Bannerman the Enforcer 46 by Kirk Hamilton

Author:Kirk Hamilton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: vengeance, colt 45, piccadilly publishing, pulp western fiction, ebook westerns, westerns ebook, kirk hamilton westerns
Publisher: Piccadilly

Clarendon was a twelve man and a dog town, tumbledown, clapboard, passed-by during the days of the big cattle drives, and it had never recovered. It was still a mite too far off the main trail for many people to bother visiting.

As they rode down the dusty main street, under the eyes of the openly curious locals, Yancey gestured to the show window of a clothing store.

“You could get yourself a dress in there, if you want. I’ve got money.”

She looked at him sharply. “I don’t want you to spend your money on me.”

“No obligations, remember?” he reminded her.

She frowned. “Why are you doing this, Bannerman?”

He shrugged. “Scum like Kane shouldn’t be walking this earth. I’d like to make sure he’s stopped.”

“You don’t think I can do it alone?”

“No,” he said candidly.

Her mouth tightened. “You don’t know me very well.”

“Mebbe. And mebbe you don’t know yet what you’ve got yourself into.”

“I know,” she assured him. Then abruptly, surprising him yet again with her sudden change of mind, she said, “All right, thank you, I will have some new clothes. But no dresses. Shirt and trousers and a new hat. If that’s all right ...?”

He grinned, took out a golden twenty-dollar piece and handed it to her.

“Go buy what you want. I’ve got some business to do.”

They met outside the livery an hour later and he nodded in approval at her choice of whipcord trousers that fitted comfortably, a checked shirt and a small flat-crowned hat with a rawhide tie-thong and rattlesnake skin band. He held out a brown-paper-wrapped parcel towards her.

“Something to complete the outfit,” he said in answer to her puzzled look.

“A gun!” she exclaimed when she had unwrapped the package, revealing the oiled blued-steel of a revolver in a saddle-stitched holster with narrow looped cartridge belt wrapped around it.

“A Smith and Wesson, double-action in .38 caliber. A small gun by the usual cowboy’s standards but large enough for you, Texas. And a .38 slug in the right place will stop a man just as fast as a .44 or .45.”

She was staring at the gun, turning it over and over in her hands. Obviously she was surprised at its weight and the steeply curved butt was still a mite large for her small hand. But she was delighted with it just the same and her mouth softened, almost but not quite lifting a little at the corners. There was even a suggestion of dampness about her eyes when she looked at Yancey again.

“I’ve only fired a revolver once,” she confessed. “Lars had this old Dragoon. I could hardly lift it, even in both hands, and I had trouble cocking the hammer. It jumped out of my hands when I pulled the trigger.”

“This is only half the weight of the Dragoon, heaviest handgun ever made at four-and-a-half pounds. In fact, this weighs just under two pounds. No need to cock the hammer either. It’s a double-action, which means you just keep pulling the trigger and the cylinder revolves and it shoots until the chambers are empty.

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