Bannerman the Enforcer 17

by Kirk Hamilton

  Jethro Kidd swung his own pail and Cato leaped aside and away from the bar, at the same time slamming a fist into Arnie, doubling the man over. Cato didn’t hesitate. He used Arnie as a vaulting stool and landed on the bar top on all fours. He jumped to his feet as Kidd rushed in, grabbing at him. Cato dodged, stomped on the man’s forearm and then kicked him in the side of the head. Kidd reeled backwards and Hack roared a curse as he lunged forward, pushing the still doubled-over Arnie aside. Hack clawed at Cato’s legs and Cato did a little dance along the bar, drawing the cursing horse thief after him. Hack launched himself half across the bar in an effort to grab Cato’s fast-moving legs and Cato leapt high into the air, coming down on the man’s shoulders with both feet. He drove Hack’s face into the bar top and the man skidded back, blood streaking the bar top as he got a shaking hand up to his mashed nose.

  Kidd was waiting. As soon as he saw Cato leap on Hack, he went in fast and swept up a chair, swinging it at Cato’s legs. The smaller man wasn’t quite nimble enough to get out of the way and the chair swept his legs from under him. He crashed down onto the bar top, the breath jarring out of him. But he had wits enough to roll off the bar on the opposite side to Kidd. The barkeep, who had been standing back, protecting his stock, charged forward to get Cato out from behind the counter before Kidd threw the chair at him. He was too slow. Jethro Kidd hurled the chair and Cato ducked. The chair slammed into the barkeep’s chest, sending him staggering back, arms flung wide for balance.

  His flailing arms swept bottles and glasses off his shelves and the chair bounced into the mirror and shattered it into fragments. The barkeep went down as Cato pushed him roughly aside, ran down the bar and vaulted over the end as Kidd lunged at him. Cato clamped both boots together and drove them full into Kidd’s chest. The big man staggered back and Cato landed nimbly on his feet, panting. He shook his head and went after Kidd, driving blow after blow at the man’s head. And then he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye as Arnie came in, thick arms wrapping around Cato to lift him bodily off the floor. Cato hacked at Arnie’s shins with his heels and the man released him. But Hack, face bloody, mouth working, came in fast and hit Cato across the side of the head. The smaller man spun and slammed back into a table and chairs. He went down amongst the splintering furniture and the three hardcases came lumbering after him, kicking and hurling tables and chairs aside.

  Cato started to get up but Kidd hooked him on the jaw, and sent him sprawling. Then Arnie and Hack grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet, holding him tightly while Kidd wiped some blood from his nostrils, then started slugging away at Cato’s belly. A few onlookers muttered in protest but no one drew cards in the roughhouse. The three men looked like they knew how to use the guns they carried.

  Cato was jack-knifed, face bloodied, and Kidd showed no signs of letting up. He planted his boots wide, sucked a split knuckle, and then started in with renewed vigor, slugging and slamming, baring his teeth with the effort. Cato soon lost interest in the proceedings, his body jerking with the hammering blows, his senses reeling as consciousness slowly drained from him ...

  Then he heard a noise like a rampaging buffalo smashing through a timber wall and he blinked his eyes open to see Kidd reeling as a chair smashed across his head and shoulders. Then a big hand reached forward and plucked Hack almost off his feet, Hack’s head snapping back on his neck because of the force with which he was jerked. There was a sickening crunch and Hack’s body twitched and he crumpled to the floor. Arnie lunged past Cato whose legs collapsed and he fell to his knees. Arnie had his fists cocked but was brought up short as a big foot snapped up and took him in the groin. He went green and retched and then a fist clubbed him behind the ear and spread him out on his face. Hack, starting to get up, collapsed under the weight of Arnie’s body.

  Jethro Kidd, recovering from the blow from the chair, came staggering back to meet his attacker and Cato’s vision cleared sufficiently to see who his rescuer was.

  “Yance, old pard!” he grunted, as Yancey, immaculate in broadcloth suit and ready for a quiet dinner with Kate Dukes, blocked Kidd’s clumsy blow, snapped three fast lefts into the middle of the man’s face and then hooked with his right, turning his body behind the blow.

  Jethro Kidd’s boots completely left the floor and he fell in a heap beside his moaning pards. Yancey walked over and kicked him in the head, putting him out completely. Then, hardly breathing harder than normal, he leaned down and yanked Cato to his feet. Cato’s legs were rubbery and Yancey steadied him as he moved towards the door through the now silent barroom crowd.

  “How ...?” stammered Cato.

  “Ridin’ by in a hired surrey when I heard a brawl,” Yancey said casually, “I said to Kate, I’ll bet that Johnny has found himself some action ... So I stopped to look in to see who you were beating up this time ...”

  Cato squinted out of one swelling and blackened eye as Yancey thrust him through the batwings into the night.

  “Guess you saw how I was givin’ ’em hell, huh?”

  Yancey grinned and helped him across the boardwalk to the surrey where Kate waited, her face concerned as she saw the battered Cato. She started to get down to help but Yancey waved her back, heaved Cato almost bodily onto the seat beside her.

  “Johnny, I swear I’ve never known a man to get into so much trouble as you,” Kate said, handing the bleeding Cato a delicate-looking kerchief. “What was it about this time? A woman again?”

  Cato managed to look hurt through his cuts and bruises. Yancey chuckled as he got into the driving seat and set the surrey moving again.

  “No!” Cato said thickly. “I was enjoyin’ a quiet drink when an old enemy happened to spot me. He had two sidekicks.”

  Kate looked surprised. “You fought three of them?”

  Cato shrugged, brushing it off: nothing at all.

  “There were three of ’em,” Yancey said quietly, “but he wasn’t exactly fightin’ ’em when I went in ...”

  “Wasn’t exactly huggin’ and kissin’, either!” Cato retorted, working at a loosened tooth. “Tell you what, Yance ... That hombre you hit with a chair was Jethro Kidd. He’s a prime hardcase. And you can bet your boots that if he’s in town, there’s somethin’ brewin’ ... And it sure won’t be legal.”

  Yancey looked thoughtful as the surrey jolted on down the street ...

  Two – Mission to the Pecos

  The first impression most people had of Governor Lester Dukes was one of grayness. He had silver gray hair in a thick mane and a gray longhorn moustache and his skin, because of his heart ailment, more often than not had a grayish tinge. At times he dressed in oyster gray broadcloth suits and this only added to the overall impression he gave.

  But behind that lined, weary face was an agile brain that worked constantly on one thing—Texas and its welfare. He pursued his cause with a single-mindedness that left political enemies gasping, amazed the people of Texas and constantly worried both his daughter and doctor.

  And, despite all warnings, Lester Dukes still seemed quite able to handle the demands of his office. There were times, of course, when his ailment caught up with him, and then Kate and Dr. Boles had to insist that he rest, forcibly restraining him with sedative drugs on occasion. But the testy old governor could trace his ancestry back to the original tejanos, the men who had fought at the Alamo for Texas independence, and nothing kept him down for long. Dr. Boles shook his head and Kate often bit her lip in despair, but Dukes pressed on with his grand plan to make Texas a state to be proud of, one that would be spoken of with respect, not only in Congress in Washington, but in all the governments of the world ...

  This determination showed through as Dukes shuffled papers at his desk and looked across to where Yancey Bannerman sat in the chair opposite him.

  “Kate tells me John was mixed up in some more trouble last night,” Dukes said without preamble.

  “Someone with an old score to settle, Governor. Wasn’t his doing.”

 
“His or not, he’s getting quite a reputation.” The governor lifted a paper and waved it. “Estimate of the damages to the saloon. I’m already getting resistance from my advisers about this sort of thing: I can’t go on underwriting Cato forever.”

  “This wasn’t his fault, Governor,” Yancey said. “But Johnny doesn’t need me to stand up for him ...”

  Dukes’ eyes flashed momentarily at Yancey’s veiled rebuke. “No. I’ll be talking to him about it later. Just mentioned it in passing, as Kate said something about Johnny thinking there could be some trouble brewing.”

  “Man who beat up on him, Jethro Kidd, seems to be one mean hombre. Had a finger in everything over the years. Johnny figures if he’s in town, then it’s not for his health …”

  Dukes frowned. “That’s what concerns me. The last thing I want at this time is a gathering of known killers or outlaws in Austin … or anywhere between here and the Pecos Valley.”

  Yancey knew that was the governor’s way of letting him know that something big was in the wind. He didn’t say anything, but showed some of the excitement he felt at Dukes’ words.

  Dukes got up slowly from his chair, pushing with his arms against the table edge. Yancey found his own hands tightening on the arms of his chair. But he resisted the temptation to get up and move around there to help Dukes. That would earn him a rebuke that he could well do without. Dukes straightened laboriously and once on his feet, swayed a little, holding onto the desk edge briefly. He turned then and went to the wall, pulling down a rolled map of Texas, hooking the string so that the varnished paper was held taut. Breathing a little heavily from his exertions, Dukes ran his big-boned finger across the map, from Austin, north and west, tracing the line of the Texas and Western Railroad line. It followed the Colorado River north for a spell, then crossed the San Saba at a place known as the Pegleg, touched San Angelo to the north, and then swung west, through Fort Conchos, Styles, and following the Pecos River to the town of that name in the Pecos Valley. But Dukes’ finger didn’t quite reach Pecos. It stopped at a place marked as Horsehead Crossing ...

  He tapped the place, then moved his finger in a wide circle around it, overlapping the border of New Mexico in parts.

  “Kiowa Country,” he said. “All the way out past the Sierra Blancas and down to the Rio. To the north, out beyond the Big Springs. West, where the Goodnight-Loving Trail cuts through, into New Mexico ... East, clear down the Pecos Valley.”

  Yancey waited, knowing more was coming, that Dukes rarely spoke without having some point to make.

  “Not all good land, but most of it’s good enough for cattle country if a man’s got a holding of several thousand acres. That way he can graze a few steers to the acre and still run a sizeable herd.”

  “Settlers have been moving in there for quite a spell, haven’t they?” Yancey asked.

  Dukes nodded. “And having plenty of trouble with the Kiowas ... You know my views on the Indians, Yancey. I don’t blame them for fighting for land that was theirs, has been for hundreds of years. They just can’t figure why they should let us move in and drive them out. That’s fair enough. But it doesn’t mean I aim to sit back and see Texans slaughtered without putting up a fight or giving the settlers as much protection as I can muster. But I don’t like wars or constant punitive expeditions. And the fact of the matter is, Texas can’t afford to go on mounting expeditions. Right now, the Southwest is a big trouble spot and we’ve got a concentration of soldiers here at Horsehead Crossing that we can ill afford. I need some of those men down on the border at Presidio and Del Rio. I could use more on the Gulf at Corpus Christi ... But right now I can’t pull one soldier out of there in case the Kiowas cut loose.”

  Yancey frowned. “Isn’t Red Dog their chief?”

  Dukes nodded, smiling faintly as he moved back to his chair, and Yancey knew that he had spoken the words the governor had wanted to hear. Dukes lowered himself into his chair with a sigh.

  “Red Dog ... Yes, Yancey, he’s the chief of the Kiowas. And he’s not the bloody-handed savage that most people think. He fights his way the best he knows how and it turns our stomachs, but it’s the Indian method. He’s an intelligent man, Yancey, a man who wants to know more about the ways of the white man. He even sent his daughter, Little Flower, to the mission school at San Angelo. He’s let white settlers move into a lot of his land without a fight but, as you know, he won’t give up the Pecos Valley or the country surrounding it.” He fumbled in one of his desk drawers, and brought out a flat cigar wallet, taking out two. He handed one to Yancey who took it and lit them both. Dukes wasn’t supposed to smoke except after supper and it had long been a ritual that when he was sneaking one extra, Yancey would have one too, to cover up for him.

  “Red Dog sent his daughter to me two weeks ago,” Dukes said abruptly, then smiled faintly as Yancey straightened in his chair. “She uses her mission name of Ruth and she’s an intelligent and educated young woman, Yancey. Unusual in this part of the country for a white woman even, but damned odd for an Indian girl ... Anyway, it boils down to this: Red Dog’s had a bellyful of fighting and slaughter and can see that neither side is getting anywhere, though he knows he must eventually lose. So he wants a treaty. Give the Kiowas land with a line that no white man is to cross for any reason and he’ll guarantee to keep his people inside that line.”

  “Sounds fair. Where does he want the land?”

  Dukes sighed. “In the Pecos Valley.”

  Yancey paused with his cigar near his mouth, pursed his lips. “The settlers won’t like that.”

  “They won’t. The best land is there. But Red Dog’s people have to live.”

  Yancey raised his eyebrows. “You’re giving it to him?”

  “Subject to negotiation ... I’ve got a treaty drawn up, along general lines, but I’ve left it open as to the exact area and location of the land for the Kiowas. In it, I guarantee that no white man will cross the boundary lines without incurring severe penalties ...”

  “Tall order, Governor; Boundary lines didn’t stop ’em up north. Nothing’ll stop ’em once there’s a hint of green grass, water or gold.”

  “We have to live with that, Yancey. The odd renegade will slip across, I don’t doubt. Just as I don’t doubt that Red Dog’s people will take care of the matter in their own way if they catch him.”

  “That you can guarantee,” Yancey said with feeling. “I can see the advantage of the treaty. You give Red Dog what he wants and then you can throw the whole of the southwest open for settlement with a third of the army personnel you’ve got tied up there right now. And with that corner of Texas filling up with folk, Mexico’s going to have to stop looking north of the Rio again with ideas of annexation.”

  Dukes nodded, savoring his cigar. “So now you know why it’s so important that you don’t fail, Yancey.”

  Yancey didn’t show any surprise at the governor’s words. He had known as soon as Dukes had mentioned the treaty that he was going to be involved in some way. The only question was how?

  Dukes told him a half minute later.

  “I need to see Red Dog in person, Yancey. Indians are distrustful of papers coming from remote people they can’t see. For which I don’t blame them. I’d willingly travel to his tepee but the upset it would cause with Kate and Doc Boles, not to mention security arrangements, just wouldn’t be worth it ... It will be far easier to bring Red Dog here.”

  Yancey couldn’t hide his surprise at that. “To Austin?”

  Dukes smiled slowly. “Yes … it’ll be an eye-opener for him. He’s seen nothing bigger than the fort at Horsehead Crossing or Pecos ... Don’t worry, he’s willing enough to make the trip. His daughter has assured me of that. He’s most interested to see how the Great White Father rules his ‘Council’ and ‘medicine men’. It can only do good, Yancey. And if we can grip each other’s hands, look into each other’s eyes, I figure the treaty will be settled without much fuss. He doesn’t realize just how strong a hand he’s holding at the mom
ent, but I wouldn’t be surprised if his daughter has an inkling; she’s fair-minded, but she won’t hesitate to put on the pressure if she thinks it will be to Red Dog’s advantage.”

  “Sounds like she’s a power to be reckoned with, Governor. Mighty unusual in Indian women, even in tribal affairs.”

  “She’s a mighty unusual person as you’ll find out when you meet her. You’re a qualified lawyer, Yancey. You know Texas law pretty well by now. Your job is to lay down the guidelines for the treaty on the spot, then get Red Dog safely here to Austin so I can work out the final conditions with him.”

  “Tall order, Governor ... Will Johnny and I be able to call on the army?”

  “You will,” Dukes said, with emphasis, looking at Yancey steadily.

  Yancey returned the gaze, then nodded slowly. “I’m going alone, then?”

  “Has to be that way, Yancey. Red Dog will have more trust in you if he thinks I’ve enough faith to send just one man. But the real reason is, I might well need John Cato here. My operatives are spread all over the state at the moment, especially along the Rio with trouble brewing south of the border. I can’t afford to send you both off to Pecos … So it’s up to you.”

  Yancey leaned forward, stubbed out his cigar and stood up slowly, hitching up his gunbelt. “It’s straight-forward enough, I guess. Get Red Dog’s views and bring him back here.”

  “I don’t have to tell you that if anything should happen to him ...”

  Yancey lifted a hand. There was no need to spell it out.

  “Will he come alone or with a retinue?”

  “His daughter will accompany him ... Yancey, don’t think it’s going to be easy. Not any of it. There, are people in and around Pecos who don’t want the Kiowas to keep any of their land, specially not the valley. Once they know you’re my treaty man, you might find life a mite lively ...”