I got his ear before the others saw him. "Dammit, Webster," I snapped, "I thought you were going to give orders your jackals were to lay off and not try to collect rewards on my scalp."
"I've done that," he stated coldly. "What's gone wrong?" I started to tell him, so did three other men, besides the fat marshal. "I can't hear everything at once," Webster scowled. "Marshal, you stay. The rest of you loafers get the hell out of here." The on-lookers started to slink away. "Now, what happened?"
I told him, ending, "My pal, here, shot the gun out of Crowell's hand, just as Crowell was about to plug me."
Webster swung on the groaning Crowell. "That right, Hondo?"
Feebly Crowell shook his head. "All—a mistake," he moaned.
"Christ!" Webster snapped. "I know you and your mistakes. One of these days you'll make one too many." Brutally, he seized Crowell's wounded arm, disregarding the man's sudden yelp of pain, and ripped back the shirt sleeve. There was a lot of blood all right, but it had started to congeal. Webster looked disgusted. "Hondo, you've got nothing to cry about. Just a mite of skin lost." He turned to the marshal. "Take Hondo down to that horse doctor, tell him to spit some tobacco juice on that wound. Hondo'll be hunky-dory, come morning. I'll talk to you then, Hondo. Now, get going!"
The tubby marshal took Crowell by the arm and led him in the direction of the main street. Webster gazed after them a moment, contempt in his features. He swung suddenly back to me. "So Crowell took a shot at you, and you think it was on my orders."
"You got any proof it wasn't?"
"You can ask Crowell when he's able to talk." I jeered at that. "Now you know better than to say that, Shel."
A thin smile touched his lips. "Perhaps you're right. And your friend shot the gun out of Crowell's hand—"
"If Mike hadn't been using some defective ca'tridges, Crowell would have been a deader by this time."
"So?"—disbelievingly. So far Webster had ignored Mike. Now he turned and stared at him a moment, then swung back to me. "Who is he?"
I looked as though I couldn't believe my ears, "Shel Webster! Do you mean to tell me you've never heard of Fanner Serrano? I just can't believe it. Hell, man, there's not a faster gun in the whole southwest country. You think I'm fast. Fanner's speed makes me look like I was slowed down by paralysis. I figure he'll fit in here. That's why I hired him as my body-guard—"
"Body-guard?" Webster looked startled.
"Naturally. He's kept out of sight, but had his eye on me ever since I hit town. Y'know, I couldn't be sure you were throwing a straight rope when you said you'd order your men to lay off me. And lucky for me I wasn't sure."
Mike wore a poker-face, but I knew damn well he was puzzled as the devil about what I'd said. Mike still had his six-shooter in his hand, apparently having forgotten to put it away. Now he holstered it.
"And you ought to see Mike handle two guns at once," I went on glibly. "Right now he's under-armed, if anything. You catch what I mean by 'under-arm', don't you Mike?"
Mike nodded soberly, and I caught the quick flash of his gaze toward the bulge in Webster's jacket. So he was warned, anyway.
"For God's sake, Cardinal," Webster said coldly, "quit throwing buffalo-chips around. I refuse to swallow such a tale. Never yet have I seen any reward bills with Fanner Serrano's name on 'em."
"Proving how smart he is," I laughed. "That's Fanner's method. He hits and makes his getaway before anybody can get any proof who's done the killing. That's why I figure he'd work in here."
"In what way?" Webster scowled.
"Yesterday, we talked over a certain price on that man, Tawney—"
"That's something else," Webster burst in. "You rode out of town with Tawney, yesterday, real friendly-like—"
"So you had me spied on," I protested.
"I'd be a fool if I didn't. What was back of that?"
"Dammit, Webster, I told you you'd gone about that business wrong. You asked me what I'd do. I told you I'd get acquainted with the hombre, first, and then make plans."
"Have you made plans, yet?"
"Have you decided to raise the ante yet?"
Webster swore. "Something's got to be done about Tawney right soon. We've got to have a free route through that canyon. Senator Whitlock's boxes are piling up here. I can't let him down."
"Raise the ante. Won't the Senator pay your expenses?"
Webster shot me a quick penetrating look, then said, "I'll think about it." He swung suddenly on Mike. "You're a Mex, aren't you?"
I could sense Mike's spine stiffening. He stood very straight as he replied, "I am most proud to be a Mexican, with United States citizenship."
"We don't like Mexes in Onyxton," Webster stated bluntly. "You'll have to ride on, Serrano, before nightfall."
"Oh, no, he won't," I exclaimed hotly. "If he leaves, I leave."
"I wouldn't consider that any loss, either," Webster sneered.
I laughed contemptuously. "You'd best think that statement over, Shel. If Hondo Crowell is the best you can find to do jobs around here, I'd say your outfit is pretty low. Tell me, exactly what is your opinion of the gang in Onyxton?"
"A bunch of lunkheads," he said impulsively. "Gun-slingers without brains. I wish to God some good men would drift in here."
"Two of 'em have," I pointed out, "and you're trying to get rid of us. You—"
"I wish I could trust you, Cardinal, but I keep wondering what your game is."
"That makes it mutual," I pointed out.
He eyed me belligerently for a moment, then, "Maybe you're right, Cardinal. I'll think it over."
"We stay then?"
"You do. Your Mex pard will have to get out."
I turned to Mike. "Come on, Fanner, we'll get our horses and slope out of this cheap burg."
We'd both turned away when Webster said, "Just a minute." We came back. He continued, "Look here, Cardinal, put yourself in my place a minute. We've been running the Mexicans out of town right along. I don't like 'em. They should stay in their own country—"
"Señor Webster," Mike interrupted hotly. "If you have any wish to prove—"
"Hold it, Fanner!" I grabbed Mike's arm. "Cool down. Maybe Shel doesn't mean anything personal. Let's hear what he says."
Mike fell silent. Webster went on, "What I've said, I've said, so let it lay. But everybody in town knows I've ordered Mexes out. Now, Cardinal, if I let your pard stay, it will seem damn odd. Can't you see, you're making me look bad?"
"I'm not making you look bad," I told him insolently. "I've a hunch you always looked that way."
He glared at me, face reddening, and started to swing angrily away. Then abruptly, he turned back. "All right. Serrano can stay."
I said, "Thanks. I didn't want any trouble. And I figured you'd see the light and not miss getting a couple of good men."
"But I'm damned if I know how I'm going to explain it." He really looked troubled.
"Are you the big boss in Onyxton, or aren't you?" I asked mockingly. "You called your men 'lunkheads'. Are you going to let a gang of lunkheads tell you what to do?"
"Maybe you've got something," he concluded. "There should be exceptions to every rule—"
"And if any man objects," I added, "send him to me. Or direct to Fanner. But don't expect to see him again. This running out of town might work both ways."
"I may do just that." Webster gave me a thin smile. I didn't like it at all. Then he spun on his heel and headed back toward the center of town.
We stood looking after him until he had disappeared, then Mike drew a long breath of relief and mopped his forehead with a bandanna. "Buen Díos!" he exclaimed. "I think for the minute we shall have much of trouble. Johnny, what is this all about—all this of a Fanner who is the fastest gun in the whole of the southwest country? You know I have not the ability of such shooting. I came here looking for you. Then I saw that Hondo hombre leveling his gun in your direction. I called to you and pulled my six-shooter. Truly, I aimed for his body. You saw what happened. I came close to the miss, hitting only his arm by an accident. And then I found I shook like the leaf on a cottonwood tree. This shooting a man, it is not familiar to me."