"Maybe you've got something," he concluded. "There should be exceptions to every rule—"
"And if any man objects," I added, "send him to me. Or direct to Fanner. But don't expect to see him again. This running out of town might work both ways."
"I may do just that." Webster gave me a thin smile. I didn't like it at all. Then he spun on his heel and headed back toward the center of town.
We stood looking after him until he had disappeared, then Mike drew a long breath of relief and mopped his forehead with a bandanna. "Buen Díos!" he exclaimed. "I think for the minute we shall have much of trouble. Johnny, what is this all about—all this of a Fanner who is the fastest gun in the whole of the southwest country? You know I have not the ability of such shooting. I came here looking for you. Then I saw that Hondo hombre leveling his gun in your direction. I called to you and pulled my six-shooter. Truly, I aimed for his body. You saw what happened. I came close to the miss, hitting only his arm by an accident. And then I found I shook like the leaf on a cottonwood tree. This shooting a man, it is not familiar to me."
I laughed. "So now you're pulled into the same sort of bluff I've been running. I'm finding it not too hard. Very few crooks have brains. Let's get our horses and I'll give you the whole story when we get some place to sit down."
I picked up my buckskin and led him over to Main Street where Mike had left his bronc. Now, people nodded to me, with a certain respect in their manner. Nor did they show any animosity to Mike now that he was with me, though many of them looked puzzled. Mike mentioned when he'd first arrived, he'd received nothing but nasty looks.
"You know why, now," I told him. "Mexicans aren't welcome in Onyxton, and maybe we'd better not press our luck too far. Eventually someone will try to call my bluff, but mostly I figure you're safe while I'm siding you."
Mike mentioned that he was hungry and as it was getting along toward supper-time, I led the way to the restaurant where I'd eaten the previous day and we found a corner table, some distance from the proprietor behind his counter. He looked askance at Mike, but didn't say anything. There weren't any other customers.
Once we tied into our food I related the story of what had happened to me, since I'd last seen Mike. His eyes widened when I told him that I was now half owner of the Box-CT spread, but I cut his exclamations short and went on to detail the whole setup in Onyxton, the shipment of boxes and crates, what Jeff Tawney had discovered and all the rest. I ended up by telling him how glad I was that he'd finally caught up with me.
He shook his head unbelievingly at the story. "Events have of a surety taken place with much rapidity," he commented in Spanish, then lapsed into English: "But it is the big bluff you have run—no? Never again will I feel safe to play the poker game with you."
I hadn't mentioned Topaz. I don't know why. Maybe I wasn't ready to talk until I knew more about her. We drained our coffee cups and stepped out to the street again. Night had commenced to settle in.
Mike asked, "What do we do now, Johnny?"
"I've been thinking it over. Like I said, I don't want to push our luck too far. It may yet be too soon to reach every man in town that you have Webster's permission to stay. I figure you're safe as long as I'm with you, but you never know. The night could hide a dry-gulcher mighty easy. So, while I figure to look around town a mite, you're going to ride to the Box-CT, I'll give you directions and you can't miss it—"
He started a protest, but I cut him short. "I want you to take a message to Jeff Tawney. Tell him what's happened today, and what the station man told me he'd discovered in one of the boxes. It's your chance to get acquainted too. I've told them all about you. No doubt of your welcome. They're our kind of people."
He gave in finally and after seeing him mount and ride safely out of town I turned back and strolled the sidewalks for an hour, my contempt for conditions in Onyxton rising every step of the way.
XV
A BRAWLING town if I ever saw one. Saloons—and drunks too—were plentiful. Lights shone from windows all along the street, as though the town never closed for the night. There were two or three dance halls making the night hideous with noises. I dropped into one such joint, took a brief glance at the painted, short-skirted hussies, and lost no time leaving. A saloon, five minutes later, offered rotgut whisky and thin beer. I didn't even finish my drink before departing. Onyxton, a town without law, it was said, but I saw no one who looked really dangerous from one end of the burg to the other. Sure, a number of cheap gun-toters, and their greetings to me carried only respect and admiration, but I figured 'em as the type who'd sooner shoot from ambush than face a gun in fair fight. The more I saw of the place, the more it reminded me of some sort of rat nest, and I gained more confidence in the bluff I was running. So far, only Shel Webster looked dangerous to me, and he apparently lacked the crew to carry out his ideas.
Eventually, I dropped into Webster's dance hall and gambling parlor, as he termed it. It was the usual thing: a lot of games—chuck-a-luck, faro, dice, the wheel—all running full force, and suckers dropping their cash. At one end, a cleared space with a waxed floor, where a number of girls whirled in the embraces of heavy-booted pardners, to the accompaniment of a nearby piano, violin and banjo. The girls were a shade above the dancers in the place I'd visited previously, younger, better featured, dresses not quite so short and higher in the neck. Halfway to the ceiling a railed balcony ran three-quarters of the way around the big room, with closed doors beyond.
The noise was deafening: the music, the stamping of heavy feet on the dance floor, whirring of the wheel, click of poker chips and everybody talking at once. Cigar and cigarette stubs littered the floor, waves of tobacco smoke drifted through the room. I glanced through the room and finally spied Topaz, seated alone at a corner table. She was dressed about as I'd seen her yesterday, though the dress was of a different pattern, some sort of green and white figured material. Draped loosely about her shoulders was a white, fringed Spanish shawl. God, she was beautiful, her shining red-gold hair looking as though every hair lay in place. Sleek, was the word for it. Then I thought of Shel Webster, and I scowled. I glanced around, but didn't see anything of him; probably he was in the adjoining barroom. Not that it made any difference. He couldn't have stopped me going to her. I was like one of those big moths attracted by a shining flame.
Even before I arrived at her table, wending my way through boisterous men and dance-hall girls, I spied some rough-looking character approach Topaz. Probably asking her for a dance. Smiling, she shook her head in a way that the refusal wouldn't be resented. I heard her add something to the effect that "Shel wouldn't like it, Stud." Stud, whoever he was (and I was ready to swing one on his jaw), nodded understandingly and continued on his way, to be picked up by a chemical blonde. I saw them hit the dance floor when the music resumed.
A moment later I dropped into a chair across from Topaz, saying, "Could be that Shel won't like this, either."
She said, "Hello, Johnny," in that low, husky voice that did things to me. "Would it matter much if he did?"
"Not to me, it wouldn't. But how about you?"
She shrugged nice shoulders. "Shel doesn't completely control me, you know."
"No, I didn't know. I'd gathered otherwise," I said quietly. A slow flush mounted to her cheek-bones. I added, "I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for, if you believe in appearances. Maybe I can't blame you. Were you going to ask me to dance?"
I shook my head. "I don't rate high as a dancer."
"I've found no one around here who does. To tell the truth"—she smiled—"I don't think you're as bad as your reputation, either."
"Who is?" She didn't reply. I asked her if I could get her a drink of sarsaparilla, but she refused. There was a sort of weary note in her voice, and I wondered if I were making a nuisance of myself. I said, "If I'm bothering you, I'll shove on."
Her long-lashed eyes widened. "Heavens, whatever gave you that idea, Johnny? No, stay. I enjoy talking to you.
My mind was wandering, I guess. I was thinking of arranging one of the rooms in my place, but uncertain what I'd do."
"Your place?"
"Do you think I slept here? Not a chance of that, Johnny. I have a nice little house, Red-Head. Over on Emilitas Street. You know where that is?"
I shook my head, grinning. "No, but I bet I could find it, if I had an invitation."
"Even that might be possible," she said carelessly. "Sometime. It's really a nice little place. Only two rooms. Adobe, whitewashed. With a white picket fence in front and a huge old cottonwood tree. And a big lot at the back where I've planted rosebushes and carnations and—oh, a lot of plants." She went on, telling me where Emilitas Street was located, and giving such directions as I could almost see the place before I got there—if I ever got there. I began to feel a mite wary, wondering what all this was leading to.
She glanced up suddenly, saying, "Hello, Shel. Business looks good tonight." Webster had arrived at the table.
I tensed, wondering how he'd take to my being with Topaz, wondering what chance I'd have against his underarm gun, if the worst came. I had half started to rise from my chair, but he put one hand on my shoulder. "Sit easy, Cardinal. I'm just passing by." Even so, I caught the brief scowl that flitted across his face, then he forced one of his thin-lipped smiles, saying to Topaz, "Yes, I can't kick on the money rolling in. The bar is jammed. I had to get another barkeep to help Turk."
Topaz said quietly, "I think I'll leave early tonight. Things are running all right. I'll tell Doris to take over for me. Is that okay with you?"
"Anything you say, Topaz," he replied genially. "Not off your feed, are you?"
She shook her head. "A bit tired, that's all." A sort of meaningful glance passed between them. I didn't miss that, and it started me wondering.
"I'll see you in the morning then," Webster said. He patted my shoulder. "Enjoy yourself, Cardinal."
"How could I do otherwise—here?"
He caught my meaning all right, and his lips tightened. Then he laughed shortly and turned away. I twisted in my chair and saw he had returned to the barroom.
I turned back to Topaz. "Danged if he wasn't almost friendly for a minute."
"Don't think he trusts you though, Johnny, not for a second," she said surprisingly. "He doesn't like you bringing some Mexican into town—Serrano, is it?" I nodded. She continued, "He may appear to be playing along with you —but—" She broke off. "I understand you and Shel are dickering over some matter regarding Tawney, the man who runs the Box-CT Ranch."
"We've mentioned him a couple of times," I said cautiously. "What do you know about it?"
"Shel can't believe you're on the square with him, despite your talk."
"Maybe he's smarter than I think," I laughed. "I don't sell my gun for peanuts."
"Johnny, don't try to pull the wool over my eyes," she smiled. Then abruptly changed the subject. "I can make a fairly decent cup of coffee. I'm going home to make one now."
"Is that an invitation?" I grinned.
"If you like," she said carelessly.
"I like! Jeepers, how I like!" I started to rise from my chair.
Topaz said, "Please don't follow me too closely. Give me time to leave."
On my feet, I said "Good-night," and watched her while she circled the room and stopped long enough to talk a minute with one of the girls. Then she pushed through the big double-doored entrance of the gambling parlors and disappeared to the street.
I waited ten minutes that seemed like an hour, then took my departure by way of the bar, where two perspiring bartenders were serving the needs of thirsty customers. I looked around for Webster. He stood at the far end of the bar conversing with three hard-looking characters. He glanced up, saw me taking my departure and nodded pleasantly enough. Somehow, that didn't seem natural, and it got me to wondering.
On the street, I headed for Topaz's house, slowing my step a mite. I was still doing some wondering. Webster's unusually pleasant manner was making me suspicious. This whole thing could be some sort of frame-up to get me out of Webster's hair. That, of course, involved Topaz. I didn't like that thought a-tall. Regardless, I couldn't figure her as a double-crosser. Anyway, I refused to. Well, as the poet said, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
The directions Topaz had given were simple to follow; I couldn't miss. I left the main drag, turned a block along one street, then turned again. There was the house all right. Whitewashed adobe, white picket fence, big cottonwood. I slowed step a moment, to look over the terrain. There were but few houses along here, all of them dark. There was a light at the back of Topaz's house, but no light shone at the front. Nor were any houses near at the rear. There wasn't too much light from the moon—too many clouds drifting overhead—but I could see the wide open space at the rear of the house where Topaz had her garden.
I pushed through a low gate in the white picket fence, closed it softly behind me, then approached the door. I didn't knock too loud, but I guessed she'd been waiting for me, as the door opened almost at once. She stood framed a moment in the doorway, filtered moonlight on her face, and my knees began to shake a little. Lord, I was tense.
Then she stood back, drawing the door wider, saying in Spanish, "Enter your house, Señor." And there was a nervous little laugh that started my blood coursing hotly. Words wouldn't come. I stepped inside and she closed the door. In a brief glance I caught sight of the kitchen beyond, where an oil lamp burned. Here, where we stood facing each other, it was in semi-gloom. I caught sight of a bed with a white covering at one side, a chest of drawers. I sort of mumbled, "Nice little place you have here…" And then I could resist no longer.
We were standing so close I could hear her soft breath, feel it on my face. If she'd moved back, I'd have kept my head, but she didn't. My arms whipped hungrily around her, drawing her close, and I felt her soft lips under mine. I was sure acting crazy, but I'd gone beyond the point of caring whether this was some sort of frame-up or not.
I felt her arms start to move up about my shoulders, then stop, and her head jerked away. I heard her say with a soft nervous laugh, "You certainly are impulsive, Johnny Cardinal," as she moved back. "Remember, I promised a cup of coffee, nothing more." And then in a steadier voice, "Come on through to the kitchen. This is my bedroom, and I think you'd better come to your senses."
I followed her to the other room, where a fire flamed in an iron stove and a kettle of water was slowly steaming. I glanced around, trying to think of something to say. At one side was a deal table, with a straight-backed wooden chair at either end. The stove was across the room. At the rear was a closed door with a key in the lock, and to the left of the door was a double window, nearly head high. There were curtains at the window, made of some heavy flowered material.
I finally found my voice. "Topaz, I hope you'll accept my apologies. I just sort of lost my head for a moment. I—"
"Maybe I did too," she said shortly. She laughed, but it sounded rather forced. "I'd just hate to think what a fight I'd have on my hands if anybody else in this town had got that far—"
"Including Shel Webster?"
Her face hardened. "Johnny, you ask too many questions." Then she showed her dimples again. "But you're the safe sort, courteous, a regular Sir Walter Raleigh. Bad man? I can't believe it. Why, I'll bet if a lady dropped her handkerchief, you'd hurry to pick it up."
"Why not?"
"Could you really act fast if I dropped my handkerchief?"
"Try me."
Topaz laughed softly. "All right, I'll remember that. You remember it too."
She turned to a small cupboard against the wall near the stove and procured a coffeepot and cups. A sack of coffee appeared next. She sifted coffee into the pot, poured water from the kettle, then set the pot on the stove. "That will take a spell before it's ready," she said, placing cups, saucers and spoons on the table. She added a sack of gingersnaps, then paused, as though suddenly remembering something.
"Now that I've a man
to help maybe you can help me," I said sure, and she continued, "I've a mirror I want placed on this wall. Sometimes I eat alone here, and if there's a mirror directly opposite where I sit, I'll feel as though I wasn't quite alone."
She went to the bedroom and came back lugging a Big plate-glass mirror, about five feet long, indicating a place on the inner wall, next to the door to the bedroom, where she wanted it hung. There was a nail already there but when I placed the mirror by its hanging-wire, it wasn't right to suit her. She got a hammer and I yanked out the nail and tried again where she told me to put it. There were a few more tries until we got it right. Then she had me sit at the end of the table, my back to the rear wall of the house. It all sounded sort of crazy to me, but I was at the stage where I'd done anything she asked, even to picking up handkerchiefs in a hurry.
She surveyed the mirror, and then me. "Can you see yourself in the glass?"
I eyed my reflection. "Sure, I can even see the end of the table. It's just like there are two of me here. Trouble is, I can't see you—"
"That'll do, Johnny Cardinal," she said tartly. Maybe she was speaking in time too. I'll swear I just wanted to hold her in my arms again and—and—well, anyway, I decided I'd better shut up.
She kept glancing at an old clock ticking on the wall. There was something nervous in her manner that puzzled me. She moved on past me and locked the back door, then drew the curtains until they were almost closed, probably within six inches of coming together, maybe a mite more. I'd settled back in my chair, the back of my head just below the window ledge.
She glanced at the clock again, lifted the coffeepot and filled the cups, placed a bowl of sugar on the table. "Sit in," she invited and took a seat at my left hand. We sugared the coffee and I accepted a cookie. She didn't seem to hear me, but kept glancing up at the clock. I followed her glance and saw it was close to nine-thirty.
Presently she drew a small lace handkerchief from within her dress and I caught a subtle aroma of some faint scent. "Getting ready to play drop-the-handkerchief?" I asked, grinning.
Shoot Him On Sight Page 12