Bannerman the Enforcer 10 Read online

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  CONTENTS

  About Shadow Mesa

  One - Gravley Ill

  Two - Ultimatum

  Three - Vultures Gather

  Four - Chisholm

  Five - Shot in the Dark

  Six - Abduction

  Seven - Gunfighter

  Eight - Fortress

  Nine - Rescue

  Copyright

  About the Author

  About Piccadilly Publishing

  About the Series

  When Governor Dukes suffered his worst heart attack yet, the buzzards began to gather. It seemed like everyone wanted to seize power and run Texas their way, from political opponents to gunnies with their own personal scores to settle.

  Keeping the governor safe until he could recover his health was the first priority for his chief Enforcers, Yancey Bannerman and Johnny Cato. But even they couldn’t be everywhere at once. Sooner or later someone out there was going to finish the governor for good … and if they couldn’t get to him directly, they’d do it through the only thing he loved more than Texas itself—his daughter, Kate!

  One – Gravely Ill

  Yancey Bannerman, chief Enforcer for the Governor of Texas, was running for his life.

  High on the open slope of the insides of the ancient volcano’s crater, he made a fine target for the killers below and their guns spat fire and smoke as they sought to bring him down. He began to dodge as his legs carried him at top speed across the slope while lead plunked into the gray soil around his boots. Something passed his sweating face with a sound like a demented bee and he felt the butterfly touch of a projectile just clipping an edge of one ear. There was a tug at the rawhide thong hanging from the brim of his Stetson and the cord parted without sound.

  His luck couldn’t hold much longer and the heavy basalt boulder he was making for seemed just as far away as ever.

  There was a fresh burst of gunfire and his shirt was jerked out of his waistband as a bullet passed through some loose folds. A corner of his leather jacket kicked wildly and frayed leather showed around the edges of an otherwise neat hole. The boulder was only feet away but his legs were giving out and he was beginning to stumble. One of these staggering moves saved his neck. As he tripped and put down a hand to keep from falling completely, two bullets whined through the space where his big body had been only a second earlier.

  Suddenly, he thrust upright and hurled himself for the boulder’s protection. He knew they must have intensified the shooting, but he neither heard it nor saw the result. He concentrated wholly on getting his big body safely behind that boulder. He saw that he wasn’t going to quite clear the top and he braced himself for the thud as his thigh crashed into the basalt.

  The blow threw his body sideways and he tilted at a wild angle, seeing a bullet bounce off the stone, leaving a streak of lead behind. Then he landed upside down, somersaulted, rolled and skidded and managed to grab a rock to stop his chaotic progress.

  Panting and sweating, he buried his face in the soft earth, his ragged breathing blowing up gusts of dust clouds. Bullets slammed against the rock but he no longer cared: he was safe. For the moment at least ...

  Yancey wondered how his pard, Johnny Cato, was making out on the opposite side of the old volcano.

  Yancey’s job had been that of decoy, to draw the fire of the men in a shack below, to give Cato a chance to get around behind the cabin. Cato carried his legendary Manstopper gun, the most lethal sidearm ever turned loose in the territory: a gun that fired eight .45 caliber cartridges from the oversized cylinder and, through an underslung, smoothbore barrel, a twelve-gauge shot shell, housed in the center of the fat cylinder, and fired by a special toggle fixed to the gun hammer.

  On more than one occasion the Manstopper had evened out the odds when it looked as though the chips were down. If Cato couldn’t cut down the odds with the weapon, then the two Enforcers were doomed—for their horses had long since been shot from under them. The only way out of the crater was a climb up steep sides, making perfect targets for the killers: enemies of Governor Lester Dukes and, as such, had to be either wiped out or taken prisoner. There was no other alternative that could be tolerated. If they were allowed to remain free, Texas would be at risk and Governor Dukes’ life would be in danger. As well as that of his attractive daughter, Kate, in whom Yancey had a special interest.

  If Yancey or Cato—or both—had to forfeit their lives in the process, that was an occupational hazard of being an Enforcer, a personal trouble-shooter for the Governor of Texas and answerable to him alone. It was a job that gave the Enforcers a lot of freedom. If they had been different kind of men and had chosen to abuse that freedom, they could have been among the most powerful people in the Lone Star State.

  But, of course, had they been that kind they wouldn’t have been Enforcers in the first place.

  Johnny Cato was directly above the cabin, but too far to do much good, so he knew he would have to get closer. He had seen his pard, Yancey Bannerman, take the huge risk of drawing the fire away from him, but he didn’t know whether he had made it to the boulder without being hit.

  As he looked and prepared to start his descent, he saw Yancey lever his Winchester and start blazing away at the cabin.

  Cato eased out of his shelter and slowly started to descend the loose scree of the slope, his Manstopper in one hand, his rifle in the other. If only Yancey could hold their attention a little longer, he thought—before someone became suspicious and began to wonder what had happened to the second Enforcer ...

  Too late. Cato swore just as be started his run down the slope. The rear door of the cabin opened and one of the outlaws came out, swiftly closing the door after him. He started to make a dash for the slope, obviously intending to check the side of the crater behind the cabin.

  The two men stared at each other, still on the move, with about forty feet between them. The outlaw propped, his eyes wide in shock and his hands instinctively bringing up his rifle. Cato kept running. There was a burst of gunfire from the cabin, but Cato’s Winchester came up and blasted: the sound of the single shot lost in the volley from the cabin. The outlaw was thrown backwards, skidded on the slope, and brought up against the wall of the cabin. He started to rise, fighting hard, coughing, and using the butt of his rifle as leverage. Cato shot him with a single bullet from the Manstopper and the outlaw went down to stay.

  Cato skidded, veered away from the dead man, hit the flat area behind the cabin and dropped behind some baled hay. He waited. There were scattered shots from the front of the cabin and he could hear Yancey’s gun barking from the far slope: still fighting and holding their attention.

  He knew he wouldn’t have been forgotten entirely by the men inside, but Cato decided to take a chance anyway and try to get to the door—and go in shooting. But he would need to signal Yancey his intentions first. And that was the chancy part: a risk that had to be taken.

  Casting another glance at the dead man, Cato eased his way past the line of the cabin, even though he was still several yards from it. He crouched for a few yards and then slowly stood upright, a fresh load in the chamber of the Winchester, and the hammer cocked back on the Manstopper. He squinted up the slope towards Yancey’s hiding place, and saw a spurt of gunsmoke as the Enforcer raked the cabin, forcing the men inside to keep their heads down.

  Cato stepped into the open and waved his arms, crossing them twice in a prearranged signal. He waited. The rifle stopped, then fired a single shot, followed by two close together: again, a prearranged signal. But, unfortunately, the bullets ripped through the thin metal of the cabin chimney and showered the outlaws with a cloud of soot.

  And that was Yance
y’s mistake.

  One man caught most of the shower of ash and soot and nearly choked as it clogged his throat and nostrils. Eyes watering, the man threw open the rear door and staggered out. He lifted his head and stared straight into the face of Cato. The Enforcer reacted instinctively, bringing up his Manstopper and dropping hammer. The choking man was already turning to lunge back into the cabin as the bullet caught him squarely in the side. He slammed into the door and it clattered noisily as his weight threw it back against the wall. He fell to his knees, trying to shout a warning to the others.

  The outlaws converged on the door as the Enforcer made his rush and shot the first man to appear. The convulsing body prevented the others from getting the door closed. Guns thundered from the cabin as Cato threw himself sideways, shooting the rifle from his left hand, the Manstopper from his right.

  He saw another outlaw stagger and the rest crowded into the doorway, their guns blazing. He hit the ground, rolled and lost his grip on the rifle. He clawed for it but a bullet landed inches from his hand so he let it go, threw himself into a backward somersault and came up with the Manstopper held out in front of him.

  Two men were crowding the doorway as the twelve-gauge shell detonated with a thunderous explosion, and he flicked the toggle back to ‘normal’.

  The men were cut down by the swathe of whistling buckshot as Cato heard a wild bellow at the front of the cabin and one almighty crash as the front door was literally kicked off its leather hinges. Yancey Bannerman’s big frame went through the doorway, like a charging buffalo, working the lever on his rifle in a blur of speed as he crouched, moving the barrel around the room in a short, deadly arc.

  Cato heard glass shattering, bullets ricocheting from the stone fireplace and the big metal pot hanging on the hob and the screams of dying men. The rifle spat death like a Gatling gun, filling the room with flying lead, splinters, gunsmoke and blood.

  When Cato leapt over the bodies in the doorway he stopped in his tracks at the sight of so many blood-soaked, writhing bodies. Yancey stood in the midst of them, his eyes moving over the cabin.

  “Judas Priest!” Cato breathed. “It’s more like a butcher’s shop.”

  Yancey looked at him through the powdersmoke and nodded jerkily.

  “Figured I’d better grab the chance while you were divertin’ ’em.”

  “Divertin’ ’em, hell!” returned Cato a mite shakily. “I got spotted. Had no choice but to cut loose with everythin’ I had. I wasn’t playin’ hero.”

  Suddenly, Yancey grinned, his teeth showing very white against the grime of his face. He glanced at two dead men at Cato’s feet.

  “I can see you weren’t playing at all.”

  Cato nodded, starting to reload the Manstopper.

  “Guess it was kill or be killed—but it was mighty close. For both of us.”

  Yancey sobered and nodded as he started to reload his rifle.

  “Close as we’ve come in a coon’s age.”

  “Mighty dangerous callin’, ours,” Cato said, deadpan.

  Yancey snapped his head up and frowned. Then a slow smile spread across his square face.

  “Sure is. Man needs to unwind after the tensions of a deal like this. That what you’re saying?”

  Cato winked, still unsmiling.

  “That’s what I had in mind. It’s a long ways back to Austin. But there’s one or two towns between here and there.”

  “Which one you fancy?”

  Cato gave the matter some thought.

  “Well—we could go out of our way a mite and divert north to Waco ... ?”

  Yancey shook his head.

  “Not Waco. Every time I go there, I run into gunplay and I figure I’ve had enough to see me through for a spell. Always some gunnie recognizes me in Waco.”

  Cato nodded.

  “Know what you mean. With me it’s El Paso. Okay, s’pose we angle south and stop at Temple? Not too big, not too small. An’ it’s got Charlotte Hogan’s Cat House.”

  Yancey smiled faintly.

  “Which you was angling for all along.”

  Cato smiled thinly and shrugged.

  “We’ll—I am kinda partial to a Chinee gal there—the one they call the Shanghai Lily.”

  “Save your breath. You don’t have to talk me into it. Temple it is. We’ll unwind for a couple of days, then head on down to Austin. I’ll send a wire from Temple. Governor won’t grudge us a couple of days whooping-it-up when he knows we wiped out this entire bunch. Fact is, he’ll breathe a helluva lot easier.”

  Cato nodded. “My sentiments exactly.” He looked around him at the carnage. “Sure is hot down in this old crater.” He paused then winced. “Be murder diggin’ graves.”

  Yancey looked at him levelly.

  “Got any suggestions?”

  “Sure. Drag in the fellers from outside, pour out a little coal oil—an’ put a match to it.”

  Yancey agreed without hesitation: the men were dead. It mattered little what happened to their bodies.

  And so it was that, twenty minutes later, forking outlaw horses, Yancey and Cato rode out of the old crater, a pall of black smoke boiling into the sky from the site of the log cabin. They briefly paused on the rim to look back at the crimson flames licking at the black smoke, then turned their mounts and dropped to the other side of the crater, making for the distant horizon—beyond which lay the delights of Temple.

  ~*~

  Temple was a fairly big town a few miles southwest of the Brazos River, in the middle of the old eastern cattle trail that had its origins near the border at Kingsville and ended in Abilene, Kansas. It had long been abandoned because the railroads had taken the profit—and the glamour—out of herding steers a thousand miles to market.

  But Temple had a reputation that stretched back to the early days of the trail drives. It had earned a name as being a place for a man to kick up his heels. Although the trail drives had dwindled and the tough trail men had quit coming in droves as they had in the town’s heyday, there were others who remembered past glories and who spread the word. Being so close to the Brazos and on a spur track of one of the railroads, Temple continued to thrive—and to offer the jaded traveler diversions that would energize him again so that he could face up to the next leg of his journey. There were some who came to stay overnight and who never moved on. Others were glad to crawl out as soon as they were fit enough, exhausted by the town’s hospitality. Of course, nothing was for nothing, but that was understood.

  When Cato and Yancey arrived, Temple was in a kind of lull. A wild bunch of cowpunchers had been through the town the previous few days and a trainload of revelers from an old copper mine had temporarily exhausted the town’s facilities for frivolity. The cat house whores at Charlotte Hogan’s draped themselves listlessly over the balcony rails and barely raised a smile to the two Enforcers as they rode down the main street.

  Cato looked worried as he raked his gaze along the row of painted percenters.

  “I don’t see Shanghai Lily,” he said. “Judas, if she’s moved on without me bein’ able to book her just one more time ... Well, damn it. I’ll find out where she went and I’ll follow.”

  Yancey arched his eyebrows.

  “That good?”

  Cato gave him a knowing smile.

  “I tell you, what Kate don’t know won’t hurt her: you ought to cut loose a sight more’n you do. See, you just got no idea what you been missin’ with a gal like Shanghai Lily.”

  Yancey grinned. “I got me an imagination. Well, pard, you go make enquiries, while I ride on down to the telegraph office and get a message away to the Governor. I’ll join you shortly.”

  “You stay with me this time, Yance,” Cato called. “I’ll show you what a good time can be like. Just let me choose the gals. Deal?”

  Yancey smiled slowly and threw a brief salute.

  “We’ll see,” he said quietly as he rode down the street and Cato put his mount towards the rail.

  At the telegrap
h shack, Yancey swiftly filled out the yellow form. There was no need for code. The whole bunch had been wiped out. He gave the barest details and sent it direct to The Mansion, Capitol Hill. The oldster behind the cage raised his eyebrows and squinted through the wire screen. But he said nothing as Yancey paid and went out.

  He walked his mount to a stone trough and allowed it to drink its fill before taking it to the rail outside the cat house. He tied it beside Cato’s and slapped dust from his clothes as he stomped over the boardwalk and went into the cool dimness of the barroom.

  Cato was at the rail of the alcove where the whores sat on long planks and flashed hopeful smiles at potential customers. The Enforcer held a mug of foaming beer and was sipping from it as he spoke to a negress and a Creole woman. They were the only two in the alcove. Cato seemed worried.

  Yancey ordered a rye, tossed it down, and chased it with a gulp of beer. He carried his mug across to stand beside Cato.

  “Why so worried?”

  Cato glanced around and Yancey was aware that the women were looking him over, both smiling mechanically.

  “Seems the Chinee gal went and got herself shot a coupla months ago,” Cato said sadly. “What a waste of woman. Hell, I’d like to get my hands on the bastard who did it.”

  “He dead,” said the Creole woman huskily. She smelled of musk and there was gold in her smile, diamantes in her rich dark hair as she flashed almond eyes at Yancey. “But I here—I from New Orleans. I know French ways. I drive you pure loco, cowboy, you come with me. Eh? You want come with Alamo?”

  Yancey looked a little doubtful though he was drinking in the woman’s exotic beauty. He swamped down some of his beer as the negress slipped a muscular arm through Cato’s. She was a head taller than he but that didn’t seem to faze Cato any: it put his face level with her big bulging breasts.