Shoot Him On Sight (11 page)

A clock ticking above the wall said two-thirty and I wondered if no one had located Shel Webster. I was still half hoping that Topaz might return, but she didn't show. I didn't want any more beer and I figured I might as well go out and navigate around town some more.

At that moment there was a movement at the doorway leading into the gambling parlors, and a tall, wide-shouldered blond man entered the barroom. His hair was so blond it appeared white, though his face was deeply tanned. His woolen trousers came down to highly polished boots. It was his coat that interested me: from a slight bulge over the left breast I guessed he was packing an underarm-gun. He wasn't wearing a hat. His nose was straight above a clean-shaven chin, his mouth a thin straight line. Eyes pale blue.

I guessed who he was even before I heard the servile greetings of Turk and other men at the bar. He scarcely noticed them while he conversed low-voiced with Turk a few minutes, then wheeled and came straight to my table, dropping into a chair across from me.

"I'm Sheldon Webster," he said quietly.

"So I heard. That gang at the bar sounded like they'd rehearsed the act—"

"You?"

I smiled thinly. "Do you have to ask?"

He eyed me narrowly. "Maybe not, Cardinal. All right, you said you wanted to see me. What's on your mind?"

"I was told to get in touch with you if I ever get down this way."

"Who told you that?"

"Friend of yours—so he said." I picked a name out of thin air. "Feller named Jim Flecker. He said you could take care of me if I got jammed up."

Webster scowled. "Flecker? Flecker? I can't seem to remember the name."

I hadn't expected him to, of course. "Maybe it's convenient to forget some names."

"Maybe," he conceded. "But I still don't recollect—"

"Forget it," I yawned. "Mebbe I came to the wrong place."

"Now don't jump to conclusions," he said. "If I can, I'll help you in any way. What's on your mind? I can generally arrange things for friends in Onyxton. What do you want?"

"I figure to stay a spell. Where's the best place to sleep?"

His jaw dropped. "Is that all you wanted to speak to me about?"

"What else?"

"I can think of a lot of things," he said disgustedly.

"Meaning what?" I snapped.

"For one thing you want protection. The law is hot on your trail for the murder of Deputy U.S. Marshal Webb Jordan. You'd like me to cover for you—"

"You're wrong, Webster," I stated coldly. "I didn't kill Jordan."

He sneered. "You'll be telling me next who did?"

"That's easy. Hondo Crowell killed him—your jackal, Crowell."

His thin lips tightened to a fine slit. "You're certain of that?"

"I'm certain."

He said wrathfully, "You know too goddam much."

I laughed insolently. "Let's just say you've misjudged me so far. Furthermore, while I realize there are rewards on my scalp, I don't want any of your cheap gun-slingers trying to collect. I'll expect you to give orders to that effect. I don't like back-shooters."

I'd expected him to get mad, but he didn't. He looked steadily at me a minute, then he nodded, "I'll do that. You look to me like too smart to lose. I think I can use you."

"As what?"

"I'll think it over. I need men of your ability. Too many dumb lunkheads on my payroll."

"Have I asked for a job?" I scoffed. "I'm not interested in going around bullying Mexes and running small-time hombres out of town—"

"That's a job for the lunkheads," he said absently. "There's tougher competition if you work for me. There's a hombre named Tawney, got a spread over the line—"

"He was in here a spell ago," I said.

"Yeah, I know. Turk told me. You interfered in what was none of your business—"

"T'hell I did," I snapped brazenly. "Certain, I interfered. My God, I never saw such a crude frame-up. I came here with the understanding you had brains, and what do I see? A damned clumsy attack by a rat-pack to down one man. Jesus! Can't you figure out a better plan than that? It all looked so blasted clumsy I just had to interfere. Any respect for you was vanishing fast. And I'd heard you were smart."

A slow flush crept through his features. "You could map out a better way, I suppose?"

"If I couldn't, I'd get out of Onyxton fast, figuring this was a hick-town with a numbskull running things."

His flush deepened; anger tinged his tones. "And just how would you do it, Mister Wise Hombre?"

"I don't have to tell you my methods, but I'd get acquainted with Tawney, learn his habits. Something smart could be worked out, to pull the wool over the eyes of any law that might try to interfere."

"I'm the law here," he interposed.

I said disgustedly, "Oh, my God! Show some sense.
Here
, maybe, but you raise a stink and you'll have government law on your tail. If Tawney gets snuffed out sudden and it's learned he was shot down in cold blood, how do you know what relations he may have who may demand an investigation? You say his spread is over the line, in Mexico. His sudden killing might bring the Mexican government into the business, asking questions and stirring up Washington. Do you want that?"

He didn't reply at once. His forehead was creased with frowns. "How would you do it?"

"Accidents happen," I said coolly. "How much you offering?"

He considered, then said, "Five hundred dollars."

"You're asking me to risk my neck for peanuts," I jeered.

"It's a lot of money—"

"It's a lot of buffalo chips," I snapped. "You expect me to run risks and plan a job so no one will suspect, for five hundred bucks? Well, I guess I'd best ride on. Onyxton isn't for me." I started to rise from the table, but he put out a detaining hand and I dropped back, as he said, "Don't be in a rush."

I waited. "Could be you're right," he conceded, thoughtfully. "Perhaps the ante could be raised. I'll have to think. You mustn't be in too much of a hurry. I don't mind telling you that scheme of Hondo Crowell's wasn't my doing. He knows that Tawney is a bother to me, so he took it on himself-"

"Why you so anxious to get rid of Tawney?"

His lips tightened. "That's neither here nor there. As to raising the ante, I can see your point, but I'll have to consult with—with somebody else."

I made my voice as insulting as possible. "Oh, so you're not the big boss in Onyxton—"

"Now, wait a minute,"—he sounded a trifle flustered—"I'm boss here, all right, but—but—we-ell, there's things to be considered." Abruptly, he changed the subject. "Exactly what did you come here for, asking for me?"

"I already told you." I laughed. "I just wanted advice as to where to get a place to sleep."

"For cripe's sake, is that all?"

"What else would there be?" I asked mockingly.

He stared steadily at me and I looked him straight in the eye.

"I think you're stalling," he said bluntly at last, "but we'll let it go at that. Well, there's rooms where the girls stay—"

"Girls?"

"I got a dance hall in my gambling parlors, and they have rooms upstairs—"

"Not interested," I told him. "Though there was one girl in here a spell ago. What's her name? Topaz?"

His face clouded up like a thunderstorm. "Cut it," he growled savagely, and I realized I'd bored into a nerve. "Topaz is—is a friend of mine. Let's keep her name out of it."

I took a warning. "Just as you say," I said carelessly.

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.

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."