“What the hell kind of gun’s this?”
“Give it here and I’ll show you …”
The ’breed snatched it back out of Cato’s reach and gave him a bleak smile. “You think we’re crazy? Get ridin’ up to the house, mister!”
Cato turned his horse and started riding towards the distant house, the four armed men falling in behind him. He was in trouble now, if this was anything but a legitimate ranch, he reckoned. Unarmed, alone in strange country, and, as one of the men reached out and lifted the telescope from his saddlebags, he saw the exchange of looks between him and the ’breed.
“Bit strange for a cowpoke to be totin’ a useless weight like this around, ain’t it?” the ’breed asked, waving the telescope.
“Not so useless,” Cato said. “It’s helped me out many a time when strange riders have shown up in the distance. Given me time to dodge rustlers, owlhoots, Injuns …”
“Lawmen?” asked the ’breed.
Cato shrugged. “Maybe.”
They rode into the house yard and the men working about the area stopped their chores to stare curiously at him. The ’breed halted the group near the iron gate leading into the walled and flagged patio area. He dismounted and went through the gate and out of sight of Cato and the others. The Enforcer sat there, looking around in what seemed a casual manner, though he was taking in every detail, smelling the sweet scent of lemon trees.
This house was no company manager’s place, he thought. This was the mansion it had appeared to be from a distance. So he reckoned that whoever lived there was the owner of the Triangle R ... and he figured he would find out soon enough who it was for he could hear boots clumping across the flags of the patio. Then the ’breed appeared at the gate and swung it open, stepping aside for the second man to come out.
Cato stiffened in his saddle as he looked down into the crookedly smiling features of Sheriff Arnie Watts.
Ten – Loss—No Profit
Watts spat a stream of brown tobacco juice in Cato’s direction and laughed briefly as the Enforcer stepped hurriedly aside.
“Well, I guess this kind of settles the story about you just looking for a job, huh, Cato?” the sheriff said slowly. He gestured towards the ’breed. “Chana here halfway believed you, but as soon as he showed me that Manstopper of yours, I knew who to expect ... We been expectin’ someone since Sanders rode in all sweated-up. You sure threw a scare into him.”
Cato looked around him. “The bounty on Treece and his bunch wouldn’t buy this place, Watts.”
Watts spat more tobacco juice, face sober now. “It ain’t my place, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at. I’ll buy my own spread later when this deal’s finished.”
“I must’ve been loco not to have seen it earlier,” Cato said. “Everyone figured Treece operated around those hills around the Staked Plains because he was born there. They looked on it as his stampin’ grounds, figured he knew every hidden corner where he could hide out and fool the posses and army patrols that went lookin’ for him ... But he couldn’t have done it without some help from the other side, without the law turnin’ a blind eye. You had a pretty good name, Watts. How come you sold out?”
Watts shrugged easily. “Money. Had me some debts to clear, and one was to Treece’s cousin in the next county, feller name of Shepherd. They put a proposition to me: let Treece operate from my territory and they’d pay me regular and also put me onto any other owlhoots workin’ the same territory. They would even shoot ’em down for me, bring me the bodies. All I had to do was collect the bounties. And I ain’t had me a debt in a long, long time, Cato.”
“Well, I guess profit’s behind most men who sell out.”
Watts’ face hardened. “Cut the sass—if you don’t want a big gap in your smile, mister.”
“Okay, let’s forget about Treece for now. You moved in and deliberately killed him so he could never talk about you. But I figure there was somethin’ about those missin’ mailbags behind your motive, too ... Like maybe you knew where Treece had sold ’em and you figured to cut yourself a slice of the pie on the fake railroad deal.”
Watts looked amused. “That so? Well, you’ll never know for sure, mister. Sanders ain’t around anymore to tell you anythin’!”
Cato nodded. “Yeah, I expect you to kill me, too. It’s the only way left to you now. You’ve got to shut my mouth ... Thing is, Watts, you’re almost shuttin’ it for nothin’. I don’t know what’s goin’ on. I took over from my pard, Yancey Bannerman. Someone put a bullet in his head and he can’t even remember his own name. We don’t know what he found out. It’s mainly luck that led me here. Luck and Sanders.”
“I believe it. But Bannerman’s havin’ some kind of operation ... had it by now, I guess ... and he could get his memory back. In which case, he could make things kind of awkward for a few folks in Austin. The chief’s gone down there himself to make sure it don’t happen …”
Cato pricked up his ears at that. “So you’re still just a hired hand out here, Watts? You’re still answerable to someone else?”
“Everybody is,” Watts said easily.
“But you’re answerable to the hombre who owns this place, huh? I’d say he’s mighty rich. Makes me wonder why he’d bother getting tangled up in this fake map deal. Couldn’t be much in it for a man who can afford all this.”
Watts studied Cato closely for a while, then took out his plug of tobacco and bit off a fresh chaw. “On second thoughts, maybe I’d better wait till he gets back from Austin. He might want to see you, find out who you’ve passed on your information to …” He laughed and spat a stream of juice over Cato’s left boot. “Suppose you’d like to know who he is?”
Cato looked at him expressionlessly. He was as good as dead now, he figured, but once Watts told him who was behind this deal then he was dead for sure ...
“Well, I’ll tell you who owns this place, Cato, and who’s behind the railroad deal ... But first, you got it all wrong. There ain’t a lot of profit in it for him. Like you said, he don’t need the money, but it keeps us fellers who work for him happy, see? He’s got other motives and ambitions ... One of ’em’s to be governor of Texas. Dukes’ integrity’ll kind of take a plunge when those fake maps are made public and word will be ‘leaked’ that he organized it so’s he could buy up the right land cheap and sell at a profit. Ah, sure, a lot won’t believe it, but a hell of a lot will, too, and Congress’ll have to put pressure on him to resign.” He laughed at the concerned expression on Cato’s face. “Sure, it’ll work. Just ask the man who thought of it: Senator Jason Onslow Rainey!”
~*~
It was chaos at suppertime in the Wallis house, with the children all fighting and squabbling. One of the girls grabbed a fresh-baked cake and tried to run off. Mrs. Wallis reached out, cuffed her and slammed her down into a chair at the table, going the rounds and delivering a solid clout to all five of the children. The yelling stopped, to be replaced with outraged whines and then, wearily brushing a strand of lank hair out of her eyes, she grabbed the big iron pot of stew from the fireplace and slammed it down into the center of the table.
She was just starting to dish it out when there was a knocking on the front door of the tumbledown shack. Mrs. Wallis gave a moan of despair and dropped the ladle into the pot. She shook a forefinger at the snuffling children.
“Now, Joey, you serve the others while I see who that is. And if I hear one word, one single word, from any of you, you’ll get a good scrubbin’ in the tub and off to bed without any supper ... All right, all right, I’m coming!”
She gave one last threatening glare around the kitchen, then hurried through the cluttered parlor to the front door, wiping her hands on her apron. She opened the door, prepared to see someone from the infirmary come to ask her to do an extra shift. But her jaw dropped and her eyes widened when she saw Senator Jason Rainey standing there, smiling, hat in hand. He bowed slightly at the waist, the yellow lamplight from the parlor catching his steel-gray hair as he li
fted one hand and smoothed it down.
“Good evening, Mrs. Wallis. Sorry to disrupt your supper, but I have something important to tell you ... to your advantage, I promise you. May I come in?”
Still overwhelmed by the senator calling on her, Mrs. Wallis smiled nervously as she nodded, stepping aside as Rainey came in. She closed the door, acutely aware of the shabbiness of the parlor and the untidy room with its cheap furniture and the clothing scattered around. Hurriedly she began to gather it up as the senator found himself a chair, dusted off the seat with his handkerchief and sat down. He smiled at the five grubby faces staring at him from the kitchen doorway. Mrs. Wallis hurried across and the kids ducked back as she slammed the door and turned back to face Rainey.
“Sorry, Senator. They’re no doubt wondering what a gentleman like yourself is doing calling on us here.”
“As you yourself are, Mrs. Wallis, which is only natural.” He looked around at the shabby place and could not keep the distaste from his face. “This is much too small for a family of your size, I dare say.”
“It’s all I can afford, Senator,” Mrs. Wallis said, her tone resentful. She wasn’t about to take any patronizing from him, now that her first awe was fading, to be replaced by avid curiosity ... and maybe a little suspicion. She knew Rainey’s reputation with women and she knew, without boasting, that she still had her looks and cut a fine figure, whether it be in her old housedress or the smartly starched uniform of the infirmary.
“I understand that you’ve found the going difficult, since your husband’s untimely death, Mrs. Wallis ...”
“Governor Dukes does what he can for me. He’s trying to get me a pension.”
Rainey nodded absently, reaching into his jacket pocket and bringing out a folded oblong of paper. “You only rent this place, I understand.”
“That’s right,” she agreed warily.
“And you’re in arrears.”
“If that’s any business of yours!” she snapped.
Rainey smiled at her, but without warmth. “It is my business. You see, I own this place ... I own the whole street, in fact.”
Shock showed on her face and she sat down slowly, wondering what was coming, her eyes going to that paper in his hands. Her hands plucked nervously at her apron. “I—I can’t pay up till I get some money from the infirmary, and then I need most of that to feed the little ones …”
He waved the paper at her and her voice faded away. She stared at the paper as if hypnotized, sensing that it was important.
“I have here the total of your arrears,” Rainey said. “And also a deed to a seven-roomed house down in San Antonio, in quite a nice neighborhood, as a matter of fact, in a street running off the Plaza del Sol ... It would be quite large enough for you and your family and I could arrange for you to have steady employment there, perhaps even set you up in a little dressmaking shop of your own. Some of my lady acquaintances tell me you are really remarkable with needle and thread.”
She stared at him, then blurted out, “I—I don’t understand!”
“I’ll explain it to you.” Rainey leaned forward and placed the paper in her lap. He laughed at the look she gave him. “Don’t worry, it’s yours ... You’ll be free of debt here, I’ll buy rail tickets for you and your children to San Antonio and I’ll turn over the deeds of the house to you. We can come to some arrangement about the shop if you wish ... Perhaps a loan …”
Mrs. Wallis didn’t touch the paper. She raised her eyes from it and stared at the senator, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice as she spoke. “And just what do I have to do to get all these things?”
“A small job for me ... Very small, I assure you. The idea does appeal to you, then?”
“What? Being out of this dump, with no debts hanging over my head? Able to give the kids a bed each, most of ’em a room of their own? And the chance of my own business? Senator Rainey, that’s a damn foolish question if you’ll forgive me saying so!”
Rainey laughed, leaned forward and patted her knee. “Of course it is! Naturally you’re interested in obtaining these things I have offered. In fact I’d venture to say that you would do almost anything to get them. Am I right?”
“Almost, Senator.”
“And where do you draw the line?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure that I know what you’re getting at, sir.”
He looked steadily into her face for a long minute, his eyes hard and calculating, right hand inside his jacket pocket. Slowly, still watching her face, he drew his hand out and, keeping it closed, held it out towards her. Frowning, she reached out with her own hand, palm up. He held his hand above hers, hesitated a little longer and then opened his fingers. A small hexagonal brown bottle with ribbed sides dropped lightly into her palm. She look the bottle in her fingers, still puzzled, then turned it so she could read the label.
Her head snapped up and she looked horrified as she stared at her.
“My God! This is poison!”
Rainey looked at her soberly. “Just how far are you prepared to go for the future security of yourself and your children, Mrs. Wallis?” He asked, his tone harsh. “Come on! I want your answer now! Right now!”
~*~
It was pitch dark in the room where they had thrown Cato and, as there were no windows and the door was tightly sealed, he didn’t know whether it was daylight or dark outside. One thing was for sure, though, he figured. Rainey wouldn’t let him live under any circumstances. He couldn’t afford to.
Cato had been round and round the room which he knew was off the cellar of the main house. It was cold and damp, but the walls were adobe and even if they weren’t, there was nothing he could do about digging his way out. He had a short dagger blade hidden in the heavy brass buckle of his trouser belt; it was standard equipment for the Enforcers, but it wasn’t going to be much use to him right now. The door was of heavy oak, with iron-bound hinges, and he had heard at least two bolts shot home after Watts had flung him in here. He guessed he was lucky that he hadn’t been killed outright. Obviously, they wanted more information out of him. But he had been a fool to think he could talk his way out of things here; he should never have handed over his guns that way ...
But self-recrimination was pointless, and would get him nothing but despair. Not that he had given up; he knew what was most likely to happen and he was prepared to face up to it: after all, he had known when he had taken on the chore of Enforcer what dangers were entailed. Once he had faced up to the very real possibility of death only a short time away, Cato settled down to examine his position and see what advantages he had.
It all boiled down to two things: the dagger blade in his belt buckle and the total darkness of the underground room. When they eventually opened the door, the guard would be sure to have a lamp of some sort, but it would not throw light into every corner of the room at once. He had figured it out that by pressing back into the corner on the right-hand side of the door, he stood a chance of surprising the first man through that door. Likely they would come in pairs, but surprise was a good weapon to have and he might have time to get the second man, too. The first one through would be expecting to find him in the center of the room or against the rear wall where they had thrown him, not crouched off to one side, and certainly not with a knife in his hand.
It was all he had. There was no ledge above the door where he might crouch; no furniture, or canteens or utensils he might use as a weapon. No bed, nothing but the bare floor and the four walls. Even the ceiling was of earth and rock, the room was so deep beneath the main house ...
Cato was almost caught unawares. He had been thinking so hard he had almost missed the first slight sound of the bolt sliding free. Hurriedly, he groped his way to the right hand corner of the room, hands fumbling at his belt, pressing the stud that freed the buckle and allowed the tiny knife blade to slide out of its sheath between the layers of leather. He could see a line of dull orange now that marked the bottom of the door. He heard the second bolt sliding
free; it was rusty and screeched loudly. Then the door opened, outwards, and he squinted his eyes against the light, dull though it was.
He saw the man holding the lantern step in, arm out in front, raising, trying to make the lantern’s light reach every corner of the cell. There was a gun in his other hand. Cato didn’t know if there was another man with him outside the door. The one in the doorway called out:
“All right, Cato! Show yourself!”
Cato stepped silently forward, chopping at the man’s gun-hand with his left fist while he drove the short, four-inch knife blade deep into the man’s neck. He convulsed and Cato cursed as he missed the falling six-gun, whirled, grabbing the lantern from the dying man and leaping out into the other room as the second guard stepped around the door to see what the scuffling sounds were. The man didn’t have his gun clear of the holster but carried a large iron ring of keys. He swung them at Cato as the Enforcer leapt at him, swinging the lantern. The keys struck the glass chimney and it shattered, but the metal lamp-frame arced down and cracked the guard just above the left eye. He was driven to his knees and he started to lift his six-gun. Cato hit him with the lantern’s base as he felt hot oil spill over his hand and the flame went out. The guard fell sideways and knocked over the second lantern that had been resting on the floor. In an instant, the hot oil flowing across the cellar floor was a sheet of flame and Cato staggered back as it flared with a whoosh between him and the door, cutting him off from the first guard’s fallen gun.
He tried to reach the gun of the man at his feet but it, too, was already enveloped in flames and he leapt back as crates and the wooden stairs leading to the house above caught fire with a dry, crackling sound. Cato leapt for the stairs, figuring on getting out of the cellar before his escape was cut off completely. He was halfway up the stairs, knife in hand, leaping them two at a time, when the door at the top was wrenched open and a man appeared with a gun. He fired instantly at Cato and the Enforcer ducked, dropping flat, surprised that the wood under his hands was already hot. The place was old and the timber must be as dry as tinder, he thought fleetingly, as a second shot tore splinters from the step in front of his face.
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