Shoot Him On Sight

flash of time, aiming for his body in that narrow opening between door and jamb.

I heard his gun roar, even as I moved, but on his knees, as he was, off balance, and with me closing in fast, his aim was erratic. That much I'd been counting on.

I hit him with one shoulder, just as he was struggling to his feet, trying to level the gun for a second shot, and he went sprawling back, head over heels, cursing and grunting, the gun flying from his grasp as he crashed.

I scrambled over him, reaching for the gun, got it in my grip, then just as he was trying to rise, I struck him a short wallop with the gun barrel, across the side of the head.

He went down without a sound and lay quiet, one leg twitching a little. I paused, knowing he'd be out only a short time, listening. Surely, there'd be someone on the street to hear the sound of the explosion. How long before the alarm would be raised? Time was passing fast. I'd have to get going.

Tanner's gun still clutched in one hand, I leaped for the lighted doorway to the office. Here, I again paused, listening, every nerve tense. There didn't seem to be an unusual noises. The street door leading into the office was closed. I started in that direction, then paused. On the desk lay my .44 Colt gun. I thrust it into my holster, replacing it with the gun I'd taken from Tanner. I wouldn't be accused of stealing that, anyway. Or would I? Besides, a forty-five Colt was no good to a man who used forty-four cartridges.

The street door was locked on the inside, but the key was in its lock. It required but an instant to turn it and step outside. I wondered if Cal had brought my horse and left it where he said. That was my first interest. Sure enough, the pony was tethered at the tie-rack, waiting patiently. I moved out to the sidewalk. There wasn't a soul to be seen on either side of the street. A few lights from saloons were to be seen, scattered along the way. It all looked pretty peaceful, and I was thankful for that. Perhaps the noise of Tanner's shot hadn't been noticed after all.

I got into the saddle and moved out of town, as quietly as possible.

Sure, I knew it would make it look like I'd shot Webb Jordan, making an escape like that. On the other hand, I didn't see where I'd have a ghost of a chance if I'd stayed in Deosso Springs. I was still damn thirsty too; I figured my pony was in the same condition. But I had to keep going. Tanner wouldn't stay unconscious too long, then the alarm would be raised and there'd be men on my trail. Unconsciously, I touched spurs to my horse's belly, and we loped on, always figuring to keep away from towns on the railroad right-of-way, where telegrams could be flashed through the country.

I hit a water hole at dawn, then pushed on. Later in the day I managed to shoot a prairie hen, built a small fire of twigs and ate it half-raw. But that helped and I let out my belt a notch.

The following day I came up with a Mexican sheepherder, tending his flocks. He had a small lean-to nearby and he fed me beans and tortillas, refusing to take any money. We sat cross-legged on the ground and over bitter black coffee, he told me about his brother who lay on blankets inside the lean-to. I knew the man looked sick, but I didn't ask any questions. The Mexican didn't ask me any questions, either. To him I was just a passing guest who deserved to be fed.

It was then I first heard about Onyxton, which apparently was the hardest town along the border. 'It is a sink-hole, senor,' the Mexican stated earnestly. 'A refuge for outlaws where the law dares not enter. Si, si, Onyxton has a law of sort, a deputy, who does always the bidding of a man who operates for his own profit, by name of Webster—Sheldon Webster. You have heard of this man?'

I shook my head. 'Never heard of him in Texas.'

'This Senor Sheldon is not of Texas. Onyxton is miles and miles to the west. I cannot say how far. My brother, he of the illness, can say. He has been there—to his sorrow. From San Diego he comes on the way to join me and passed through this Onyxton on his journey. He sees the town is of a most wildness, but lingers a day. A quarrel was forced on him. He tried to avoid it by mounting his horse. Shots were fired. He was struck in the leg. Fortunately he escaped, but the leg was in malo—bad—condition, when he arrived. There existed a high fever. Now, the fever is gone, but it will be two weeks before I can have help with my flock.'

'It is a thing to be regretted,' I said. I glanced overhead, considering, to a clear blue sky, flecked with fleecy white. It was peaceful here, and who would ever think of a cowman working sheep, though I've never liked the bleating, silly animals. 'Perhaps, until your brother has recovered, I may aid you with the sheep, senor.'

'Your assistance would be of the most valuable, senor,' he replied simply.

I stayed two weeks until the brother was able to get around. The Mexican couldn't understand it when I refused to take the money he offered for such work as I had done. We swore eternal friendship. I mounted and rode on, this time with a destination in view, Onyxton, though if I'd known what lay ahead, I might not have been so definite.

By this time I figured the chase would have died down. I pulled rein one afternoon at a small hamlet called Burro Tanks, just another cowtown. The sign Deputy Sheriff on a building didn't bother me any. I stopped at a bar, figuring to get a beer, while my horse worked on the water tank in front of the adobe saloon. I had my beer and left, figuring to get a few groceries. I saw my pony had drunk his fill, and I started along the street, looking for a shop.

Abruptly, a voice hailed me. 'Hey, Johnny—Johnny Cardinal!'

I pretended I didn't hear and walked faster. Running steps caught up with me. A hand seized my arm.

'Johnny, don't you speak to old friends?'

Old friends! God Almighty! I turned, intending to tell the fellow he was making a mistake, then I nearly gagged when I saw who it was. Oh, he knew me, all right, a sneaky so-and-so who had worked for practically every outfit around Tenango City, a few years before. He was just no good, that's all, and not to be trusted.

Reluctantly, I accepted his out-stretched hand. 'Well, Dade Messer, what you doing in these parts?' He was a skinny individual with not much chin and eyes placed too close together.

'I might ask you the same,' and he gave me a sly wink. 'I'm punchin' for the Flyin'-R. north of here. Johnny, looks like you been right busy of late. I've noted a heap of reward bills, and now this new one. What the hell, you joined the wild bunch, or somethin'?'

'Not me,' I said lamely. 'You got somebody else in mind.'

'Now, Johnny, you know you can trust an old friend. Mum's the word. Should anybody ask, I'll deny ever seein' you. But all the reward money.' He smiled nastily. 'You must be worth more dead than alive.'

I tried to laugh it off. 'Like's not, I always was.'

'Don't say that, Johnny pal. But you got to admit, murder is serious.'

'What in the devil you talking about?'

He jabbed one thumb into my ribs, laughing. 'Don't stall. I got this reward bill at the deppity's office this mawnin'.' He unfolded a yellow bill. I scanned the printing, eyes blurring a bit as I learned I was now wanted for the murder of Deputy U.S. Marshal Webb Jordan. My heart dropped to my boots. They'd checked with Tanner and realized who I was. Dade Messer was still gabbling: 'What happened, Johnny? Did Jordan have you cornered? Not that I'll let on I saw you. I'm no double crosser.'

'Look, Dade. This is a mistake. I'm not the Cardinal they want. I could clear things up, if I had the time, but I'm in a sort of rush. I'll see you again someday—'

'That I can understand,' Messer grinned. Keeping the reward bill in my hand, I strode out and climbed into my saddle. 'S'long, Johnny. You can count on me to keep quiet,' he added in an extra loud voice.

I didn't bother to reply but kept a wary eye on him as I backed my pony to the center of the road. His hand had dropped to gun-butt, but he raised it quickly when he saw me watching him. He was backing away now, looking scared. I wheeled my horse and made time out of Burro Tanks. Glancing back once, I saw that Messer had stopped a couple of men, talking excitedly, then all three started at a run in the direction of the deputy-sheriff's office. I rode hard, cursing one Dade Messer as a double-crossing son! Behind me I could hear a lot of yelling along the street, and someone sent a long shot that flew high overhead.

A final over-shoulder glance as I struck the curving roadway out of Burro Tanks revealed riders climbing into saddles on either side of the long dusty roadway. A posse had got started a hell of a lot quicker than I'd figured on, and this time they were close behind. I gained on 'em for a couple of miles, until my pony went lame, but managed to stay ahead.

A couple of miles farther on a long line of buttes followed the curve of a river and that's where I was heading, hoping there'd be canyons there where I could lose the pursuit.

Well, as I said before, I ended up, wet and shivering, beneath a wide spreading clump of prickly pear cactus,