could make it. “I hired you on as a messenger boy, not a gunman. When you're heeled you're just advertising for trouble. On the other hand, there aren't many men—not even in Ocotillo—who would take a shot at a man who didn't have a chance to shoot back.”
The kid stiffened. “Mr. Cameron,” he said, “I guess you don't know much about Ocotillo, even if you do run it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Then he took off his hat and I saw the bump over his left ear, and an open cut about an inch long that was just beginning to scab over.
I must have sat there for a minute or more before I could think of anything to say. The thing jarred me because I thought I had everything under control—I had Kreyler nailed down, most of the men were satisfied, and I had two men, the kid and Bama, that I could trust. And still somebody was working against me.
At last I jerked my head at Marta and said, “Go home or somewhere. I want to talk to Johnny alone.”
She didn't like that much, being brushed away like a bothersome fly. But then she saw that I meant business and she got up from the table and sort of melted away.
“All right,” I said. “Tell me about it and don't leave out anything.”
He shrugged. “Well, it was last night. I was in the saloon for a while, and—well, I guess I kind of made friends with that girl, Marta. After a while she said why didn't I walk to her house with her, down in the Mexican part of town, and I said sure, I'd like to. That was the way it started. I got to her house, all right, but her pa raised such a hell of a racket that I didn't stay.” He grinned a little. “I don't understand much of that greaser talk, but I understood enough to know that her old man doesn't like gringos. Well, after that I started back for the saloon, and the streets down there are as dark as hell. That's where they jumped me.”
“Who jumped you? Mexicans?”
“If they were Mexicans, they knew a lot of English cuss words. There were three of them, I think, and I still don't know what the hell they wanted. I didn't have any money. And if it was somebody with a grudge against me, why didn't they shoot me instead of hitting me over the head?”
“How did you get away from them?”
“I guess they weren't expecting much of a fight. Anyway, we stirred up the Mexicans. The next thing I knew I was in one of those adobe houses and Marta was taking care of this cut on my head.”
Slowly I began adding things together. Kreyler and that Mexican girl—they might have something to do with it. Maybe the Marshal was just crazy enough to fight for that girl when he didn't have guts enough to fight for himself. I was beginning to understand that women could make men do crazy things. Anyway, I put Johnny Ray- burn and Marta together in my mind and I didn't like it at all. Even if it had nothing to do with that ambush.
“It's about time we had an understanding,” I said. “That girl, Marta, is not for you. The sooner you get that through your head, the better off you'll be.”
I had expected an argument, but instead of arguing he just sat there looking puzzled. “Why, gosh, Mr. Garner-on,” he said, “I never even thought about her. Not the way you mean.” And he began to look uncomfortable. “Well,” he said, “to tell the truth, I've got a girl down in Texas waiting for me, and I guess she's the only girl in the world as far as I'm concerned. Do you know what I mean?”
He hit me with it and I hadn't been expecting it. It knocked me right out of Ocotillo and into the big, wild Panhandle country, which had been my country once— but that was long ago. There had been a girl there too, and she had waited as long as any girl could be expected to wait, I guess. But I hadn't got around to going back until it was too late.
My first impulse was to strip those guns oft nun and make him go back to Texas and give himself up. But then I remembered the ledger, and the kid was the only one who could take care of that for me. And that had to be taken care of. I had to keep my hands around Kreyler's throat.
Until after one more raid. My visions of riches were gone. Kreyler had found my soft spot—the kid—and he was already beginning to shove the knife in.
“Is anything wrong, Mr. Cameron?”
“Wrong?” For a moment I forgot what we were talking about. “No, nothing's wrong. Just see if you can find Bama, will you, and tell him to see me in the office.”
Bama took his time about coming, but finally he did come, and the world felt like a saner, safer place with Bama around. He helped himself to one of Basset's cigars on the desk, then he pulled up a leather-bottomed chair and sat down.
“You look worried,” he said. “That's not much like you, Tall Cameron.”
Why the hell he couldn't just call me Tall I don't know. But he always used my full name, and for some reason it always reminded me of the first time I ever saw my name on a “Wanted” poster.
But that was just a passing thought, as he sat there looking at me, and I was surprised to see that he was almost sober—or as sober as I had ever seen him, anyway.
I said, “I think Kreyler has already gone to work on the kid. It was a mistake letting Kreyler know who was going to take care of the ledger for us, but I guess it's too late to worry about that.”
And I told him what the kid had told me, about the bushwhacking and the way they had tried to brain him, and Bama sat there rolling the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and not saying anything.
“If they get their hands on him again,” I said, “they'll beat the information out of him and then put a bullet in his skull.” Bama still didn't do anything, so I said, “Why don't you say something?”
“What good would it do? It's your show now. You've got everything just the way you want it. Of course, you could send the kid back to Texas if you wanted to.”
“You knew we can't do that. Everything here depends on Kreyler, and Kreyler depends on the kid.”
Bama sighed. That was all.
