Bannerman the Enforcer 4 Page 6

  Maybe he could do something here to sabotage the weapon’s deadliness, but he sure wasn’t going to get any chance to throw its accuracy, not if Dekker could help it.

  Cato looked at the heavy frame, the overstrapping with its thickness and the grooving for the telescope. He picked up a micrometer and measured its thickness. Twice that of the normal .45. The back of the frame was the same; heavy, solid, recoil-absorbing. This gun would need the stock and the assassin’s two hands to hold it steady, but it had uncanny balance for all of the extra weight. Burrell had distributed it beautifully.

  Cato found himself wondering just how the master gunsmith had died ...

  He pushed on with the gun during the course of the day and there were frequent visits from Dekker. The rancher didn’t say much, mostly just stood around observing, watching Cato at work, occasionally asking a question.

  “What’re you doing to the rifling?” he asked once during the afternoon. “Burrell finished that.”

  “According to his sketches and specifications, it needs deepening,” Cato answered readily, fixing the little hardened rifling tool to the end of a flexible cane. He had the barrel gripped in a vice between wooden chucks and he now eased the cane with its piece of metal up to the muzzle end, carefully fitted it into the grooves and then forced the cane slowly forward, allowing it to twist with the rifling as it passed through his hands. When it reached the limit of travel, he pulled it back gently, using a finger and thumb to prevent the tool from sliding right out of the grooves at the muzzle, and yet coming to the very edge of the metal. This was the last part of the barrel the bullet would touch before flying free and it was important that it be sharp for positive grip and not burred or damaged in any way. He repeated the process perhaps a hundred times and by that time Dekker was bored and wandered outside again.

  But the rancher returned about an hour later as Cato was working over the hammer spur which he had shaped and smoothed now. He was putting a series of fine lines onto the spur to prevent the thumb slipping during the cocking process. It was something that Dekker could understand and he watched for a time, then picked up some of the other parts that had received attention from Cato. The trigger sear was one, and it shone brightly where his file had been at work on the notch.

  Dekker smiled. “Coming along nicely, John. Keep it up.”

  Then he went out and Cato continued without answering or looking up. It had been a long time since he had worked on a custom-built gun and he found skills coming back to him easily, and old pleasures, too. He had all but forgotten how much delight he got out of working with guns. Fine tolerances and dead-flat planes were a challenge to any craftsman, as were exact angles and tension on springs. It was a job that required concentration and Cato was surprised to look up from testing the trigger sear’s fit to find that it was growing dark. He must have been straining his eyes for the last hour and hadn’t even noticed. Well, he figured that was enough for the day ... He had made good progress. Probably too good.

  For that gun was going to be one of the finest weapons ever produced anywhere in the world by the time he had completed it. It would have to be: or both he and Yancey were dead.

  ~*~

  They ate supper with the other men in the bunkhouse that night and didn’t see Dekker at all. After the meal, like most of the men, they retired to their bunks. Bendix was on guard duty and grabbed his rifle, cursing as he went out, the others jibing him.

  “Dekker’s checkin’ me out every step of the way,” Cato told Yancey. “I reckon he’s got Burrell’s plans for the gun in the house and he looks ’em over before comin’ out to the gunshop. He knows just what I’m supposed to be doin’. I’ve caught him three times testin’ me out. Yance, I reckon that gun’s meant to be used on Governor Dukes, but there’s just no way I’m gonna be able to sabotage it with Dekker watchin’ me like a hawk. And when it’s ready to shoot, I’d better be able to hit a half dollar at fifty yards with five shots or we’re both in trouble, man.”

  “Well, I figure we’re already in trouble,” Yancey said quietly, leaning over the side of his bunk. “He’s not going to let us go, knowing about that gun, if he does aim to use it on Dukes. And Bendix had already alerted him enough to make him suspicious of me. If Bendix recollects that Rondo deal where I was forced into declaring myself to be an Enforcer, it’s going to make it hard for you, amigo. He’ll figure if you’re my sidekick, then you must be an undercover man, too.”

  “Yeah. But I sure would like the chance to finish off that gun and see if it’ll shoot as good as I reckon it will.”

  “That’s the way it’s got to be, Johnny,” Yancey told him. “You’ve got to stay and work on that gun. Leave it and he’ll only find someone else. It might not be finished in time to use on Dukes when he comes to Rifle Ridge, but he’ll use it some time. And right now we’ve a good idea of where and when he aims to use it, so I figure we should make capital out of it.”

  Cato frowned. “How come?”

  “You go on with things as they are ... I’ll try to slip away tonight. That’ll throw some of the suspicion off you. I’ll get word to the governor to call off the Rifle Ridge visit, but to keep it quiet. As far as anyone knows, the visit’ll still be on. He can use his stand-in, even, and have the train pull out of Austin and so on. Meanwhile, Dekker will set up his men here and I’ll be around to swoop in and catch ’em all in the net, I hope. We don’t want any to get away.”

  “You reckon Dekker’s in this with someone else?”

  “Has to be, way I see it. There’ll be a pressure group behind it, likely usin’ him because he’s got the money and facilities way out here to get things ready in secret. Could be risky for you staying behind, Johnny, but I don’t see any other way.”

  “Okay by me, Yance. But I reckon you’ll have yourself a job gettin’ out of this place.”

  “We’ll see. I won’t make my move till well after midnight.”

  ~*~

  There was no problem in slipping out of the bunkhouse. Yancey had long ago trained himself to wake when he wanted to and, soon after his conversation with Cato, he rolled back onto his bunk and closed his eyes. He slept for three or four hours and awoke sometime after midnight. He listened for a spell but all he could hear were the snores and grunts of the other men, the creak of a bunk or rustle of bedclothes as a man turned over or settled more comfortably.

  He dropped lightly to the floor, sat on the edge of Cato’s bunk and pulled on his boots and gunrig. Cato was awake and touched his arm lightly to let him know it. Yancey put his hat on, shook hands briefly and silently with the small Enforcer, without any exchange of words whatsoever. Then he made his way to the rear door, opened it quietly and stepped out into the night. He swore softly. There was more light than he cared for. A half moon was hanging over the Breaks and throwing silver light across the range. It made walking easier—he could see obstacles to avoid—but it also made him more discernible to anyone watching or any of Dekker’s night-time guards on line patrol.

  Yancey made his way towards the stables, a hand on his gunbutt. No one challenged him. All the buildings were in darkness: the house, bunkhouse, cook shack, the shanties in the Mexican village. A few wild animals were abroad in the Breaks. He heard the howl of a coyote, the snarling cough of a cougar, the screech of a night-owl. Otherwise, he seemed to be the only living thing in this neck of the woods.

  He slipped into the stables and, in the warm ammoniac smell of horses, he worked his way down the stalls, counting, until he came to number sixteen. This was where his mount was ...

  He froze. There was enough light filtering in through the murky windows and the open doorway to show him that the animal wasn’t there: the stall was empty.

  Yancey heard a faint rustle of straw behind him and began to spin, hand streaking for gunbutt, but a rifle barrel rammed brutally against his spine and sent him stumbling off-balance. He straightened and the rifle’s muzzle pressed instantly against his ribs. Yancey stood very still, hands out f
rom his sides, playing it safe, making no aggressive move.

  “Had an idea you might try to mosey tonight, Bannerman,” said Bendix, stepping into a shaft of wan light, a tight grin on his face. “I didn’t really have guard duty, you see. I just came out here, moved your horse to the far stall and sat down to wait.” He laughed briefly. “It’s been a long chore but it’s paid off!” He jabbed hard with the rifle muzzle and Yancey grunted. “Sittin’ here, I’ve had plenty of time to think. I recollect you now, mister. I had to quit Rondo with some lead singin’ round my ears, but not before I found out who you really were ... A governor’s man!”

  He paused, expecting some sort of reply, but Yancey said nothing.

  “Yeah, I know I’m right. Likely that Cato is, too. Seem to recall somethin’ about him slippin’ into Rondo, too, but I wasn’t around long enough to get a line on him. No matter. Dekker’ll pay me well for nailin’ you. He’ll figure out what to do with Cato later. Move, mister! Through that door and right up to the main house. This is one time Dekker ain’t gonna cuss me out for disturbin’ his beauty sleep!”

  Bendix hadn’t yet taken Yancey’s gun and he stopped the Enforcer as the big man went to move away. Yancey felt him change his grip on the rifle, holding it only in his left hand, while his right reached for Yancey’s Colt. The Enforcer figured he would never get a better chance.

  He stepped back swiftly, the high heel of his riding boot seeking and finding Bendix’s instep. The man cursed and at the same time as the foot bones crushed, Yancey’s body hit the rifle barrel and turned it aside. The Enforcer spun, right arm chopping backwards, striking the rifle from Bendix’s grasp, his left fist looping in a short arc to crash like a pile driver into the man’s ribs. Yancey heard something crack and Bendix gasped and his knees gave way as he sagged. But he didn’t go all the way down. He fell forward and instinctively grabbed at Yancey for support. His arms momentarily pinned the Enforcer’s and broke the force of the punches he was delivering. Yancey heaved to get Bendix off him but there was still plenty of fight left in the man and he butted Yancey in the face with the top of his head.

  Bannerman staggered back and Bendix limped after him, favoring his left side, baring his teeth against the pain of his cracked ribs as he swung a haymaker at Yancey’s head. The tall Enforcer ducked but the fist bounced off his temple and he crashed into a stall partition. His boots slipped on the flagged floor and he went down to one knee, hearing the kicking and whinnying of the horses nearby, frightened by the fight. Bendix swung a boot at Yancey’s face and it took him on the point of the shoulder. He spun into the empty stall and Bendix came in fast, stomping and kicking.

  Yancey rolled to the back corner and, having no place to go, bounced to his feet, right up against the sweating, cursing Bendix. He stopped two body blows but they were too close to have much sting and he brought up a knee savagely into Bendix’s groin. The man gagged and started to sag. Yancey hooked him in the face, used his knee on his body and sent him slamming against the stable wall. He grabbed Bendix’s hair and smashed his head against the wall. Bendix started to go down but got purchase with his boots and drove off the wall, head-first. The top of his head took Yancey just above the belt buckle and his arms wrapped around the Enforcer, carrying him backwards and out into the aisle again.

  Bannerman’s boots skidded again on the flags and they went down together. They fought for the uppermost position and Bendix got an elbow against Yancey’s throat, throwing his weight on it. The Enforcer’s wind was cut off instantly and he was afraid his voice box would collapse under the pressure. Desperately, he forked his fingers and rammed upwards. He heard Bendix grunt as he tilted his head back to get his face out of the way but Yancey kept searching for the eyes, found them and jabbed mercilessly.

  Bendix gave a strangled cry and clawed at his face with both hands. Yancey writhed out from under him, shoving him sideways, throat and lungs afire as air wheezed down with a queer, whistling noise. He coughed and gagged and tried to swallow. It was like trying to get down a handful of barbed wire. Bendix was on his knees, moaning, still covering his face with his hands, squeezing at his eyes that were streaming tears. The Enforcer fought to his knees, breath still wheezing and squawking in the back of his throat, and he swayed to his feet, taking a couple of unsteady steps.

  Bendix uncovered his face, blinking, cursing incoherently with pain, snatching blindly at his gun. Yancey tried to take a lunging kick at him but staggered and fell to one side. Bendix had his Colt clear of leather and swung it in the general direction of Yancey. The gun blasted and a horse whinnied and another squealed in terror. Yancey figured that was it: the damage was done now with that shot. He had nothing to lose any longer. He palmed up his Peacemaker as Bendix lunged to his feet and swung towards Yancey, able to see, at least in part, now.

  His gun-hammer was falling for his second shot when Yancey’s Peacemaker blasted. Bendix staggered with the impact of lead, flailing clear back across the aisle to slam up hard against a stall post. Horses were whickering and kicking at the panels wildly. He stumbled back towards Yancey a couple of feet, gun roaring into the floor, and then coming up again by pure instinct. Yancey shot him again and Bendix went down, spinning, gun flying from his hands.

  Yancey leapt over his body before it had completely spread out on the floor and was pounding towards the far end of the stables where Bendix said he had taken his mount. His legs weren’t any too firm but with each driving step they became stronger and he saw his mount with pricked ears standing in the last stall. He figured he had maybe a couple of minutes before the crew from the bunkhouse came running into the stables. They would be roused sleepily at first by the gunfire and then they would have to figure out where it came from, pull on boots at least, grab their guns and come running. He hoped he would have a saddle thrown across his horse by that time.

  He almost made it. He was pulling the cinch strap tight when he heard the first pounding steps outside and men started to appear in the doorway. Yancey stepped up into leather and swore when he saw that Bendix had taken the precaution of dropping the bar into place across the door down at this end. He would have to go out the other door ... where the men with the guns were.

  They spotted him and didn’t waste time on trying to identify him. Two guns spat and he lay flat along the horse’s back, jamming in his heels and yelling into its ear. The animal leapt forward and Yancey triggered two fast shots, hearing one man yell almost instantly. The others scattered out of the doorway as he pounded down the aisle. Lead flew but they were wild shots. One man leapt into the doorway, crouching, gun braced into his hip, ready to fan the hammer, but he had mistimed it and the horse was almost upon him at his first leap. He yelled and tried to throw himself sideways but the horse’s shoulder took him and flung him savagely aside, a tangle of flailing arms and legs.

  It slowed the horse, caused it to break stride and Yancey turned his gun to the right and blazed his last two shots as he slammed home his heels again. He got halfway across the yard, fumbling out fresh shells from his cartridge-belt, when he felt the horse shudder beneath him, break stride, then give a piercing, shrill cry an instant before it started going down, head first. Yancey kicked his boots free of the stirrups but it was too late to jump. As the horse’s head went down, the rump came up and over and threw Yancey as if launching him from a slingshot. He yelled in mid-air as he sailed clear out of the saddle.

  Then he was falling, but not very far. He smashed into the ground with shattering force and the night seemed to explode in one massive pinwheel of stars that abruptly blinked out and left him in total darkness.

  Chapter Six – The Shaft

  When Yancey came round he was lying on the floor in a room in Dekker’s house. He came out of it slowly, the men’s voices filtering through the waves of pain and unconsciousness and stirring him until finally, hand to a duck-sized lump on his forehead over his right eye, he sat up with a groan.

  He blinked in the lantern light, trying to get his bea
rings. It came back to him with a rush and he squinted, looking around at the hard faces watching him. He recognized Cato, some of the men from the bunkhouse, and Dekker. He stopped, focusing his eyes on the rancher and waiting.

  “Just what were you planning, Bannerman?” Dekker asked harshly. He nudged him with a boot, pushing him back to the floor with a jar. “What did you think you were doing?”

  Yancey kept his eyes on the rancher, not wanting to look at Cato and maybe somehow implicate him in this, too. He shrugged, his head pounding, neck seeming to creak every time he moved.

  “I told you earlier I didn’t fancy cooling my heels here for a week,” Yancey said, his speech slurred. “So I figured to light out for town and some brighter lights.”

  “Told you that’s what it would be,” Cato said. “Yancey Bannerman’s a man who likes a little female company.”

  Dekker totally ignored Cato, kept his cold gaze on the tall Enforcer on the floor. “What happened with Fargo?”

  “You might’ve known him as Fargo,” Yancey said, his voice stronger. “I knew him as Chuck Bendix. We had a bit of a score to settle from a place called Rondo. I gunned down his pard there. He was waiting in the stable with his rifle and he damn well aimed to blow my spine apart. And I didn’t aim to stand still for it. He went for his gun first, got off a shot while my Peacemaker was still in leather ...”

  “Otherwise you’d have ridden out and we wouldn’t have known anything about it.”

  Again Yancey shrugged. He had skirted the truth but thought he had come close enough to satisfy Dekker. The rancher sat down on the edge of a desk, swinging a leg as he lit a cigar, looking at Yancey coldly.