Buchanan Says No (11 page)

He unfolded the paper, took it to the writing desk in the
corner. "Come on
,
gambler. Write your lousy name."

"It's all I have left."

"You never earned it
,”
Power told him harshly. "You
inherited it. And you never did a damn thing with it after
that. Sign your name, Boyd."

Weston looked to his wife and she returned the glance
impassively. He walked slowly to the desk and Power all
but put the pen into his lax fingers.

"Right there
,”
Power said, and Weston scrawled his
signature at the bottom of the transfer. "Now get the
rest of your things and start riding."

"I'm beat, Frank
,”
he complained. "I haven't eaten for
twenty-four hours. I need sleep."

Power took him by the arm and hustled him across
the room. "I said get your things and ride. You're lucky
to be getting that much chance." He shoved the other
man into the bedroom and waited threateningly in the
doorway,

Weston returned in a few moments wearing his black coat and flat-topped hat. Power dogged him back across
the room to the front door. He pulled it open.

"Stay clear of Bella
,”
he said in his crispest voice. "Re
member that."

Weston went out of the room without another word
and Power closed the door and locked it. He turned to the
woman, his face pleased and arrogant.

"What's next on the agenda?"

"You didn't mention last night that you were stealing
my ranch
,”
Ruby Weston said.

"That's a funny word to use to me."

"It wasn't intended to be funny. Are you going to give
me the place?"

"No
,”
he said
?
"you're going to live here in town. Where
the bright lights are."

"And you?"

I’l
l be in town, too, But I'm also going to stock my
new
ranch
,”

“W
hat a nice future
,”
she said. "For you."

“
And you, Ruby
,”
he told her, "You're in it," He was

mov
ing toward her and his voice grew huskier.

"No," she said when he would have embraced her.

"What the hell do you mean, no?"

“I
have the feeling I've been had
,”
she said with cold
anger.
"I don't want to be manhandled on top of it."

'"This is Frank you're talking to, Ruby
,”
he said warn
ingly,
but her manner only became more aloof.

"Good-by, Frank," she said. "Call on me when you
h
ave
one of two propositions, A marriage certificate or a

deed
to the ranch with my name on it."

I'll call on you tonight
,”
he said, biting off each
wor
d. "When you've taken a good long look at the situa
tion
you're in."

"My situation is all right
,”
she said. "I won't want for
anything
in this man's town,"

“
B
u
t you will," he told her. "Because I'll kill the man
who
comes near you." He swung on his heel then and
stro
de out of the room, straight-backed and furious.

Chapter N
ine

The edginess was still riding Buchanan as he went south
from Troy's to where his benefactor waited at the Happy
Times
.
Knocking Mike Sandoe down hadn't been enough,
W
hat that slippery son needed was the full treatment,

the chance to carry his arm in a sling for three months
a
nd learn some humility.

To hell with it. And after that to hell with Bella and
Mr. Tinhorn Power, Buchanan's sole and abiding concern
from here on in was the lien he had on those eight head
out at Indian Rocks. But he owed Little Joe an explana
tion and the assurance he would get back the twenty-five
dollars. He pushed on inside the saloon and found his man
talking to another at the all but empty bar.

"There he is," Little Joe said warmly, waving him over
to them. "Billy Burke
,”
he told his companion, "grab
hands with a man here. His name is Buchanan
,”

"And he does it proud
,”
the boss of the Happy Times
said, exchanging a hearty grip. Burke was a man of medium
build with florid coloring and an outsized paunch that
marked him as one of his own best customers. "A drink
all around for the lad that whipped Moose Miller."

"Miller's dead."

"No! Well, the day gets brighter and brighter as it
goes along
,”
Burke said then, his brogue carrying a festive
air. "Drink up so's we can pour another."

"You did it?" Little Joe asked hesitantly, and Buchanan
shook his head.

"I shilled it," he said gloomily.

"For Sandoe?"

Buchanan's shoulders shifted restlessly beneath his shirt.
He lifted the shot of whisky and tossed it off.

"I
’
ll need that loan extended," he said to Little Joe.
"Until I can dispose of some property."

"While you're at it," Billy Burke said, "dispose of some
property for me. Namely, the Happy Times Saloon." He
had taken two drinks and now poured out another all around. "A toast to Frank Power and Bernie Troy," he
said. "Twin salts of the earth. May they blister in hell for eternity and a month."

"Second the nomination," Little Joe said.

Buchanan had nothing to add and drained his glass a second time.

"I'll send you the money, Little Joe," he said, turning
away. "My thanks to both of you
.”

"Hey, boys, things are popping!" shouted a voice from

th
e entrance, It was an old
m
an
,
eyes dancing, but at sight
o
f
th
e towering Buchanan he stopped short and swallowed
nervously.

"Meet Harry Rowe," Little Joe said, "This is Bu
cha
nan."

'"Don't I know it," Rowe said, "I just now seen him
commit suicide."

"What's that?" Little Joe asked.

"What I said. He like to have knocked that kid killer
loo
se from his head. If that ain't suicide, then ask the late
Moose Miller," Harry Rowe shook his own ancient head
from
side to side. "You should have finished what you
s
ta
rted, mister
,”
he advised Buchanan solemnly, "Nobody
leav
es a rattler to get a second go at him."

"That particular one is welcome," Buchanan told him,
a lit
tle wistfully, it seemed to Little Joe, He reached out
an
d put his hand on the big man's arm.

"Mike Sandoe don't scare you none?"

Buchanan looked down
?
surprised. "Not that
I
know
of.
"
he said.

*And Frank Power, You'd take him on?"

""Already have,"

"How do you mean?"

That property I mentioned. There's two different ideas
about who owns it,"

"Let's go into the back room," Little Joe said after a
mom
ent. "You too, Billy. I just birthed an idea."

Billy
Burke pot the bottle and three glasses on a tray
and
led the way to the room past the deserted gambling
tab
les and dusty roulette wheel. The trio took seats around
a
table, but when the host began to provide another
drink Little Joe stopped him.

"
L
et's leave a little room for some clear thinking
.
" he
sai
d.

“N
ot my kind of thoughts," Burke said.

"Well, maybe misery does love company
,”
Little Joe
told him. "As a starter, Friend Billy, what would yo
u
say
to a partnership? You and me
,”

"Fine," Burke said without hesitation. "You take half
my losses and I'll take half yours."

'Then what do you say if I bring all my liquid stock-
over here, chop up my bar for kindling, and launch a respectable quiet restaurant with me as chef and major-
domo?"

"Fine
,”
Burke said again. "We'll always have food and
drink, partner."

"And then we
’
ll break the deadline," Little Joe said then, and this time Burke only stared at him. It was
seconds after he drank his drink before he found his voice.

"Worthless as I am," he said to Little Joe, "I still
have a hankering for life. Also, I remember sitting in this
same room the night Zed Jackson decided he'd break
the deadline, God rest his brave soul."

"Zed Jackson," Little Joe explained to the silent, half-
attentive Buchanan, "owned a crap game and crib house
next to the livery. The night Billy refers to was six months
ago, and Zed walked into Troy's with two half-drunk toughs and began to solicit the trade. They merely got
beat up and thrown into the street. Two nights later Zed tried it again. They discovered his body about ten miles
west of town."

Buchanan shrugged, nodded his head impartially. Little
Joe returned to his conversation with Burke.

"We're not going to do it Zed's way," he said. "We're
just going to offer the gents and ladies of Bella the same
and more than they now get at the hotel and Troy's. The
food in our new restaurant will be good, and there'll be
plenty of it. The atmosphere will be what they call refined
and congenial. And after a fine supper, an evening of
sport, entertainment, and what-have-you in the good old
Happy Times. That, my friend, is honest competition."

"For twenty-four hours," Billy Burke said. "Our two places will be wrecked and us with them the next night."

"They will," Little Joe said, "if the wrecking party
gets past Buchanan, here
,”

Buchanan had been trailing his finger through a whisky
s
plash on the tabletop. Now his head came up
.

“
if what?" he asked.

"You said Power and his gunman don't scare you none,"
Little Joe said.

"
Y
eah, but-"

"And you've also got a debt of twenty-five dollars.
I’
m
off
ering you a job. Sort of special peace officer for the
So
u
th Signal Street Merchants
’
Association. What do you
say?”

“
I say you're crazy. I never peace-officered in my life."

"Then forget it," Little Joe said unhappily, "and no
har
d feelings."

"I'd like to help you
,”
Buchanan protested. "But it's
n
ot my line of work."

"Wouldn't pan out, anyhow
,”
Billy Burke said. "Stop
pi
n
g Frank Power would take a troop of cavalry."

"No," Little Joe said, all his animation gone. "What
it
takes is somebody who'll spit in Frank Power's eye.
Who'll shove his killer's gun down his
throat?
" He waved
his
hand despondently. "Hell, forget it," he said. "Don't
list
en to a sick and tired old man dreaming out loud."

Buchanan's chair scraped into the silence and he stood tip. Pushing wet beef at night for nothing wasn't enough.
Now somebody mistook him for a goddam bouncer in a
goddam saloon. No, sir! The only thing that made sense
wa
s to cut out those eight Chihuahuas he owned and point for Frisco.

"I'll send you your money
,”
he told Little Joe, and went
o
u
t.

Billy Burke poured out two more glasses, put his arm
a
round his friend's shoulder.

⁴⁴
It wouldn't have worked," he said.

Little Joe pushed the liquor aside. "Yes, it would," he
said. "That fellow could have swung it. I don't know
much, but I know that."

A long shadow fell across the table, blocking out the
sun. Little Joe looked up into the battered, broken-nosed,
wearily smiling face of Buchanan.

"How many nights did
you figure on getting for that
twenty-five dollars?" he asked from the doorway,

"A week," Little Joe said. "Two at the most
,”

"
Y
o
u
get one
.
"

"You mean it? You'll back us up?"

"One week."

Little Joe's fist pounded impulsively on the fable,

"Hear that, Billy?"

Burke nodded, "Well," he said, "who wants to live for
ever? Here's a drink to the—what'd you call it, Little
Joe?"

"The South Signal Street Merchants' Association."

"It's got a good solid ring to it. Down the hatch, boys
,”

They emptied the glasses and then Little Joe spoke again.

"I've just had another idea
,”
he said. "Besides some
pretty little waitresses in the restaurant, what we need is
a female faro dealer. Another Carrie James."

"There ain't another between here and Chicago
,”
Burke
said, "and you know it
,”

"Well advertise for one in the Bulletin
.”
Little Joe
answered, "and see what turns up. Maybe two female
dealers will equal one Carrie." He got up. "Boys," he said,
"we got work to do, I'll go rearrange my place and see about some handbills. Billy, get somebody to put brush
and s
oap to the saloon and equipment.
New candles in
the chandelier," He swung to Buchanan, "You prob
ably got the best eye for a shapely woman
,”
he said.
"Hiring the faro dealer is your department/"

They left then, each to his assigned work, Buchanan
went down to the office of the Bulletin, learned that the weekly was published this very afternoon, and persuaded
th
e
o
wner-editor-printer to take his
ad
.
The man, Creamer
by n
ame
,
read what Buchanan wanted inserted.
Tell you what," he said. “I’ll
ran it on page one at no
extra
charge."
'Much obliged."

"It's mutual, mister. And any time you got another
red-hot news item like this, just shoot it right in."

Buchanan looked puzzled, then reread the brief ad he'd
com
posed in his straightforward fashion.

Wanted:
Nice-looking girl with good shape to deal
faro at Happy Times Saloon. Must be over 18 and
able to stand the gaff up to a certain point. Apply
T. Buchanan, Green Lantern Boardinghouse, or on
premises.

"What's the news in that?
”
Buchanan asked
.

Creamer smiled wickedly and snatched up the ad,

"Not a thing, mister," he said. "You just declared war."

From the street outside came the sound of a horse
rounding by, fast, and Buchanan swung his head to catch
a
glimpse of Mike Sandoe's familiar figure rushing out
o
f town.

"Frank Power's brand-new gunny/" the newspaperman
said musingly. "Wonder where he's going in such a
hurry."

Buchanan didn't answer as he moved out of the office
a
nd onto Signal Street again. Nor did he have to wonder
a
bout Sandoe's destination. Bill Durfee and the crew must be straining at the leash something fierce by this time.
Somebody had to take the bad news out to them, and
it
was a cinch Frank Power wouldn't do it personally.

Buchanan considered that assignment professionally and
f
ound it something less than choice. He guessed that
Sandoe most likely packed some token payroll, but if the
big man was any judge of character, that would be about
the same as tossing scraps to eight hungry wildcats.