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."
"Sounds like a worthwhile idea. Where's Heraldica?"
"Lies ten-twelve miles south of my spread."
"Never heard of it. Big town?"
He shrugged. "Lot of people there." He acted as if he didn't want to talk about the place, and that aroused my curiosity too, but I didn't ask any questions.
We speeded the ponies to an easy lope and struck rolling country beyond town. It was good grazing terrain and I mentioned it was queer we didn't see any cows.
"Time was, when you could see 'em," Tawny said shortly. "There's a good scattering of spreads north of here, but they keep their cows well away from Onyxton."
"Cow-thieves?"
"Right. Mostly owners and crews stay away from Onyxton, except to come in for supplies and mail. Honest cowmen aren't welcome there. Of course, we use the railroad shipping pens after beef round-up, but all of us keep our guns handy. Lord, if we could only band together, we'd clean out that town in nothing flat, but everybody is too busy, it seems—" He broke off. "I reckon I'd best not talk that way to you, you being a friend of Webster's—"
"I didn't say that," I said sharply.
He didn't reply, acted as though lost in deep thought. We surmounted some low foothills and swung south into a low canyon, between buttes that rose higher as we progressed. The going was narrow, with precipitous bluffs on either side. Once in the canyon the sun was mostly lost, though high overhead the sky was still a clear blue. It wasn't steep going, fairly level, bit of broken rock here and there. Now and then there'd be a spot of brush or Spanish bayonet, ocatillo and mesquite. I could see clusters of peyote cactus, with tiny pink flowers, forcing their way toward light, from between cracked rock formations.
Tawney's silence bothered me. He rode at my side, head sort of down as though thinking deeply, features creased with a heavy frown. Now and then he'd give me a quick puzzled look, as though he couldn't decide where to place me in some pigeonhole in his mind. It bothered me. I said, finally, "Look here, Jeff, something is needling you. If you've got something to say, spit it out. If you don't like my looks, just say so, before we go any farther. A while back, you said something about me being a friend of Shel Webster's. Hell, we're far from friends. I never saw the man until today, and I'm frank to admit I wouldn't trust him any farther than I could throw a steer by the tail."