street near the Red Light district in Austin. Johnny Cato was only a few steps behind him and he hurried to catch up as Yancey jostled his way roughly through the crowd of drinkers. The big Enforcer’s face showed anger and some of the men who turned irritably to snap at him for his shoving, swallowed their words when they saw his eyes. Here was a man it would be best not to mess with, they figured.

  “Yance, hold up, will you!” yelled Cato above the noise of the saloon, trying to compete with the tinny piano, the shouting and laughing, the high-pitched, forced merriment of the painted women. “This ain’t doin’ any good.”

  Yancey breasted the bar and slammed the flat of his hand on the counter-top, yelling for service. The sweating barkeep hurried across.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Beer. And bring a bottle of whisky,” Yancey snapped. He glanced down as Cato pushed in beside him. “You gonna have a drink?”

  The smaller Enforcer nodded slowly as he thumbed back his hat. “Guess I might as well while I try to talk some sense into you.”

  “Save your breath,” Yancey growled as the barkeep set up the drinks. He grabbed the bottle, poured a shot glass full of raw spirits and tossed it down. He refilled the glass immediately, shoved the bottle Cato’s way, then thumbed back his hat. “Goddamn it, Johnny, Dukes has got no right to clamp down on me that way.”

  Cato sipped his drink. “Well, I dunno, Yance. It’s a pretty rough deal, I guess, but there ain’t much you can do.” He looked at his pard over the top of the shot glass. “And gettin’ drunk or into a brawl ain’t gonna help.”

  Yancey looked at him coldly, poured another whisky and downed it fast. He picked up his foaming beer and took a deep swallow. “Man’s got to do something before he dies of boredom,” he growled.

  The men in the immediate vicinity of the two Enforcers were quieter now and it was evident that they were listening to Cato and Yancey. The two men weren’t unknown in this saloon but they didn’t come here often. When they did, Yancey was usually trying to keep Cato out of trouble when the smaller man was ready to cut loose for a night on the town. Tonight, it seemed to be the other way about, and this was what interested the drinkers. While Yancey had been known to kick up his heels in a wing-ding or two and to get into many a fight, it was a little unusual to see him putting liquor away like he was.

  “Aaah, must’ve been loco to take on that damned imping chore,” Yancey said. “Dragged on too long, Johnny. Don't tell me you ain’t bored!”

  Cato shrugged. “I’m kinda interested in getting the guns to shoot dead straight, Yance. Takes time. I’m used to that from my gunsmithin’ days. Besides, while we’re in Austin, we get most nights free and I reckon that compensates for a lot.”

  Yancey’s mouth twisted. “Maybe it does for you. Oh, sure, I get to take out Kate Dukes, too, but there ain’t all that much going on in Austin. It’s not New York or San Francisco. You see the show at the Palace and the Slipper or go to dinner a couple of times, take a drive or two, and what the hell else is there?”

  “Well, what d’you want?” Cato asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. “You’re damn restless, Yancey. Don’t recall havin’ seen you like this before.”

  “Aaah ... I dunno, Johnny. I guess there’s plenty to keep me busy with that training program, but there’s no action! Not really. I guess I’m wanting another assignment.”

 
“Shouldn’t be too much longer, should it?”

  Yancey scowled. “Who the hell knows? Way Dukes is carrying on you’d think he wants to make it a permanent thing.” He emptied his beer glass, signaled for another. He drank a whisky while he waited. “Look, Johnny, all I did was enter my name for the Texas Day target shoot. I figured it’d be something a little different and I know damn well I can pull it off. Hell, I’ve been trained to shoot straight, ain’t I? And with you tuning my guns, I reckon it’s a cinch. Prize money’s big this year too. But it’s not that so much. It’s the chance to do something different, something to break the boredom. Now Dukes tells me to withdraw, that he doesn’t want me, or you, or any of his Enforcers entering competitions! Loco!”

  He gulped some of the fresh beer and Cato toyed with his whisky. “Have to admit it does sound a mite petty, but I guess he’s got his reasons, Yance. Usually does.”

  “But what the hell can it matter? Judas, Johnny, I’ve done everything he wanted; I’ve trained those new men, designed the course out at Ironsite, handled all the paperwork, sweated like hell to make a fist of it. Then he comes down hard on me for something like that!”

  Ato shrugged looking uneasy as Yancey continued to put away the liquor. “Well, okay,” he said suddenly. “If we’re gonna have a wing-ding tonight, let’s go someplace else. I know a joint over on Sioux Street where the gals are—”

  “You go,” Yancey cut in. “I’d prefer to be by myself tonight, Johnny.”

  “Hell, nothing in that, Yance. You’ll only drink yourself into a mood and pick a fight and—”

  “I’ll fight you in a minute if you don’t let me be!” Yancey snapped and he cursed as he splashed whisky all over his shirt. “Now look at what you made me do, damn it! Ten dollar shirt!”

  Cato lifted a hand placatingly and backed off slowly.

  “Okay, okay, old pard. Have it your way. But just remember, you work for Dukes; he’s entitled to tell you what you can and can’t do and all the cussin’ in the world won’t change it.”

  Yancey didn’t answer. He hunched over his drink and stared morosely into the specked bar mirror, watching Cato push back through the crowd towards the batwings. Then he recognized a man coming out of the main crush of drinkers, and turned slowly to look into the battered, crookedly smiling face of Jud Landon.

  “Sounds like you ain’t a happy man, Bannerman,” the man said.

  Yancey didn’t answer. Landon eased in against the bar. “Now you know what it’s like not to be able to do somethin’ you really want to, just ’cause one man says ‘no’.”

  “Get away from me, Landon,” Yancey growled.

  “Sure. Just wanted to say my piece.”

  “Say it someplace else. No, wait. I hear you quit the Rangers altogether.”

  Landon flushed, his fight marks standing out against the colored skin. “Yeah. Had enough of discipline and not gettin’ anyplace. I’m a free agent now. Thanks to you.”

  “You didn’t measure up,” Yancey told him flatly. “You’re a fool quitting just because of that.”

  “None of your business, Bannerman! Maybe you’ll quit now Dukes is clippin’ your wings a little!” He laughed shortly.

  Yancey downed a whisky and clamped his lips tight. “We’ll see about him clipping my wings or not. I don’t mind taking orders when they make sense, but there’s no real reason for this one and ... Aah, to hell with it!”

  He turned back to the bar, reaching for the bottle again. Jud Landon laughed again, pleased to see Yancey rattled, and moved away slowly into the crowd.

  ~*~

  Yancey squeezed the trigger gently until he felt the sear begin to slip. He let out part of his breath, held it, and when the rifle was rock-steady, applied the remaining pressure to the trigger. The hammer snapped forward, the cartridge exploded and he felt the brass butt plate jar his shoulder with the recoil.

  The bullet clanged against the swinging gong and the crowd cheered as Yancey stood up, grinning widely, opening the lever on his smoking Winchester and leaving it that way.

  He won himself an extra five points for this simple safety measure. The other two finalist competitors came forward and shook Yancey’s hand. He had won yet another section of the Texas Day target shoot. He was now well ahead of anyone else with his aggregate score and the judges’ spokesman called through his megaphone for silence as he read out the scored points from his notebook.

  “And Mr. Bayliss, with his sensational win just now,” the spokesman concluded, “has just run up a record total of points for this competition. He is over forty points ahead of the previous record! And I reckon that calls for a hefty round of applause!”

  The crowd whistled and cheered and clapped and Yancey gave them a brief wave. For now, he was ‘Mr. Bayliss’ and he was sporting a false longhorn mustache. When Dukes had refused to allow him to enter the shooting competition, without giving any really satisfactory reason, he had gone ahead and entered under a fictitious name. Now came the big problem. The governor was to present the prize money to the winner and Yancey figured his longhorn mustache wouldn’t fool Dukes. Kate would be at his side, too. They would recognize him instantly. During the actual shooting at the targets, Dukes had been busy at another function, judging prime beef stud stock. The Texas Independence Celebrations were in full swing now and the governor was leading a hectic life, in demand at many functions. He was attended constantly by Dr. Boles and had a worried Kate hanging onto his arm; both were afraid that the strain would be too much for him, but the old man seemed to thrive on it.

  Yancey went through the formalities of being declared the winner in this latest section of the shoot, and then stepped forward to take his place on the winner’s dais as the champion rifle shot of Texas. He was flanked, either side, by the second and third place-getters.

  Johnny Cato came forward to congratulate Yancey as he walked to the official stand where Dukes was getting ready to present him with the gold medal and the prize money.

  “Great shootin’, Yance.” Cato said out of the corner of his mouth. “But you’re loco goin’ through with this. You’re playin’ with fire, man!”

  “What the hell!” Yancey’s spirits were high. “What can he do now? I won fair and square. He’ll recognize me, sure, but so what? He can hardly refuse to hand over the prize in front of half of Austin!”

  “You’ve been a fool, Yance,” Cato said shortly. “Dunno why you figured this was so important.”

  “It wasn’t. Until Dukes told me I couldn’t enter.”

  Cato looked at him sharply. “That ain’t like you!”

  Yancey shrugged. “Don’t matter now, anyway. I won!”

  Cato studied his pard puzzledly as he walked. It sure wasn’t like Yancey to dig his heels in over something like this that really didn’t matter a damn, anyway. Yancey never bothered about being better than anyone at anything. In many cases, he was better, but he never spoke about it. Cato wished he knew just what had taken place between Yancey and Dukes that night in the governor’s office a few days ago. He knew Dukes had called for Tad Mercer to be brought in from prison where he was awaiting trial, but Yancey hadn’t given him any details. It was after that night that Yancey had seemed to start kicking over the traces. Could be Dukes had been angry because Burdin had escaped that canyon, but, while Yancey had been nominally in charge of the assignment, it was as much Cato’s fault as the big Enforcer’s. He shook his head bewilderedly. It sure beat the hell out of him.

  There must have been something to have caused the antagonism between Yancey and Governor Dukes.

  And Cato, and the people of Austin who had attended the target shoot, saw the next act in the drama when Yancey stepped forward under the name of ‘Mr. Bayliss’ to collect his medal and prize money from the governor.

  Kate and Dukes, of course, recognized him immediately and the girl glanced swiftly at her father. His face was tight-lipped, congested with anger. His hand, holding the gold medal, was poised in mid-air. Then he lowered the
medal and replaced it in the velvet-lined box. His eyes were narrowed and blazing with anger as they regarded Yancey.

  “So you disobeyed my orders,” he said quietly. “All right. You won the shoot and I hope you’re satisfied. Because that’s all you’re going to get out of this!” Kate started to speak, but the governor shook her hand from his arm and picked up his megaphone. “Folks, there’s been a mistake. Mr. Bayliss here has not been completely honest with us! He entered this contest under an assumed name! Under the regulations, this is not permitted. The entry form clearly states ‘Contestant’s Given Name In Full’. And it appears that Mr. Bayliss gave himself that name! I therefore declare him ineligible and award the prize to the next highest scorer, to …” He consulted the papers in front of him. “… Mr. Larry Miller, of Fort Scott, West Texas.”

  There was a furore as the crowd yelled, some complaining that Yancey should have the prize no matter what name he used; he had totaled up the winning number of points. But the governor was adamant and he glared challengingly at Yancey. Kate bit her lower lip, looking from the Enforcer to her father. Yancey gave the governor a bitter look, spun on his heel and, face red with embarrassment, stalked back across the open ground, pushing people roughly aside head down, lips pulled tightly into a razor-thin line.

  Cato ran after him, at Kate’s request, but he savagely knocked the smaller man’s hand aside and spoke between his teeth.

  “Let me be, Johnny! I mean it! Just let me be!”

  He stormed on and out of the target-shooting area, striding savagely down the road that led back to town.