Yancey stopped dead when he pushed through the batwings of the saloon and saw Big John Early at the bar.
For a moment, he thought the man was his old self again. He was leaning casually on the zinc-lined edge of the counter, a near full bottle of whisky in front of him, holding a shot glass, twirling it between thick thumb and forefinger. There was a cleared space around him and the barkeep stood well back, mechanically polishing glasses but watching the big ex-lawman warily.
Other cowpokes were bunched together, staring, looking tense, expectant, waiting for Big John to cut loose.
It was then that Yancey noticed the half-vacant look on Early’s face. The man’s eyes weren’t focused on anything as he looked down at his glass. He was obviously deep in thought and there were no prizes for guessing who he was thinking about. All eyes turned to the Enforcer as he came in through the batwings and approached the bar cautiously. He walked down the long room, right hand hovering near his gun butt, not trusting these cowboys from out in the valley when they were this far gone with drink. He wondered where Hunnicutt and Venters were.
Then he caught Early’s eyes in the specked mirror and the big man smiled faintly.
“Why, howdy, Yancey,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice, without turning, speaking to the Enforcer’s reflection. “What you lookin’ so tensed-up about, man?”
Yancey came beside him and placed a boot on the rail, shaking his head at the ’keep as the man made a move to come forward.
“What you doing, John?”
“Just havin’ me a quiet drink. Want one?”
“No, reckon not. Tell you the truth I’m plumb tuckered. Thinking of turnin’ in. Why don’t you come back with me? We could have a nightcap in Doc’s kitchen and then hit the hay.” Early was pouring himself a drink. The bottle poised, frozen, when Yancey mentioned ‘Doc’. He swiveled his gaze towards the Enforcer.
“Doc’s place? Why the hell Doc’s, Yance?”
“I’m stayin’ there. He’s putting us both up. Don’t you remember?”
Early frowned and shook his head. “Damned if I do. But I got my own place. On the edge of town. You been there. After that riot in here and Con ... ”
He stopped dead, freezing in mid-word and his face went like stone, the shot glass resting against his lip. Yancey tensed, waiting for the explosion. Then Early suddenly downed the whisky and set the glass down with a bang on the counter. He looked towards Yancey and his eyes were haunted.
“Conchita’s gone, Yance. Gone. Back to Mexico with her ol’ man. Made a damn’ fool outta me ... ”
“Hell, John, it’s not that bad,” Yancey started but Early suddenly slapped his comforting hand away from his shoulder and his eyes blazed.
“How the hell do you know how bad it is or ain’t?” he demanded, looking around wildly, one hand dangerously close to the butt of the holstered sawn-off shotgun. He pushed off the bar, swayed unsteadily. The cowboys moved back. “How do any of you? She used me; made me think she was gonna marry me and all along she ... she ... ” He broke off and abruptly seemed to sag back against the bar, shaking his head slowly. “Judas, Yance, I dunno what happened. We was all set for the weddin’, and I was studying my Testament an’ everything’, just like she wanted, then—wham! She’s tellin’ me she only did it ’cause her old man told her to an’ she was goin’ back to Mexico and later to Spain to marry some damn’ greaser with a title ... ” His face was pathetic as he looked steadily at Yancey. “She sure hit me where I live, Yance.”
“I think there’s been some sort of mistake, John. Cato’s gone south to try and straighten it out. Meantime, you come back to Doc’s with me and wait’ll he gets back.”
Yancey was surprised when Early did not resist and pushed off the bar, reaching down beside the end and picking up his carbine where he had rested it. He was moving mechanically, almost as if in a trance and Yancey knew what had happened. The man’s drug-hazed mind had triggered the old responses, the same regular rhythm he had been following for months on his night patrol of the town.
Early likely didn’t realize what he was doing, but he apparently thought he was still sheriff, checking out the town one last time before turning in. Yancey only hoped he could get him back to Doc’s place before the man really cut loose.
“That lil gal was the only one I ever loved, Yance,” Early said as they neared the batwings. “The only one an’ I’d sure have been proud to call her my wife ... ”
“Well, maybe you will yet,” Yancey said, not wanting to get the big man’s hopes up but figuring he had to say something to keep him calm while he was in this tranquil mood.
Then, just before they reached them, the batwings burst open and Beau Hunnicutt came in, closely followed by Brad Venters and some of his men.
They stopped dead when they saw Yancey and the big ex-sheriff and Hunnicutt paled when he noticed that Early was packing his guns. But Venters recovered fast enough, though he eyed the men warily.
“Just don’t say anything, Venters,” Yancey snapped swiftly, trying to warn the man, afraid that any rousting from the rancher would make Early cut loose. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”
But Venters chose to read Yancey’s warning as an order and his mouth tightened.
“The hell with you, Bannerman!” he snapped. “Who you reckon you’re talkin’ to? An’ while you got hold of that big galoot, shove a ring through his nose and lead him out of here before Sheriff Hunnicutt arrests him.”
Yancey swore under his breath, seeing the words ‘Sheriff Hunnicutt’ reach through Early’s fogged brain and the man frowned, straightened and focused his eyes with difficulty, looking directly at the brass star on Beau Hunnicutt’s vest.
“What in hell’s goin’ on?” he roared and Yancey knew that was it: the explosion was about to happen, triggered by Venters’ stupidity.
Venters shot Yancey a sharp look. “Now, look, Bannerman, you got away with bustin’ him outta jail before but you keep him off the streets an’ under control or you’re in big trouble.”
“Taking a heap on your shoulders, aren’t you, Venters?” Yancey queried quietly.
“I should goddamn well smile he is!” thundered Big John Early, swaying unsteadily now, blinking. Yancey knew the combination of alcohol and the drug was working on Early, enraging him. “Listen, Venters, don’t go tryin’ to take over my town, mister! You might be a big frog out in the valley, but here you ain’t no more’n a cockroach. An’ I squash ’roaches!”
Yancey tugged at Early’s arm, not wanting to expose the big man to any real trouble when he was like this. He already seemed uncoordinated and if it got to gunplay he might fumble at the wrong moment and be dead the next.
“C’mon, Big John,” he urged quietly, eyes narrowed and watching Venters and his men closely. “Let’s go have that nightcap.” Early frowned, trying to sort out his muddled thoughts, and isolate the ‘nightcap’. While he was doing it, Yancey took the advantage and pulled the big man through the batwings and out into the night. He had him almost across the boardwalk when Hunnicutt fouled it up by yelling:
“An’ keep that goddamn bull-buffler outta my town or I’ll run him in and this time I’ll throw away the key!”
Early stopped dead, resisting Yancey’s tugging hand and almost pulling the Enforcer off balance. Yancey spun as Hunnicutt, flushed with the confidence of Venters and his cowmen backing him stepped out onto the walk, wagging a finger at Early.
“You’re all through here, Early! Quit while you’re ahead, man, and move on. Ain’t no use waitin’ for that greaser gal to come back ’cause she ain’t gonna ... ”
Lacking coordination or not, Big John Early managed to drag out his sawn-off shotgun fast enough from the slim leg holster, and Hunnicutt paled, yelled ‘Hell!’ and plunged back into the saloon, knocking cowmen and Venters sprawling in his hurry.
The sawn-off’s barrels came up and before Yancey could strike at Big John’s hand, the gun thundered and blew the swing batwings to splinters.
There was instant total panic in the saloon as men ran for cover and the exits, clambering over tables in their hurry to get out of the way as some yelled out that Big John was running amok again. But Yancey wrenched the smoking gun from his unsteady hands and rammed it back into his holster. Big John started to shove Yancey away and lifted his carbine one-handed, jerking it in and out around the lever, cycling the action, firing a shot. Guns opened up from the saloon and lead zipped past the two men, struck the horse trough behind them and ricocheted wildly. Yancey swore, hooked his fingers in Big John’s belt and yanked the man after him, dragging his Colt and thumbing the hammer, putting four fast shots into the saloon.
Venters and Hunnicutt and their men were shooting wildly as Yancey backed away across the plaza, dragging the roaring, cussing Early with him, the big man spinning the carbine around in his hand, shooting at anything that moved. Glass shattered. Wood splinters flew. Horses at the hitch rails whinnied and plunged and three tore loose their reins, running between Yancey and Early and the saloon.
The Enforcer figured that was good enough and he turned and ducked into a side street literally dragging Early with him, the big man’s boots scuffing up dust as he kept on swearing and shooting mechanically.
Once in the side street, Yancey looked at Early regretfully and then slammed him across the side of the head with the barrels of the sawn-off shotgun.
“Sorry, pard, gettin’ to be a habit, but seems it’s the only way I can keep you alive a mite longer.”
Yancey ducked, rammed the point of his shoulder into the sagging Early’s midriff and allowed the man to jack-knife over his back. His spine creaked and his legs wobbled as he straightened and hurried as fast as he could up the street, towards the distant lights of Doc Bartholomew’s. Hell, they seemed a long way off and Early felt like he weighed as much as a horse.
The shooting and yelling were still going on behind him, but if seemed to be concentrated in the plaza, now. The cowboys were merely cutting loose, rousting the town, figuring they had beaten Early and Yancey one more time.
As Yancey gratefully turned into the Doctor’s gate and staggered up the path to where the medic waited at the open door, he thought that Venters and Hunnicutt were planning to take over this town.
Which meant they wouldn’t be content just to leave Early stumbling around drunk or doped. They would want him dead.
“Just leave him be, Yancey.”
The Enforcer swung sharply at Doc Bartholomew’s words and frowned puzzledly, gesturing towards Big John Early who was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a bottle of whisky, morosely and tunelessly singing the ‘Yellow Rose Of Texas’.
“What the hell, doc? Where’d he get that bottle?”
“I gave it to him,” replied the fat little medic.
Yancey stared with narrowed eyes and then pulled out a chair and sat down, watching Bartholomew all the time.
“Well, I guess you’ve got a reason, Doc.”
“I have, Yancey.” Bartholomew walked across and leaned on the table edge.
Early seemed oblivious to them both.
“I just couldn’t keep pumping him full of dope, Yancey. You saw what it was doing to him. He didn’t know where he was or what happened to him. His reflexes are gone and he can hardly walk straight. Now, while some of those symptoms might also be able to be applied to a drunk, at least he can sleep it off and come back more or less normal afterwards—granted, with a mighty big hangover, but that’s better than total disorientation that could get him killed.”
“Why killed, Doc?”
“Well, if he wandered out on the street in a daze, drugged, unarmed—you just think about it. Even if he’s drunk, he instinctively buckles on his guns before he goes anywhere. But the drugs even dull his instincts.”
The Enforcer looked across the table to Early who was slopping whisky into another glass, spilling some on the woodwork. The ex-sheriff was muttering, scowling. Yancey caught a few of his words.
“Prettiest lil gal I ever seen ... Couldn’t b’lieve it when she said she’d marry me ... Big lunkhead like me!” He laughed shortly, downed his drink with a toss of his massive head and then poured more whisky, hands shaking badly. “I was right all along. She wasn’t gonna marry me after all. Ol’ man ... an’ her ... fool of me ... damn’ big ... fool ... ”
“Hell, doc, he’s crying in his beer!” protested Yancey.
“That’s all right, Yancey,” the medic said, stopping the Enforcer as he made to reach out and shake Early by the shoulder. “He’s getting it out in the open, getting it off his chest. Let him go. Doesn’t matter whether you can savvy him or not or how his reasoning is. He’s cleansing his mind ... I should’ve realized long since that that’d be better for Big John Early than any amount of drugs.”
Yancey frowned and scratched at his jaw. “Well, I guess that makes sense. But he’s likely to suddenly turn the table over and stalk out into the street and go on the prod, Doc.”
“It’s your job to stay with him, Yance, sort of ride herd on him.”
“Well, I can but try,” Yancey said. “Yeah, Doc, I been thinking as you were talking: this is likely the best way. Could get kind of wild, but it’s likely best for John. Now all I’ve got to do is try to control him till Cato gets back!”
The medic nodded and his face was very sober as he said, “And let’s hope Cato has some good news for him. If not, my guess Big Bad John there’ll tear this town apart with his bare hands.”
Yancey had to agree that that was a distinct possibility.
Cato had lost a lot of blood from the bullet wound in his side. The Mexican girl had doctored it as well as she could, tying a thick pad of cotton ripped from the tail of his shirt over the wound, but this had worked loose during the rough ride north and blood had seeped out.
All down one side of Cato’s trousers was dark with blood and he was beginning to feel light-headed and dizzy.
There had been pursuit at first. A band of vaqueros had come after them during the night ride and Cato, despite his wound, had dismounted in some rocks and scattered them with a withering fire. Then he had managed to stampede their horses and he and the girl had ridden on.
She knew the country well and led the way off the main trail, the one that vaqueros would expect them to take. By daylight they had the land to themselves it seemed for there were no signs of pursuit. When they reached a line of stony, saw-toothed hills, Cato had ridden to the top, dismounted before the crest and then scanned the country they had traversed with his field-glasses.
Far to the south and west he saw a hint of smudged yellow hanging in the hot, breathless air. If it had been made by the vaqueros they were a long way off—and following the conventional trail. He studied that slowly moving smudge long enough to be sure it was heading along the old trail and then went back to where the girl waited.
By that time he was feeling light-headed from the loss of blood and she insisted that she dress the wound again.
This time she used his trouser belt to bind pads of cloth in place and though Cato gasped at the tightness of the belt, it seemed to stop the bleeding. She over-rode all his protests and cooked a substantial breakfast, insisting that they would be the better for it with good food in their stomachs.
He had to admit she was right and the hot coffee and bacon, beans and sourdough biscuits fried in the bacon grease did wonders for him. It might have only been psychological but he felt a heap better and more alert, ready for just about anything.
But there was still a long way to go to the border and the vaqueros from the rancho weren’t the only ones prowling this neck of the woods.
On the second day Cato was sure they had lost the vaqueros for good. But there were signs that they were being watched by other hostile eyes. Riders appearing out of nowhere, deliberately skylining themselves on high ridges, watching silently for an hour at a time. Smoke rising into the hot sky that could mean Mescaleros, bandidos, or both ...
“If you know another way out of this country, Conchita, I reckon you’d better take it,” Cato said as they rode through a heat-blasted canyon. “I’d hate to get caught in this kind of place by bandidos or renegade Injuns.”
“There is one way,” the girl said slowly, thoughtfully. “But it is around the side of a mountain, on a narrow, broken ledge. We would have to dismount and lead the horses.”
“What would it save us?”
“We would not have to travel through the series of canyons like this that lie ahead and we would go through the heart of the mountains, gaining perhaps one day, possibly a little more.”
“Then lead the way.”
Conchita frowned in concern. “It is a very strenuous trail, Johnny. Your wound ... ”
“Lead on,” he said impatiently, pointing to a smudge of smoke rising above the peaks ahead. “They’re waitin’ for us up there.” The girl paled a little and nodded, indicating that they should veer left. They followed the deep shadow of the canyon walls around the perimeter and she dismounted, walked ahead through what appeared to be a fall of scattered boulders and then came back smiling in a few minutes.
“I have found the entrance to the trail, Johnny.” The smile slowly faded as she looked at his side and saw the fresh brightness of blood showing through the padded cloth. “You had best dismount here. I will lead the way. We may have to push fallen rocks and old trees over the side. It will be—strenuous, difficult—for you, Johnny.”
He gave her a grin that didn’t quite work.
“We’ll manage. We’ve come this far; no use in lettin’ anythin’ beat us now.”
Conchita looked concerned as Cato dismounted stiffly and clung to the saddlehorn, his forehead resting against the horse as he waited for his spinning senses to settle.
She wondered if they would make it.
Brad Venters stalked across the plaza, his square jaw out-thrust, shoulders squared, hand brushing the Colt on his hip. He looked mean and townsfolk who saw him coming swiftly stepped aside to make way for him.
There were riders coming into town from various points of the valley, too. Cowboys who were normally rough and tough and cut up wild on a Saturday night were now riding openly with bottles of whisky and guns in their hands. They shot into the air and at houses, riddling chimneys with bullets, smashing windows.
Folk started to run indoors. The signs were plain to read. The ranchers from the valley were finally going to completely take over the town.
They knew Venters had had notions of this for some time now. He had been the one to organize the ranchers into a so-called Del Rio Valley Cattleman’s Association, but it had only been a device to group the men together so that they could hold the town to ransom. First it had been riding rough-shod over the townsfolk on a Saturday night, the cowboys all coming in in a bunch and cutting loose, bullying their way past townsfolk and the old sheriff who had then been in office.
Then they had begun to terrorize storekeepers, taking what they wanted and refusing to pay. If the storekeeper protested, he was either beaten or his store was wrecked or, as in one case, burned to the ground.
It had been too much and folk had sent for a new sheriff when the old one ran with his tail between his legs. That new lawman had been Big John Early and right from the first day he rode in things turned sour for the men from the valley. Early took on all comers, with fists or guns and that sawn-off shotgun of his was a great equalizer.
He drove the men back into the valley and told them when they came into town, they would have to adhere to the law or pay the consequences. Some tried to buck him. Two died in the dust of the plaza. Four others spent weeks with limbs in plaster or their jaws wired-up. After that, the cowmen quietened down and peace came to the town.
Until Venters and Hunnicutt tried to pull this deal with the beef, holding out for exorbitant prices.
But now, Early was almost out of the picture, a drunken bum, maudlin, thinking only of the Mexican girl who had jilted him and, in his opinion anyway, made a damn’ fool out of him.
Bannerman was busy riding herd on Big John and Venters figured there would never be a better time for him to take over the town completely. Hunnicutt had the badge and that sure helped. Venters had been out in the valley, rounding up all the men he could, urging them to hit town today, supplying them with booze and free ammunition. The order was to cut up rough and take over: he was declaring Del Rio wide-open.
Once he had control, he would show these meat packing houses they couldn’t by-pass him for cheap Mexican beef. By hell he would. For he would control the railhead at Del Rio and they would find that not only would they be paying top dollar for valley beef, but they were going to have to cough up with money for increased freighting costs to even get them out of the town.
And it wasn’t that they could tell him to go to hell while they went someplace else for their meat. There was a bad drought right throughout Texas at this time and the quality of beef had fallen way off. Stringy, tendon-filled was all that was offered, not much above dog-meat quality—except in the Del Rio Valley which, by some queer quirk of nature had been relatively untouched by the drought. Well-watered, having the huge volume of the Rio Norte itself to call upon, the valley was still as lush as ever and the sweetgrass packed red, juicy meat on the cattle.
Jose Morales’ beeves from Mexico had been in fair condition, but the Del Rio steers were prime now and Venters aimed to make his fortune this season. With the men from the valley backing him, the first step was to take over the town, control it, so that when the packing-houses sent in their buyers, they danced to his tune or lost out ...
Early would be taken care of and, while Venters would rather not tangle with one of Dukes’ Enforcers, Bannerman, too, would get his if he stuck his nose in. Venters had been brushing up on the law: he knew the Enforcers were responsible only to Governor Dukes himself, but that, legally, they had to have an official assignment before they had any authority.
And he knew damn’ well that nurse-maiding Big John Early was nowhere near official.
If Bannerman and Cato hadn’t bought in in the first place, Venters would have taken over the town by now. He had had Early right where he wanted him, through pure luck, that Mexican gal jilting him and making him turn to the booze that way. But the Enforcers had fouled-up that plan but now was the time to move, he was convinced of it.
And today was the day.
He had crossed the plaza now and stepped up onto the porch outside the law office. Beau Hunnicutt was seated at the desk, boots up on one corner, cleaning his fingernails with his clasp knife. He nodded as Venters came in.
“Howdy, Brad. We’re all set here when you are.”
Venters leaned against the wall, thumbed back his hat and began to roll a cigarette.
“Men are comin’ in, as you’ve likely heard.” He jerked his head to indicate the spattering of gunfire and occasional wild yells outside. “We’re gonna fill the town with cowpokes from the valley. I’m supplyin’ the booze and ammo; they’re gonna supply the muscle. We’re gonna make this damn’ town knuckle-under once and for all. We crack a few heads, spill a mite of blood if we have to, but we take over this town by high noon or I want to know why.”
“Were gonna have to kill Early,” Hunnicutt pointed out.
Venters licked his cigarette, shaped it and stuck it in his mouth, reaching for a vesta. “We’ve known that all along. He’s drunk. He’ll try to buy in, for sure. He’ll get cut down by a stray bullet and no one’ll be able to say just where it came from.” He struck his vesta and lit the cigarette, blowing smoke across the office. “And if Bannerman gets in the way, the same thing’ll happen to him.”
Hunnicutt looked sort of dubious about that. “Rather not have anythin’ happen to an Enforcer, Brad. Dukes’ll come down on us like an avalanche.”
“It’ll be an accident. Dukes won’t be able to prove a thing.”
“What about Cato?”
“What about him? He’s south of the border. If he comes back here, we’ll come up with a bunch of wetbacks who’ll swear Cato sneaked ’em across the Rio into the States. We’ll take care of him, too.” He pushed off the wall and straightened his hat, smiling crookedly. “No, can’t see no reason at all why this town shouldn’t be in our hands in a couple hours. Let’s go get the men organized ... ”
Yancey came back into the doctor’s kitchen looking worried. Scattered gunfire came from the town and a few faint yells drifted on the hot breeze. Early was sprawled in a corner, snoring, reeking of whisky. Bartholomew glanced up from making coffee as the Enforcer came in.
“It’s Venters’ bunch,” Yancey told him. “Looks like they’re aiming to take over Del Rio.”
The doctor glanced instinctively at the big, drunken, ex-sheriff.
“Well, he’s not gonna be any good,” he opined.
Yancey nodded, drawing his Colt and checking the loads. Then he moved to where his rifle rested in a corner.
“You’re not going out there! Alone? To face them?” asked the medic, alarmed.
Yancey glanced up as he thumbed home two cartridges to completely fill the rifle’s tubular magazine.
“I’m an Enforcer, Doc. I don’t have any real jurisdiction here, but I can’t stand by and let a bunch of hard cases under Venters take over the whole damn’ town. Big John’s out of it. Cato’s not back yet, so it only leaves me.”
“But it’s suicide, Yancey! One man against—well, who knows? Fifty, even sixty men! You can’t do it!”
Yancey smiled crookedly. “I’m not trying to play the hero, doc. It’s just something I have to do. Besides, it’s amazing how men like these suddenly lose interest once their leaders are downed.”
“Venters and Hunnicutt? Both tough men, Yancey, and they’ve a hardcore of loyal men who’ll fight to the death for them.”
“Well, Doc, the way I see it, I have to ... ”
Yancey spun swiftly, working the rifle’s lever, cocking the weapon as he trained it on the back door which was slowly opening.
He froze when he saw Conchita Morales there, disheveled, sunburned, trail-dusted. She pushed a strand of black hair off her face and pointed out into the yard.
“Johnny—he is—hurt.”
“Take care of her, doc.”
Yancey set down the rifle on the table and Bartholomew ran to catch the Mexican girl as she swayed, and helped her into a chair. Yancey ran out into the yard and found Cato sagged in the saddle, one leg of his trousers stiff with blood, a ragged bandage on his side. The man was barely conscious as Yancey untied the ropes and lifted him off the horse.
“By—hell—I din’ think we’d—make it—Y—Yance,” Cato murmured. “She—she come through—f—fine—defied her—ol’ man—Benito killed him by the by—Ain’t told her yet ... She’s still keen to—m—marry Big John ... ”
“Okay, you take it easy, Johnny,” Yancey said, carrying the pale, wounded man into the house. He went straight through the kitchen and laid his pard down on the bed in the doctor’s office. Bartholomew had been giving brandy to Conchita and he now came hurrying to Cato and lifted the bandages to examine the wound in his side.
He glanced at Yancey. “Lost a lot of blood. But the wound’s remarkably clean. He’ll be all right, a tough man like him. But he won’t be well enough to side you for at least a week ... ”
Yancey nodded. “Long as he’s gonna be all right. You work on him, doc.”
He hurried out to the kitchen and found the girl on one knee beside Early, shaking him. Yancey grabbed a towel, pumped cold water over it and pushed the girl aside. He flicked Early hard across the unshaven face several times, ignoring her gasps and the efforts she made to prevent him. The towel left red weals on Big John’s face and he moaned, lifted his head slowly, opened his reddened eyes.
His whole big body jolted when he recognized Conchita. She threw her arms about his neck.
“Oh, John!” she sobbed. “John, what have I done to you!”
Still dazed, he instinctively slid an arm around her. He said something in a grating voice but his words were too slurred for Yancey to make out.
Conchita stroked his stubbled, ravaged face with gentle, shaking fingers. “Oh, John, I—I lied to you. No, not about wanting to marry you. I do want to marry you and I—I will if you’ll have me. But my—father. He—he made me lie and say I had—used you ... He had promised me to—to someone in Spain ... ”
Yancey placed a hand gently on her shoulder and when she looked puzzledly up into his face said quietly, “Nothing to stop you marrying Big John now, Conchita. Cato told me that during the fracas at the hacienda—Benito killed your father.”
The shock hit her like a punch in the face. She stared at him for a long time and then turned back to cling to Early who was blinking, trying to focus, coming out of his drunken sleep. He held her tightly against him, stroked her hair.
Yancey stood up. “You’ll be all right now, Big John. I’ve got a chore to do.”
He reached for the rifle again and suddenly Early fought to get on his feet. The girl helped him and he clambered up a little at a time, using the chair and the table edge. He swayed wildly, eyes rolling, trying to focus on Yancey.
“The gun,” he grated, pointing with a shaking hand.
Shots sounded from the town together with some wild yells.
Yancey saw the thoughts forming, easing through his drunken stupor, and nodded. “Venters and Hunnicutt are taking over.”
“You—you can’t stop ’em—alone,” he said hoarsely.
“I’ll try. Now you better sit down before you fall down.”
The girl pulled out a chair for him but he shook off hands, swayed and stumbled to the sink. He pumped the water over his head, came up dripping and gasping.
“I—I’ll side you, Yance!” he croaked.
“No, John! You can’t. You’re not fit!” protested Conchita.
“She’s right, Big John. You’d get yourself killed.”
“It’s my job, damn it!” he shouted, clapping a hand against his head and wincing. “Hell, Yance, I can take on the world now I know Conchita’s willin’ to marry me ... ”
Yancey swiveled his gaze to the girl’s worried face. It was true. Her appearance and declaration of her love had been like a stimulant to Early. He was still in a bad way, but he was fighting it and he was willing.
“We’ll get Doc to give you something,” Yancey said. “I can sure use you.”
“John!” Conchita clung to him.
He managed a sickly sort of smile as he brushed her hair with his lips. “I’ll come back, Conchita. I mightn’t be any great shakes, but long as I know you’ll be waitin’, I’ll walk through hell itself to come back to you.”
She stared at him soberly and then stood on tip toe and kissed him.
“I will be waiting, John,” she said huskily.
“We better go,” Yancey said as a fresh rattle of gunfire sounded outside ...
The plaza was a wild place when Yancey and Big John Early arrived. The ex-sheriff was walking firmly enough, but a little slowly, as if he was having to will each foot to go exactly where he wanted it. He carried his carbine in his big left hand, had the sawn-off shotgun strapped to his right thigh. He was suffering, his head throbbing with each step he took, and he squinted against the bright sunlight, but there was a squareness and determination about him that hadn’t been there for weeks.
He was a man resurrected and looking to get back his self-respect.
That kind of man could be mighty dangerous in a situation such as existed in Del Rio this day ...
Venters and Hunnicutt failed to realize this when they saw the two men come into the plaza, watching from the law office. There were four hard cases with them, all armed. Venters dragged on his cigarette and smiled crookedly at the others.
“Well, hell almighty, if Bannerman ain’t brought Early back to life! Lookit, will you? A walkin’ corpse! An’ that’s all we got to go up agin, fellers, and the town’s ours!”
They laughed, for Early was shuffling along now, looking sick. Venters hitched at his gunbelt and Hunnicutt took down a rifle from the wall rack, levered a shell into the chamber. The rancher looked around at the others.
“Ready? Bonus in it for the first man to put a bullet through Bannerman.”
The men nodded approval and there was a rush for the door. They weren’t even trying to be subtle. Bursting out onto the porch, they already had their guns in their hands. There was no need for talk, of course. They knew and Early and Bannerman knew this was the day of reckoning and words would be simply a waste of time.
Yancey reacted first. His carbine came up, braced into his hip, the toggle flicked open on the big oversized lever so that it would trip the trigger. The four cowboys started shooting and Yancey kicked Early’s legs from under him, dropping the man to the dust as he lunged sideways, working the rifle lever.
The Winchester spat lead and flame and smoke, shot after shot. One man threw up his arms and ran out into the street, jerking and leaping like a rag doll before collapsing over one end of the horse trough. A second shuddered and was driven back the length of the porch, his back striking the rail so that he tipped over. Another dived for the walk, gun out ahead, blazing wildly. The fourth started to run for the corner of the building, Yancey cut him down in mid-stride, swung the rifle barrel back towards the remaining man.
But Big John Early’s carbine lashed and the man slammed back into Hunnicutt who was just coming through the doorway. Hunnicutt was startled at the sudden eruption of violence and blood all over his law office. He threw the hit man from him, bringing up his own gun, blazing at Early. The bullets kicked dust into the big man’s face and he rolled, dropping his carbine and reaching for the sawn-off.
Yancey emptied his Winchester, saw splinters fly and Hunnicutt ducked back. Venters appeared at a window, rifle at his shoulder, beading Early, whose shotgun was coming up. Yancey palmed up his Colt but before he could drop hammer, Early’s shotgun thundered and the window erupted into glass shards and splintered wood around Brad Venters. Yancey caught a glimpse of the man’s bloody body hurtling across the law office and then Hunnicutt, panicked, ran out, shooting, as he dived for the end of the porch. The second barrel of Big John Early’s sawn-off roared simultaneously with Yancey’s Colt.
Beau Hunnicutt didn’t stand a chance. Yancey’s bullet took him in the chest. The charge of buckshot blew him to shreds in mid-stride and what was left of him flopped into the gutter.
The Enforcer was up on his feet first, turning slowly, cocked and smoking Colt in his fist, looking for more enemies, but only drunken, wide-eyed, slack-mouthed cowpokes stared from various points around the plaza and he knew by the stunned looks on their faces that they were no longer any danger to anyone or the town.
Yancey walked over and helped Big John Early to his feet, but the big man threw off his hand, and, swaying a little, wincing at the throbbing of his head, forced a grin.
“Reckon I can manage by myself, from now on, Yance. But I thank you for seein’ me through, pard. I surely do.”
Yancey smiled and nodded as Conchita came running down the street.
“Gotta see you all the way before I quit this town, amigo. You asked me to be best man at your wedding, remember?”
Early’s grin broadened as he caught up the Mexican girl in his massive arms.
“Sure I remember. If ten gallons of whisky couldn’t make me forget, nothing will! If doc can get me standin’ up straight enough by tomorrow, I reckon the wedding’ll take place then.” He looked down into the girl’s face. “Suit you, Conchita?”
Her smile was answer enough.