Shoot Him On Sight (3 page)

I came back downstairs and found Mama Josefa placing supper dishes on the table. The beef and onions cooking in the kitchen smelled good. We ate supper in silence, though none of us put away much. Down in the bunkhouse the crew was making the usual noises, little realizing they'd probably be out of a job this time tomorrow. Skinflint Kirby would never keep 'em on; he hated Mexicans and most of our crew were Mexicans, and better rope-men I've never seen anyplace. And the same goes for riding.

After supper I helped Mama Josefa with the dishes, then dropped into a chair to glance at some old newspapers. There was something in one paper that had something to do with some big politico from the East who was some sort of do-gooder. Senator Cyrus Whitlock, it appeared, was interested in doing something to help the poorer class of Mexicans along the border, as well as other folks. He was donating money, while out here on one of his frequent trips. Being interested in the Southwest country, stating he wanted to see it built up. He'd already bought various parcels of property near the Border and spoke of plans tending toward a better living for the poorer classes. Right then Senator Cyrus Whitlock rose a heap in my estimation, but I couldn't keep my mind on what I was reading. I tossed down the paper, rose and reached for my gray Stetson. I kept hearing Mama Josefa's muffled sobs from another room, and I couldn't stand it any longer.

Old Pablo was slumped hopelessly in a rocking chair, gazing blankly into space, forehead creased in a frown. He glanced up at my movement. "You plan to go out, Juan?" he asked.

"I'm aiming to see if I can catch up with Miguel. I'm right sure I know where he's heading for that prime buck." I buckled on my cartridge belt and .44, snatched my Winchester from a stand in one corner.

Pablo Serrano nodded and I detected a certain sigh of relief in his voice. "Perhaps it is better so that you are not here to lose more of the so hot temper and make of bad trouble.
Vaya con Dios—
go with God—Juan, my son."

"
Hasta luego—
until I see you," I jerked out, called an "
Adios
!" to Mama Josefa, seized my coat and slammed out the door.

Down at the corral I slapped a saddle on my pony, led him outside and closed the gate. The moon was still low and there were a few stars riding herd on some drifting clouds. From the bunkhouse came the plunking of a guitar. I wanted to say good-bye to the crew, knowing with what I planned it would be long before I saw them again, but decided against it. The fewer who knew of my actions, the better. I touched spurs to my horse and moved out to the trail running to Tenango City.

The town was less than ten miles, so there was no hurry. A mile out of town I pulled rein, unsaddled and, rolling myself in the saddle blanket, stretched out beneath the spreading branches of an old live oak tree. I fell asleep.

The sun was already high when I awakened. I didn't carry a watch, but guessed it must have been around six-thirty. For a moment I felt fine, rested, ready to enjoy the coming day, then I remembered what had happened and what I intended to do and I could feel the indignation boiling up within me again. Damn and blast Banker Kirby for the grasping skinflint he was! I could feel the hair rising at the back of my neck the instant I thought of him.

Well, it looked like I'd have a long hard day ahead, so I'd better get started. Resaddling and shoving the Winchester into my saddle boot, I climbed up and reined the pony in the direction of town. It was only a short time later I was loping into Tenango City.

City? That was an exaggeration if I'd ever heard one. There was just a single winding street, twisting between rows of high false-fronts and adobe buildings, a street dusty in the hot seasons and muddy in the rainy periods. A couple of cross streets. Two restaurants, three saloons, a general store, livery and so on. Oh, yes, and Kirby's bank. Some plank sidewalks or uneven paths on either side of the road. There weren't many people abroad. A few loungers were already seeking the shade between buildings. Three chickens picked at the rutted roadway, and a mongrel dog hurried along sniffing and catching up on the news regarding previous canines. Three men, clumping along on high-heeled boots, nodded and I gave them a civil "Good mornin'" before pushing on to the livery stable.

At the livery I stopped and told the man in charge to give my bronc such water as needed, and a good-sized feed of oats. Then I made my way to the general store, where I got a box of forty-four cartridges, stuffed enough in my belt loops to fill it, then jammed the rest of the box in one coat pocket. Leaving the general store, I headed for the first restaurant I came to and stowed away a breakfast of ham, eggs and fried potatoes, rice pudding and two cups of coffee completing the meal. While I was eating I had the counterman wrap me up some slices of beef and tortillas. He asked if I expected to be away for a time. I explained briefly I was heading north to the Sawtooth Range to join Mike in some deer hunting.

The horse was ready for me when I got back. I tossed a half dollar to the livery man and led the pony outside. He followed me out with some idea of talking a minute. I answered in monosyllables. The sun was commencing to pour down heat by this time. I stripped off my coat and wrapped the beef and tortillas package inside, then rolled the whole and tied it behind my saddle.

"Looks like a lunch you was packin'," the livery man said.

"You guessed right," I answered shortly. "I'm heading up to the Sawtooths to see if I can get me a buck."

A buck? Hell, it was three hundred bucks I was after. I climbed back to the saddle, reined the horse in the direction of the bank. Here, I again halted and tossed reins over the hitchin' pole. I checked my saddle cinch and made certain everything was ready. While I was busy, Banker Kirby mounted the steps to the single doorway of his edifice of usury. He was a wizened mean-looking cuss with squinty eyes and a mouth that reminded me of a rat trap, dressed in shiny black, celluloid collar and a derby hat. He shot a sour glance in my direction and passed on inside.

I waited five minutes, then followed. There were no customers in the bank when I entered. At one side were two grilled windows; at the other a flat desk for clients. No chair there. A chair might have been an expense. The cashier stood at his window; another man worked at a ledger behind him. At the rear was a small room with a small door marked, "Private".

The cashier said, "Morning, Johnny."

I moved easily toward his window. "I got a date to see Mr. Kirby. He said shortly after eight. Is he in yet?"

"Just came in a minute ago." He smiled wanly. "Usual dill pickle disposition. If you want a loan, I'll warn you his humor is bad."

I laughed easily. "When was it good? Well, I'm not asking much, but I got a chance to pick up some beef steers at a bargain."

The cashier nodded. "Better give him a minute or so, until he recovers from his usual morning indigestion belches."

Wait a minute or so? And me tenser than a drum-head inside. I could feel that boiling indignation coming up again, but I only gave a short laugh and we fanned the air for a couple of minutes. I handed out that line about heading north for deer, again. That was three folks I'd told. Maybe they'd take stock in that "north" guff when the law got on my trail. After a minute I took off in the direction of Kirby's office.

I paused an instant at the door, knocked once, then turned the knob and pushed inside, closing the door behind me. Kirby's head shot up. "You, Cardinal, don't you know enough to wait for an invitation to enter?"

"I know enough, but time is short," I said briefly. "I've got a couple of things to say to you—" He had started to rise from his chair.

I slapped one hand sharply to my Colt butt. "Sit down," I snapped.

His face went a dirty-gray color and he dropped back in the chair. He didn't know I was damn' near as scared as he was, but I kept up the bluff. "Wha—wha—what do you want?" he stammered.

"First, I've wanted to tell you for a long time that you're a low-down, greedy, penny-pinching scoundrel and lower than a rattler's belly. Everybody in town hates you—in town and out. Once you get your talons in a man you never let up, and it's time you was taught a lesson. Is that clear?"

He gulped hard, tried to answer, but couldn't. I went on in a snarly tone of voice. "More than once I've been ready to throw a chunk of lead through your worthless guts. Now I think the time is prime for just that."

"You—you wouldn't dare," he quavered. "You'd swing for murder—"

"But you'd be dead," I laughed coldly. "I'd have the thanks of every man in Tenango City. You ready for it? No!"—as he opened his mouth—"Don't yell for help." Again I reached toward my gun-butt.

Only a half groan issued from his white lips. He half stumbled up then went down on his knees and began to plead for mercy. Slobber ran from his mouth. It was disgusting. Now he was pleading for mercy, tears running down his cheeks, offering to do anything. He started to sob in broken tones and I was afraid he'd be heard in the outer bank.

Again, I touched my gun-butt and told him to tone down. He quieted, but still remained on his knees, body shaking like a calf being branded. "All right," I growled at last. "You've got just one chance—"

"Any—anything you say, Mister Cardinal," he gasped.

"You get a chance to prove just that," I said tersely. "I need three hundred dollars. That's a cheap price for your life. So, it's up to you."

The thought of losing money stiffened his spine a mite. He clambered back in his chair, still shaking though. "Now, look here, if you think you can cover the Serrano mortgage in such fashion—"

"Old Pablo? I don't have anything to do with his business. Hell, no! I've got to have three hundred to get some cows at a bargain price, from a feller up north. But I got to act quick. Now, shake your hoofs!"

"I got to have security," he whined. "Why can't you come here decent and do business? You'll have to sign—"

"Goddamit, I'll sign your death warrant in a minute. Move
pronto
!"

I jerked out my .44 and that caved him. Shoulders slumped, he stumbled toward the safe in one corner, fumbled at the combination and reluctantly drew open the door. I snapped menacingly, "No double-crossing, now. Bring the cash here and count it before my eyes."

It didn't take long. He spread bills, gold and silver on his desk. I scooped it up, cramming it into pockets. I was shaky as hell, thinking how time was passing. "Thanks," I told him sarcastically, as he drooped back limply in his chair, sweat beading his forehead. "Now you just stay that way for fifteen minutes. I'll be waiting that long at the front of the bank, and if you let one peep out of that rat-trap mouth, you can count on a date with a .44 slug. You mind! I'll take no chances."

I whirled to the door, stepped outside, then immediately reopened it. He hadn't made a move, and I knew I'd made my bluff stick. He seemed half paralyzed with fright, his eyes looked slightly glazed, vacant, as though he were about to faint, his jaw was slack. I nodded hard-faced, again slapped hand to gun-butt, and closed the door quietly.

Outside there were a couple of customers at the grill windows. The cashier hailed me as I passed. "Hope you had some luck, Johnny."

"That's to be seen," I laughed, and passed through to the sidewalk.

The clock ticking on the wall had said eight-thirty as I left, and I knew there was no time to lose. Stepping back to the saddle, I glanced along the street and saw the town deputy standing in conversation with the livery stable man, a block distant. Then I wheeled the pony and started to make time to the ranch.

Fortunately, Dad Pablo was in sight when I loped down near the corral, looking the picture of despondency, as he sat alone on a bench in front of the bunkhouse. I pulled my horse to a halt in a scattering of gravel and dust as he slid to a halt.

"Juan, what is it? Why are you back—"

"I forgot something. Dad. You saddle up the fastest bronc you got and get to town. There's not much time." I cut short his questions, explaining, "We'll beat the old skinflint banker yet. I got the money for you. I was a fool not to think of it before. Now, pronto, get that horse. I'll be back in a minute."

He was still looking bewildered when I left but I saw him heading for the corral gate, and yelling at a hand who stood near. I dashed into the house and entered my bedroom, then out again. That, all bluff, of course. Mama Josefa met me near the outer door and started a question. I interrupted, smacked a kiss on her cheek and whirled outside.

A cowhand was just pulling tight the cinch on the horse, with old Pablo, mouth agape, standing nearby. I started to cram the money into his hands. "Don't stop to count it now. It's all there. Just get going." I helped him stuff the money into his pockets.

"But, Juan, I do not understand. This money—"

"It's
dinero
we've saved—Miguel and I—from wages you paid us. I'm
loco
for not thinking of it until this morning." I didn't feel too good about that lie either.

"You saved so much?"

"Sure, sure—" I started to push him toward the horse, and he lifted one foot to a stirrup. "Just one thing, Dad, don't tell Banker Kirby where you got the money. Keep me—and Miguel—out of it. We'd look like ungrateful sons for not giving it to you before. Town folks would look down on us. Another thing,"—forcing a laugh I was far from feeling—"think how it will drive the old skinflint crazy trying to figure out where you got the money. He won't be able to sleep nights." I laughed some more.

Old Pablo chuckled and then he too saw the joke and burst into loud guffaws. "It will make his mind leap about like a jumping bean—"

"Will you for the sake of the
buen Dios
get started? Remember, there is not much time left."

He wheeled his big gray and took off, gaining speed at every jump. I let out a long weary sigh and turned back to my own horse. The cowhand had been walking it, and now led it to the watering trough. I waited impatiently until the pony was satisfied, then climbed back in my rig. Saying "S'long" to the cowhand, I once more got under way. The horse had taken a beating on the way from town and wasn't too eager to show speed, but once away from the ranch, I knew a hidden gully where we could hide out until rested.