He calmed down. "So, if you're not interested in any of my girls, you can go to a hotel. There's two. One's a flea-bag. The other, the Onyx House, isn't bad, probably suit you best. It's crowded, though. If they haven't a room, tell 'em I said to throw out somebody."
I said "Thanks," and rose from the table. He also got up. "When will I see you again?"
"I'll like's not be around town. Suppose I drop in tomorrow and see if you can raise the ante?"
"A mite soon," he admitted, "but drop around anyway." Neither of us shook hands. I nodded to him and walked from the barroom.
XI
I stepped out to the plank sidewalk; The sun was lower in the west. Time had passed more quickly than I'd thought. My pony was still at the hitch-rail, slumped on three legs. If man, I thought, had only the patience of a horse, he wouldn't blow wide-open so often. I rounded the end of the hitch-rack, intending to ride down to the Onyx House and get a room, and then head for the restaurant I'd patronized earlier, catch a bait and see what further information I could pick up. Oh, I was a fool for trouble, all right. Here I'd hoped to land in some spot where the law wouldn't bother me, and already I was getting mixed into something else with Shel Webster and his gang. If it hadn't been for that girl Topaz, I'd been inclined to ride on. Something about her made me want to stay—and a curiosity as to why Webster wanted Tawney snuffed out. I wondered too, who was over Webster and back of the skulduggery that appeared to be going on. What in hell was going on here, anyway?
I was about to climb into my saddle, when I heard a voice. Tawney's. He'd apparently been leaning against a front wall of the bar, waiting for me to emerge. Now he rounded the hitch-rack and stood at the side of my horse, looking at me. A rather pleasant-looking cuss, with very white teeth, black hair and a skin tanned almost as dark as an Apache's.
I said, "What's on your mind?"
"You've been a long time coming out," he laughed, a bit uneasily as though not exactly knowing my attitude.
"You've been waiting all this time?"
"I didn't have much else to do."
"Hondo Crowell and his pals might have made more trouble. You should have got out of town—"
"I saw 'em when they came out. Crowell looked pretty ugly, but he didn't offer to start anything. Just gave me a dirty look. But my back was to the wall, and he'd have to face me head on. Maybe he didn't feel like starting anything. He looked like I'd messed his nose some."
"It needed it," I said shortly, adding, again, "What's on your mind?"
"I just wanted to say thanks for cutting in, a spell back. Figured to leave while I could, so's to avoid more trouble. Still, I didn't feel I'd made you know how grateful I was. They could have finished me—"
"And still you stuck around, knowing that—"
"I wasn't bothered, once I had a wall at my back. I didn't figure they'd try again, so soon. That's not the first time they've tried to work me into a fight, but I always managed to slip out of it somehow. I knew I shouldn't have entered the Onyx, but they keep the only good beer in town, and I was so damned hot after my ride in."
I was liking him better all the time. "No thanks necessary," I told him. "Glad to help out."
"Thanks are necessary," he protested earnestly. "I—I never expected anybody to side me in this town. Oh, yes, my name's Tawney—Jeff Tawney. I run the Box-CT spread over the border."
"Cardinal," I said, and put out my hand.
He started to shake, then drew back, eyes widening, then went through with the gesture. "Did you say, Cardinal?"
I nodded. "Yeah—Johnny Cardinal."
His eyes narrowed. "Unusual name, isn't it?"
I shrugged. "Don't hear it too often," I admitted, "but there's a few of us around." I knew what he was thinking.
"Yeah," he said slowly, "I've heard of it."
"Don't be so bashful, Tawney," I laughed shortly. "You've seen a reward bill, or two."
"Just one," he admitted. "Oh, I've heard of you, all right, even if I don't get to Onyxton often." He backed a pace, considering me, eyes sharp, as though he were pondering something.
I told him bluntly, "Don't get any ideas of collecting a reward for my scalp—"
He shook his head, forcing a laugh. "It—it wasn't exactly that I had in mind."
"A damn good thing too," I growled, reassuming my tough act. I was wondering right then if I was due to have both Shel Webster and Tawney after my skin. What was going on? And I wondered why Webster was so anxious to have Tawney bumped off. Perhaps I could pick his brains a mite with some talk.
"I guess," Tawney said somewhat lamely, "you might be getting me wrong. What you've done is your business. I hadn't any ideas about rewards. Just want to give you a decent 'much obliged,' and ride out. That's all I had in mind."
"I've told you once to forget the thanks," I told him roughly. "Look here, I was just headed for the Onyx House to get a room. Then I planned to head for a restaurant down the street and catch a bait. The food isn't bad. The sun's lower-in' fast. I can eat now. Do you feel like coming along? I'll be frank, I'm curious as to why Webster is after your scalp. Feel like talking a mite?"
I liked his smile when it came. "For one thing, I hire all vaqueros—Mexicans—on my spread. And Webster hates Mexicans."
"Enough to get you killed?"
"Apparently. As to having supper with you, I got a better idea—leastwise, I hope you'll think so. Why not ride out to the Box-CT with me. I can promise you good food, and if you want to stay, there's extra beds."
"I never use more than one bed," I laughed, "and I think you have a hell of a good idea."
He said, "Fine. I'll get my pony. It's just a short ride. We'll be across the Mexican border in ten minutes or so, then out through the canyon that runs through Buzzard Buttes and we're there."
I mounted and backed my pony. In a minute he joined me on a big bay gelding. We walked the horses along the street, then he led the way down a cross street and past the T.N. & A.S. depot, on the platform of which was a high stack of shipping crates, of new lumber.
"Freight must have come in this afternoon," Tawney commented.
"Isn't it a regular?"
He shook his head. "Just stops here when there's freight to be put off. The Limited passenger train stops only when there's somebody to get off, or when flagged for a passenger."
"I noticed some crates like that when I was down this way earlier," I mentioned. "Now, there's more. What's in 'em?"
He didn't answer right away, then, "They're stenciled ploughs, or sewing machines or coal-stoves, as a rule," he said noncommittedly. "Shipped here from back east by some politician—Senator Whitlock is the name, I think. One of these hombres who wants to help poor folks. These crates are destined to be delivered at Heraldica to aid poor Mexican families."
"Sounds like a worthwhile idea. Where's Heraldica?"
"Lies ten-twelve miles south of my spread."
"Never heard of it. Big town?"
He shrugged. "Lot of people there." He acted as if he didn't want to talk about the place, and that aroused my curiosity too, but I didn't ask any questions.
We speeded the ponies to an easy lope and struck rolling country beyond town. It was good grazing terrain and I mentioned it was queer we didn't see any cows.
"Time was, when you could see 'em," Tawny said shortly. "There's a good scattering of spreads north of here, but they keep their cows well away from Onyxton."
"Cow-thieves?"
"Right. Mostly owners and crews stay away from Onyxton, except to come in for supplies and mail. Honest cowmen aren't welcome there. Of course, we use the railroad shipping pens after beef round-up, but all of us keep our guns handy. Lord, if we could only band together, we'd clean out that town in nothing flat, but everybody is too busy, it seems—" He broke off. "I reckon I'd best not talk that way to you, you being a friend of Webster's—"
"I didn't say that," I said sharply.
He didn't reply, acted as though lost in deep thought. We surmoun
ted some low foothills and swung south into a low canyon, between buttes that rose higher as we progressed. The going was narrow, with precipitous bluffs on either side. Once in the canyon the sun was mostly lost, though high overhead the sky was still a clear blue. It wasn't steep going, fairly level, bit of broken rock here and there. Now and then there'd be a spot of brush or Spanish bayonet, ocatillo and mesquite. I could see clusters of peyote cactus, with tiny pink flowers, forcing their way toward light, from between cracked rock formations.
Tawney's silence bothered me. He rode at my side, head sort of down as though thinking deeply, features creased with a heavy frown. Now and then he'd give me a quick puzzled look, as though he couldn't decide where to place me in some pigeonhole in his mind. It bothered me. I said, finally, "Look here, Jeff, something is needling you. If you've got something to say, spit it out. If you don't like my looks, just say so, before we go any farther. A while back, you said something about me being a friend of Shel Webster's. Hell, we're far from friends. I never saw the man until today, and I'm frank to admit I wouldn't trust him any farther than I could throw a steer by the tail."
He shot me a sharp glance. "You tossing a straight loop?"
"Believe me or not as you like," I said stiffly. "It's no skin off my teeth, anymore than I give a damn whether or not you take stock in a lot of lies about me spread around on reward bills." I was growing a bit huffy.
"All right, all right," he said hurriedly. "You needn't to get mad at me. I'm just trying to figure out something."
I cooled down. "I don't say I'm not interested in what makes Onyxton tick. For your information, all I've got to do right now is drop behind you a few paces, put a slug between your shoulderblades, and collect five hundred bucks."
"What are you saying?" he exclaimed, reining in fast, one hand going to gun-butt.
"Now it's your turn to cool down," I laughed. I told him briefly of my conversation with Webster and some of the color left his face.
"You've had plenty chance," he blurted. "Why didn't you do it?"
I told him, grave-faced, "I think I can get Webster to raise the price to a thousand."
He looked shocked, and then realized I was joking. "You had me stopped for a minute," he said with a sort of relieved sigh. "I'm no gun-fighter—"
"Neither am I," I admitted, "but I do get curious about a lot of things. Why does Webster want you out of the way? What about a girl I met this afternoon, called Topaz? And a nice girl, she seemed."
"Oh, yes, Topaz. She does seem like a nice girl—"
"What about her, Jeff?"
"Just don't get too interested in that direction. I can't tell you much about her. First time I saw her, I spotted her as a lady—"
"So what is she doing in Onyxton, mixed in with Shel Webster?"
"As I get it she came here a year back, figuring to teach school. There was a school in Onyxton, then, but when things got bad, teachers quit. Nobody wanted the job. She took it and rented a small house in town. But by that time, decent folks with kids started to move away. The school closed down. Shel Webster offered her a job, sort of overseeing his dance-hall girls—"
"That sort doesn't generally need overseeing."
"I agree, but I suppose Webster had to have some excuse for keeping her close to him. Any overseeing needed he could have done himself, or delegated the job to one of the girls."
"Does she live at the Onyx dance hall?"
"Maybe now, for all I know. Couldn't say. I don't come to town often. Now and then I hear a few things, such as Webster warning any other man not to come near her. Anyway, she's got enough of the lady left, so everybody respects her, what with Webster's attitude. She acts pretty free, too, hangs around the bar when she feels like it. I've heard that Webster objects to that, but so far she seems to do as she likes."
That part I liked. So far, at least, Topaz didn't appear to be completely dominated by Webster.
Tawney went on. "From what I hear, Webster is completely off his nut about Topaz. I see 'em riding together now and then. They use to cut through my place, to visit Heraldica. She always nodded pleasantly, if I happened to be riding near. Anyway, I reckon there's no doubt about it—Topaz is Webster's doxy."
I winced. That I didn't like. But I guessed I'd have to face facts.
We rode in silence for a time, our mounts' hoof-beats echoing back from the canyon walls, not moving fast. Too much broken rock scattered along the canyon floor to make safe footing for fast going. Here and there, at sandy spots, I saw wheel ruts, but mostly the footing was rock, spaced here and there with sparse growth of cacti, or choya, or some other southwest growth, rather stunted for lack of the sunlight which came but briefly between the deep canyon walls. Again, Tawney seemed to be lost in deep thought, wondering, I suppose, just how far I was to be trusted. On the one hand, there was my reward-bill-fabricated reputation. That, I knew he didn't like. On the other, I had, perhaps, saved his life, back there in the Onyx Saloon. I wasn't surprised that he had his doubts about me, though.
He said once, "We just crossed the boundary line of the Box-CT holdings, fifty yards back."
"That the Mexican line?" I asked.
He shook his head. "We crossed that quite a spell back. But we're on Box-CT land now."
The way was widening out now, the canyon walls lower, the buttes of granite, conglomerate and sandstone weren't so steep. Then the walls seemed to fall away all at once and we were emerging on rich grasslands, the trail dropping somewhat. By this time the sun was below the horizon, though it wasn't yet dark. By now we were heading down a long slope into a fertile valley and I expected him to speed up the progress. But he continued the same slow space, still lost in deep thought.
"There it is," he said suddenly and raised a pointing arm. "The Box-CT spread."
My gaze followed the indicating finger, and then I saw the buildings, all built of adobe. There was a wide ranchhouse with a tile roof and corrals, also, what I took from this distance to be a bunkhouse, blacksmith shop, windmill and the usual other structures. The ranchhouse was surrounded by ancient cottonwoods. Off to the left I could see a bunch of cows, already bedding down for the night. Lord, it looked peaceful. I began to envy Tawney his place.
"It looks like a honey of an outfit," I said impulsively.
He smiled. "It is. I think you'll enjoy it."
We'd ridden on a little farther, when he said suddenly, "You ever been in a Texas town called Tenango City?"
"Have I?" I grinned. "I wish I was back there right now— or maybe I don't, come to think of it. Hell, man, I was raised in that country, on a ranch nearby—the Star-S, run by Pablo Serrano. He and his wife brought me up. My folks died when I was just a baby. The Serranos were my foster parents."
"Had your parents lived there too?"
"Yes, until they were killed in an accident."
"Ever know a man there named Clarence Kirby? He ran the bank—"
I exploded an oath. "I know him all right. A greater skinflint never lived. Back there they call him Skinflint Kirby. I doubt he's got a friend in the world. You know him?"
"Just heard of him. Didn't know anything about him."
"You're lucky you never had any dealings with him."
"Your name's John, I understand." The horses were just walking side by side, by this time.
I nodded. "My friends call me Johnny. Hell's-bells, it was Skinflint Kirby who got me into trouble in the first place, or perhaps that part was my fault, to be truthful, but old Skinflint started the trouble."
"Oh?" He looked quizzically at me in the fading light. "Maybe that might explain—" He broke off. "What was your father's name?"
I figured he was getting damn inquisitive for no particular reason, but thought little of it. I answered, "Ethan—Ethan Damaris Cardinal."
He said thoughtfully, "That checks—"
"What checks?" I frowned, not seeing what he was getting at.
He paid no attention to my question. "And your mother's name?"
&n
bsp; "Damned if I see—" I commenced, puzzled, then stopped. "My mother's name was Clarinda Hepsabeth Cardinal. So what—?"
"Double-check!" he exclaimed.
Puzzled, I said, "What the hell is all this?"
"Take a look around," he smiled, "let your eyes run over all that lies before us."
I looked, saw the rolling grasslands under the fading light, the ranch buildings, with only a thin orange streak in the west, above the rugged mountains. I saw the yellow lights in the ranchhouse and bunkhouse, soft gray smoke curling from chimneys. I drew a long deep breath. "It's—it's beautiful." I half-breathed the words and I meant every syllable.
"It's all that, Johnny," he said softly. "I'm sure you'll like it." And then, "Welcome home, Johnny Cardinal."
I laughed. "You've sure gone all Mexican, with that courtesy business, like, Enter, your casa, señor, and my-house is-your-house line of habla."
"It's not all courtesy, Johnny, though I mean that part too. What I'm trying to tell you is that everything you see before you is half yours. Whether you like it or not, Johnny, and I hope you'll like it, you're half-owner of the Box-CT. You and I are pardners!"
I half reined my pony, bewildered. "What in hell do you mean?"
But he had already put his pony into a lope. "Come on, pardner, we'll talk after supper," he yelled back over his shoulder, "and clear a few things in your mind."
I raced my horse down the long gradual slope after him, my mind churning with crazy speculations.
XII
This, I thought later, is some sort of dream, and for a time I suspected Tawney's sanity. Good Lord, what a spread! The huge livingroom of the house was furnished with old Spanish furniture, animal-skin rugs, a few trophies of the hunt on the walls. There was a large dining room, with a long heavy oak table, presided over by Mama (as Tawney called her) Benita Vinando, wife of Mateo Vinanda, Tawney's mayordomo— foreman—a grizzled, wiry, weather-beaten Mexican of probably sixty years. Mama Benita was fat and comforting, always ready with a soft laugh. I loved them both on sight, reminding me as they did of Old Pablo and Mama Josefa. Mama Benita was housekeeper and head cook for Tawney with a slim Mexican girl, Chepa, as assistant.
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