It had been the sound of the single gunshot ... a .45 unless Cato missed his guess ... that had interrupted proceedings and allowed him to hear the noise at the door as someone tried to enter. It was then that the girl had exclaimed, “Madre de Dios! My ’usband!” And it was then that Johnny Cato had decided it would be a good time to head for the great outdoors ...
He checked when he realized that the pursuit had eased. There was another shot—the .45 again—swiftly followed by a whiplashing explosion that could only be a Snider rifle. That suggested a Mex soldier, or a bandito who had taken the Snider from the soldier. The .45? That likely meant another American. Mexicans were given to using smaller caliber side-arms. Well, it had been a similar .45 gunshot that had saved his neck; it would be only fair to see if he could return the favor while passing the door of this trouble spot. From inside the cantina came more gunshots, the cries of men, one howling in pain, others cursing in Spanish. Wood splintered and glass shattered. He thought he heard an American voice, too. Someone was sure in trouble.
Cato went through the doorway like a cat, crouching against the wall, hand on the butt of the gun that rested on his right hip. The holster was large and bulbous and when he freed the gun from leather it looked like it had two barrels: a fat one beneath the normal one. This was about all Yancey Bannerman had time to notice as he fought for his life against the bar. His Colt was empty and he was struggling with a Mexican who was trying to gut him with a knife. Three other Mexicans were sprawled on the floor, one totally unconscious, two wounded. The cantina man had chosen sides and was lifting a tequila bottle behind Yancey’s head. A bandit was trying to get a shot at the big man with his Snider while other Mexicans crowded around, helping the banditos. They had to live in this town, with the constant fear of bandits and so they had decided to help the outlaws get this hard-hitting gringo and stay on their right side. The room was a shambles as Yancey struggled, trying to keep the counter at his back but ultimately he must go down under the superior numbers.
“Hell, this ain’t fair!” Cato yelled and one of the bandits brought up his rifle. Cato fired and the man was hurled back by the impact of the bullet.
The gunshot seemed to be the signal for pandemonium to break loose. Cato found himself the target for almost as many Mexicans as were attacking Yancey and he got off a swift burst of fire that sent bodies sprawling and flailing in all directions. Yancey hooked the man with the knife in the belly with his elbow, kneed him in the groin and smashed his gun barrel into the face of the man with the rifle. Two Mexicans came running in from the rear with machetes and made straight for Yancey.
“Duck!” yelled Cato, making a swift adjustment to the hammer of his strange looking gun. He held the gun in both hands as Yancey instinctively obeyed and squeezed the trigger. The fat barrel beneath the normal one thundered with the roar of a shotgun and bucked his arms high in the air. The machete-wielders were cut down by a hail of buckshot, and dust spurted from the blood-spattered adobe wall. Men ducked and scattered and Yancey, hanging onto the counter, blinked and breathed:
“Good God! What the hell is that thing?”
“Call it the ‘Manstopper’,” Cato replied succinctly. “Time to go, amigo!”
Yancey kicked a downed bandit in the face as the man reached for his ankle, leaped over another, rammed his shoulder into a third man and ran for the door, his right trouser leg dark with blood. Cato backed after Yancey, adjusting his gun hammer again, shooting twice. Then they whirled through the doorway and three men with knives came at them out of the darkness and Cato knew this was his lady friend’s husband and his pards.
Yancey slithered to a stop when he was confronted by the trio and Cato rammed into him. The men surged forward and Yancey charged in, striking out left and right with his empty gun, feeling flesh crunch beneath his blows. Cato got off another shot and a man yelled. Then they were clear and running down the street into the darkness, Yancey limping slightly and holding his right thigh.
“My horse is over here!” he yelled.
“That Texas pony? Forget it. I’ve got two fast ones at the edge of town.”
“Why in hell does a little hombre like you want two horses?”
They dodged around a corner as rifles barked behind them.
“Why? In case I have to get big hombres like you out of trouble they can’t handle!” retorted Cato.
Yancey grinned, pounding down the alley, allowing Cato to take the lead. “Hope your horses are close by,” he panted. “I caught a knife thrust in the leg.”
“Hell’s flames! Just what I need! Blood all over my saddle.”
Yancey arched his eyebrows at the retort and wondered just what the hell kind of man had gotten him out of trouble back there ...
Behind a tarpaper and clapboard shack, they came on Cato’s horses. Yancey was surprised to find that there was a dead man roped across the saddle of one. Cato didn’t waste time in explanations. He took out his knife and slashed the ropes, tipping the body off. Yancey mounted swiftly, feeling his boot wet with blood from his wound. He felt, also, for the bags of gold inside his shirt where he had thrust them when the trouble started in the cantina. The gold was safe.
Cato was aboard his own mount now, wheeling it, gun in hand. He triggered two shots over the heads of the pursuers as they came running up the slope towards the shack and Yancey wondered just how many shots that ‘Manstopper’ gun of Cato’s held. Then Cato let out a wild Rebel yell and rode hell for leather straight into the crowd of Mexicans. Yancey put his heels to his horse and followed, scattering the men. They charged on through, wheeled left and made for the edge of town and the darkness of the desert night. A dozen bullets whined overhead and they ducked low.
In a few minutes, they were starting the climb over the sierras and Yancey figured the men back there would be on their trail mighty soon.
“North to the Rio?” Cato yelled at him.
“Right behind you,” answered Yancey, feeling the weight of the gold inside his shirt. He had a feeling that with this little fire-eating hombre siding him, there might yet be a good chance of getting that gold back to Texas after all.
Three – Texas
CURTIS BANNERMAN irritably tied his bathrobe around him and shoved his feet into his slippers more violently than was necessary. He glared across his large bedroom at Mattie where she stood by the door, already dressed in her housekeeper’s gown, with a silver chain holding several keys dangling from a clip on her belt.
“What the devil does the man want, calling unannounced at this hour?” C.B. demanded, brushing briefly at his gray hair and looking critically at his face in the table mirror. It was a hard face and he figured there were a few more lines there. Big business had its price in more ways than one.
“I don’t know why Senator Magnus is here, Father,” Mattie replied, “but he certainly seems angry about something. He has that gunfighter with him, too ... The one with the eye patch.”
“Venters,” grunted C.B. “Never goes anywhere without him.” He sighed. “Well, I best see what the man wants. Have your maid bring in some coffee or something.”
“It’s already brewing, Father,” Mattie told him as she held open the door. “I’ll serve it as soon as it’s ready.” She added, “I’ve put the senator and his—friend, in the parlor.”
C.B. grunted again as he hurried past the girl and they started down the ornate staircase together. “Chuck get off last night all right?”
“Yes,” the girl said, frowning a little. “The train was late but by the time it had left the station Chuck had already found some female company to help pass the time ... ”
C.B. ignored that, at least outwardly. Inwardly, he felt a slight knot of tension. Chuck and his damn female companions! But he didn’t have time to think much more on the subject as Mattie held the parlor door open for him and, when he had entered, closed it and continued on her way to the kitchen.
C.B. went into the room, as always, businesslike and alert, taking in the tw
o men who waited for him in front of the fireplace. Magnus’ bulk almost blocked the hearth, but he wasn’t a flabby man: the beef on him was muscular and health showed in the glow of his tanned skin. His mouth was thick and heavy lipped, stretched grimly now, and his nose was large. Hard agate-colored eyes regarded Bannerman coldly and the light sheened off his partly bald head, glinted from the ruby in the gold ring on his left hand.
Beside him, tall, silent and deadly, stood Hawke Venters, gunfighter, rumored assassin and Magnus’ troubleshooter and bodyguard. The leather patch over his left eye-socket gave him a sinister look, as did the permanent twist to his razor-thin mouth. He was dressed elegantly but still looked like the killer he was, the impression enhanced by the low-slung twin guns tied down to his lean thighs.
Both men ignored C.B.’s civil, “Good morning, gentlemen,” and Magnus stepped forward to meet the banker, face hard.
“Won’t beat about the brush, Bannerman,” the senator said in his Texas drawl, a type of speech which annoyed C.B. no end. “I’ve been robbed and I hold you responsible.”
C.B. covered his surprise by taking a cigar from a silver-filigree box, offering it to the others and receiving two curt refusals. He busied himself piercing the end and firing up.
“Well, that’s sure coming straight to the point,” he allowed. “Before I commit myself one way or another, I think more details are in order.”
“Right. Here they are. Someone’s broken into my safety deposit box and taken ... certain papers.”
CB stiffened “Impossible! The door to the safety deposit box room can only be opened by two keys turning the locks simultaneously. My bank manager has one, the safety deposit box owners each have another ... but, naturally, each box has its own individual key, also retained by the owners.” He shook his head. “You must be mistaken, Senator.”
Venters stirred slightly. “Where we come from, mister,” he drawled, “that’s as good as calling the Senator a liar ... And no man does that while I’m around.”
C.B. was shocked by the cold words, looked at Magnus and was further shocked when the man said nothing, made no effort to censure his bodyguard. Bannerman scowled. “Mistaken, I said. I didn’t call anyone a liar.”
“Well, now,” said Venters. “That’s up to the Senator to decide.”
C.B. flushed. “The hell with you, Venters,” he muttered, turning his gaze onto Magnus and ignoring the gunfighter. “I’m dealing with you, Senator. Tell your man to stay out of this. You’re under my roof. I make the rules here.”
Magnus’ thick lips curved slightly at one side and he made a brief, placating gesture towards Venters who had stiffened at Bannerman’s tone. “Easy, Hawke ... All right, Bannerman. But I think I’ll soon take the edge off your voice when I tell you that I did not make any mistake and, further, that I suspect the man who robbed me was your son, Charles ... ”
The Senator’s words not only took the edge off C.B.’s words, they knocked the wind right out of his sails and he stared through the cigar smoke incredulously at Magnus. Mattie entered with the coffee tray but the men all ignored her as she began to pour and serve.
“Before you suffer a stroke, Bannerman,” Magnus continued when he saw the blood suffusing C.B.’s face, “let me add this ... I have many interests throughout the country and some of them are right here on the West Coast. I won’t go into details as to what they are, but suffice it to say that I was holding IOUs in your son’s name to the tune of six thousand dollars. It was those notes which were stolen.”
Mattie checked as she handed around the imported English porcelain demitasse cups of coffee, glancing swiftly at her father. But she continued playing hostess, delaying so that she might hear more. C.B. was stunned, and she saw the anger congesting his face. She put a hand on his arm, ignored his efforts to shake it off, insisted that he take the cup of coffee and hold it while she spooned in sugar and stirred. The pause for the mundane routine was what was needed to calm C.B. down and she saw that he was in control of himself now and moved on to her tray, lifting a plate of wafers, preparing to hand it around.
“This time I’m afraid I am calling you a liar, Magnus,” C.B. said in a cool, calculating voice and he glanced at Venters as the man started to turn and place his coffee cup on the mantelpiece so as to leave both hands free. “Don’t be so foolish as to bring your stupid frontier codes into my house, Venters!” C.B. snapped. “I have guards all around this estate. At the first sound of gunfire, you would be cut down.”
“I—ah—took the precaution of placing Leeds and Mulvane outside the French windows, Father,” Mattie said quietly, indicating the doors that were covered with heavy embroidered drapes. “The usual orders to allow no one to leave without your express permission.”
C.B. inclined his head towards Mattie and Venters frowned, looking to Magnus for orders. Magnus merely sipped his coffee, his hard eyes watching the girl. “A most efficient lady, Bannerman,” he said. “But I assure you I am not lying ... Charles lost the money at the gaming tables in the Barbary Queen, one of my—er—business interests. Landis, my partner, gave me the lOUs for safe-keeping and I put them in my safety deposit box in your bank. Now they are gone and I have already learned that your son spent some time in the safety deposit box room last night, alone, after the bank had closed. Your manager told me it was not unusual for Charles to do this from time to time as he keeps all your land deeds there and I believe he is in charge of your land investments ... ?”
“That’s correct,” C.B. admitted. “But my son knows better than to gamble. I have been at pains to explain to him many times how dangerous it is for anyone entrusted with public moneys to frequent gaming houses. It can only lead to trouble.”
“How right you are, Bannerman! Your son is in a lot of trouble right now ... I assure you I am telling the truth. And I suggest that the simplest way of proving it is to call Charles in here and ask him to his face.”
C.B. glanced briefly at Mattie. “Just a minute ... Were the IOUs the only things stolen out of your safety deposit box?”
“No ... There was some cash. A few hundred.”
“Nothing else?”
“No. Now, see here, Bannerman, are you going to call him?”
“And yours was the only box broken into?” C.B. went on.
Magnus frowned. He took a deep breath, sighed, shaking his head. “I believe several others were rifled too, but that doesn’t prove anything.”
“Then I like your damn nerve, accusing my son!” C.B. snapped.
“Do you think I’m a fool?” Magnus snapped back. “I can see that it was done merely as a cover-up, so as not to draw attention to my box!”
“How would Charles know you kept the IOUs there?” Mattie asked quietly and the three men looked towards her. “I mean, I doubt if he even knew you had a safety deposit box with our bank, Senator, let alone what was in it.”
Magnus’ eyes narrowed. “I have an answer to that, Miss Bannerman, and it is sufficient to convince me that Charles knew ... I do not intend to go into details here.” He turned back to C.B. “Now, will you bring the man in here so that I may question him?”
C.B. sipped his coffee, handed the empty cup to Mattie and puffed on his cigar. “I can’t do that, Senator,” he said mildly.
“I demand it!” Magnus snapped and Venters took a step forward.
“Demand all you like,” C.B. replied easily. “I can’t bring Charles in because he’s not here. Now, just a minute. I don’t mean he’s not in the house. He’s not even in San Francisco.”
Magnus stiffened and his cold gaze bored into the banker. “So he’s flown the coop! Now there’s proof of guilt for you!”
C.B.’s jaw muscles bulged and he strode angrily to the parlor doors, opening them and standing stiffly beside them as he glared back at Magnus and Venters. “Get out ... I’ve done business with you in the past, Magnus, and I admit it’s been profitable. But that doesn’t give you the right to come into my house and make accusations against a member
of my family ... Get out, I said!”
Magnus hesitated a moment, then, mouth compressed, nodded to Venters. They strode towards the door, Magnus taking time to nod a curt goodbye to Mattie. Then he paused in front of C.B.
“If you’re so keen on family, Bannerman, I suggest you come to Texas sometime and listen to some of the stories about your other son ... Yancey, isn’t it?”
C.B. looked back at him silently but his eyes were sparking.
“Yes, Yancey Bannerman,” Magnus went on, answering himself. “Now there’s a heller if ever there was one. He brawls up and down the length of the cattle trails, gets himself into shooting scrapes and is building quite a reputation as a gunfighter ... If you’re worried about the good name of Bannerman being soiled, I suggest you ask Yancey to consider changing his surname to something that won’t connect him with your family ... ” Then Magnus lost the needling tone and said in a flat, iron-edged voice, “You haven’t heard the last of this, Bannerman. I’ll find Charles. I have my ways. And you’ll wish you’d treated me more civilly. I promise you that! Or as we say in Texas, I’ll square-away with you, Bannerman. Never doubt it!”
After Magnus and his gunfighter had gone, C.B. slowly closed the doors and turned back into the room. He accepted the second cup of coffee that Mattie handed him, a deep frown creasing his forehead.
“Well, Mattie,” he asked in a surprisingly quiet voice and using the contraction of her name rather than the formal ‘Matilda’, “what do you think?”
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