Bannerman the Enforcer 20 Read online

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  An administrative oversight meant that Buck Harlan spent more time in prison than he should have. Buck had been fifteen when he was sent away. Now he was a man of thirty, with no experience of the outside world.

  To make it up to him, Governor Dukes sent his two top Enforcers, Yancey Bannerman and Johnny Cato, to ride herd on Buck until he adjusted to life as a free man. But Buck had other ideas. Someone out there had sold him and his brothers out and helped himself to the gold they’d stolen from the Confederacy all those years before. His brothers had been executed for the crime, and Buck himself had suffered the worst of punishments behind bars.

  Now Buck intended to find that man and make him pay … in blood.

  And there wasn’t a single thing the Enforcers could do to stop him!

  Table of Contents

  One – The Forgotten Man

  Two – Sweet Smell of Freedom

  Three – Trail Town

  Four – Training a Killer

  Five – Vengeance Trail

  Six – Promontory

  Seven – Cattle King

  Eight – Prisoners

  Nine – Return to Violence

  About the Author

  Bannerman Series

  Copyright

  BANNERMAN 20:

  VENGEANCE RIDES TALL

  By Kirk Hamilton

  First Published by The Cleveland Publishing Pty Ltd

  Copyright © Cleveland Publishing Co. Pty Ltd, New South Wales, Australia

  First Edition: July 2018

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with The Cleveland Publishing Pty Ltd.

  One – The Forgotten Man

  Lester Dukes, Governor of Texas, was feeling better than he had done in weeks. He looked it, too, thought his daughter, Kate, as she came into his paneled study in the big house on Capitol Hill, Austin.

  Not so long ago, it had been touch and go whether Dukes lived or died. Victim of a heart ailment these past few years, he had suffered probably the worst attack he would experience other than a fatal one. It had taken all of Dr. Boles’ ingenuity and medical knowledge to pull him through, and it had demanded all Kate's courage to assume the responsibilities of governorship while her father lay helpless.

  Dukes had long ago dispensed with lieutenant governorships and many other posts that were purely political rewards for past favors. His actions had not made him popular but Lester Dukes was a strong enough man to survive political back-stabbing. He was a man of the people and for the people, and

  they backed him to the hilt. The secretaries in the house on Capitol Hill knew it was Kate who handled much of the day-to-day affairs of the Lone Star State and thus eased the workload on the governor. They knew, too, how competent she was, even if they personally found it hard to accept the role she played, simply because she was a woman. But Kate had inherited her father’s strength of character—and her mother's charm and ability to handle men—and she weathered the many storms that rival politicians raised from time to time.

  Some things, of course, she found difficult to handle under any circumstances, and during the governor’s recent illness she had literally carried the future of the nation, not just Texas, on her shoulders. It had had to do with an assignment the governor’s two top enforcers were on. Yancey Bannerman and Johnny Cato had deliberately given themselves lawless reputations and infiltrated a gun-running organization that was supplying the madman who called himself El Halcon. The decisions had been difficult ones and they had been hers alone, for her father had been too ill to be troubled. She had taken the decisions and, only a week ago, she had received word by a roundabout route that Yancey and Cato had successfully completed the mission, not only killing El Halcon, but also blowing up his arms store.

  She was waiting for them to return home now and expected them any time, for she had more than a passing interest in Yancey Bannerman ...

  Dukes too, was anxious for the return of his top agents and he looked up at Kate now as he took the paper she handed him.

  “No word yet?”

  She shook her head. “It seems some of the rebel leaders have taken an oath to stop Yancey and Cato crossing back to this side of the Rio. They know the revolution is impossible now but they want to avenge themselves on the men who crippled their plans.”

  “Yancey and Cato can handle that sort of thing with one hand tied behind their backs,” Dukes said confidently, though inwardly, he knew his agents could be in real trouble. They were top men with guns and fists, but a Mexican was a bad man to cross, especially if he took a blood oath of vengeance. But for Kate’s sake he outwardly dismissed it and glanced at the paper she had given him. He raised his eyebrows. “From the Territorial Prison ...?”

  Kate nodded, pointing to a list of names. “These men are due for parole and the prison governor wants your approval or otherwise of the ones he’s selected ...”

  “Uh-huh,” Dukes said, scanning the list and picking up a crayon from his desk. He set the paper flat on the desk top and ran the crayon through three names. “These men are never to be released. Should have been hung for their crimes instead of being given prison sentences. The others are all right to face the Parole Board. The final decision rests with them.”

  Kate took the paper from him and handed him another document. He looked at her quizzically as he saw that it, too, was from the prison authorities.

  Kate said, “The Parole Board sent in this list of long-term men who are due to come up for parole hearings within the next twelve months, on the grounds of clemency, good conduct and so on. The board thought it might save a lot of false hopes, Pa, if you went through the list and made recommendations as you saw fit.”

  Dukes nodded, a trifle irritably. “It’s a good idea, I suppose, but I haven’t time to do it right now. I’ll get on to it next week.” He was about to hand the document back to her when he checked, looked again at a name on the list, then gave an exclamation.

  “Pa, what is it?”

  “This name—this man, Buck Harlan ... Surely it can’t be the same one ... Kate, check his number against our files.”

  But Kate did not move for a moment. “Pa,” she said with concern, “are you all right?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course I am!” Then he slammed his fist down on the document lying on his desk. “Good grief, girl, if this man Harlan’s the one I think he is, then he should have been released from the penitentiary years ago! Check out those files!”

  For the first time on the long trail up from Los Moros, Yancey Bannerman figured there was a pretty good chance he and Cato were not going to make it back across the Rio.

  They had had a few skirmishes during the long miles of travelling over the wasteland, but these had been against only small, scattered bands of bandidos, three or four men at most. Even the knife wound in his shoulder that had given him a deal of trouble along the way, hadn’t affected his shooting or fighting ability.

  But now there were a lot more than three or four half-starved bandidos strung out along the rim of the canyon and, what was worse, across the back trail. He saw Johnny Cato counting rapidly and looked quizzically at the smaller man. Cato thumbed back his hat
and blew out his cheeks in a long sigh as he folded his hands on the saddlehorn and leaned forward.

  “We got seventeen hombres thirstin’ for our blood, Yance. And that feller on the piebald with the black sombrero is Estoban, El Halcon’s right-hand man. He’s sworn to stop us gettin’ back across the Rio.”

  “Well, he sure picked a fine place to do it,” Yancey opined, looking around him at the high, unclimable walls of the canyon, with the back trail closed off by five gun-toting caballeros, and the only way open to them, the narrow, twisting defile ahead. Once in there, Estoban could use them as target practice for as long as he liked.

  “He’s the one who’s been doggin’ our tracks ever since Los Moros,” Cato said. Then, despite the seriousness of the present situation, he smiled crookedly. “Guess they won’t want to see us back in that neck of the woods again, not after the fireworks display we put on.”

  Yancey smiled faintly at the memory of the rebel armory blowing up like some corner of hell itself. “We sure must have made our mark, I reckon. But understanding why they want us dead don’t get us out of this fix.” He gestured to the silent gunmen along the canyon rim. “Any ideas?”

  Cato looked thoughtful for a spell and then glanced at Yancey. The big man waited expectantly.

  “Well, no,” Cato said finally, and the bigger undercover agent swore good-naturedly.

  Then Yancey said, “We got twelve up on top of the rim, five behind, and none ahead. So which way is the logical one to take?”

  “Ahead, of course, except ...”

  “Except,” cut in Yancey, “that it’s like herding cattle through a chute, with us as the steers ...”

  “Never did take to a cowpoke’s life,” Cato admitted, his eyes and senses alert despite his light tone. “And though I’m a meat-eater from way back, I don’t much like to think about the way cattle are butchered.”

  Yancey gestured at the narrow defile ahead. “We ride through there and you’ll get a fair idea how it feels to be a steer on its way to becoming beefsteak.”

  “Simple enough, then. We don’t ride through there.”

  Yancey nodded in approval. “So where do we ride through? Twelve above ... Five behind ...”

  Cato scratched at the thick curls of hair about his ears. “Always better at figurin’ out how guns work than tallyin’, but I guess five’s a lower number than twelve ...”

  “That’s it,” Yancey said and tightened his hold on his reins. But Cato put out a hand to stop him turning his mount.

  “If we get past the five, where d’we go? We still got the twelve up top to get by and we’ll be further back along the trail we’ve already travelled.”

  Yancey grinned. “How d’you reckon those twelve riders got up to the canyon rim?”

  Cato frowned, glanced up briefly. “Hell, from the other side of the range, I guess. It must have a more gradual slope than this side and ...” He broke off and grinned as well. “Son of a bitch! Old Estoban’s given himself a real headache. He’s up there, but he can’t get down to us on this side. He’ll have to ride back down the other side of the range ...”

  “While we’re headed out to the west,” Yancey cut in. “All we got to do is beat him to the Cordilleras and then we can shake him like a dog shedding fleas and cut due north for the Rio.”

  Both men ducked as two rifles roared from up on the rim and bullets kicked dust near their horses’ hoofs, making the animals whicker and mill around.

  “Gettin’ impatient!” Cato opined.

  “Me, too,” Yancey allowed, dragging his Colt six-gun from its holster. “I’m hankerin’ to see Kate again. Let’s go, amigo!”

  He rammed home the spurs, letting out a wild Rebel yell, spun his mount about and, with Cato alongside him, thundered back across the canyon towards the five astonished Mexicans strung loosely across the back trail. They had been so sure that the gringos would ride ahead into the defile that they had been slouched in their saddles, rifles across their thighs or even back in scabbards, figuring just their presence would prevent the Norteamericanos from attempting to leave the canyon by the trail they had used to enter it. They were caught unawares and two of them immediately paid for their mistake with their lives as the guns of Yancey and Cato roared.

  The two bandits were knocked from their saddles as if jerked by invisible strings and the other three scattered, bringing their rifles into play as they rode with the speed and fine precision of their breed. Yancey glanced up and saw Estoban in his black hat waving wildly and riding up and down, yelling at his men on the rim, screaming at them to stop the gringo pigs down in the canyon. The rifles up on the wall fired raggedly but the men up there were hampered by the fact that Yancey and Cato were closing in on the other Mexicans. Estoban might not mind sacrificing a few of his men to his own guns, but the bandits with their fingers on the triggers didn’t much like shooting where their compadres could get hurt ...

  There was a thunderous roar close to Yancey and he ducked instinctively as he holstered his six-gun and dragged his rifle from its scabbard. Cato had fired the shotgun barrel on his bulky, twin-barreled handgun known as the Manstopper. Built on the massive frame of an old Colt Dragoon, the gun held eight rounds of .45 caliber ammunition in the thick cylinder and, in the center of this part of the mechanism, a twelve-gauge shotgun shell, fired by adjusting a simple toggle on the gun hammer.

  The charge of buckshot blew one Mexican clear out of the saddle and the man’s horse was stung by some of the pellets on the wild edge of the pattern. It reared and cannoned into the mount of a man coming up from behind. He tried to swerve aside and, while he was busy with the plunging animals, Yancey threw his Winchester ’76 to his shoulder and shot the man through the chest. He hit the ground hard, bounced and rolled amongst the tangle of horses’ hoofs. Yancey swung the rifle to the last remaining bandit and saw that the man was already turning and making a run for it. He fired almost at the same instant as Cato and one bullet hit the horse, the other the bandit. Both crashed to the dust and Cato and Yancey had to wrench their own galloping mounts aside to avoid crashing into the tangle.

  The rifles on the rim were hammering now and the riders up there were racing along parallel with them, trying to stop them clearing the canyon. Yancey crouched low and worked the lever on the heavy 24-inch barreled rifle. He saw his first shot clip rock dust from the rim. His second found its target and a horse floundered, throwing its rider clear over the edge in a screaming, arm-flapping descent into the canyon. The other riders began hauling rein almost instantly. Cato’s Manstopper hammered three fast shots and another man dropped out of saddle up there. Estoban rode to the edge, beside himself with rage as he waved a machete in one hand, a big English Enfield pistol in the other.

  Yancey took a fast shot and was surprised to see the bandit rear up in the stirrups and then fold slowly to one side. Two of his men rode in fast to catch him and ease him down to the ground. Yancey arched his eyebrows at Cato who called out, “Pure luck!” then grinned and holstered his Manstopper and concentrated on his riding.

  Yancey, too, returned his rifle to its scabbard and crouched low over his horse’s neck as he and Cato made their run for the last ten yards of trail that would take them clear of the canyon ...

  Rifles fired raggedly from up on the walls and dust spurted all around their mounts’ flying hoofs. Bullets whined off the sandstone walls and a ricochet from a boulder just ahead of Yancey buzzed like an angry wasp. He saw dust flick from the tip of his horse’s ear and a few spots of blood sprayed back across his hand. The animal faltered momentarily and squealed, but he eased the rein, kicked with his heels, and urged it on.

  In twenty more seconds they were clear of the canyon and skidding around the huge monolith of multi-colored sandstone that would shield them from the men still remaining on the rim. They reined down, glanced back, and then turned west, lifting their mounts to a hard run again.

  They were still a long way from the Rio.

  Kate Dukes glanced up from
her desk in the small room she used off the governor’s study, as the Ranger guard came in. He held out a yellow envelope and she looked quickly at his expressionless face.

  “Just delivered by messenger, ma’am,” the guard said. “Addressed to you and marked ‘urgent’.”

  “Thank you, Simm,” Kate said, as she took the envelope and forced herself to wait while the big gun-hung guard sauntered out of the room and seemed to take his time closing the door. Then, with trembling fingers, she opened the telegraph message and unfolded it. She forced herself to steady down so she could read the printed words. Then she stood up and hurried to the door leading to her father’s study.

  Governor Dukes was writing a letter when Kate came bursting into the room, waving the unmistakable telegraph message form of Western Union. Dukes saw the expression on her face and put down his pen with a smile.

  “I’d say that has to be good news,” he opined as she handed him the yellow form. “And I guess that means it’s from Yancey Bannerman?”

  “Yes, Pa! They’re both safe. They made it back across the border!”

  “To Galveston of all places!” Dukes exclaimed, studying the message form. “Looks like they reached Matamoros, then ‘shipped out’ as it says here, to Galveston across the Gulf. They’re using their code names, I see.”

  “Yes, Pa,” she replied, still beaming.

  “Return address there?” Dukes asked abruptly and Kate glanced at the form and nodded. “Good ... Send ’em a wire and tell them to meet you in Houston ...” He leaned forward to study a calendar, and his lips moved slightly as he made a calculation. “Tell ’em to meet you at the Houston House on Friday. That gives ’em plenty of time to get there and you’ll make it all right if you leave on this evening’s train.”

  Kate’s smile had gone. “Why do I have to go to Houston to meet Yancey and Johnny?”