They strode along the boardwalk towards the bank’s front doors ...
Inside the bank, all seemed in order. Customers were at the tellers’ cages or at tables around the large room. The big beefy man whom Yancey had seen acting suspiciously was standing beside a rubber plant, watching Randall and Chuck Bannerman as they talked inside the manager’s railed-off office area. The big man was Hank Boden and he rubbed at the side of his face as his sunburn itched. He didn’t get much chance to see the sun in ’Frisco, mainly working nights on Landis’ jobs, sleeping during the day. He would be glad when this Texas chore was through and he could get back to the big city life. And it would be good to go back richer than he had left. He glanced around the big room casually. His six men were in position. And there went Chuck and Randall now, heading down the short passage towards the vault where they had just changed guards. Boden stiffened, stood there, tensed, looking at the old clock on the wall, counting off the seconds.
As they moved down the short passage, Randall was frowning a little at Chuck’s obvious uneasiness. “No real need for you to watch me put away this option on the land, Chuck. It’s legally binding and you have a copy of your own.”
Chuck mopped at his face with a kerchief. “I like to see things done and then I can rest easy,” he said. He forced a sickly smile. “Old habits die hard, Tom ... ”
“You all right, boy?” Randall asked, concerned. “You’re sweating and shaking like you got the border fever ... ”
“Hangover, I guess ... ” He stopped abruptly when he saw Slim Morgan on the other side of the barred grille, holding his shotgun but grinning at Chuck.
“Man, you look worse than Yancey!” Slim chuckled. “You really tied one on last night, didn’t you?”
“What’re you doing here?” Chuck asked, his voice uncertain. “You can’t work all night and all day, too!”
Morgan took out his key, resting his shotgun, and he and Randall opened the grille. “Went off duty at five this mornin’. Chuck. I’ve had eight hours’ break ...”
Chuck nodded jerkily, looking ill. He hadn’t figured on Morgan being on guard duty at the vault.
“Well, let’s get this option deposited ... ” Randall began, taking the legal document from an inside pocket and starting to enter the vault. But suddenly, Hank Boden was running down the short passage towards them, cocked six-gun in hand. Slim Morgan spotted Boden at once and reached for his shotgun. Boden raised his six-gun coldly.
“No!” exclaimed Chuck, starting off the wall. “Oh, God, no! There’s to be no shooting!”
His words were drowned in the thunderous roar of Boden’s gun, the explosion sounding like a cannon in the confines of the passage. Slim Morgan was slammed back by the slug, and as he toppled forward, Boden shot him again, in the face. Then Boden was inside the vault. He slammed Randall across the side of the head and shoved Chuck violently into the row of metal boxes.
“Right! Start counting out that drought relief money!” he snarled. From the banking chamber came the sound of uproar.
Yancey and Cato were at the bank’s double doors when they heard the muffled sounds of two shots from inside. They whipped out their guns and went in fast.
Men with guns were all round the banking chamber, covering the guards who had obviously been taken by surprise. Two had their hands thrust high as they stood against the wall while the armed robbers disarmed them. One lay unconscious on the floor, bleeding from a gun whip wound in the scalp, while another guard was clinging to the counter, doubled over and clawing at his midriff. Customers and clerks were standing, trembling, with hands raised.
When Yancey and Cato burst in the whole scene changed from one of surprise and terror to violent action. A short bandit standing near the doubled over guard spotted them first and swung his gun around. Yancey triggered first and the man was punched back by the slamming lead, struck the edge of the counter and arched across it before rolling to the floor at the feet of a gasping matron. She gave a little moan and fainted.
Abruptly, the chamber was filled with screams and yells and flying lead. Guns roared and people ducked for cover. A clerk reached for a gun slung on a nail under his counter but a bandit, leaping the counter for protection, spotted him, swung his legs up and kicked the man squarely in the face, knocking him down in a moaning heap. A woman tried to get out the front door and stepped right into Cato’s line of fire. Cursing, he threw up his arm and the bullet he had meant for a bandit thudded into the ceiling. He grabbed the woman and hurled her bodily out onto the boardwalk, then dived forward and blasted two shots at a running bank robber.
Yancey was crouched behind a supporting pillar and ducked as lead chewed plaster from the edge, spraying him with white dust. He snapped a shot at a man crouched at one end of the counter, saw splinters spinning from the polished woodwork. The bandit grabbed a woman customer who was holding her hands over her ears. He obviously aimed to take her hostage. Yancey rolled out from behind his pillar, came up to one knee and held his Colt in both hands as he drew a swift bead and dropped hammer. The man’s head snapped back and the woman screamed as some of his brains splashed across her bodice. She doubled over, vomiting, oblivious to the bullets flying around her ...
Two more men were making their run for the bank’s street-front window, one man holding a stool to smash the glass. Yancey was caught with an empty gun and feverishly reloaded, but Cato was ready with his ‘Manstopper’. The shotgun shell from the extra barrel blasted like a keg of exploding gunpowder and both bandits were hurled against the window. The glass shattered and the riddled bodies thudded across the sill and hung there like a couple of bloody rags.
Yancey, ears ringing from the shotgun blast, stood up, punched his last cartridge into the cylinder and snapped the loading gate closed. One bandit, still alive against a wall, suddenly flung his gun away and lifted his good hand in surrender.
Then out of the passage leading to the vault, came Chuck Bannerman. But he had a thick arm wound around his neck and Boden had a gun jammed against the young man’s spine. He turned Chuck so that he was between him and Yancey and Cato.
“Don’t shoot, Yancey!” Chuck yelled, wincing as the gun-barrel bored into his spine.
Boden didn’t speak, but his cold eyes stared past Chuck’s shoulder at Yancey and Cato. He edged along the wall while Yancey and Cato stood there helplessly. When he almost fell over the wounded bandit sitting against the wall they tensed, but Boden regained his balance immediately and Chuck arched his back as the gun barrel rammed home.
“Can you ride, Ned?” Boden asked the wounded man.
“Guess not, Hank. I’m gut-shot ...”
Boden abruptly placed his gun barrel against the man’s head and fired. He had the gun rammed back against Chuck’s spine before the bandit had toppled to the floor. He edged on towards the door and brought his gun round to the side, holding it close alongside Chuck’s body, the muzzle pointed towards Yancey and Cato. His intention was plain: he aimed to kill the men who had foiled the robbery ...
Chuck threw himself sideways. Boden’s gun thundered but the bullet went wide and Yancey and Cato dived to the floor, their guns swinging up to cover Boden. Chuck broke free and made a headlong dive. Boden swore, brought the gun around again and fired three fast shots, fanning the hammer, then lunged out of the double doors and, as he turned, Yancey caught a glimpse of a bulging canvas sack tied to the middle of his belt at the back. He fired after the bandit but his bullet clipped the doorframe and Cato’s shot was no closer. They lunged to their feet together and ran for the doors.
They heard racing hoofs down the side street and leaped across the boardwalk to the opening between the buildings. The guard from down there was riding side by side with Boden and they were just turning the corner at the far end of the street when Cato and Yancey spotted them. The bandits turned in the saddle, triggered a couple of wild shots and the gunfighters fired in return, hearing their lead thunk harmlessly into the clapboard wall of a building beyond the s
ide street.
Yancey turned back to race for his mount as the white-faced Chuck came to the doors of the bank. “Can you manage there?” Yancey yelled and Chuck nodded. Cato followed Yancey at a run towards the horses tied up outside the saloon. There was a crowd gathering and people fell back as they saw the men with guns in their hands. They swung into the saddle, wheeled their horses and started running them towards the side street beside the bank.
Suddenly there was a fusillade of shots, then wild yells, and Yancey and Cato ducked low over their horses’ necks, looking around, startled. The town marshal and his deputies were running down the street, guns blazing, mistaking them for the bank robbers. Chuck ran out onto the boardwalk, waving his arms wildly, yelling at the lawmen.
“Not them, you fools! They’re chasing the outlaws! Hold your fire!”
There were two or three more scattered shots from the group of lawmen and then Chuck’s words got through to them and they stopped firing as Yancey and Cato ran their mounts down the side street. But the delay had given Boden and his partner a chance to get a good lead and the pursuers weaved through twisting streets, trying to find some trace of them. There was no way of knowing which trail they had taken out of town but Yancey figured it would be to the north where the hills began. That way they could hide away from any posse that came after them.
But the two gunfighters rode for several hours and it was after sundown before they returned to Austin without having sighted Boden or his partner. There were lights burning in the bank and planks had been nailed over the shattered window. Yancey and Cato dismounted wearily and were challenged by an armed guard at the door until they stepped into the light of flaring carbides and were recognized.
“Spot ’em?” the guard asked.
Yancey shook his head, then went to meet Tom Randall, who had a bandage around his head. The marshal, a dried-out man with longhorn moustaches, named Rillings, slouched along behind, his shoe button eyes glittering in the lamplight as he looked at Yancey and Cato. Then the two men checked to speak with one of the deputies.
“Got away with eight thousand,” the guard said out of the corner of his mouth. “All that big hombre had time to grab. He cut down Slim. Killed him cold.”
Yancey stiffened. “They killed Slim Morgan?”
The guard nodded. “Yeah, and that ain’t all ...”
He broke off as Randall came up with the marshal. The bank manager shook hands with Cato and Yancey.
“Thank God you came when you did! You saved the governor’s money, Yancey, and possibly a lot of lives.”
“Lucky we chanced by,” Yancey said, deadpan, ignoring the sharp look that Cato gave him. He nodded to the lawman. “Couldn’t cut their tracks, Marshal.”
“I’ve got men out lookin’,” Rillings said. “To the northwest and due west. I figure they’ll head for the badlands rather than the hills. We can bottle ’em up in the hills too easy now we got the telegraph. I could notify the law officers in towns all around them hills ... ”
Yancey nodded. “Guess you’re right. We’ve wasted our time.”
“You done a mighty good job here,” Rillings said and Yancey knew that was about all the thanks he and Cato could expect from the lawman.
“Where’s Chuck?” Yancey asked Randall and the manager looked uneasy, shuffling his feet. He started to speak, changed his mind, looked at the marshal.
Rillings met Yancey’s quizzical gaze unflinchingly, and said in his dry voice, “I’ve got him in my cells. Arrested him for bein’ tied in with the bank robbery.”
Yancey stared at him in disbelief. He could find no words. Randall cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “I’m sorry, Yancey. It was my suggestion. I know that Chuck set up that robbery and I couldn’t let him get away with it. Not when he caused the death of Slim Morgan.”
Johnny Cato looked at the grim-faced Yancey and pursed his lips in a silent whistle.
Six – Necktie Party
THE POTHOOK spread owned by J. J. Magnus, was twenty miles northwest of Austin. It covered a huge tract of land and ran big herds of cattle. Magnus held his cattle empire against all-comers, ruling harshly, using the law of the gun. He went into politics to strengthen his hold.
In his home state, the one thorn in his side was Governor Lester Dukes, the Texas Crusader, the man who aimed to make the Lone Star State law-abiding and safe for all manner of folks, new settlers as well as old hands.
Dukes could not be bought and had little sympathy for the range-hungry cattle barons. Magnus had been running a profitable wetback-slave business as well, and right now, with the big drought, cheap labor was in big demand. And this was the time when Dukes had intensified his campaign against the trade in illegal immigrants from below the Rio Grande. Dukes hated to see people exploited as much as he hated the big cattle barons for what he saw as a deliberate attempt to re-introduce slavery to the South.
Magnus had no intention of giving up the ‘wetback’ trade just because of Dukes’ highfaluting notions. It was one reason he had engineered the robbery of the Bannerman bank in Austin while the governor’s drought relief funds were in the vaults. The fact that it had failed and he had lost six men enraged Magnus.
He paced back and forth in his study in the big Pothook ranch house, berating Hank Boden and McEvoy, the guard who had escaped with him. When he was through, Boden cleared his throat. “Must’ve been pure luck Yancey and that other jasper showin’ up when they did, Senator,” he said. “No way they could’ve known about the robbery in advance ... ”
“Knucklehead!” Magnus almost spat. “Chuck is Yancey’s brother! He must have told him!”
Boden shrugged, looking dubious. “Don’t see it that way, Senator.”
“The fact remains you failed,” Magnus said flatly and he nudged the canvas sack at his feet. “Eight thousand dollars instead of almost two hundred thousand! I can’t nail Dukes with this—this pittance!”
“Might be of some use, Senator,” Venters said quietly, and all eyes turned as the one-eyed gunfighter walked in. “Rillings has arrested Chuck Bannerman. Something he said when Hank shot down one of the guards, a friend of Chuck’s, it seems. Anyway, the law don’t have a lot against Chuck, nothin’ to stick. We could make sure Chuck is nailed for keeps if we plant some of this dinero in his room. And maybe a duplicate IOU made out to the Barbary Queen. That would give ’em a motive for the robbery and nail Chuck to the wall if they found, say, a third of the money Hank got away with.”
“Hey! I thought that was for Mac and me!” Boden complained. “Senator, you said we might as well keep it.”
Magnus waved irritably and Boden broke off. Magnus was considering Venters’ suggestion. He glanced at the gunfighter and nodded. “Sounds good, Hawke. How do you figure we can plant it in his room? Rillings must have gone through that suite already.”
“Purdy,” Venters said. “Purdy, the clerk. He’s still workin’ on land deeds Chuck gave him and he’s our man ... Or will be when we mention his daughter again ... ”
A faint smile came to Magnus’ face. “I’m beginning to feel better about this, Hawke. But I still don’t like Chuck being in the hands of the law. Once he knows we’re framing him, he might start talking and to hell with the IOUs. Even if they don’t believe him at first, he might say enough to make them start looking in my direction.” He shook his head. “Can’t afford that, Hawke. Not when I want to stand for governor ... ”
“No problem,” Venters said confidently. “Plant the evidence and make it look certain Chuck’s involved. Then we kind of stir up the town some. You know: what a damn shame it was for a family man like that guard to get shot; set up by a man he trusted, Chuck Bannerman; all to get money to pay off gambling debts and embezzlement ... A little free liquor and some right talk in the right places and we’ve got a necktie party ready-made.”
Magnus’ thick lips curved up in a full smile. He liked the idea, liked it a lot.
~*~
Marshal Rillings opened the cell door
and stood to one side, nodding to Yancey to enter. Yancey walked in and sat down on the edge of the bunk where Chuck lay stretched out, hands clasped behind his head, staring at the water-stained ceiling.
The lawman locked the door again.
“Just give a call when you’re through, Yancey. Pick up your gun on the way out.”
“Thanks, Marshal,” Yancey said and waited till the lawman had walked back down the passage before turning to look down at Chuck’s worried face. “How’s it going?”
Chuck rolled his eyes towards his brother. “You’ve heard the latest, haven’t you? They found nearly three thousand dollars of the bank money in my room. That little sneak of a clerk I hired to help me, Purdy, claims to have discovered it in a parcel addressed to me and left on my desk.”
“It doesn’t look good, Chuck,” Yancey said. “Rillings didn’t have much before, but he’s got enough now to make the charges stick.” He looked soberly down at his brother. “You want to tell me anything more about it than you already have, Chuck?”
Chuck looked at him sharply. “No!”
“Rillings is going to bring you to trial. With Tom Randall able to swear you yelled at Boden that ‘there wasn’t to be any shooting', and with the stolen money, plus that gambling IOU, you won’t have much hope of getting off.”
“I know it!” Chuck growled. “That damned IOU! It’s not even an original. Only a copy of one I signed back in 'Frisco. They’re framing me, Yancey.”
“Why?”
Chuck looked away. “I don’t know.”
“Hell almighty, Chuck! I’m not a fool! Why d’you think Cato and I arrived when we did? I already suspected you were involved in something. Maybe not voluntarily, but it was plain that there was something going on. If we hadn’t come in when we did you could be dead by now.”
Chuck said nothing but his jaw muscles were knotted, lips tight. Yancey stared at him for a long time and then stood up. “The old man’s on his way here,” he said quietly.
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