I laughed. "So now you're pulled into the same sort of bluff I've been running. I'm finding it not too hard. Very few crooks have brains. Let's get our horses and I'll give you the whole story when we get some place to sit down."
I picked up my buckskin and led him over to Main Street where Mike had left his bronc. Now, people nodded to me, with a certain respect in their manner. Nor did they show any animosity to Mike now that he was with me, though many of them looked puzzled. Mike mentioned when he'd first arrived, he'd received nothing but nasty looks.
"You know why, now," I told him. "Mexicans aren't welcome in Onyxton, and maybe we'd better not press our luck too far. Eventually someone will try to call my bluff, but mostly I figure you're safe while I'm siding you."
Mike mentioned that he was hungry and as it was getting along toward supper-time, I led the way to the restaurant where I'd eaten the previous day and we found a corner table, some distance from the proprietor behind his counter. He looked askance at Mike, but didn't say anything. There weren't any other customers.
Once we tied into our food I related the story of what had happened to me, since I'd last seen Mike. His eyes widened when I told him that I was now half owner of the Box-CT spread, but I cut his exclamations short and went on to detail the whole setup in Onyxton, the shipment of boxes and crates, what Jeff Tawney had discovered and all the rest. I ended up by telling him how glad I was that he'd finally caught up with me.
He shook his head unbelievingly at the story. "Events have of a surety taken place with much rapidity," he commented in Spanish, then lapsed into English: "But it is the big bluff you have run—no? Never again will I feel safe to play the poker game with you."
I hadn't mentioned Topaz. I don't know why. Maybe I wasn't ready to talk until I knew more about her. We drained our coffee cups and stepped out to the street again. Night had commenced to settle in.
Mike asked, "What do we do now, Johnny?"
"I've been thinking it over. Like I said, I don't want to push our luck too far. It may yet be too soon to reach every man in town that you have Webster's permission to stay. I figure you're safe as long as I'm with you, but you never know. The night could hide a dry-gulcher mighty easy. So, while I figure to look around town a mite, you're going to ride to the Box-CT, I'll give you directions and you can't miss it—"
He started a protest, but I cut him short. "I want you to take a message to Jeff Tawney. Tell him what's happened today, and what the station man told me he'd discovered in one of the boxes. It's your chance to get acquainted too. I've told them all about you. No doubt of your welcome. They're our kind of people."
He gave in finally and after seeing him mount and ride safely out of town I turned back and strolled the sidewalks for an hour, my contempt for conditions in Onyxton rising every step of the way.
XV
A BRAWLING town if I ever saw one. Saloons—and drunks too—were plentiful. Lights shone from windows all along the street, as though the town never closed for the night. There were two or three dance halls making the night hideous with noises. I dropped into one such joint, took a brief glance at the painted, short-skirted hussies, and lost no time leaving. A saloon, five minutes later, offered rotgut whisky and thin beer. I didn't even finish my drink before departing. Onyxton, a town without law, it was said, but I saw no one who looked really dangerous from one end of the burg to the other. Sure, a number of cheap gun-toters, and their greetings to me carried only respect and admiration, but I figured 'em as the type who'd sooner shoot from ambush than face a gun in fair fight. The more I saw of the place, the more it reminded me of some sort of rat nest, and I gained more confidence in the bluff I was running. So far, only Shel Webster looked dangerous to me, and he apparently lacked the crew to carry out his ideas.
Eventually, I dropped into Webster's dance hall and gambling parlor, as he termed it. It was the usual thing: a lot of games—chuck-a-luck, faro, dice, the wheel—all running full force, and suckers dropping their cash. At one end, a cleared space with a waxed floor, where a number of girls whirled in the embraces of heavy-booted pardners, to the accompaniment of a nearby piano, violin and banjo. The girls were a shade above the dancers in the place I'd visited previously, younger, better featured, dresses not quite so short and higher in the neck. Halfway to the ceiling a railed balcony ran three-quarters of the way around the big room, with closed doors beyond.
The noise was deafening: the music, the stamping of heavy feet on the dance floor, whirring of the wheel, click of poker chips and everybody talking at once. Cigar and cigarette stubs littered the floor, waves of tobacco smoke drifted through the room. I glanced through the room and finally spied Topaz, seated alone at a corner table. She was dressed about as I'd seen her yesterday, though the dress was of a different pattern, some sort of green and white figured material. Draped loosely about her shoulders was a white, fringed Spanish shawl. God, she was beautiful, her shining red-gold hair looking as though every hair lay in place. Sleek, was the word for it. Then I thought of Shel Webster, and I scowled. I glanced around, but didn't see anything of him; probably he was in the adjoining barroom. Not that it made any difference. He couldn't have stopped me going to her. I was like one of those big moths attracted by a shining flame.
Even before I arrived at her table, wending my way through boisterous men and dance-hall girls, I spied some rough-looking character approach Topaz. Probably asking her for a dance. Smiling, she shook her head in a way that the refusal wouldn't be resented. I heard her add something to the effect that "Shel wouldn't like it, Stud." Stud, whoever he was (and I was ready to swing one on his jaw), nodded understandingly and continued on his way, to be picked up by a chemical blonde. I saw them hit the dance floor when the music resumed.
A moment later I dropped into a chair across from Topaz, saying, "Could be that Shel won't like this, either."
She said, "Hello, Johnny," in that low, husky voice that did things to me. "Would it matter much if he did?"
"Not to me, it wouldn't. But how about you?"
She shrugged nice shoulders. "Shel doesn't completely control me, you know."
"No, I didn't know. I'd gathered otherwise," I said quietly. A slow flush mounted to her cheek-bones. I added, "I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for, if you believe in appearances. Maybe I can't blame you. Were you going to ask me to dance?"
I shook my head. "I don't rate high as a dancer."
"I've found no one around here who does. To tell the truth"—she smiled—"I don't think you're as bad as your reputation, either."
"Who is?" She didn't reply. I asked her if I could get her a drink of sarsaparilla, but she refused. There was a sort of weary note in her voice, and I wondered if I were making a nuisance of myself. I said, "If I'm bothering you, I'll shove on."
Her long-lashed eyes widened. "Heavens, whatever gave you that idea, Johnny? No, stay. I enjoy talking to you. My mind was wandering, I guess. I was thinking of arranging one of the rooms in my place, but uncertain what I'd do."
"Your place?"
"Do you think I slept here? Not a chance of that, Johnny. I have a nice little house, Red-Head. Over on Emilitas Street. You know where that is?"