Shoot Him On Sight

to the house for fear you'd hear them, and I left the curtains open only a narrow bit—'

'Topaz—you planned so—?'

She nodded, lips quivering. 'And the handkerchief. I was so afraid a bullet might come through the wall, or— or—I had to get you close to the floor—fast. I knew they'd be here at nine-thirty—'

'But why didn't you explain?'

'I couldn't—I was under orders to get you here, and then—'

'Whose orders?' I snapped.

'Shel Webster's.'

I stared at her. 'Couldn't you have refused?'

'No, under the circumstances—'

I felt my blood rising to a boiling point. 'Good God, Topaz, do you have to do everything he tells you to?'

She looked steadily at me, her eyes moist. She didn't say anything. Something in that look slowed me down. I drew a long breath, then I noticed that shattered mirror on the wall, the glass ruined by bullet holes and cracks radiating in all directions. That hit me hard, as I realized how closely the leaden slugs must have passed by her head, knowing bullets were coming and still having the guts to sit there and pull that handkerchief stunt for my safety. Good God! I felt like a worm and very humble, faced with such courage as she had shown. She knew the bullets wouldn't miss her by much. And a poorly aimed shot could have struck her. I knew than she had a hell of a lot more nerve than I had.

'Topaz,' I started, 'I've talked like a damned fool. I'm sorry, but if you'd—'

That was as far as I got. There came a loud knocking at Topaz's front door, and then a voice: 'Topaz, are you all right?'

It struck me right then Webster had got here awfully fast. He must have been waiting in the vicinity.

Topaz brushed past me, passed through her bedroom and opened the front door. I heard low voices, then certain words came to me, 'Shel, it didn't work.' I heard his low voice reply angrily, but couldn't catch what he answered. Then Topaz: 'I don't know why. It was all set. The curtains were drawn back. Maybe you'd better find somebody with a steadier aim.'

The curtains were all drawn back? Topaz had lied on that point. The curtains hadn't been drawn far back. I heard the front door close, then Topaz, followed by Shel Webster, came into the kitchen. He looked at me a minute, hard-eyed. 'What you doing here, Cardinal?'

'Just paying a social call,' I said easily. 'I might ask the same of you.'

That stopped him for a minute, then he said, 'I was walking out for a breath of air. I heard the shots in this direction. Came to see if Miss Topaz was all right.'

'Right thoughtful of you,' I sneered. 'It's just luck she is all right—'

'What do you mean by that?' he demanded, harshly.

'Some of your lunkheads got to playing with guns. Their shots didn't miss Miss Topaz by much—'

'What do you mean my lunkheads?' he snapped.

'Who else would be trying to collect the rewards on my head?'

'It wasn't on my orders,' he blustered.

I could only jeer at that.

He glared at me, then subsided. 'Believe what you want,' he growled.

'I intend to. Either the shots came at your orders, or you don't have any control over your men, Webster. Which is it?'

'If you'll tell me who they are,' he said, voice calming some, 'I'll look into it.'

'How should I know who they are? There were three of them. Two of them got away in the shadows.'

He stiffened. 'You mean you shot one?'

'If I didn't, I scared the daylights out of him. He dropped mighty fast.'

Webster looked troubled. 'Who was he?'

'Haven't any idea. Just saw him drop, that's all.'

'And you didn't go looking—'

I laughed shortly. 'Like you, I was interested in Miss Topaz' welfare. And I didn't want to run into an ambush.'

His color mounted, then he got hold of himself. 'We'd best go out and look around a bit. I've told my men to lay off you. If you've wounded one of them, he's going to pay for this night's work. I'll have no insubordination in my camp. C'mon, let's get out there.'

I opened the door and let him pass through to the rear of the house. I pointed out the direction where I'd seen the man drop, always managing to keep slightly behind Webster as we started out, keeping my hand close to gun-butt. Moonlight filtered down through the leaves of surrounding cottonwood trees.

Stretched prone in the long grass about forty yards from the house was the figure of a man. I caught labored breathing from whoever it was, mingled with an occasional groan. 'I'll scratch a match,' Webster said, 'while you take a look at the scut.'

'Uh-uh,' I refused, 'I'll do the match scratching.'

'Don't you trust me?' Webster snarled.

'No more than you do me. Besides, I like to scratch matches.'

Webster swore an oath. I scratched a match, while Webster roughly turned the man flat on his back. In the flare of the match we saw it was Hondo Crowell. The man breathed with difficulty, his eyes closed. A stain of crimson ran from his mouth.

Roughly, Webster called him a blundering son-of-a-bitch. I said quietly, 'I reckon Fanner Serrano's slug didn't hurt his arm much, though it might have spoiled his aim.'

Webster didn't reply. Kneeling at Crowell's side, Webster produced a flask of whisky from his pocket, uncorked it, and forced a drink down Crowell's throat.

The match flame had burned to my fingers. I dropped it and scratched a second flare. Now Crowell's eyes were gazing vacantly around. He coughed and I saw more blood issue from between his lips. Webster gave him a second drink. More coughing and more blood. Then I caught Crowell's voice, speaking with difficulty:

'You, eh, Shel? I reckon—Cardinal—got me. Goddamned —if I know—how I missed. I had a direct—beam on—him —plain as—'

'Shut up, you fool!' Webster cursed, and rapped the man across the mouth with the whisky bottle. Spilled liquor and blood made a splash across Crowell's chest. My match went out and I got a third one flaming. I looked at Crowell. The man had slumped back, eyes still open, but wide, unseeing.

Webster rose from the body, calling Crowell a name and adding, 'The bastard is dead. Good riddance.'

'I can see why you'd feel that way,' I said shortly. 'Now all you got to do is send somebody to bury him.'

'I was hoping to learn who his pals were,' Webster said.

'Don't you know?'

Webster said impatiently, 'For God's sakes, Cardinal, you got me all wrong.'

'How else could I get you?' I snapped.

He didn't answer that, but walked with long strides back to the house. I followed slightly behind, hand still close to my gun-butt. I wasn't forgetting, for one minute, his underarm gun.

We reentered the kitchen. Topaz was sitting at the table, seemingly lost in thought. After a minute she glanced up and I noticed some of the color had come back to her face. I re-closed and locked the door.

Webster said bluntly, 'It was that no-good Crowell. I know who he pals with. If I don't lay down the law to those scuts, come morning! I'll—'

'If you know who they are, Webster,' I asked, 'why don't you have your pot-bellied marshal take 'em in for questioning?'

He darted a quick glance at me. 'I intend to do just that, Cardinal. I don't need you to tell me my business.'

'I'm not so sure of that,' I said shortly. 'It's up to you if you don't want to take my advice.'

He was about to say something, then checked the words. I looked at the scattered bits of broken glass on the floor, then, with a wary eye on Webster, started to clean up some of the debris.

Topaz said wearily, 'Let it go, Cardinal. I'll clean up in the morning. Now, if you'll both go—'

'You're sure you're all right, Topaz?' Webster asked solicitously. 'Maybe you'd like someone to stay with