Bannerman the Enforcer 42 Page 3

  “You lock my men up an’ you got trouble, Early!” called Venters.

  “Have your drink an’ move on, Brad,” the sheriff called back without turning.

  Yancey looked at Venters and the rancher met and held his gaze aggressively. But neither man said anything and then the cowman turned back abruptly into the saloon. Hunnicutt and the others followed, muttering.

  The Enforcers pushed open the flapping batwings and Cato pursed his lips, loosened the Manstopper in his holster, and adjusted his hat as he and Yancey walked towards the bar. The cowmen eyed them narrowly, lined up at the counter, but they opened out readily enough and Yancey nodded to the ’keep, laid the carbine on the bar and thumbed back his hat as he planted a boot on the brass rail.

  “Bottle of redeye and three glasses,” he ordered.

  The man flicked his eyes from Yancey to Cato.

  “Three glasses?” he echoed.

  “That’s what I said,” snapped Yancey a mite irritably.

  The man pursed his lips, looked past Yancey and Cato as if seeking guidance. The Enforcers turned slowly, just in time to see Brad Venters shaking his head slowly.

  “Sorry, gentlemen,” the ’keep said hoarsely, “But I guess we’re fresh out of glasses, an’ redeye. I mean, we had a couple greasers slip in here an’ have a drink an’ I dunno how many other times it might’ve happened so we gotta wash up all glasses an’ soak ’em in carbolic. You’d best try some other bar, fellers.”

  Venters, Hunnicutt and the others grinned as they saluted the Enforcers with their drinks and then downed them. Yancey, sober-faced, glanced at Cato. The smaller man was deadpanned and gave the faintest suggestion of a nod to his companion. Then Yancey cleared his throat and scrubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw.

  “Well, if that’s the way it’s gonna be ... ”

  “That’s the way,” promised Venters. “For any friend of Big John Early’s.”

  Yancey sighed and nodded. “Okay. But, I guess we gotta be fair about this. I mean, you fellers better get your glasses done out with carbolic, too.”

  Then Yancey’s left hand lashed out and smashed the glass from Venters hand. Cato, at the same time, knocked Hunnicutt’s from his grip, turned and slapped two others out of cowboys’ hands.

  The Enforcers grinned coldly at the startled cowmen.

  “Why don’t you come round an’ pick up them glasses an’ wash ’em too, barkeep?” suggested Cato softly.

  The barman started to back off. He had done his part; he wanted nothing to do with the rest of the deal which somehow looked to be going all wrong ...

  “All right, boys!” Venters said abruptly. “Throw these trail bums out!”

  He and Hunnicutt led the charge as the group of cowmen lunged in at the waiting Enforcers, fists cocked.

  The Enforcers didn’t wait for more than a second. They sidestepped and charged in themselves, cutting into the edge of the group, fists hammering, boots kicking out. Men danced and howled in pain as their boots kicked unguarded shins. Fists thudded against jaws and sank into midriffs. When the Enforcers jumped back, five men were writhing on the floor or staggering against tables, holding their midriffs.

  The ranchers spun and charged back and this time their sheer weight carried the Enforcers back. They fought well, striking out left, right and center, but they couldn’t hold the crush of cowmen who jostled each other to get in a blow. Yancey dodged a fist aimed at his jaw but caught a stinging blow on one ear that set his head ringing. He staggered and two fists drove against his ribs. He felt his knees buckle, grabbed for the back of a chair for support and then suddenly swept the chair up and over his head, using it as a weapon. He broke it over the back of the first cowpoke who charged in, used the shattered legs and back on the next man and dropped him in his tracks. He swept the timber in a backhand blow and it bounced off Hunnicutt’s shoulder, skidded across his ear that was already mangled from Early’s carbine. The man howled and staggered out of the melee, hanging on the bar edge, hands clasped against his bleeding face.

  Then someone smashed the remains of the chair from Yancey’s hands and he was hurled back against the wall. He yelled in pain as his bullet-burned shoulders slammed into the wall, then bounced off but met a fist in the chest that had him coughing and gagging for breath. He tried to see what was happening to Cato and caught a glimpse of the small man’s head as he went down on his knees, gagging. Then two cowpokes grabbed his arms, yanked him upright and Brad Venters began hammering at Cato’s ribs.

  Yancey tried to smash his way through but hard knuckles bounced off his jaw and sent him crashing back into the wall. He was almost overwhelmed by the press of yelling, cussing, slugging cowpokes.

  Then he heard a bull-like roar and suddenly men were flying through the air in all directions. Through the red haze of pain, Yancey, saw the towering form of Big Bad John Early wading into the melee, literally picking up men by their belts and throwing them aside. The cowboys yelled, sailed through the air, and crashed heavily into the walls or skidded along the bar top, or splintered tables and chairs. Some limped up to their feet but none made any attempt to stagger back into the fight.

  Cato was down on his knees in a cleared space now and Yancey wiped blood from his eyes in time to see Venters lifted high above Early’s head. The rancher yelled, kicked and struggled to free himself from the big sheriff’s two-handed grip but to no avail.

  Early grunted with the effort and hurled the rancher halfway across the room. Venters came down in the midst of the watching crowd and men spilled like ninepins as the man’s body crashed amongst them.

  The remaining cowboys backed off as the barely-sweating sheriff turned to them, arms crooked, huge fists bunched up so they looked like sides of smoked ham.

  “Pick ’em up and get out of town, pronto,” he said without any evidence of breathlessness.

  The cowboys lost no time in gathering up their dazed, bleeding compadres and leaders: both Venters and Hunnicutt were only half conscious as they were dragged out.

  The big sheriff turned to the gray-faced barkeep.

  “Set up some drinks for my friends.”

  The man’s hand shook badly as he poured whisky into three shot glasses, the bottle neck rattling against the glass rims. The sheriff handed the drinks to the gasping Enforcers and lifted his own.

  “Salud! And gracias amigos.”

  The Enforcers couldn’t speak: they didn’t have enough breath left for that. They tossed the whisky down gratefully, and the three that followed. Then Early picked up his carbine from the bar and poked the silent barkeep in the chest.

  “Put them drinks on Venters’ slate.” He turned to the bleeding, ragged Enforcers. “You fellers come on over to my place. Someone I’d like you to meet, an’ you can get patched-up there, wash the blood away.”

  Yancey and Cato went with him, staggering a little, hugging aching ribs and swelling jaws, dabbing at bleeding wounds on their faces and split knuckles. Big John Early’s house was at the south edge of town and he simply stepped over the low fence instead of using the gate. He had to crouch to get in the door and inside the Enforcers hurriedly doffed their battered hats when they saw the slim, flashing-eyed Mexican woman standing there.

  She was beautiful, slim-bodied, elegantly dressed in a dark green velvet frock despite the heat and managed to look cool; her face was oval, finely chiseled in the best Castilian lines and her hair was loose about her shoulders, midnight-dark and glistening. She smiled tentatively and then looked quizzically at the grinning sheriff. He walked across and slipped a massive arm about her slim shoulders. She looked like a child standing against his huge body.

  “Gents, I’d like you to meet my bride-to-be. Conchita Morales, prettiest señorita ever to come out of Mexico. Conchita, querida, couple amigos of mine: big one’s Yancey Bannerman, and the other’s Johnny Cato. They usually look a heap better than this.” Yancey and Cato nodded, conscious of their battered, dirty appearance in this elegant woman’s presence.


  “I am pleased to meet any friends of John’s,” Conchita said, smiling, her face lighting up warmly, her voice smooth and intimate.

  “These fellers kinda got involved with Venters and his bunch on my behalf, Conchita,” Early said by way of explaining their battered appearance.

  “Oh. Then in that case, it was on my behalf, as well. Gentlemen, if you will follow me to the kitchen, I will do what I can to cleanse your wounds and make you comfortable.”

  The girl went through a beaded curtain hanging in a doorway and Early gestured for the aching Enforcers to follow.

  “Ain’t she somethin’?” he said with pride as he held the curtain back for the others to pass through the arched doorway. “I can hardly believe she’s gonna marry me in a month.”

  “You’re a lucky man, amigo,” breathed Cato, a man who was noted for having had some experience with women and therefore was more than qualified to judge Conchita’s quality.

  “I reckon so,” the sheriff said.

  The Enforcers dropped into straight-backed chairs and Conchita rolled her sleeves halfway up her forearms, half-filled a tin bowl with water, then poured in some hot water from the iron kettle on the hob, and then gathered rags and a bottle of iodine. As she wet the rags she smiled at the battered men.

  “You may notice a certain—expertise in the way I gather these things,” she said. “Since I have known John, it has been necessary to keep plenty of clean rags and iodine on hand.”

  Yancey laughed and immediately winced as a cut in his lip started to bleed again.

  The Mexican woman worked efficiently and swiftly. Her fingers were gentle and expert and in fifteen minutes the Enforcers’ wounds had been doctored and they looked considerably better, though pain still throbbed throughout their bodies. Early had stood by with folded arms, watching with a certain amount of pride as the Mexican girl worked. He handed his tobacco sack to Yancey who fashioned a cigarette with stiff fingers and passed the makings to Cato who declined in favor of the single cheroot that had survived the brawl in one piece in his shirt pocket. The girl, after pouring the blood-tinged water down the sink and dropping the rags into the fire, stirred the coals and then stood back, rolling down her sleeves. She pushed a wisp of dark hair back off her forehead and then went to stand beside Early, slipping an arm through his.

  “Muchas gracias, señorita,” Yancey told her. “I sure feel a heap better.”

  “Me, too,” Cato allowed. He flicked his gaze from Conchita to Early. “Married in a month, huh?”

  Early nodded, tightened his grip around Conchita’s waist. “I gotta be converted to the Catholic Faith otherwise we’d already be married.”

  “Oh, no!” Conchita said swiftly. “My father would never have allowed it.” She smiled at the Enforcers and explained, “My father is one of the old hidalgo school, an aristocrat if you like. He has a vast ranch down in Mexico and he likes to do things the old way. I am not certain that he altogether approves of me marrying a—gringo, if the word does not offend you? No? Bueno! You have intelligent friends, querida.” She sighed and shrugged. “As I was saying, I am not sure that he altogether approves, but—well, I am spoiled, I suppose. He allows me to have my way most times and he can see no real objection now that John has agreed to convert to our Faith.”

  Early laughed. “Yeah, you can look kinda throwed, Yance! Me, I never did have religion, you know that. But I’d do anythin’ for Conchita. And I aim to be serious about it. I been goin’ to church every Sunday for years. Never hurt a man, I reckon, but I never followed no special faith. Now I’ve got one and it’s kinda given me—direction, I guess, is the word.” He laughed a mite self-consciously as he looked down into Conchita’s happy face and hugged her. “I’d crawl through Hell itself barefoot for Conchita.”

  She smiled happily, though her cheeks colored some with a little embarrassment. Then she slipped free of Early’s grasp.

  “I must go and see my segundo, querida. He waits at the sale yards for the Agent to arrive. He asked that you attend the auction in case of—trouble?”

  She had sobered some now and Early nodded. “We’ll be there. All three of us. Okay with you fellers?”

  The Enforcers felt they couldn’t do anything else but agree and the girl took her leave. When she had gone, Early broke out his bottle of whisky and poured three hefty snorts in large glasses.

  “To the most beautiful gal in the whole blamed world,” he said, saluting his glass. They drank.

  “And to a very lucky man,” Yancey said, drinking again. “How’d a big lunk like you get a gal like that falling in love with you, Big John?”

  “My fatal charm I guess.” He laughed and then sobered slowly, leaning back on the table edge, looking down into the remaining whisky in his glass. “I dunno, Yance, to be honest. I’m kinda dazed by it all. Her father heard about the beef shortage up here, got permission to drive his steers into the U.S. and ran into trouble right off from the local ranchers, led by Venters and Hunnicutt. I had to step in and that meant taking Morales’ side, to protect him from Venters’ bunch. Didn’t make me popular, but I was bound to do it. Morales came up again and we got to be sort of friends and Conchita an’ me, we hit it off right away. There’s some trouble a’brewin’ but I figure if I can head it off till Morales sells his herd this time, that’ll be the end of it.”

  “How come?”

  Early shrugged. “This is his last drive up here. He had permission for only three drives. He’s made a pile while the stupid locals have been holdin’ out till the market just won’t stand what they’re askin’. Townsfolk like Mexican beef, and they like the cheaper prices. Venters and Hunnicutt tried to hold the meat-packin’ houses to ransom an’ it didn’t work. They’re sore about it. But I can keep ’em headed-off, I reckon. ’Specially if you fellers’ve got time to lend a hand at that auction ... ?”

  Yancey and Cato exchanged glances and Yancey shrugged. “Oughtn’t take long. Then we can try to get a lead on the Burdins.”

  “Might be able to help there,” Early said. “Feller in town who’s long been suspected of helpin’ outlaws dodge across the Rio. Pretty smart. Ain’t been caught yet, but I could kind of lean on him a little ... ”

  Yancey grinned. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  As they stood, Early squinted at them both.

  “How long you figure to spend goin’ after the Burdins?”

  “Till we get ’em,” Cato answered.

  Early nodded. “Sure, but roughly how long? Got any idea?”

  Yancey thought about it briefly. “Mebbe a couple weeks. Why, John?”

  Early grinned. “Clear it up fast an’ you can get back in time to come to my weddin’. How about it?”

  “Sure, John,” Yancey replied. “Pleasure’d be all mine.”

  “Great. You can be my best man. You’re invited, too, Johnny.”

  Cato smiled crookedly as he checked the loads in his Manstopper.

  “I wouldn’t be game to refuse,” he said and they all laughed as they went out of the room.

  Three – “Bury ’Em Where They Lie”

  Yancey crouched outside the rear door, his Colt cocked in his hand. Cato was around one side while Big John Early shouldered in the front door like a runaway buffalo.

  The Enforcers heard the splintering crash and a moment later, the thud as the door was wrenched off its hinges. Someone yelled, then a six-gun hammered. Then came the thunder of Early’s sawn-off shotgun followed by a wild, pain filled scream and a thud. Furniture overturned and through the window, Yancey saw another gun flash. A man yelled and cursed violently. A heavy body jarred against the floor and then Yancey dropped flat as a body hurtled in panic straight towards him through the glass. The man came through with his arms over his face and head. The window-frame splintered. The glass shattered and showered Yancey. Then the man’s body hit the ground and his legs flailed across Yancey as the big Enforcer rolled, bringing around the Colt.

  There was no need to use it. In the moonlight,
he could see the man crouching there on hands and knees, moaning, arms ripped and bleeding, his face like a piece of raw meat. Yancey rammed a knee into his side and knocked him onto his back, then knelt on his chest, thrusting his gun barrel down into the bloody features.

  “I got him!” he yelled and then the rear door was wrenched open violently and Big John Early came limping out, shotgun in hand. Behind him, Cato dragged a moaning, bleeding man, the Manstopper rammed against his spine. He flung the man against the wall and he groaned and sagged, slipping down the clapboards to huddle beside the man Yancey had covered.

  The big Enforcer hauled the wounded man upright and shoved his back against the building, the gun muzzle still rammed tightly under his chin.

  “You all right, Big John?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Early growled. “Bullet nicked my leg is all. Johnny, that hombre you got ain’t no use to us. He’s a petty thief, likely just got caught up in the raid we pulled. Ain’t nothin’ he can tell us worth a hill of beans. I don’t aim to waste time an’ money feedin’ an’ takin’ care of him till the trial. Throw him into that there vacant lot. He’ll be gone by mornin’ an’ we’ll all be happier ... Yance, you got the hombre who can tell you all about the Burdins if they come through here.”

  Cato dragged the wounded man off and Yancey slapped the other man’s face back and forth, snapping him out of his daze.

  “Mister, my pard an’ me ain’t got a lot of time to spare,” Yancey gritted. “We already overstayed our time to help out our pard, Big Bad John, an’ he’s kind of eager to repay us for standing by him and seeing there was no trouble at that cattle auction this afternoon. You want to tell me what I want to know or do I turn you over to John Early?”

  The man’s injured eyes fluttered open and he grimaced, as he tried to wipe blood out of one eye. Cato came back, still carrying his Manstopper, nodded silently at Early’s enquiring look. Then the big sheriff nudged the wounded man roughly with his shotgun.