plead for mercy. Slobber ran from his mouth. It was disgusting. Now he was pleading for mercy, tears running down his cheeks, offering to do anything. He started to sob in broken tones and I was afraid he'd be heard in the outer bank.
Again, I touched my gun-butt and told him to tone down. He quieted, but still remained on his knees, body shaking like a calf being branded. 'All right,' I growled at last. 'You've got just one chance—'
'Any—anything you say, Mister Cardinal,' he gasped.
'You get a chance to prove just that,' I said tersely. 'I need three hundred dollars. That's a cheap price for your life. So, it's up to you.'
The thought of losing money stiffened his spine a mite. He clambered back in his chair, still shaking though. 'Now, look here, if you think you can cover the Serrano mortgage in such fashion—'
'Old Pablo? I don't have anything to do with his business. Hell, no! I've got to have three hundred to get some cows at a bargain price, from a feller up north. But I got to act quick. Now, shake your hoofs!'
'I got to have security,' he whined. 'Why can't you come here decent and do business? You'll have to sign —'
'Goddamit, I'll sign your death warrant in a minute. Move
I jerked out my .44 and that caved him. Shoulders slumped, he stumbled toward the safe in one corner, fumbled at the combination and reluctantly drew open the door. I snapped menacingly, 'No double-crossing, now. Bring the cash here and count it before my eyes.'
It didn't take long. He spread bills, gold and silver on his desk. I scooped it up, cramming it into pockets. I was shaky as hell, thinking how time was passing. 'Thanks,' I told him sarcastically, as he drooped back limply in his chair, sweat beading his forehead. 'Now you just stay that way for fifteen minutes. I'll be waiting that long at the front of the bank, and if you let one peep out of that rat-trap mouth, you can count on a date with a .44 slug. You mind! I'll take no chances.'
I whirled to the door, stepped outside, then immediately reopened it. He hadn't made a move, and I knew I'd made my bluff stick. He seemed half paralyzed with fright, his eyes looked slightly glazed, vacant, as though he were about to faint, his jaw was slack. I nodded hard-faced, again slapped hand to gun-butt, and closed the door quietly.
Outside there were a couple of customers at the grill windows. The cashier hailed me as I passed. 'Hope you had some luck, Johnny.'
'That's to be seen,' I laughed, and passed through to the sidewalk.
The clock ticking on the wall had said eight-thirty as I left, and I knew there was no time to lose. Stepping back to the saddle, I glanced along the street and saw the town deputy standing in conversation with the livery stable man, a block distant. Then I wheeled the pony and started to make time to the ranch.
Fortunately, Dad Pablo was in sight when I loped down near the corral, looking the picture of despondency, as he sat alone on a bench in front of the bunkhouse. I pulled my horse to a halt in a scattering of gravel and dust as he slid to a halt.
'Juan, what is it? Why are you back—'
'I forgot something. Dad. You saddle up the fastest bronc you got and get to town. There's not much time.' I cut short his questions, explaining, 'We'll beat the old skinflint banker yet. I got the money for you. I was a fool not to think of it before. Now, pronto, get that horse. I'll be back in a minute.'
He was still looking bewildered when I left but I saw him heading for the corral gate, and yelling at a hand who stood near. I dashed into the house and entered my bedroom, then out again. That, all bluff, of course. Mama Josefa met me near the outer door and started a question. I interrupted, smacked a kiss on her cheek and whirled outside.
A cowhand was just pulling tight the cinch on the horse, with old Pablo, mouth agape, standing nearby. I started to cram the money into his hands. 'Don't stop to count it now. It's all there. Just get going.' I helped him stuff the money into his pockets.
'But, Juan, I do not understand. This money—'
'It's
'You saved so much?'
'Sure, sure—' I started to push him toward the horse, and he lifted one foot to a stirrup. 'Just one thing, Dad, don't tell Banker Kirby where you got the money. Keep me—and Miguel—out of it. We'd look like ungrateful sons for not giving it to you before. Town folks would look down on us. Another thing,'—forcing a laugh I was far from feeling—'think how it will drive the old skinflint crazy trying to figure out where you got the money. He won't be able to sleep nights.' I laughed some more.
Old Pablo chuckled and then he too saw the joke and burst into loud guffaws. 'It will make his mind leap about like a jumping bean—'
'Will you for the sake of the
He wheeled his big gray and took off, gaining speed at every jump. I let out a long weary sigh and turned back to my own horse. The cowhand had been walking it, and now led it to the watering trough. I waited impatiently until the pony was satisfied, then climbed back in my rig. Saying 'S'long' to the cowhand, I once more got under way. The horse had taken a beating on the way from town and wasn't too eager to show speed, but once away from the ranch, I knew a hidden gully where we could hide out until rested.
It wasn't until I'd holed up in my hide-out that evening and my weary bronc was cropping some sparse grass nearby that I commenced to realize what a stupid fool I'd been. It hadn't occurred to me before, but now I was what is called an outlaw from justice; I'd become a hunted man. Three hundred dollars wasn't a big theft, but a charge of extortion would be added to the crime. A kind of reaction set in and I commenced to shake, as I realized what I'd let myself in for.
That story I'd spread of going north wouldn't fool anyone for long, and soon, no doubt, Banker Kirby would insist on the law really tracking me down.
Mentally I cursed the hot temper, the unreasoning anger, that had led me into this fix. I'd shown about as much foresight as a skunk-blinded mule—and as little sense. So there I was in a trap that was due to tighten more and more during the year to come. And yet, as I sat staring into a small campfire that night and reviewed my actions, I was forced to admit, finally, that I shouldn't have so much regret. After all, I'd maneuvered the whole business on Dad Pablo's account —and Mama Josefa's. In the last analysis I owed them that much, and a great deal more. So gradually my mind became easier, and my only worry now was whether old Pablo had got to the bank in time and paid over the money. He was so easy-going and disinclined to haste as a rule.
It was two months later that I learned he had. In an old newspaper I found in a bar I read an account of the business, hitched in with a story about my activities. Skinflint Kirby had insisted the law get on my trail, which the deputy did, but, I gathered, with small enthusiasm, where doing Kirby's bidding was concerned. There'd been something of a row at the bank when old Pablo showed up with the money. Dad had had sense enough to pick up a crony in town to take along as a witness to prove he had offered the money before the time due. Kirby had at first refused payment on the grounds that the money had been stolen from him, but having no actual proof, had angrily agreed to let Dad Pablo off the hook. I breathed easier when I read that. By now, of course, Dad realized I had lied to him about the source of the money, but at least he and Mama Josefa were safe. That was what mattered most.
When I left my hide-out, I swung south and east; my biggest worry at the time was money for food. I'd had only a few bucks in my pocket when I took off. In one small town I got a job as a swamper in a saloon for a few days, mopping and sweeping out and washing glasses. That gave me a small stake. A cowhand job showed up next when I swung my trail to the north. I kept that only a short time until the boss's daughter got too friendly. She was a nice kid, but I wasn't ready to tie myself up with any one woman. So I pulled out of that job and took another, never staying long in one place and always keeping on the move.
