Leo Reese dropped a poker chip on the floor and the faint sound jarred his nerves. A wrong move or word would end in a lot of shooting and a lot of dying.
Lon Perry said, “A good friend of mine turned up missing, Janner. Maybe you know him. Baldy Renson.”
Clay shrugged. “So?”
“His horse come back the other night. Baldy ain’t come back yet. What about it?”
“I don’t even know him,” Clay answered. With a steady hand he poured a drink. He lifted the glass to his lips and downed it, never taking his eyes off Perry.
Perry, seeing that he was making no progress trying to rile Clay, turned his venom on Joe Alford. He gave the big nervous redhead a knowing smile. “Too bad you didn’t stay in Mexico, Alford. By this time your wife and my boss would be married.”
Men shifted their feet and moved away from Alford. “You’re wrong, Perry,” Alford said, choosing his words carefully. “As long as there was any chance of me bein’ alive she wouldn’t marry him.”
Perry’s laughter grated harshly. “She was goin’ to wait till August. Then if you wasn’t back Elkhart would put a ring on her finger—”
Alford stood rigid, his right hand hovering above the butt of his gun. “She wouldn’t marry him, I tell you!”
Clay Janner felt a vast pity for Joe Alford, then, and also a slight contempt. All eyes were on the man. Everyone in the saloon expected him to do something. He just stood there.
Clay shook himself Not all men were proficient in the business of guns. Some men were scared. Baldy Renson had been scared. And if he let this thing go further Joe Alford would be lying dead on the cantina floor, probably before he got his gun out of leather.
“Your wife sure didn’t pick much when she picked you,” Perry said.
Alford said, “I won’t stand for talk like that,” and he tried to sound tough but failed to carry it off.
Lon Perry laughed again and Clay turned and looked at him. He considered how much he had at stake: a herd of Mexican cattle. And this yellow-haired gunman was threatening to wreck the game. He knew the setup here. The moment he or Alford tried to cut down on Lon Perry, the four Elkhart men outside would be at their backs.
Clay put his back to the bar. He saw that Leo Reese and Tom Shanley had come to stand beside Buck Bogarth. Clay gave them a long look, then let his gaze flick significantly to the street where the four Arrow men stood on the walk, all bending forward, elbows out and fingers hooked.
Bogarth licked his lips. “I want no part of this,” he said, and jerked his head at Reese and Shanley. “Let’s get out of here, boys.”
As they shuffled for the door Alford looked stricken. “Wait—”
Clay clamped a hand on his partner’s wrist. “Let them go,” he said. “If they don’t have guts enough to take chips in this game we’re better off without them.”
Fierro jerked hard at one of his spiked mustaches. “You go also, Señor Janner,” he whispered across the bar to Clay. “Por favor. It will be the great favor.”
But Clay ignored the Mexican and let his flat gaze flick over the remaining customers. Drifters, for the most part; save for a runty drummer with a sample case upended in a chair. Clay’s eyes surveyed the room and they signaled their warning: Keep out of this.
He began to walk leisurely toward Perry’s end of the bar. Four feet from the man he drew up. “You talk big,” he drawled. “Mighty big.”
“You fightin’ Joe Alford’s battles?” Perry said.
“Why not? He’s my partner.”
Perry laughed and slapped the bar top with the flat of his hand. The sound caused the drummer to jerk to his feet and upset his sample case. A profusion of corsets of varying sizes and hues fell from the sprung lid.
Perry’s amusement ended abruptly. He looked toward the street, as if to see if his men were ready, then turned back to Clay. “Maybe you better tell Alford the real reason you feel sorry enough for him to fight his battles.”
“You tell me,” Clay said.
“It’s on account of his wife. Reckon she asked you to the other night. Asked like only a woman can.” He gave Clay a knowing smile. “Reckon you know what I mean Janner.”
Clay heard Alford mutter an oath behind his back. He made a signal for Alford to keep out of it. Along the far wall the other customers had lined up, jaws slack, mouths open, knowing the danger from possible flying lead, yet unwilling to seek safety and miss the show.
Clay checked the window again. The four Arrow men stood rigid, their faces tight with rage. They stood with hands lifted shoulder high. Across the street some passerby had come to a halt to stare. At first Clay couldn’t understand what had happened. Then he saw that the Elkhart men, so confident that Bogarth and the other pool ranchers were out of the fight, had let themselves be taken from behind. Bogarth, Reese and Shanley were holding guns on the Arrow riders.
Perry evidently had not noticed any shift in the odds against him, for his insinuating voice droned on: “—You and Nina Alford was playin’ it cozy in the cottonwoods the other night—” His voice broke off suddenly as he happened to glance at the window. He saw his men standing under the guns of the pool ranchers, and the sight stunned him.
Finally Perry tore his eyes from the window. Clay Janner rammed his gun muzzle into Perry’s middle. The impact knocked the breath out of him. Clutching his stomach, he pitched to the floor, gagging and retching. Clay watched him without sympathy.
CHAPTER 11
An awesome silence hung over the cantina, broken only by the choking sounds Lon Perry made as he writhed in agony on the hard-packed dirt floor. The struggle for oxygen had put a tinge of purple on his features. Along the wall the drifters and the corset drummer seemed to be straining at invisible tethers. They showed a frantic urge to flee possible danger, yet this sudden degradation of the vaunted Perry held them for the finish.
Holstering his gun, Clay stepped back. “I’m waiting,” he told the Arrow foreman. “If you’ve got the guts let’s finish this.”
With a low oath Perry struggled to his feet. He was still hunched over but some of the congestion had left his face. “Another time,” he gasped, and started for the door.
Clay blocked him.
“Apologize,” he said. “You made a reference to Mrs. Alford and me. Say it was a lie.”
“But what if it ain’t?” Perry was getting his wind back, and with it his confidence. But when he glanced at the window and saw his four men still with their hands in the air, it seemed to put caution in him.
Before he could speak, Clay slapped his gaunt face. Perry yelled, and Clay hand-whipped him against the bar and then to his knees. Grabbing him by the shirt, Clay jerked him up again and held him close.
“You ever open your mouth again about Nina Alford,” he said, “I’ll kill you.”
He flung Perry back against the bar. Slowly the man lifted a hand to his cheeks, mottled from the slapping Clay had given him.
“There’ll be another day,” he said.
“This is today,” Clay said. “Now apologize, damn you.”
Muscles bunched along Perry’s swelling jaw. His eyes flared with a wildness, an urge to draw his gun. Quickly it died. “I—apologize,” he said.
Perry wheeled for the door. Clay caught him and drew his gun and pushed him on out into the street. A crowd had gathered at a safe distance. Clay stepped behind the four Arrow men and pulled their revolvers from leather.
“We’ll leave your guns in Fierro’s,” Clay told them. He jerked his head at Buck Bogarth. “Find their horses, Buck. They’ve likely got rifles. Bring ’em here.”
Later, the town stared in disbelief at the ignominy of the hand-picked Arrow crowd riding out of town without their guns. None of the Elkhart bunch looked back. At the edge of town they put spurs to their horses and rode at a dead run in the direction of Arrow.
Clay carried the weapons into the cantina and placed them on the bar. The place crackled with excited talk. Everybody was discussing the humiliation of Lon Perry, giving Clay sidelong glances.
“I wouldn’t want to be in your boots, Mister,” the drummer said as he stuffed corsets back into his sample case.
Clay ignored him. Now that it was over he felt a tremor in his thighs. Why had he done such a fool thing? What was Nina Alford to him? A woman who wasn’t worth defending…
Buck Bogarth came in with Shanley and Leo Reese. Bogarth was grinning, pleased with himself. “They figured we was ridin’ out with our tails between our legs,” the thick-necked rancher said. “They was some surprised when they felt guns at their backs.”
Clay said nothing. He noted that Joe Alford hadn’t moved from the spot where he had been standing all during the trouble with Perry. Clay poured a drink, held it out to Alford, but the big redhead pretended he didn’t see it. He started talking with Bogarth, discussing the reason the pool meeting had been called.
“Elkhart sent word he’ll open his fence if we pay him two bits a head for all the beef we drive through,” Bogarth said.
“Why don’t he use a gun on us?” Tom Shanley said, shaking his gray head. “Either way it’s a holdup.”
“After us sidin’ Clay Janner,” Leo Reese said soberly, “I don’t reckon Elkhart will deal with us at all.”
Tom Shanley gave Bogarth a long look. “It was your idea to throw down on them Arrow men outside. What’s Ardis goin’ to say when she finds out you practically spit in Elkhart’s face?”
Bogarth ran a thick finger back and forth along the wet bartop. “A man can’t let his wife run him forever,” he muttered.
“Big talk,” Leo Reese said. “Wait’ll you get home.”
“Well, what the hell you expect us to do!” Bogarth burst out.
Leo Reese slapped the bar with the flat of his hand. “I’m glad to see you got a little fight left in you, Buck. Let’s keep the pressure on Elkhart. What’ve we got to lose?”
Bogarth seemed to deflate, sighing, like a balloon. “If I was a single man, I’d say you was right. But—”
Reese came up to him on his bowed legs. “I’m married, Buck. I got as much to lose as you have.”
“But your wife ain’t like Ardis,” Bogarth said weakly.
“I thought you was just through sayin’ that a man can’t let his wife run him forever.”
Bogarth jerked down the brim of his hat, glared at Leo Reese, then shook an accusing finger at Clay. “This whole mess is your fault, Janner—and yours, Alford. Why in hell didn’t you stay to home instead of leavin’ your wife alone all them months so’s Elkhart would figure—”
“You better shut up, Bogarth,” Clay warned quietly. Bogarth turned red, hitched up his pants and went storming outside.
There was a moment of silence in the cantina. Then Tom Shanley said, “Reckon all we can do now is play Elkhart’s game. Two bits a head or drive across the Sink. Without Bogarth to string along with us we got no chance.”
He clumped outside. After an awkward pause Leo Reese shrugged and followed him.
“There goes the end of the pool,” Clay said, but Joe Alford didn’t reply. He seemed busy cleaning his nails with the point of a knife.
Fierro leaned across his bar, his black eyes intent on Clay’s face. “This I do not have the opportunity to say,” he said in Spanish. “But the sheriff yesterday ask if I have seen you with this Baldy Renson the Señor Perry mentioned. The sheriff said that you are the class of man who could murder somebody like Renson.”
Clay felt a slight chill at the back of his neck. “And where is our estimable sheriff today?”
“He is away on a matter of the tax,” the Mexican said.
Clay gave him a slap on the arm. “You’ve gone out of your way to befriend me. Why?”
The Mexican stepped back, shrugging. “Some men you like. Some you don’t.”
Clay gave him a salute, then jerked his head at Alford. “Let’s go before Elkhart comes riding in with a couple of ropes.”
Outside in the bright New Mexican sunshine, Alford looked pale. They got their horses and started for Spade. As they climbed into the hills, Clay said, “You’ve got something on your mind, Joe. Spit it out.”
They drew rein. The wind whipping up the pass stirred the ragged ends of Joe Alford’s red hair. Alford seemed intent on studying the distant peaks of the Sabers, purple now against the sky.
“Don’t tell me you believe Perry’s lying tongue, Joe.”
“Maybe you got a different story about what happened between you and Nina,” Alford said grimly.
They were halfway down a narrow trail that bisected a rock-strewn canyon. Clay debated whether to tell Alford the truth. Then, knowing he would probably find out from the same informant who had given the information to Perry, he recounted Nina’s visit to the cottonwoods. “She only talked about you, Joe. She wanted to know the truth about what happened in Mexico.”
“You tryin’ to say she’d believe you, instead of her own husband?”
Clay saw the wildness in Alford’s eyes. Nothing else had seemed to rile the man, but now he was wound tight. He didn’t want Alford maybe drawing a gun on him. He didn’t want to be forced to shoot the big redhead.
Clay chose his words carefully. “Nina wanted to be sure, is all. She’s been under a strain while you’ve been gone—”
Alford gave a short laugh. “Strain, hell. She was figuring to marry Elkhart if I’d stayed away four more months.”
Clay said, “You should have had me write a letter, Joe. I didn’t know you couldn’t write. That’s no disgrace.”
“I wish I’d never met up with you that day in Paso,” Alford said. “You talked me into this—” Clay swung his horse in beside Alford’s steeldust. “Let’s have it out,” he said. “We’ve got too much tied up in that herd to let a lot of loose talk ruin us.”
“I wish I’d never heard of Monjosa or them damn guns—”
“Maybe I do too. But it’s over and done.” He pounded his fist on the saddle-horn for emphasis. “There’s nothing between me and Nina. You’ve got to believe that, Joe. If you never believe anything else in your life.”
“Then why’d she have to sneak down and warm your blankets?”
“You’re acting like a kid,” Clay said—and found himself wondering if Alford ever would reach maturity.
“And why wasn’t you sleepin’ in the bunkhouse? Unless you knew Nina was comin’ to meet you—”
“That’s enough, Joe. I’ve had enough.”
“And how’d Lon Perry get wind about you and Nina, anyhow?”
“Simple. Elkhart’s got a spy in your outfit. How else?”
“Nina hired the new crew,” Alford said, his lips curling. “Claimed the old bunch wouldn’t leave her alone. I wonder.”
“You better learn to trust her.”
“You ain’t one to trust a woman. If you was how come you never took a wife?”
“Never found the right woman.” Again Clay beat his fist against the saddle-horn, once, decisively. “I’ve changed my mind. About a lot of things.”
Alford regarded him narrowly. His face was flushed. “Maybe you found the right woman now. My wife.”
“If you weren’t my partner,” Clay said, “I’d gunwhip you out of the saddle.”
Alford sat stiffly, right hand near his gun, as if daring Clay to make good his threat. Then the old fear seemed to eat in him and he dropped his hand. “Sometimes l ain’t got the guts of a rabbit.” He licked his lips as if they were dry. “But one of these days I’m goin’ to get my nerve back, Clay. You say I got a cat on my back. Funny, but when I try to remember how my pa looked with that bullet in him—and me layin’ there with a hole in my chest—it ain’t so clear in my mind like it once was. Don’t push me too
far, Clay.”
“I won’t push you, Joe. For a lot of reasons. One of them being you saved my neck down in Mexico.”
“If. I had it to do over—” Alford broke off, swore, and resumed viciously. “Maybe I should’ve let that boy cut his initials on your chest with that saber.” He neck-reined his horse and set it at a gallop for Spade.
* * * *
At the house, Alford caught his wife alone. He told her about the tense scene at the cantina. “Perry sure figures you and Elkhart was goin’ to get married,” he said.
Tears of anger sprang into her eyes. “Don’t forget this. Joe. I could have married him in the first place. Instead I chose you.” Her lips trembled. “Joe, I took you back. I’m your wife again. Why do you want to drag all this up?”
He seemed not to hear her. He stood in the parlor beside the Franklin stove, staring out into the empty yard. “How do I know what went on here while I was gone?”
“I don’t like this talk, Joe.”
He turned on her. “You was goin’ to marry Elkhart. You can’t deny that.”
She clasped her hands under her breasts. “Yes, I planned to marry him. I’d like to say I was going to marry him because I thought as his wife I’d be able to bring peace to this country. But I won’t lie to you. The real reason was that I was tired of living alone. Tired of running a ranch. I’m not as young as Kate French. She’s stood it so far but in five years she’ll be an old woman. A woman can’t take that sort of life. She needs a man.”
“You sure needed a man,” Alford said. “Elkhart.”
Again she tried to make him listen to reason. “We’re together again, Joe. Clay convinced me that you and he really were in prison—”
“He convinced you mighty quick.” Alford looked her over. She was small, defiant, her blonde hair loose about her shoulders. He sneered. “Maybe you and Clay—”
The Fifth Western Novel Page 49