Bannerman the Enforcer 42 Page 4

  “Jed, you know I been tryin’ to get you dead to rights for a long time, helpin’ outlaws make it across the Border, provisionin’ ’em and so on. Well, that’s how I caught you tonight. Them two dead men in there are Willie Morton and Cass Blanco: they got rewards out on ’em an’ they was payin’ over their money to you when I hit that door. I can get you hung, mister. Or, should you decide to help out my pard there, I can get you a couple years on the rock-pile. But you ain’t got a helluva lot of time to make up your mind.”

  The bleeding man, gasping, afraid of all the blood he was losing, rolled his eyes from Yancey’s hard face to Early’s.

  “H—How long?” he croaked.

  Early cocked the hammer on the shotgun. “’Bout ten seconds, I’d reckon. Give you any longer an’ you’re likely to bleed to death.”

  “J—Judas! Gemme a sawbones, Big John!”

  “Spill your guts, Jed,” Early said, not budging and Cato moved away to hold back the crowd that had been attracted by the gunfire.

  Jed decided he didn’t want to bleed to death nor hang by the neck. He looked at Yancey with frightened eyes.

  “Burdins, you—say?”

  “You’re wastin’ time, Jed,” Early said, pushing the gun barrel hard into the man’s neck.

  “Y—yeah. B—Burdins ... Th—they was here—two days back ... provisioned for the—ride into Mexico. Crossin’ the Rio at—at Iron Ford—upstream. There’s a—a hidden raft ... ”

  “I knew they were headed into Mexico,” growled Yancey. “Where is what I want to know.”

  “T—Tenayuca. C—cantina town, south of the Cordilleras de Cristo.” The man paused, still breathing raggedly. “Y—you’d be the—Enforcers?”

  “We would,” Yancey snapped.

  “Th—they gonna pay bandidos to—to bushwhack you.”

  “Where, goddamn it!” snapped Early.

  “A—anywheres along the trail. Bandit country all the way to the town.”

  Yancey stood up, lips tight. Early signaled for the doctor to come and attend to the gashed man and then he and the Enforcers walked slowly away across the vacant lot and back towards town.

  “Gonna be one helluva trail,” Cato opined, “watchin’ out for bandidos all the way.”

  “Depends how much money they’ve got to spend,” Yancey said. “Might only have enough to buy one or two bushwhackers.”

  “One’s enough if they catch us just right,” Cato said.

  “Forget ’em,” Early said. “Got the problem solved for you. Morales’ vaqueros are returnin’ to Mexico tomorrow. They got to go way south of Tenayuca. They know the country like I know my own name. They can get you through safely, and quicker’n you could do it yourselves. You’ll take the Burdins unawares when you show up on their doorstep in that cantina town, Yance. The vaqueros’ll be happy to oblige after you standin’ by me at that beef auction and keepin’ the Venters bunch from startin’ a heap of trouble.”

  “Sounds good, Yance,” opined Cato.

  Yancey nodded. “Makes sense. With any luck, we ought to wind this up in another week.”

  “Long as you leave time to get back here for my weddin’,” Early said winking. “Don’t you forget that, man. You keep thinkin’ you gotta be best man for me when you go in after them Burdins an’ you’ll come through all right.”

  Yancey smiled crookedly.

  He figured he might need a little more than that when he finally went up against Steve and Slim Burdin.

  Things didn’t quite work out for the Burdins the way they figured.

  Jed had provisioned them well and helped them across the Rio so that they dodged the Border Patrols. Then, once on the southern bank of the Rio, they were on their own. It wasn’t the first time either had been in Mexico but Steve knew the country better than Slim.

  He knew where to find the bandidos, too, who, for a few pesos, would set up a series of ambushes along the trail south and take care of the Enforcers—providing Bannerman and Cato had gotten past the ambush in the hills north of Del Rio, of course.

  If they hadn’t, then that was fine. The bandidos would then take care of any of the other outlaws who had survived the gun-battle with the Enforcers. The Burdins figured they couldn’t lose.

  They rode into the Mexico borderlands without stopping the first day and they camped that night by a creek that entered a canyon a couple of miles upstream.

  “Right through the far end of that canyon, is where we find Porfirio and his bunch of cut throats,” Steve told Slim as they huddled in their blankets. They did not light a fire. Steve said it would only attract the bandidos and many of the men who followed Porfirio did not speak English and likely wouldn’t stop to see if they recognized Steve before wielding their deadly machetes. “We’ll get there about mid-mornin’ an’ spend the night with ’em. Then we can head in a straight line for Tenayuca and, after that, if they’ve repaired the railroad after the last rebellion, we ride in comfort the rest of the way to Mexico City. After paintin’ the town red, we’ll head for the Gulf an’ catch us a schooner back up to Boston.”

  Slim nodded, teeth chattering a little in the sudden night cold of the high border country. “Suits me. Long as this Porfirio carries out his side of the deal.”

  Steve laughed shortly.

  “Hell he’d cut his own mother’s throat for a bent peso!”

  And that proved to be the trouble, Porfirio’s greed.

  The Burdins found the bandits’ hideout all right, just where Steve Burdin had said it would be. They were taken through a series of guards that Steve called by name and into the camp proper. It was like a small town, a couple of adobe buildings, some clapboard shacks, lean-tos and tents. Men with machetes and dressed bullet belts on their chests moved about, casting curious glances at the newcomers.

  Porfirio was small and lean, a cock-sparrow of a man with glinting dark eyes and a dry look to his swarthy skin. His nose was like an axe blade and his purplish lips smiled a lot but the smiles meant nothing.

  Still, he welcomed Steve and Slim and called for pulque, then tequila, and food. Women in varying states of beauty and cleanliness hovered around the perimeter of the meeting, waiting to jump should Porfirio snap his fingers. But, for now, he ignored them and listened to Steve’s proposition, nodding slowly.

  “Si,” he said, speaking in accented, slow English, mixed with a few Spanish words. “This Bannerman I know. Muy malo hombre, muy malo, Burdeen. And mighty quick with the gun.”

  “That’s the son of a bitch. Him an’ his compadre, Cato.”

  “Ah! Cato! That one I owe! He coaxed a woman away from my blankets once, turned her against me, so that she helped him escape. Si, Burdeen, it will be a pleasure to watch for Bannerman and Cato. A hundred pesos, no?”

  Slim snapped his head up from his drink. “Hunnerd? Hell, I figured more on fifty, Steve!”

  The elder Burdin made a swift sign. “How about sixty, Porfirio?”

  The bandit leader threw up his hands. “You make with the joke! Ninety is my lowest price, Burdeen!”

  But they finally settled on eighty pesos and Porfirio held out his little, claw-like hand and Steve went to his saddle bags to get the money. The bags slipped and the stolen payroll sack burst, spilling silver and gold coins onto the ground. Porfirio’s eyes slitted. Slim heard some of the other bandits suck in their breaths sharply at sight of the money. Steve cursed as he swiftly picked up the money: he hadn’t wanted the bandidos to realize they were carrying so much with them ...

  He handed Porfirio the money and the bandit leader smiled and waved expansively. “We will hold a feast in your honor and you can leave tomorrow.”

  “Uh—no, I think not, Porfirio,” Steve said, smiling a little tightly and looking sharply at his brother. “Might be best if we push off now. Got a long ways to go.”

  He signaled frantically with his eyes to Slim who nodded and stood up, a mite nervously, looking at the hard, greedy faces of the bandidos. He nodded his thanks to Porfirio and
waved casually as he stepped towards his horse. Then the bandit leader snapped something and Slim and Steve whirled, hands streaking for gun butts.

  Their Colts came up blazing and the two men rushing them with upraised machetes spun away, falling to the ground, one screaming pitifully. Porfirio dived for cover, yelling at his men to cut them down. Steve shot a man in the face, dropped to his knees and fired under his prancing horse’s belly, bringing down another man.

  “Ride out! Ride out!” he bawled at Slim, trying to get a boot into stirrup.

  He got halfway into saddle when a machete spun through the air and sliced into his back. Steve Burdin screamed as the razor-sharp blade impaled him and, even as he fell back, his body jerked as it was riddled with a volley of bullets from a bunch of bandits running from their huts.

  Slim, stunned, yelled his brother’s name and then, sobbing with the effort, threw himself bodily over his horse and yelled into its ear. The animal lurched forward but only took a half dozen paces before it shuddered and reared, screaming, going down with a dozen bullets in its body.

  Slim Burdin threw himself off, hit hard, somersaulted, and came up on one knee. His gun was blazing, sweeping in a slow arc, bringing down a bandit with each shot. Then, when it was empty Porfirio stood up casually, teeth bared in a tight grin, holding his old British Webley pistol in both hands. Slim started to turn to run and Porfirio shot him through both legs. Burdin fell, screaming in pain. Porfirio, grinning all the time, strode slowly forward and emptied the big Webley into the outlaw. When he stood above him, he kicked the bleeding, shuddering body, rammed the gun into his cummerbund and snapped his fingers.

  Two men brought him the saddlebags from the dead horses. The bandit leader examined them briefly and he grinned widely, a real warmth to it now.

  “Tonight, we have fiesta!” he cried and his men cheered. “As for these carrion, bury them where they lie!”

  Reaching into one of the bags, he lifted a handful of gold coins and let them trickle through his slim brown fingers.

  Four – Long Search

  The vaqueros took a week-long trail in their efforts to keep Yancey and Cato clear of any country where they might conceivably run into bandits who had been money-primed by the Burdins.

  The Enforcers were impatient but knew that the Mexicans were not only doing their best, but were actually going out of their way to try to repay in part the Enforcers for helping out back in Del Rio. Morales himself was not with them, having stayed this time in Mexico. Conchita would stay on in Del Rio for a week and then return to the ranch and spend the last few weeks of her unmarried life with her father.

  The vaquero leader was called Benito and he was a smiling young man who was eager for the Enforcers’ approval of all the precautions he was taking.

  “Yeah, Benito, you’re doing fine,” Yancey told him as they rode slowly along through the foothills of the Cordilleras. “But we must be getting close to Tenayuca now, huh, compadre?”

  “Si, not far.” Benito pointed a little vaguely. “Perhaps a day’s ride. But, señores, you have helped us all and Señor Morales would surely like to thank you in person. Why not come to the rancho?”

  Cato shook his head. “We got business in Tenayuca as you know, amigo. We’ve got to get it done.”

  Benito grimaced. “These gringo outlaws will still be there tomorrow, eh? The rancho is only another day’s ride beyond the Cordilleras de Cristos. Señor Morales will not forgive me if I do not bring you back so that he may thank you for your part in helping Sheriff Early keep the peace for us at the cattle sale.”

  “Look, Benito,” Yancey said a mite shortly. “We’re already takin’ longer on this chore than we should. We’ll be cutting out for Tenayuca come sun-up tomorrow. If Morales wants to thank us for anything at all, he can do it at Conchita’s wedding. I’m being Early’s best man.”

  Benito’s usual smile dropped abruptly from his face and he frowned, looking worried for a few moments before forcing the smile back again, but it was not the easy-going, warm expression that the Enforcers had come to know. It was kind of stiff around the edges and Benito seemed to realize it.

  “Si, I suppose so, señor.”

  “Hey, wait up,” Yancey said as the man made to ride off towards the rest of his men. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong, señor?” Benito asked innocently, still trying to hold his smile. “Why, nothing. What could be wrong?”

  “Well—I ain’t sure. Señor Morales will be at the wedding, won’t he?”

  Again Benito’s smile slipped. “Of course, señor. He must give the bride away! Of course he will be there. Now, I must see to my men ... ”

  Benito wheeled his mount fast, jammed home his big gut-hook spurs and galloped across to the bunched vaqueros.

  “Don’t look like they need any seein’-to to me,” opined Cato.

  “No,” agreed Yancey thoughtfully, staring after the young vaquero leader. “Somethin’ upset him, though. Not sure just what. Not up to him to be annoyed because we said we couldn’t spare the time to go see Morales. If anyone was gonna be riled over that, it’d have to be Morales himself. Seems to be something about the wedding.”

  “Mebbe Benito had designs on Conchita for himself,” Cato suggested and Yancey glanced at him sharply.

  “He ought to know better than that! He’d know he’d never have any chance, just an ordinary vaquero, with a hidalgo’s daughter. Still, nothing to stop him dreaming, I guess, and, after all a gringo sheriff mightn’t be such a cut above a vaquero when I think about it.”

  “Yeah. Why you reckon Morales gave his okay for Conchita to marry Early, Yance? Seems an unlikely couple to me.”

  Yancey grinned. “You’re just jealous!”

  Cato grinned back. “Man, you can say that again!”

  Yancey laughed and they rode on through the foothills. Come sun-up, they pulled out alone, their saddlebags bulging with food pressed on them by the Mexicans.

  “Do not forget to call into the rancho and speak with Señor Morales, amigos,” Benito said. “Now, vaya con Dios!”

  “Hasta luego,” Yancey said, lifting a hand to his hat brim. Then he and Cato rode off in the direction of Tenayuca and soon were threading their way along a narrow trail through the hills that had a lot of good places that could be used for an ambush.

  They rode warily, rifle butts on their knees, eyes scanning the country around them. This was the last leg into the cantina town and if Burdin had left bandits posted along the normal trail south, he might not have bothered to cover this section. But they couldn’t take any chances so they rode warily, dismounting and checking out the trail on foot around the bends and beyond a big stand of boulders.

  “Looks clear,” Yancey said as they topped a ridge and saw the white gleam of adobe buildings down in the valley below. He pointed with his rifle barrel. “That just has to be Tenayuca.”

  “Yeah. Guess the Burdins got a mite over-confident or didn’t expect us to take any other trail than the straight south one where they set up the bushwhack. But, I tell you, Yance, that’s all wide-open country approachin’ that town. Which is likely why the Burdins picked it to hole-up. Gives ’em plenty of time to spot anyone comin’.”

  Yancey nodded, and scratched at his stubbled chin. It seemed he was never going to be clean-shaven again, he thought irrelevantly, as he studied the country between the ridge and the sprawl of the town ahead and below. He looked beyond the cluster of buildings, swept his gaze in a long arc to the foothills.

  “If we angle across the slope of this ridge and drop down into the cutting, Johnny, we ought to come out behind that butte, on the north-east side yonder. Trail down to Tenayuca from that direction’s studded with boulders and that sure looks like a hogback rise between the town and the last section. We could be practically in the town before the Burdins spotted us. If they’re still there.”

  Cato glanced at him sharply. “You figure they might’ve moved on?”

  “Railroad’s not far off. Pa
sses to the south, about twenty miles. Goes in a dead straight line down to Mexico City. Steve jumped it last time I chased him down this way. He might try it again.”

  “Then let’s get on down there and see if we can nail ’em before they do it!” Cato said, urging his mount forward.

  Yancey followed and they swung right around and came in on the town by the north-east trail but there was no sign of the Burdins or anyone lighting out from the town at their appearance.

  But there were plenty of eyes watching them, monitoring their every move. Mexicans, of course, were everywhere, lounging against adobe walls with large sombreros tilted forward over their eyes. This didn’t fool the Enforcers; they knew these men were experts at seeing everything that went on, even though they appeared to be dozing, faces hidden.

  Then, when the Enforcers had ridden slowly back and forth through the few mean streets of Tenayuca, they figured the focal point of the town was the cantina itself. It had no name, but there was a covered porch with adobe arches and, as they started onto this, two men in American cowboy clothes, suddenly leapt up from where they had been hiding behind the low wall and vaulted over the rails at the end, running into the valley. One turned, gun blazing, but he made no attempt to aim, just got off two wild shots.

  The Enforcers were carrying their rifles and split up without a word, Yancey going directly after the men, Cato racing around the cantina building the other way. Yancey skidded and flung himself flat against the wall as a bullet ripped a long line of dust-spraying adobe at head level. He snapped a shot at a man’s arm and leg disappearing around a corner and then ran forward, rifle cradled across his chest, working the big, oversized lever and flicking out the quick-fire toggle that would trip the trigger every time the lever was worked up and down.

  He heard gunfire and a man swore. It was swiftly followed by the crash of splintering wood and then Yancey hurled himself headlong as he came to the corner, slid around, rolling, kicking off the wall so as to face along the other line of the cantina.