Shoot Him On Sight (16 page)

"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.

"
Quién sabe—
who knows?" she replied in Spanish.

She didn't put the handkerchief away again, but kept fussing with it in her hand. I noticed her fingers trembled slightly, and wondered what was bothering her. Was she afraid Webster would learn of my visit? Perhaps I'd better leave and set her mind at rest. I mentioned as much, but she protested, "No, stay. Don't go—out there."

Something damnably funny was going on. I was commencing to feel nervous too. Involuntarily, my right hand slipped down to gun-butt, then I remembered where I was and relaxed momentarily. I took another drink of coffee and tried to make conversation about Tawney and Webster, but it was no use. She only gave a short nod, still fumbling with her handkerchief, eyes lifting to the clock about once every minute. What in the devil was she expecting? The hands of the clock were almost on nine-thirty, I noticed. Then her voice came faster'n I expected:

"Johnny, my handkerchief. Quick!"

Things happened fast then. I saw her toss her handkerchief to the floor at my feet. It flashed through my mind that I'd told her how fast I could pick it up if she happened to drop it. This was like some sort of game—I stooped down to get the handkerchief.

Then all hell broke loose in the thundering detonations of six-shooters, and broken glass from the shattered pane above my head crashed down. I heard the
thud! thud! thud
! of slugs as they found a resting place across from where I'd been sitting a moment before.

I remember coming up with the handkerchief in my hand, tossing it on the table. Topaz's chair crashed backward as she came to her feet. She was pale as death, one hand to her mouth as though smothering a scream. Then I wheeled, pulling my .44 Colt, and grabbed the knob of the back door.

"Don't go out there!" And then Topaz' scream really came.

I was too mad to pay attention, struggling as I was to get the door open. I tugged and jerked, but it resisted my efforts. Then I remembered the key. It turned easily in my hand, and I flung the door wide, fool that I was, in my haste. There were trees around, but in the light through them from the moon, I caught sight of three shadowy forms making a getaway, running hard.

I lifted my Colt, felt the .44 jerk in my hand, the orange flash of the detonated shell throwing a brief hard light. I cocked again, released a second slug. I saw one of the shadowy forms throw up his arms and then pitch down, out of sight in the long grass. I fired a third shot and missed. Two men were still running, but in a moment they were lost in the shadows.

I started to follow, then used my head. I could have run right into an ambush. I swung back into the house to see if Topaz was all right, plugging out empty shells and reloading as I moved. I slammed the door and relocked it. Topaz was standing as I'd left her, all color drained from her face. She stared at me, trying to speak, eyes wide.

She finally found her voice. "Oh, Johnny"—it was almost a sob—"it worked, it worked."

I said dumbly, "What worked?"

"The—the mirror. They shot at your reflection, through the window. I assumed they wouldn't come too close to the house for fear you'd hear them, and I left the curtains open only a narrow bit—"

"Topaz—you planned so—?"

She nodded, lips quivering. "And the handkerchief. I was so afraid a bullet might come through the wall, or—or—I had to get you close to the floor—fast. I knew they'd be here at nine-thirty—"

"But why didn't you explain?"

"I couldn't—I was under orders to get you here, and then—"

"Whose orders?" I snapped.

"Shel Webster's."

I stared at her. "Couldn't you have refused?"

"No, under the circumstances—"

I felt my blood rising to a boiling point. "Good God, Topaz, do you have to do everything he tells you to?"

She looked steadily at me, her eyes moist. She didn't say anything. Something in that look slowed me down. I drew a long breath, then I noticed that shattered mirror on the wall, the glass ruined by bullet holes and cracks radiating in all directions. That hit me hard, as I realized how closely the leaden slugs must have passed by her head, knowing bullets were coming and still having the guts to sit there and pull that handkerchief stunt for
my
safety. Good God! I felt like a worm and very humble, faced with such courage as she had shown. She
knew
the bullets wouldn't miss her by much. And a poorly aimed shot could have struck her. I knew than she had a hell of a lot more nerve than I had.