"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.
XI
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?