The Red Sombrero (11 page)

Reno sent a bleak look at the bottle. There must be some way!

If there was he couldn’t find it. What he needed was a drink to cut the rust from his mind. He kept seeing Linda, that unforgettably wistful expression with which she had watched him turn down what she offered. God, what a woman! Hiding away all that fire and sparkle, keeping it hidden lest people talk or think less of her; afraid to let herself go and yet ready to throw away even her birthright if the right man answered her need with a smile.

Why couldn’t he accept the gifts she held out to him? She was a cup filled to brimming and she knew what he was — at least she knew him for a jackal who ran with the wolves, a bad lot. She wasn’t trying to buy his gun; she didn’t want to save her spread at the cost of spilling blood. All she wanted was love but she deserved full measure, not the shoddy burnt-out kind a drunken bum on the dodge could give her.

Reno’s mouth grew bitter. It had crossed his mind he might be able to start over but he knew this was wishful thinking. Don Luis wasn’t about to let him start anywhere.

With a curse Reno reached for the bottle. Every tortured nerve in his body cried out for it. One drink wouldn’t hurt him — and it didn’t. He felt stronger, better able to cope with things now. He took another to ease the tension and it gave him a clearer look at his problems. The girl was out of this, outside any course he could take. The gold was out of it too, though he could see no harm in using the thought of it to help her.

This was more like it; he was getting someplace now. He held up the bottle, put his thumb on the halfway mark and tossed his head back. Medicine — that’s what it was, best thing in the world for a man that was caught between a rock and a hard place.

Why, he could down this whole bottle and cross the floor on a crack without missing a step. He wasn’t no drip-nosed kid — he could hold it.

Things began to brighten wonderfully. He could see every move on the board right now. He hadn’t anything to worry about — why, he had that damned pirate in the palm of his hand! Until he knew where that dough was Cordray couldn’t do anything; and there was the matter of those cattle — don’t forget about them. He’d get back Farrel’s note. Bet your life he’d get it back!

Reno laughed and sat down on the bed with the bottle.

Bluff it out. That was the angle. Sit tight and play Descardo and watch these bastards squirm!

T
HE EVENING MEAL
at Tadpole was by tradition a thing of much ceremony. First, when old Josefa fetched the food piping hot from the stove, everything was placed in covered pewter dishes and by mozo transported to the dining-room sideboard. It was then Juanito’s duty to inspect the table and service. When he was satisfied that all was there in order it was the invariable custom for him to step into the hallway and with a tiny cloth-shrouded mallet to strike one blow upon each of four golden clapperless bells, of about the size of an apple, which the late Cordray had fetched with him from Spain. On the stroke of eight, give or take a couple of seconds, the fat man would appear and his mallet would send the mellifluous notes through the dusk or the dark, according to the season. The patron in solitary splendor, or with guests when he was entertaining, would then appear at the candle lit board and be seated by servants in white cotton livery.

Reno, when the bells caught his notice, had just finished shaving and was getting into his tight shirt. He had quite a struggle with the buttons but at last got them anchored. He debated the propriety of wearing a gun but, deciding his life was more important than etiquette, buckled the heavy shell belt around him, put on the red hat and picked up the Butcher’s quirt.

Linda was already there, dressed in something of silk, her eyes darkly anxious, cheeks paler than usual though they brightened with color when he grinned and with a flourish bent over her hand. Don Luis came in eyeing Reno’s new pants and, though his glance darkened, greeted them both with politeness. When all were seated and the blessing had been said, Juanito at the sideboard uncovered the dishes and the women servants came forward to present laden plates. Linda and Don Luis were handed glasses of wine and a full bottle of tequila backed by lemon and salt found their way to Reno’s place.

Reno tilted the bottle but ignored the accompanying niceties. He felt the equal of anything. He smacked his lips after the manner of the man he personified and tackled his food with much gusto. Cordray spoke of small matters, carrying the burden of talk until Juanito sent the servants away and came himself to the table with the tray of delectable sweets. After each had chosen and the fat man had stepped back, Linda asked Don Luis what he had done about her beef.

“We will speak of this later — ”

“I would speak of it now,” Linda insisted. “I’m quite anxious to learn what chance I have of getting that note paid. Are the cattle in good shape? Do you think you will be able to round up enough — ”

“Alas, no.” Cordray frowned. “Rustlers have taken deeper bites than I’d imagined. My head vaquero informs me they’ve been gnawing off the fringes without letup since that unfortunate night when your father was killed. Cutting out little bunches, you understand, while my riders were busied elsewhere. My men are very diligent. They’ve been doing everything possible, yet many fences have been cut — ”

“Do you mean,” Linda asked, “that when that note comes due I can’t meet it?”

Don Luis toyed with his glass. “You can’t meet it by selling beef. However,” he said, looking across at her and smiling, “you need have no concern about losing the ranch. You know I would never let it come to that. I’ll take over the note and — ”

“Why don’t you tell her,” Reno said, “that you’ve already taken it over? That all she’s got to do to save the place is marry you.”

Cordray’s face flushed with anger but he kept hold of his temper. “A mad dog will bite even his master,” he quoted and, with a thin smile curling back the edges of his lips, brought a folded newspaper from his lap and tossed it so it fell spread open across Reno’s plate.

A five days old copy of the El Paso
Times
. In screaming type across the front it said:
DESCARDO DIES AT BOCA GRANDE.

• • •

Reno had a curious feeling of aloneness. As though his horse had run away and left him marooned on the brink of some dizzying height where a strong wind was blowing. The cold reached clean down into the marrow of his bones and he knew by the look of her across the table that Linda understood the ground had been cut out from under him. That look showed nothing of the contempt and disgust his drinking merited. She was afraid — afraid for
him!
It shamed him as nothing else could have.

“In case you cannot read the Anglo words,” came Cordray’s voice, “I will tell you that it says Descardo died at Boca Grande.” The jeering eyes were bright with malice. “And what have you to say to that, eh?”

There was no time to think and nothing left in his head to think with except the pervading fumes from the bottle. Reno’s hand reached out and again felt its smoothness and he tossed off another and laughed. He heard sounds in the night and laughed louder, bitter with the knowledge it was probably Cordray’s riders at last coming in from the stolen cattle.

“Do I look like a dead man, Cordray? These papers!” he sneered. “I defecate on them.” He longed to hurl the bottle into Cordray’s face and all the frustration, the balked anger of these last days moved into brittle focus that was like the taste of brass in his mouth, but Linda’s need put a bit on the impulse. “What’ll you take for that note?” he said gruffly.

Cordray hesitated, his eyes becoming less certain as they dug at Reno’s cheeks, derisive still but no longer sure in the face of the man’s reaction. Plainly he had expected to see Reno’s bluff collapse. His eyes narrowed. “I haven’t got the note — ”

“But if you had,” Reno insisted, “how much would you want to tear the thing up?”

“You think I would sell — ”

“Wouldn’t three thousand buy it? Stacked up on this table in Mexican gold?”

He watched a dry tongue lick at Cordray’s lips. And he laughed, suddenly confident. “How about that? Since you haven’t any rifles wouldn’t you trade for the rifle money?”

The ranchman’s stare pulled away and swung around to the girl and the color of his eyes was not the same when they came back. “What is she to you, this Linda?”

“Or maybe you’d rather take beef for that note,” Reno said, not daring to look at her — “the stolen Spur beef which would have paid off Farrel’s obligation in full.”

This was more like it.

Cordray’s neck got red. He came half out of his chair in a rush of caught breath. “So! You are the one who has been stealing — ”

“Not me. But I can tell you where to find them …”

He would have snatched the words back had he been able. Too late he saw by the look of Cordray’s face that he had pushed his luck too far. You could tell by the way the neck and shoulders of him stiffened, by the glint of his eyes, what the ranchman was thinking. Reno heard the skreak of leather, the muted jingle of rowels, and cursed the rotgut that had loosened his tongue. In a flash of comprehension he saw what a fool he had been. He’d had this thing all tied up and been too blind to see it. All he’d had to do was sit tight and he could have hoisted the ranchman on his own petard. He’d had nothing to fear from Sierra — not while he still had the gold to give back to him! Tano would have staked this cheap crook to an anthill when he found out about those rifles. Now, with “Cordray’s vaqueros coming up —

Reno, made increasingly desperate by the knowledge of his folly, tried to regain lost ground by running an even wilder bluff.

Juanito, eyes widening to the outside babble of indistinguishable voices, was again approaching with his tray of sweets from the sideboard. He was coming up behind Cordray who, of course, couldn’t see him when Reno sprang to his feet, crying: “Don’t hit him, Bennie — just hold your gun …”

It was no good. Cordray was grinning with a wicked amusement. He hadn’t blinked or budged an eyelash. “Histrionics! Let him hear you cock the gun, Bennie.”

Reno heard. The man must have been in the doorway back of him. Cordray’s eyes were exultant. “We will now get down to bare facts,
General
. Juanito! Take the gringo’s pistol.”

There was nothing Reno could do about it. He was caught on his feet with his hands flat against the top of the table. To make any move at all would be to invite the Texican’s bullets, with the girl standing just beyond across the width of the board.

The fat Mexican set down his tray and came cautiously nearer with his triple chins quivering. There was a tug and a rasp of steel against leather and Juanito stepped back with Reno’s gun in his hand. Reno cursed in silent fury.

Cordray chuckled. “Truly, with good will, one can always please somebody, and two who help each other are as good in this case as four. Get rope and tie his arms.”

The Mexican did a good job, he almost cut off circulation; and then Don Luis said with a world of satisfaction, “We will now hear this great actor make imitation of buzzard strangling. Lay hold of him, hombres.”

Reno knew when the blank-faced Juanito took hold of one elbow and shoulder while the Texican anchored himself to the other this was not going to do him any good.

The ranchman got up. “Move him back,” he said, grinning. “There — that will do.” Bending over he picked up Descardo’s quirt and stepped nearer, sliding a hand down its sleek length lovingly. “Perhaps you would like to tell me now where that gold is?”

Reno’s thoughts slid down a bleak and darkening spiral. All his life had been like this, everything he’d put his hand to, and in this moment of realization he was angered not so much about himself as for the untenable spot he had put Linda in. He had only himself to blame for this business. And for practically everything else, he guessed, scowling.

He pulled up his head, seeing the glitter of Cordray’s eyes. “It’ll keep until Sierra gets here.”

“That one! You think I am afraid of that ignorant peasant? That chingao will cut your throat when he learns — ”

“You better be thinking what he’ll do to you when he finds out about those rifles.”

“Son of a whore!” Cordray shouted, and struck him across the face with the quirt. Reno scrinched his eyes shut, praying the knotted thongs would not find them. Twice more Cordray struck, panting with the effort and with the tide of murderous fury which had turned his cheeks darkly purple. “Will you tell now, pig of a Yanqui?”

The blood was like salt and Reno spat at the voice and Cordray almost went berserk. He came slashing with his quirt and Reno kicked a leg from under him. And then Linda was beside them trying to wrest the quirt from Don Luis’ hand, and’ he smashed out at her, sending her reeling against the table.

The room became a red haze before Reno. He struggled madly to tear himself away from the men holding him. He broke clear of “the snarling Bennie but the Mexican’s hands were fastened onto him like a vise and, though he forced Juanito to swing with him, he could not break the man’s hold. Bennie’s fist sailed in and exploded at the pit of Reno’s unprotected stomach. The drenching shock of that doubled him over and a left hook almost tore the top of his head off. Only the Mexican’s bull strength kept him off the floor.

Yet out of this wooziness and those split seconds of inaction came a strong counterforce, the desperation of despair. Reno got his knees back under him and, as the candlethrown shadow of Bennie again loomed over him, he brought a heel down sharply on the fat man’s instep. Juanito howled. He staggered back. Reno kicked out at the gun fighter’s groin. The Texican, trying to duck out of it, tangled up in his spurs and went down with a crash as Reno lunged at Cordray. The ranchman, sidestepping, thrust out a boot.

Reno almost unhinged his jaw on the floor. With all the breath jarred out of him he was in no shape to offer further resistance when the big Mexican, on Cordray’s orders, dragged him up by the collar and flung him into a chair. “Rope him into it,” Cordray snarled with a curse.

“Now,” he said as Juanito stepped back and the glowering Texican came up kneading a wrist, “we will have no more of this orangoutang stuff.” He thrust the quirt into Bennie’s fist. “If he tries to get out of that chair belt him with it! And you,” he said, taking a folded paper out of the pocket of his shirt with a fiercening glance at Linda, “get that ink off the sideboard and sit down at this table.”

With lifted chin she stared back at him defiantly.

“At once!” Anger roughened his tone and he slapped the words at her. “I waste no more patience! You will sign your name to this conveyance muy pronto or what happens to this fool will be your own responsibility.” He glared. “You hear me?”

Her lips curled. “Why should I care what happens to him?”

The ranchman looked at her unreadably. He got his cigar off the table and rekindled it. “You will care,” he stated flatly.

A door skreaked somewhere. Outside a man’s voice commenced to climb and as abruptly choked off as though a knife had been run through it. Cordray’s head came around, and there was annoyance in his stare. “I told those hairy ones to remain on watch at that lineshack. Go out there, Juanito, and — never mind! Fetch Paco Pedrazos in here.”

The fat man, starting to move, looked over at Reno and hesitated. Bennie tipped up his pistol and Juanito, chins jiggling, went off down the hall. Bennie twirled his gun by the trigger guard, grinning.

Cordray turned back to the girl. “Get the ink.”

She ignored him.

He said nothing more. Limping across to where Reno was tied into the chair he took the cigar from his mouth and bent over him. Reno, guessing what was coming, tried to upset the chair, but the grinning Texican put his foot on a rung and a bracing hand against one of its arms. He was practically drooling.

A film of sweat came out on Reno’s cheeks. Cordray, using the front of the borrowed shirt, smoothed the fire of his cigar to a bright gleaming point. The stench of scorched cloth was nauseating. Cordray’s hand came up, moving closer to Reno’s face. “First the bridge of the nose, then the eyes,” he said pleasantly, and pushed the red end of it against Reno’s skin.

Someone screamed. Through the pain of burnt flesh Reno saw Linda struggling to drag the man away from him. “I’ll sign it! I’ll sign it — ” Cordray shook her off, straightening, watching her run to the sideboard for ink.

Reno snarled, “Don’t do it, Linda!” But the girl was beside herself. She dipped the pen with a trembling hand. It squeaked as she drove it over the paper. Cordray watched, face expressionless, until he had the paper back in his pocket.