Bannerman the Enforcer 17 Page 5

  He went out of the room and into the front room of the cabin. Conchita, the Mexican girl who used the cabin, was just pulling on her red and green blouse and looked at him as he closed the door to the rear room and snapped the padlock. Her flashing smile faded when she saw he was bleeding. She moved forward and looked at his swollen nose.

  “Ah, querida, he is not pleased with you, no?” she asked compassionately.

  Kidd shoved her hand aside irritably. “No ... And he won’t be till I get that goddamn gun workin’. He’s promised to kill me if I don’t do it.”

  Conchita looked concerned. “You cannot do this thing, Jethro?”

  He shook his head. “Not so far.”

  “You look sad. Come. I make you forget a little while.” She held his arm and tried to lead him towards the rumpled bed in the corner. He shook his arm free angrily.

  “Leave me alone, you whore!”

  She pouted, not unduly offended, for the men of Concho showed her little respect or concern. “Okay,” she said, and made for the door, going out into the sundown glow.

  Kidd walked across the room slowly, thinking. Maybe he could bribe a soldier from Fort Marlow to come and help ... No, that was too risky. And, anyway, it needed an expert to put that Gatling together. There were ratchets and gears and heavy springs that had shot out of dark, unseen compartments during the dismantling. Hell, he’d never manage it.

  He leaned on the rail of the cabin’s small porch and began to twist up a cigarette, glancing casually at the rider coming into town from the east. He sat easily in the saddle, a smallish man, keeping to the deep shadows of the buildings, as he made his way towards the saloon. He saw Conchita on the boardwalk. She flashed him a smile over her shoulder before going in through the batwings.

  Then the man put his mount up to the hitch rail and swung down stiffly. He paused to adjust the heavy gun on his right thigh before crossing the boardwalk and entering the saloon. Jethro Kidd straightened, tobacco spilling from his cigarette paper unheeded.

  “Judas!” he breathed. “I’ve just found me that expert I need!”

  He stepped down off the porch and hurried up to the saloon. Looking in over the batwings, he saw he hadn’t been mistaken.

  Johnny Cato was already at the bar, sipping his drink. A little way along, giving him the eye, was Conchita. Kidd caught her attention and motioned for her to come across. She hesitated, looking at Cato, but Kidd signaled her again urgently.

  Looking disappointed, she hurried to the saloon porch where Kidd waited. He held a double eagle between his thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly so that it caught flashes of light from the sinking sun. Conchita looked at it greedily and then turned her attention to Jethro Kidd’s tense face.

  The railroad man wasn’t going to be cooperative at first and he started to invoke an old by-law against carrying Indians. But Yancey pushed him aside, sat down at the telegraph and got off a wire to Governor Dukes, telling him of the situation. Within the hour a reply came from Nevada Jim Butcher himself. He ordered the railroad agent to provide every facility at his disposal for Red Dog and his party and Yancey himself. This included access to the express car, where Yancey had figured Red Dog would be safest, should any trouble arise. The agent reluctantly agreed that, come Friday, he would see that everything went off without a hitch, but it was obvious that he was one of Hemp Carswell’s sympathizers.

  Yancey left the depot and walked through the sundown glow towards the Pecos Saloon. Another four days of hanging around. There had already been trouble enough with Red Dog staying at the army post, a hundred of his warriors, fully armed, camping on the plains outside Horsehead Crossing. Here, in the town of Pecos, feeling was running pretty high, too, and people stopped him in the street, identifying him as Dukes’ ‘treaty man’, and demanding to know what God-given right Dukes had to hand over the Pecos Valley to a bunch of murdering savages?

  So far, Yancey had managed to head off any trouble, figuring that once violence started it could easily snowball and might even reach the stage where an attack would be made on the encamped Indians at the Crossing.

  He was reaching out for the batwings of the saloon when a hand fell on his shoulder and he came around fast, spinning on his heels, left arm knocking the other man’s arm aside, his right hand palming up his Peacemaker, the hammer notching back smoothly. It was one of the fastest, deadliest moves he’d ever made and those who witnessed it gasped aloud. But Yancey pulled himself up short as he thrust the Peacemaker’s barrel forward to within an inch of the man who had grabbed his shoulder. He felt his face slacken in surprise.

  “Chuck!” he exclaimed, and his elder brother sucked in his breath and let out the air in a ragged sigh, his face pale beneath its tan.

  “Hell almighty, Yance!” Chuck Bannerman gasped. “I thought I was a goner!”

  Yancey holstered his Colt. “Mighty bad time to sneak up on me like that, brother ...” He grinned and thrust out his right hand. They gripped firmly and Yancey jerked his head towards the big barroom beyond the batwings. Chuck nodded and they pushed through, walking down the crowded room, talking.

  “You’re about the last hombre I expected to run into in this neck of the woods,” Yancey told Chuck when they had reached the bar and ordered drinks.

  Chuck nodded, smiling. “C.B.’s idea, of course ... He got wind of the treaty Dukes is trying to arrange with the Kiowas. If it comes off, of course, settlers will flood this part of Texas, so—”

  “Your job is to buy up all the land you can get for a dollar an acre and sell it for twenty dollars an acre Right?”

  “Well, I’ve been paying a little more than a dollar an acre, but you’ve got the idea. The Bannerman Company stands to make a small fortune if it comes off.”

  “Another fortune,” Yancey said soberly.

  “Well, Yance, that’s the kind of business we’re in ... The business you could’ve been in, too, remember?”

  “I’ve got no regrets, Chuck,” Yancey said, sipping his drink. “How long have you been in Pecos?”

  Chuck looked slightly uncomfortable. “Not long ... You’re looking a trifle leaner, more wolfish, little brother.”

  “How long, Chuck?” Yancey insisted.

  Chuck sighed. “Came in this morning. Special stage down from Carlsbad, New Mexico.”

  “I guess someone told you I was handling the treaty at this end, huh?”

  Chuck shrugged, grinned widely, punched Yancey lightly on the shoulder. “Well, what the hell? You mightn’t be with the company, but you’re still a Bannerman, aren’t you? Old C.B. won’t forget any kind of—well, anything you do for the good of the company.”

  Yancey drained his glass and set it down without taking his eyes off his brother’s face. “Go to hell, Chuck. You and pa both. I had my chance to join the company and I elected to come west instead. Pa made it clear right then that I could expect nothing from him. And I made it just as clear that I wanted nothing from him. I work for Governor Dukes now. I’ll do the job he gave me to do. There will be no forked trails along the way where I can make things easy for the Bannerman Company to buy land or anything else ...”

  “Now, don’t get proddy, brother,” Chuck said placatingly. “Pa’s in Austin now, pulling a few strings to give him access to the first areas that are going to be thrown open for settlers here. We just figured that, as you’re on the spot, and know just what Dukes has in mind, you might kind of give me some advance information on where the best areas are ...”

  “Go to hell, Chuck! I already told you once ... No favors!”

  Chuck moved closer. “Look, Yance, I know you and old C.B. don’t get along any too well, but it’ll help me, if I can hand him a parcel of land right smack in the middle of where the first settlers are going to hit. If he can make a fast profit, he’ll show his—ah—appreciation to me.” He winked, grinning boyishly at Yancey. “And naturally, I’ll pass some along to you.”

  Yancey shook his head slowly. “You never give up, do you, Chuck
? Can’t get it through your head that the almighty dollar doesn’t mean anything to me. I know it’s your life and pa’s, but it’s not mine. Not much use having a pocketful of dollars out in the badlands where they won’t buy you anything. Better to have a decent horse and a full cartridge belt and canteen ...”

  “A pocketful of dollars can buy you those things, Yance.”

  “Not in the middle of the badlands, Chuck. There are different values out here on the frontier. The sooner you and pa realize it the better.”

  “He won’t be happy, Yance, when I tell him.”

  Yancey looked at his brother soberly. “Since when has pa ever been happy with anything I did?”

  Chuck arched his eyebrows, then shrugged and smiled. “You’re right. He’s a hard man to please. Well, what kind of hell have you been raising since I saw you last?”

  “Not much. How’s Mattie?”

  “All right.”

  They were referring to their sister, Matilda, who ran the big Bannerman mansion on Nob Hill in San Francisco. She managed the place efficiently, a perfect housekeeper and hostess for old Curtis Bannerman’s dinner parties. He tended to look on her as good only for this type of work, but there were times when her wise advice not only put money in the vaults of the Bannerman First National Bank, but also saved C.B. a lot of trouble. She was an intelligent girl with a sharp business brain, but C.B. refused to acknowledge this. There was quite a bond between Yancey and his sister because of this very thing: they were both treated casually by C.B. In fact, Yancey had been virtually disowned by the old man when he had walked out on the ‘golden opportunity’ of a job as legal counselor to the Bannerman financial empire.

  “No suitors yet?”

  Chuck grinned wryly. “None that we know of … Since C.B. scared off a couple.”

  Yancey smiled. Yes, if he knew Mattie, she would have her young men, all right, and if C.B, had frightened off some in the past, Mattie was smart enough to keep them out of his sight from now on ...

  “Hey, Sandy! How come you let Injun lovers in your bar!”

  Yancey stiffened at the bellowed words, knowing, even before he turned, that Hemp Carswell had spoken them.

  Sure enough, there he was, the big man who had braced him on the train down from Austin. His remarks had been addressed to the barkeep but everyone in that saloon knew that Yancey was the real target.

  The barkeep didn’t say anything, knowing he wasn’t required to. He watched silently, with the rest of the crowd in the saloon, as Carswell stopped a few feet in front of Yancey, big hands on hips, face flushed with whisky and genuine anger. Yancey still leaned casually enough on the edge of the bar counter. He spoke quietly to Chuck.

  “Better move back ... This is my fight.”

  Chuck raised his eyebrows and slowly stepped back along the bar, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

  “You see him?” Carswell asked the room at large, gesturing contemptuously towards Yancey. “He’s the rooster who wants to give Pecos Valley to them stinkin’ Injuns! Not only the best cattle land around here, but the only gold-bearin’ hills this side of New Mexico!”

  “I don’t aim to argue with you, Carswell,” Yancey told him. “If you’re too dumb or too loco to see that peace is worth any price, where women and kids are concerned, nothing I can say will make any difference.” Yancey thrust away from the bar and started to move forward. As he had expected, Carswell raised an arm to block him.

  “Who the hell are you callin’ loco?” the big man demanded.

  Yancey smashed his arm violently aside, deliberately provoking the fight that had been simmering for days, figuring it would be better over and done with. “You’re loco!” he said flatly. “Now get out of my way, Carswell!”

  He spread his hand, planted it against Carswell’s massive chest and shoved. The man staggered back, knocking over a table and sending the drinkers scurrying for cover. Carswell steadied himself and came back with a roar, arms flung wide to grab Yancey in a crushing bear hug.

  Yancey was ready and waiting, half-crouched, fists cocked, legs bent a little at the knees, up on the balls of his feet. He waited like a coiled spring as Carswell charged in blindly, face dark with fury.

  At the last second, Yancey changed his mind and didn’t throw the punch he was set for. Instead, he dropped flat to the floor right in front of Carswell as the big man lunged in. Carswell tripped over Yancey’s body and yelled as he crashed forward into the bar, snatching at the edge to keep himself upright. Yancey bounced up, moved in fast and slammed a heavy blow into Carswell’s kidneys, another to the back of his neck. The man grunted and his grip weakened, hands slipping as he sagged, his boots scrabbling for a grip. Yancey kicked his legs from under him and Carswell thudded to the floor, his face hitting the brass foot rail.

  Yancey stepped back to see if the man would get up and he was immediately grabbed from behind by two of Carswell’s pards. They pulled him off-balance, both slamming blows into his mid-section. Yancey jack-knifed, winded, his legs buckling. Hemp Carswell was on his feet by now, smearing blood across his face with the back of his hand. He stormed forward just as Chuck took a protesting step towards the men beating up Yancey. Carswell shoved Chuck violently aside and he staggered into some men who pushed him aside swiftly, not wanting to miss any of the fight.

  “Hey!” Chuck said, trying to keep his balance.

  Carswell had reached Yancey by this time and he nodded to his men to keep hold of the big government man as he slammed a barrage of punishing blows into Yancey’s midriff, chest and face. All three men, Yancey and the two holding him, staggered backwards with the force of Carswell’s blows. Carswell roared and cursed and went after them, fists flailing.

  About that time, Chuck reckoned it had gone far enough. He looked down at his broadcloth suit and flowered vest, his white cotton shirt and black string tie. Well, no need for everything to get ruined, he figured, and swiftly shucked out of his coat and vest and ripped off his string tie. He was hurriedly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt when there was a yell and he looked up in time to see Yancey use the men holding his arms as a pivot, and swing both boots up in a snapping arc. The boots caught Carswell in the groin and he went flailing backwards, legs pumping in an effort to keep his balance. He cannoned into Chuck even as he tried to dodge aside and they both crashed into the bar.

  Carswell was dazed and Chuck shoved him off, half turning to slam a blow against the man’s jaw. A few men in the crowd roared. Yancey’s maneuver had thrown the men holding him off balance and he seized the opportunity to wrench his arms free. He pivoted sharply, hooking an elbow against one man’s temple and butting the second man in the face. They staggered back into the crowd which was turning nasty. It was plain to see that plenty of men in Pecos sympathized with Carswell and blamed Yancey personally for the treaty negotiations …

  Yancey turned and was surprised to see Chuck mixing it with Carswell, his brother trading punch for punch with the big, bloody-faced man. Then the crowd began to close in and Yancey didn’t wait any longer. He scooped up a chair and swung it in a wide arc. The crowd dropped back but one of Carswell’s friends rushing in caught a blow across the side of the head that lifted him clear off his feet and dropped him in a moaning heap. A couple of men started in at Yancey and he poked one in the chest with the chair’s legs, battered the other across the ribs. The man fell back into the crowd, yelling, and was lowered to the floor. Yancey backed off, swinging the chair, making a way to the bar counter where Chuck was being half-strangled by Carswell, the big man bending Chuck backwards over the bar edge, both hands on his throat. Chuck’s hands were scrabbling about the bar frantically, and he managed to grab a bottle. Just as Yancey brought the chair down across Carswell’s beefy shoulders, Chuck smashed him across the head with a whisky bottle. Carswell slid silently to the floor in a bloody, unconscious heap.

  Chuck choked and coughed, trying to get his breath and Yancey held the crowd back with the upraised chair. Then he caught a glimpse of m
ovement just back in the crowd, shoved Chuck roughly down the bar, dropping the chair and palming up his Peacemaker all in one smooth motion. The crowd scattered, leaving one of the men who had held Yancey facing him, gun in hand, and hammer notching back, face contorted with killer-lust.

  Yancey’s gun roared and the man slammed backwards, bringing down three men with him. They scurried out of the way but there were no more shots needed: the gun-ranny was dead.

  Yancey held the smoking, cocked Colt on the crowd and they were very quiet now. Chuck’s breath was rasping in his tortured throat and he stared at the dead man, a little dazed. The shooting had erupted so suddenly that he hadn’t yet taken it in. Yancey snatched up Chuck’s clothes from the bar top and shoved them at his brother, taking his arm and propelling him towards the rear entrance of the saloon. The crowd made no move to stop them as they ducked out into the street.

  They ran in the darkness, down side streets and alleys and came out at the rear of the hotel where Chuck was staying. Panting, they stopped and Chuck dragged on his vest and coat, not bothering to button either. He had lost his string tie somewhere along the way.

  “Things are more ... serious ... than I figured,” Chuck panted.

  Yancey nodded. “Feelings are running mighty high. You’ll be a marked man now you’ve bought into it. And, by the by, big brother: muchas gracias.”

  Chuck grinned and winced immediately, putting a hand swiftly to a split and bleeding lip. “Won’t say it was exactly fun, but it’s the liveliest time I’ve had since coming to town. Never known such a place for a shortage of women and honest gamblers!”

  Yancey smiled faintly. Chuck hadn’t changed, it seemed. He still had the two vices that were bound to be his eventual downfall and had come close in the past to finishing him.

  “I think maybe I’ll come back to Austin with you on that Friday train, Yance,” Chuck decided suddenly. “I’ve two or three more deals to close, already at the contract stage, but I guess after tonight I could have some trouble finding good land. Anyway, I think C.B. will be pleased enough with what I’ve purchased so far.”