Yancey figured he might as well go to the Palace to meet Cato.
He had searched almost every saloon in San Antonio, including the cantinas, but there had been no sign of Walt Chisholm. No one had seen him—or so they said. About the only place Yancey hadn’t looked was the Palace; he had deliberately left this till last as he had arranged to meet Cato there, anyway. But before he went to the Palace he figured he would try Chisholm’s room in the saloon once more.
Yancey decided to use the front of the hotel. He crossed the lobby and climbed the stairs with his hand on his gun butt. He banged on the door, but he knew Chisholm wasn’t in there: there was still no light showing beneath the door.
Somewhat disappointed, Yancey left the hotel. This time he headed straight for the Palace.
~*~
Cato was beginning to regain consciousness: brought back from oblivion by the continual rasp of the cat’s tongue on his face. He groaned and struck out weakly, trying to push the animal away.
The cat protested with a squeal but stubbornly returned to licking his face. Finally, Cato came around sufficiently to thrust upright and to throw a rock at the animal. It took off with a high-pitched meow and he collapsed onto his face again.
Suddenly, rough hands grabbed his shoulders and he was heaved onto his back. Voices filtered through the curtain of blackness and he felt someone searching through his pockets. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it—and the voices cursed him in Spanish.
Cato made a mighty effort and focused his eyes. Two Mexicans were systematically robbing him. They had already removed his boots and gun rig and were looking for a money belt.
The Mexicans babbled excitedly then a foot slammed into his ribs. Cato grunted and he was kicked again when they discovered he wasn’t carrying much money.
Steel glinted and fingers twisted in his hair. He knew he was seconds away from having his throat slit from ear to ear.
“Hold it!” bawled a voice that sounded vaguely familiar. Cato’s head was driven into the ground and he heard the sound of running footsteps.
Through a haze, he saw Yancey Bannerman’s big figure lunging into the alley, palming up his Colt as the two Mexican robbers ran off. One of them had the Manstopper and he turned on the run and fired at Yancey through the bottom of the holster. The Enforcer spun to one side, rolled and came up on one knee, the Colt lifting and blazing.
A Mexican threw up his arms and screamed, then went down thrashing. The second man fired the Manstopper again and Yancey threw himself sideways. The Mexican had the gun out of the holster and was holding it in both hands, triggering fast. Then, as he ran down an alley, a man stepped out and a gun blazed twice. The Mexican lifted to his toes and was slammed against the saloon wall by the lead. He went down sobbing and the man ripped the Manstopper from his grasp. He straightened and gazed at Yancey.
“This’n’s dead,” he called.
Yancey got to his feet and frowned as he recognized Walt Chisholm.
“Where the hell you been?” the Enforcer demanded, walking forward. “I been looking everywhere for you.”
Chisholm seemed mildly surprised as he handed over the heavy Manstopper.
“Didn’t look in the Palace back parlor. I been playin’ poker, tryin’ to win a stake in case I didn’t get that job out at Shadow Mesa.”
Yancey squinted at the man suspiciously.
“You got any witnesses?”
“Five. The fellers I been playin’ cards with all day,” said Chisholm. “Do I need witnesses?”
Yancey turned and walked to Cato.
“Maybe,” he said as he knelt beside his pard. “Someone slipped him a Mickey, looks like. We better get him to a sawbones and get him pumped out.”
They heaved Cato to his feet but paused as Marshal Tane came into the alley, pushing through the gathering crowd. He shook his head slowly when he recognized Yancey.
“This is usually a pretty quiet town. Be glad when you head back to Shadow Mesa, Bannerman. What was it this time?”
“Looks like my pard was suckered with chloral hydrate. I arrived just as a couple of greasers were robbing him and getting ready to slit his throat.”
Tane arched his eyebrows and glanced up at the small crowd on the saloon landing. Yancey looked up, too, and saw the tall woman with the bright red hair. Someone behind her was moving back swiftly and he thought it might have been Curt Callaghan but he wasn’t sure.
“Anyone know anythin’ about this?” the marshal asked.
“He was in here,” the tall redhead called. “Drunk as a skunk when I seen him in the passage, Marshal. Guess he must have fallen down the stairs.”
Tane nodded slowly. “Could be, Cherokee. But he ain’t the first one to be found sufferin’ from a dose of chloral hydrate around your place.”
“Hell, Marshal, you can cut that out,” Cherokee snapped. “My gals don’t use Mickey Finns. I won’t allow it.”
Tane grunted and Cherokee went back into the saloon.
The marshal looked at Yancey and shook his head.
“We’ll never prove it—unless your pard can remember. Most of ’em can’t. Or won’t.”
“Johnny’ll remember,” Yancey said confidently. “Another thing: that hombre who took a shot at me said there was a woman involved; that she’d paid the feller who hired him.”
Chisholm frowned. “What’re you lookin’ at me like that for?”
“I seemed on the verge of findin’ out something a mite ‘shady’ about you—and I got shot at.”
Chisholm nodded. “Now I see why I need the witnesses. Well, I never paid no one to bushwhack you, Bannerman. If I’d wanted you shot, I’d have done it myself. And what ‘shady’ thing could you find out about me, anyways?”
“How about Canyon City Penitentiary?”
Chisholm stiffened and he changed his grip on Cato’s arm. “We better get him down to a sawbones.”
“Sure. You can answer the question as we go.”
They started through the press of men into the main street, heading across the plaza towards a house where a doctor’s shingle swung in the evening breeze.
“All right. I did two years for armed robbery,” Chisholm said abruptly. “I didn’t mention it because I hoped you wouldn’t find out. But I done my time and that’s it. There ain’t no dodgers out on me, Bannerman.”
“Seems to be gospel,” Tane said, looking at the Enforcer. “I couldn’t find anythin’ more on him.”
“Me, neither,” Yancey admitted. He glared at Chisholm. “What about ‘Repeal’ Ryker? You ever ride for him?”
“Hell, no. Had a brother who did, though. Matt. He was a no-good bum. In it for the money and nothin’ else. Got killed in a bank raid at Boney Flats, Missouri. Seven, eight years back. That’s gospel, Bannerman.”
Yancey continued to glare at him as they turned up the path towards the door of the medic’s cottage. He nodded abruptly.
“All right, Chisholm. I’m willing to give you a try. But we get Cato pumped out first, then we take a closer look at this Cherokee Morgan before we head back for Shadow Mesa, okay?”
Chisholm smiled faintly as the marshal knocked on the door.
“Fine with me, Bannerman. Fine with me.”
As they bundled Cato into the doctor’s house, none of them glanced around at the sound of racing hoofs.
They should have, for they would have seen Curt Callaghan and Cherokee Morgan galloping out of town in the direction of Shadow Mesa.
~*~
There were guards everywhere at the Bighorn spread on Shadow Mesa.
Cherokee and Callaghan watched from the rocks outside the ranch yard as Rangers patrolled the fences. The redhead turned her pale face towards Callaghan.
“Not going to be so easy.”
“I wouldn’t have been tryin’ to get in anyway,” the ex-ramrod said. “You’ll have to do it alone. You got a better chance, anyway. All you got to do is make it look good. Which means ridin’ up and goin’ into your act. Think you can do it?” Cherokee’s mouth tightened, but she nodded.
“I can do it. I’ve waited a long time for this moment. I won’t foul it up now.”
“Well, you’re on your own. You get into any trouble and you’ll have to get out yourself. I ain’t showin’ at all.”
“I can handle whatever comes my way—without any help from you,” she snapped. “But you be ready to do your part once I’ve done mine. Savvy?”
“I’ll be ready.”
The girl stirred and climbed down the rocks to the horses then swung into the saddle.
“You get yourself into position. I’ll ride back up the trail a ways so that I can get a good run on for the gate and make out I’ve been travelling at that speed all the way from town.”
“Good luck, Cherokee,” Callaghan called softly as she walked her mount away from the rocks.
She didn’t answer, and Callaghan busied himself mounting his waiting horse ...
The Ranger on guard duty at the gate froze and cocked an ear. He glanced towards his companion who was staring up the dark trail.
“Hear that?” asked the first man.
“Be deaf if I didn’t,” growled the other. “Someone’s comin’ in an almighty hurry.”
Cherokee Morgan came galloping out of the night, her mount weaving with apparent weariness as she ran it for the gate. She hauled rein and skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. The two Rangers quickly covered her with their rifles.
“Hold it right there, ma’am,” snapped one of the guards. “This is private property.”
“I know, I know,” Cherokee gasped. “My name’s Morgan. I’m a friend of Yancey Bannerman’s. He’s asked me to contact Kate Dukes, urgently.”
The guards exchanged glances. It wasn’t general knowledge that Kate was there.
“Miss Dukes, ma’am?” one of the guards stalled.
“Yes,” she snapped. “Please! It’s most urgent.” She leaned forward and whispered: “Yancey’s been hurt, but he gave me strict instructions not to alarm the Governor in his present condition.”
The guards hesitated. The girl seemed distraught and genuine, but ...
“Where’s Cato?”
“Johnny’s with Yancey, caring for him. But he wants Kate. And he wants her urgently. Please let me through.”
They hesitated a little longer and then the older one nodded and they opened the gate; one of them trotting beside Cherokee as she rode towards the house. Other guards came out of the shadows but the man waved them away.
Another man took over and walked with Cherokee to the door where he rapped a brief signal on the woodwork.
Cherokee was taken inside after some explanation and a guard stayed with her in the hall while another went to fetch Kate Dukes. The red-haired girl paced up and down nervously as she waited for the appearance of the Governor’s daughter.
Suddenly, Kate appeared at the far end of the hall, tying a robe over her nightgown. Cherokee glanced at the guards as the girl ran forward.
“Miss Dukes,” she said urgently. “This is—kind of private.”
Kate frowned a little, taking in Cherokee’s blazing red hair, her firm, mature figure in the riding outfit, the hard edge to her mouth and the indefinable look in the green eyes that proclaimed loudly that she was a woman who had ‘been around’. But she quickly dismissed the guards with a wave of her hand and a warm smile.
“Just wait at the far end of the hall, please, gentlemen.”
“I’ll wait outside on the stoop if it’s all the same to you, ma’am,” one man said. Kate nodded and he went out as the other moved quickly down the hall.
Kate turned her attention to Cherokee.
“I believe you told the guards you’re a friend of Yancey’s?”
“I’m John Cato’s friend, really,” Cherokee said with a quick, nervous smile. “I only said I was a friend of Yancey’s because I thought it might save a lot of explanations ...”
Kate nodded and looked relieved for a moment before she managed to cover it up.
“Is it true that Yancey’s been—hurt?”
Cherokee stepped closer and swiftly put out a hand, touching Kate’s forearm.
“Oh, yes. Yes, Miss Dukes, I’m sorry to say.”
Kate stiffened. “What—what’s happened?”
Cherokee licked her lips and glanced around a little nervously.
“He—he doesn’t want the Governor alarmed,” she said quietly.
“My father’s sleeping. He won’t know anything about your visit unless I choose to tell him,” Kate said impatiently. “Now, please tell me what’s happened to Yancey.”
Cherokee hesitated, made herself appear uneasy, then said swiftly: “He’s been shot.”
Kate couldn’t stifle the gasp or prevent her hand going to her mouth. Her lips formed another question but Cherokee went on, looking and sounding compassionate.
“It—it was some trouble over a man named Chisholm.”
Kate nodded vigorously. “Yes, Walt Chisholm. Yancey was checking his background ...”
“That’s right. Well, it seems that this Chisholm had something to hide. He and Yancey got into an argument and Yancey beat him badly. But, as he was walking away, Chisholm got his gun out and shot Yancey in the back before anyone could stop him ...”
“Oh, my God!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Dukes—I—I don’t really know how to tell you easy-like. This kind of thing isn’t exactly in my line ...”
“You’re—you’re doing just fine. How ... bad is Yancey?”
Cherokee hesitated and then forced a smile. “Well—well I guess he’ll be all right …”
Kate shook her head and tilted her chin.
“No. Don’t lie to me, Miss Morgan. Tell me the truth. Is he badly hurt?”
Cherokee lowered her eyes and nodded jerkily.
“’Fraid so. Chisholm got away, but Johnny quickly took Yancey to a sawbones. Even so, the doctor said the bullet’s too deep for him to dig out. It was lodged against his spine. Yancey can’t move—anything below his neck.”
Kate stared at her in horror then briefly covered her face with her hands.
“Oh, no. No!”
“He—wants to see you, Kate. Johnny asked me to come because he didn’t want to leave Yancey ...”
“Of course ...” Kate made an effort to control her tears and the shaking that gripped her body. “I—I’ll get changed and ride back with you at once. D’you need a fresh mount?”
“I guess so. Can I do anything to help?”
Kate forced a smile. “You’ve done a lot by bringing me the message, Miss Morgan. I won’t forget you. Wait here and I’ll make arrangements. Would you like some coffee or something?”
Cherokee shook her head. “I’m fine. You just—hurry, Miss Dukes. Yancey’s holdin’ on and waitin’ for you.”
Kate hurried away and Cherokee turned her back, trying to cover the smile of triumph that twitched at her mouth.
Only minutes later, the two women rode swiftly out of the yard and raced into the night across Shadow Mesa.