I laughed. "You've sure gone all Mexican, with that courtesy business, like, Enter, your casa, señor, and my-house is-your-house line of habla."
"It's not all courtesy, Johnny, though I mean that part too. What I'm trying to tell you is that everything you see before you is half yours. Whether you like it or not, Johnny, and I hope you'll like it, you're half-owner of the Box-CT. You and I are pardners!"
I half reined my pony, bewildered. "What in hell do you mean?"
But he had already put his pony into a lope. "Come on, pardner, we'll talk after supper," he yelled back over his shoulder, "and clear a few things in your mind."
I raced my horse down the long gradual slope after him, my mind churning with crazy speculations.
XII
This, I thought later, is some sort of dream, and for a time I suspected Tawney's sanity. Good Lord, what a spread! The huge livingroom of the house was furnished with old Spanish furniture, animal-skin rugs, a few trophies of the hunt on the walls. There was a large dining room, with a long heavy oak table, presided over by Mama (as Tawney called her) Benita Vinando, wife of Mateo Vinanda, Tawney's mayordomo— foreman—a grizzled, wiry, weather-beaten Mexican of probably sixty years. Mama Benita was fat and comforting, always ready with a soft laugh. I loved them both on sight, reminding me as they did of Old Pablo and Mama Josefa. Mama Benita was housekeeper and head cook for Tawney with a slim Mexican girl, Chepa, as assistant.
Both Mama and Mateo Vinanda ate supper with us at the long table. Everything tasty, spicy and piping hot—frijoles, enchilladas, huevos, tortillas, and later strong coffee.
And apologies from Mama Benita for the meal. If she had only known there was to be a guest, and so on. I limbered up my Spanish and made it clear that I'd not feasted so since I'd left home. I could see they appreciated my speaking Spanish, too, even though she and her husband, Mateo, both had a good command of English. With the meal finished I sat back like a stuffed hawg, my mind still going around in circles. Mama Benita and Chepa cleared the table and I could hear the sounds of dishes being washed in the kitchen. Mateo produced long slim cigars and passed them around. Smoke swirled through the air above the table, while we lingered over tiny glasses of aguardiente, with a mild pineapple flavor permeating the smooth liquor.
Tawney smiled across the table. "How's your place look, Johnny?"
"I'm still dizzy, without understanding the setup."
A deep laugh rumbled in Mateo's chest. "We try to live well, Señor Cardinal."
"Not 'señor', please," I told him, "Just Johnny."
Mateo nodded. Then he turned to Tawney. "You are certain?"
"I'm certain," Jeff nodded.
"That is excellent, then," old Mateo said, grizzled head nodding. "An obligation too long unfulfilled is not as God wishes, and I am grateful." He extended his hand to me. "It is good to have you here, at last."
I'd shaken hands with him when we first met and liked the feel of his grip. Now he seemed to put even more into it. It was the sort of thing that almost brings tears to a man's eyes, and for a few minutes I couldn't speak. Then I managed, "For the love of God, Jeff, what is this all about?"
He grinned widely. "If you're through, let's go to the bunkhouse and say hello to the crew."
I followed him out, across the ranch yard, not missing as we passed, a corralful of mighty good-looking horses. Even in the night gloom, with only light shining from the bunkhouse, I could see that much.
Smoke still curled from a chimney at the end of the cookhouse, adjoining the bunkhouse, when we entered the long room, with double bunks at one wall and a long table at the center. There were about a dozen vaqueros—buckaroos, cowhands—seated about the room. One man strummed a guitar, a few played cards. One was plaiting a horsehair throw rope. Oil lamps, suspended to the wall, gave light. All talking ceased when we entered and the men, after speaking courteously to Tawney, looked curiously at me.
"Amigos—friends," Tawney introduced me. "My amigo, Juan Cardinal, who has required all too long to arrive. But now he is here, he will share our work and our pleasures. Give him the loyalty you have given me. That is a request, not an order. Also, it is my hope, as it is the hope of Mateo Vinanda."
I said in an aside to Tawney, "Good Lord, Jeff, I hope you know what you are doing."
"I know what I'm doing. It's okay," he replied. "I'll explain, later, and you'll see I'm right."
I found it hard to face the white-toothed smiles directed my way, embarrassed as I was, and unable to figure out the business. Well, for the moment, I'd play along with Jeff's idea, until things came clearer. Me, half-owner of the Box-CT. The whole business was crazy, as I saw it. For an instant I got to thinking I was the sucker in some sort of come-on swindle, then I banished that thought. Tawney appeared to be too sincere, as were the others. I circulated through the bunkhouse, shaking hands, catching names, here and there. From everyone's attitude I suspected that old Mateo had already prepared them for some sort of partial change of ownership, but it still didn't make sense to me.
About that time old Mateo entered, laughing, bearing a gallon jug of wine, to celebrate my arrival, as he put it. The jug circulated the room. We didn't bother with glasses, and it was soon finished. I could see they were all pleased I could speak Spanish. It sort of helped things, as if I were a blood brother, or something. And then I began to get the queerest sensation as though I'd come home. Home? Hell, I couldn't figure it out.
I said to Tawney, at last, "C'mon, let's get out of here and get some place where we can talk, Jeff. This suspense is driving me loco."
We said good-night and adios and I finally escaped, much as I'd have enjoyed staying and getting better acquainted with my crew. My crew? That too sounded crazy to me.
We returned to the big living-room with the easy chairs before a wide stone fireplace where mesquite roots burned. There was a small table between the chairs and a bottle of Old Crow and glasses stood waiting where Mama Benita had put them. Jeff Tawney filled the glasses as we settled down. We both rolled cigarettes.
"Now, dammit, out with it," I laughed.
"In a minute. But first, satisfy my curiosity."
So I had to hold a tight rein on my feelings, while I told him the whole story and the reason why I'd been forced to leave Tenango City after extorting the money from old Skinflint Kirby. Jeff listened in silence, while the mesquite roots snapped and flared in the fireplace. "And that," I concluded, "believe it or not, is my only crime. Nor am I a tough gun-fighter. Nor did I ever kill anyone. Matter of fact, my knees start quaking every time I get in a jam, and I dread the day when I'm forced to fire in self-defense, because I haven't any speed on the draw. Never before had any reason to work up speed."
"Johnny," Jeff laughed softly, "you've got a whale of a nerve coming to Onyxton, then. But I never saw a better act than you staged in the Onyx this afternoon. You really had that place bluffed."
"Sure, it was an act," I said earnestly, "an act prompted by fear. It was just that I've run long enough, and I'm tired of running, and that was the only way I knew to hide my fear."
"Pretty damn successful, I'd say," he chuckled. He sat staring into the fireplace. I judged him five or six years older than I was, and I was ready to accept his more mature judgment.
"Do you know of anything else I could have done?" I asked.
"I'd state here and now you've done plumb elegant. Y'know, when I saw that reward bill, with the name Cardinal on it, I wondered if it could be the same man. Then I decided against it, though it's an unusual surname. Why did I decide against it? Well, because of what I knew, I couldn't see any son of Ethan Dameris Cardinal going bad and becoming a gunman wanted by the law."