Bannerman the Enforcer 17

by Kirk Hamilton

  As he rammed the gun into his belt and went back to take the cartridge belt and holster from Glass’ body, Cato glanced over towards the Pegleg, wondering if Edge had heard the shots. He tensed.

  Black smoke boiled up into the sky out there as the train entered the Pegleg.

  Yancey wasn’t in the car when it happened. Uneasy about the other passengers, not sure if someone could be there waiting an opportunity to make an attempt on Red Dog’s life, he went out onto the platform behind the car and crossed to the express van.

  He rapped on the heavy wooden door and the steel spy-plate slid back and he saw the hard-eyed army sergeant looking out at him, the twin barrels of a sawn-off shotgun covering him through the opening.

  “Oh! Howdy, Mr. Bannerman,” the sergeant said, but his hard eyes swiftly passed over Yancey and beyond to make sure he was alone. His job was to trust no one. “What can I do for you?”

  “A big favor,” Yancey said, holding onto the iron rail of the platform, shouting above the clattering of the wheels and the couplings. “There’s only one man on guard at Red Dog’s compartment ...”

  “Sorry. Can’t let any of my men go from here,” the sergeant broke in. “Captain’s orders.”

  “I know that,” Yancey said curtly. “But I’m not happy with security in the passenger compartments. Wouldn’t take much for someone to get by one single soldier. I figure Red Dog would be safer in the express car, with you and your men and the Wells Fargo guards around him.”

  The sergeant whose name was Flack, showed his surprise at the suggestion. “Hell, I dunno, Mr. Bannerman. We ain’t supposed to let anyone in. I mean, even if we decided it was okay for Red Dog, you wouldn’t be able to come in. No offence, but that’s how it’d have to be.”

  Yancey thought about it and nodded. “That’d be fine. As long as the girl was with him.”

  “Well, I dunno ... It really ain’t up to me. Not entirely, I mean. The Wells Fargo men have got a say in this. Better let us talk it over, huh? Say ten minutes, quarter of an hour?”

  “No longer,” Yancey said.

  The sergeant looked at him with hard eyes. “You come back in about a quarter-hour then and I’ll let you know if we’ve made up our minds.”

  He closed the spy-hole cover and Yancey stood there a moment, thoughtfully. He looked out over both sides of the platform, along the length of the train, before going back into the passenger car. They were entering the section known as the Pegleg now and would likely be steaming into San Angelo soon after dark. That should put them in Austin tomorrow afternoon and it couldn’t come fast enough for Yancey. The sooner he could turn Red Dog and the girl over to the governor, safe and sound, the better ...

  He stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead of him, in the dim passage that led to the compartment proper, were two silent, struggling figures. He caught a glimpse of buckskin and a flash of brown broadcloth and then his eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom and he recognized Chuck fighting to press Little Flower back against the wall. Just as he moved forward to intervene, the door from the compartment crashed open and Red Dog stood there, silhouetted, eyes glittering in anger at the scene before him.

  With a roar he lunged forward and his hands closed around Chuck’s neck, squeezing like steel claws, slamming him back into the wall, a knee in his belly. Chuck’s eyes bulged and his tongue protruded as strangled, bubbling sounds came from his throat.

  Nine – The Attack

  Yancey Bannerman leaped forward in the narrow passage, cannoning into the girl and knocking her back against the wall. He grabbed at Red Dog’s forearms and felt tensed steel like muscles. Chuck was purple in the face now, fighting feebly and Yancey knew he had to break the Indian chief’s grip swiftly or Chuck would die. He couldn’t prise loose Red Dog’s hands, so he ducked, forcing his body between Chuck’s and the Indian’s, placing his hands together and thrusting them up between Red Dog’s forearms. Yancey straightened at the same time and forced his arms outwards.

  The outward pressure, together with the bulk of Yancey’s body, broke the chief’s grip and Chuck sagged to his knees, gagging, retching, holding his throat. Yancey thrust Red Dog back against the wall as the Indian made to move forward again. He dropped a hand threateningly to his gun butt.

  “Hold it, Red Dog! Hold it! I’ll take care of this. Damn it, will you steady down! I don’t want to gunwhip you but I will if I have to.” Yancey spun towards Little Flower. “Tell him!” he snapped. “Tell him I’ll handle Chuck! Quick!”

  The girl was a fast thinker. She spoke rapidly to her father as he raised his clubbed fists, preparing to slam into Yancey. He checked with arms raised, looked briefly at the girl as she spoke rapidly and earnestly, then bored his gaze into Yancey’s. Slowly, he lowered his arms and said a few brief words to the girl.

  “He trusts you to see that your brother is punished,” she said, her face tight with anger as she looked at Chuck, who was getting shakily to his feet. “You have little to be proud of in him, Mr. Bannerman.”

  “I guess he was drunk, ma’am. My apologies—”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. It was he who followed me out into the passage and ... attacked me!”

  “Aw, hell, Yance, it wasn’t like that!” croaked Chuck hoarsely, holding his throat, wincing at the pain it caused him to speak. “I only wanted—”

  Yancey grabbed his arm and propelled him towards the platform door. “We’ll talk outside ... My apologies again, ma’am, and to the chief. My brother will tender his own apologies after we talk a spell.”

  Yancey shoved Chuck out onto the platform and kicked the car door closed behind him. He pushed Chuck angrily against the wall. “You goddamn fool! Can’t you control yourself at all? You might have wrecked all chances of the treaty coming off! Of all the stupid—!”

  “Aaah, the hell with you!” gasped Chuck hoarsely. He backhanded Yancey, catching him unawares and Yancey stumbled backwards, his hips hitting the low iron rail. He grabbed frantically to keep his balance and caught a glimpse of Chuck, climbing the ladder to the car roof. The man was drunker than he had figured and was yelling wildly as he climbed. Yancey had to fight to keep from falling down to the blurred track below and he twisted and wrenched muscles in an effort to grab at something. His fingers caught hold of some of the ornate wrought-iron work and he held on grimly, pushing back against the whole weight of his body as it threatened to tip past the point of balance. He thrust up and backwards and fell hard against the door of the express van, having turned himself completely around during his fancy scrabbling. He heaved to his feet, panting, and the steel spy-hole cover slid back in the door. The sergeant looked out.

  “You’re kinda early,” the sergeant said tersely. “But we’ve decided the Injun can come in with the gal. But you got to stay out.”

  “Go get ’em then!” Yancey panted, thrusting off the wall and leaping onto the ladder to the roof. “I’ve got problems.” As Yancey ran up the iron ladder to the roof of the swaying car the sergeant cursed all ‘goddamn civilians’, governor’s men or not, and began to slide back the heavy bolts on the van door ...

  Yancey crawled up onto the rocking roof of the car and felt the wind tear at him instantly. He instinctively jammed his hat over his ears and saw Chuck about halfway along the car roof, making slow progress. God alone knew what he was up to, but likely the brandy he had consumed was fighting the shock he had had from being nearly throttled by Red Dog. Yancey got to his feet and started after him at a crouch, reaching down every few steps with his fingertips for balance.

  He yelled but the wind tossed the words away. Chuck had seen him now, though, and was coming back towards him, mouth working in unheard curses, fists clenched. His eyes were wild and he swung at Yancey as the big man straightened. Yancey blocked the blow with a raised forearm, tried to grab Chuck’s other hand but missed and his brother’s fist crashed against the side of his head. He reeled, almost losing his footing on the plank walk. Chuck lifted a knee clumsily, aiming to take Y
ancey in the chest, but missing and only hitting his shoulder. Still, the force was enough to spill Yancey off the walk and he grabbed frantically at the plank’s edge. He caught it and gritted his teeth as slivers of weathered wood pierced his skin. His legs were hanging over the side of the car and he looked swiftly forward, hoping there weren’t any narrow bridges or tunnels coming up. But the tall timber either side of the track was yards away and flashed past, stretching away ahead for maybe a mile. Chuck had sobered some now, at seeing Yancey almost falling off the car roof, and he knelt, grabbing Yancey’s wrists, trying to pull the big man back onto the walk. Yancey scrabbled with his knees and got a hold on the edge of the roof, worked forward enough to get a boot onto the wooden slat running around the edge, and heaved violently.

  Chuck almost slipped at the sudden transfer of weight and he sat down heavily on the plank walk. He helped Yancey get a better grip and the younger Bannerman heaved himself up onto the walk again. Chuck blew out his cheeks, put his face close to Yancey’s ear.

  “Sorry, Yance ... I …”

  Yancey got up and hauled Chuck to his feet by his coat front. “I ought to toss you off!” he bawled against the wind. He made a feinting move as if to throw Chuck over the side and his brother went white, grabbed swiftly at Yancey’s wide shoulders. Yancey steadied him, shook him angrily. “Damn you, Chuck!”

  He started to maneuver around so that he could push Chuck back towards the ladder—then froze. He could see far ahead down the track. The train was coming to a slight rise now and it slowed a little as the gradient increased. Beyond the rise, out of view of the engineer, was a huge pile of rubble: logs and boulders blocking the track. The engineer wouldn’t see it until the train topped the rise and started down the gentle slope on the other side.

  And by that time, it could be too late to stop.

  Yancey thrust Chuck towards the ladder, steadying him briefly, bawling, hoping he would hear:

  “Get Red Dog into the express car! There’s a blockage ahead!”

  Chuck looked startled so Yancey figured he had heard him and that was all the confirmation he had time for. He saw Chuck starting down the ladder even as he turned and started to run along the plank walk. It wasn’t as hard as he had figured to keep his balance once he worked in time with the rocking of the cars. He didn’t even pause when he reached the end of the car. There was a gap of several feet but he knew he wouldn’t make it from a standing jump anyway and needed extra impetus. He ran clear to the edge and thrust off with his legs, helped by the forward movement of the train. He landed with a thud on the sloping platform roof, just missing the plank walk. But he was able to grab a handhold, pull himself upright and get onto the walk again. He ran forward across the roof of the next car.

  The loco’s cab was still three cars away. He glanced ahead and saw that pile of rubble looming up fast. The engineer wouldn’t be able to see it yet and there was no use yelling: he wouldn’t be heard from this distance and with the roar and hiss of steam in the cab. The train was climbing towards the top of the rise now and would soon be bearing down on the rocks and logs, the weight of all the cars behind, plus the sloping gradient sending it down like an arrow shot from a bow ...

  He made the next leap, ran across the other car and leapt onto the first one. At its end, there was the engine tender with its cord of logs stacked and he could see the fireman throwing wood into the boiler’s fire. The engineer was casually looking out the window on his side. Then he was on top of the firewood stack and the logs rolled out beneath him and he went tumbling down into the cab with them, the startled fireman and engineer spinning around. The fireman stood open-mouthed but the engineer acted faster. He grabbed a steel-handled shovel and lifted it, ready to brain Yancey as the tall man sorted himself out from the spilled wood and lunged to his feet.

  The shovel blade rang against steel beside Yancey’s head as he hurled himself towards the emergency brake wheel, yelling at the engineer.

  “Line block! Line block!” he bawled over and over, working the wheel as fast as he could. And at last it got through to the man that he wasn’t being attacked. He dropped the shovel, swiped Yancey’s hands off the wheel and gave it a single expert spin that slammed it up tight in a few seconds. The brakes locked and sparks showered from under the wheels on the iron rails and Yancey yelled as he was tossed against the hot furnace door. The engineer and fireman, used to this kind of thing, grabbed cold control handles and held on as the train skidded and screeched down the track, the couplings clashing and the cars shuddering and jerking with the sudden braking. Yancey hoped the violence wouldn’t jack-knife the train and he fought to the cab window and looked out. He saw the now massive pile of rocks and logs seemingly hurtling towards him like a berserk mountain and he instinctively threw an arm across his eyes, waiting for the crash ...

  There was a jerk and a shudder and a series of violent thuds and the clashing of steel. Somewhere glass shattered and women and children began screaming and he saw the car behind the wood tender start to tilt, but it slammed back to an even keel and then all was steady and still again, the only sound the roaring of vented steam and the panic of the passengers behind. He looked out the window again and saw the bloodstained cowcatcher’s point just resting over the first log of the line block. He hadn’t been conscious of holding the breath that hissed out now between his teeth ...

  Then, in the timber, he saw horsemen jamming home spurs and riding for the train. He drew his Colt, snapped off two shots, then turned and saw horsemen on the other side too. He leaped for the wood tender, clambering back up over the wood to the top again.

  “Get it going in reverse and don’t stop till I tell you!” he snapped at the engineer, and then he was leaping for the roof of the first car and making a run back towards the rear of the train, bullets whistling around him.

  Johnny Cato heard the gunfire before he was clear of the timber on Glass’ horse. He reined in to listen. So far only rifles and six-guns. But now that the raid had started, it would only be a matter of time before Edge cut loose with the Gatling gun.

  He kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks and urged it to a gallop, riding with Colt in hand.

  He had gone only ten yards before he heard the violent, crashing, spasmodic fire of the Gatling gun and he swore, wondering how many men, women and children were being cut down in that deadly hail of lead.

  Ten – A Battle Well Fought

  Jake Edge ran the flatbed wagon down the length of the stalled train, clinging to the Gatling gun as Grizzly whipped up the team and drove expertly around obstacles. Edge crouched over the big gun, cranking the handle, placing his line of fire along the cars, just below the windows.

  The barrels revolved and spat their message of death and the heavy .45-.70 caliber slugs splintered the woodwork, burst windows from their frames, smashed through carriage lining and whined and buzzed with indiscriminate deadliness inside. The thin screams of terrified children mingled with the curses of men and the cries of women.

  The Gatling gun ran its line of lead all down the passenger cars and then the wagon was opposite the express van. Guns from inside roared through their loopholes and Edge crouched lower behind the heavy timber shield that the Gatling peeked over. He cranked the lever faster, yelled at Grizzly to ‘move!’ as they ran down the length of the express van. The lead hammered through the wood sheathing and he heard the bullets ricocheting savagely from the metal lining. But there were parts that weren’t lined with steel and here the lead smashed clear through and left gaping holes in the splintered wood.

  His men were riding up and down the length of the train, shooting, making the passengers keep their heads down, terrifying them, cowing them, before boarding.

  And then the train started to move. The engineer had freed whatever control had been blocked by the emergency stop and the wheels spun wildly on the rails, showering sparks, ringing even above the noise of the gunfire. Then the engineer stepped on the sand release pedal and the grit poured down i
ts special chutes to pile up behind each of the drive wheels. The. metal-to-metal union suddenly had something to grip on and with a rush, the train lurched into reverse, slowly after the first jerking rush, and then, beginning to gather momentum smoothly.

  The men in the express van, including Yancey, Red Dog and Chuck, as well as the girl, were thrown off their feet along with the passengers in the other cars when the train first slammed into reverse. Heavy slugs from the Gatling gun chopped away at the wooden sections of the car and Yancey rolled swiftly across the floor, pushing Red Dog so that he was behind a metal plate, under the loopholes being used by the sergeant and his men.

  “Get that goddamn, Injun out from underfoot!” yelled the sergeant. “They’re after the damn gold!”

  Yancey glanced swiftly at the chief but Red Dog showed no emotion. He looked at Little Flower where she was crouched behind the heavy iron bullion safe and she stared back at him soberly. She must have heard the sergeant ...

  “Hold your fire a minute!” the army man roared. “They’re sayin’ somethin’!”

  Yancey, gun in hand, ran to a loophole and looked out. The wagon with the Gatling gun mounted on it was keeping pace with the train and the outlaw behind the gun was yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “If you don’t stop the train, my men’ll start killin’ off the passengers! And I’ll cut loose with this into the cars!” He slapped the Gatling gun’s barrels.

  “Judas, Sergeant, that’s Jake Edge!” exclaimed one of the soldiers. “He’s loco! He’ll do what he says!”

  Yancey ran to the platform door and started to heave back the bolts. The sergeant leapt at him, trying to shove him back.

  “What the hell are you doin’, Bannerman?”