Watts spat a stream of brown tobacco juice in Cato’s direction and laughed briefly as the Enforcer stepped hurriedly aside.
“Well, I guess this kind of settles the story about you just looking for a job, huh, Cato?” the sheriff said slowly. He gestured towards the ’breed. “Chana here halfway believed you, but as soon as he showed me that Manstopper of yours, I knew who to expect ... We been expectin’ someone since Sanders rode in all sweated-up. You sure threw a scare into him.”
Cato looked around him. “The bounty on Treece and his bunch wouldn’t buy this place, Watts.”
Watts spat more tobacco juice, face sober now. “It ain’t my place, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at. I’ll buy my own spread later when this deal’s finished.”
“I must’ve been loco not to have seen it earlier,” Cato said. “Everyone figured Treece operated around those hills around the Staked Plains because he was born there. They looked on it as his stampin’ grounds, figured he knew every hidden corner where he could hide out and fool the posses and army patrols that went lookin’ for him ... But he couldn’t have done it without some help from the other side, without the law turnin’ a blind eye. You had a pretty good name, Watts. How come you sold out?”
Watts shrugged easily. “Money. Had me some debts to clear, and one was to Treece’s cousin in the next county, feller name of Shepherd. They put a proposition to me: let Treece operate from my territory and they’d pay me regular and also put me onto any other owlhoots workin’ the same territory. They would even shoot ’em down for me, bring me the bodies. All I had to do was collect the bounties. And I ain’t had me a debt in a long, long time, Cato.”
“Well, I guess profit’s behind most men who sell out.”
Watts’ face hardened. “Cut the sass—if you don’t want a big gap in your smile, mister.”
“Okay, let’s forget about Treece for now. You moved in and deliberately killed him so he could never talk about you. But I figure there was somethin’ about those missin’ mailbags behind your motive, too ... Like maybe you knew where Treece had sold ’em and you figured to cut yourself a slice of the pie on the fake railroad deal.”
Watts looked amused. “That so? Well, you’ll never know for sure, mister. Sanders ain’t around anymore to tell you anythin’!”
Cato nodded. “Yeah, I expect you to kill me, too. It’s the only way left to you now. You’ve got to shut my mouth ... Thing is, Watts, you’re almost shuttin’ it for nothin’. I don’t know what’s goin’ on. I took over from my pard, Yancey Bannerman. Someone put a bullet in his head and he can’t even remember his own name. We don’t know what he found out. It’s mainly luck that led me here. Luck and Sanders.”
“I believe it. But Bannerman’s havin’ some kind of operation ... had it by now, I guess ... and he could get his memory back. In which case, he could make things kind of awkward for a few folks in Austin. The chief’s gone down there himself to make sure it don’t happen …”
Cato pricked up his ears at that. “So you’re still just a hired hand out here, Watts? You’re still answerable to someone else?”
“Everybody is,” Watts said easily.
“But you’re answerable to the hombre who owns this place, huh? I’d say he’s mighty rich. Makes me wonder why he’d bother getting tangled up in this fake map deal. Couldn’t be much in it for a man who can afford all this.”
Watts studied Cato closely for a while, then took out his plug of tobacco and bit off a fresh chaw. “On second thoughts, maybe I’d better wait till he gets back from Austin. He might want to see you, find out who you’ve passed on your information to …” He laughed and spat a stream of juice over Cato’s left boot. “Suppose you’d like to know who he is?”
Cato looked at him expressionlessly. He was as good as dead now, he figured, but once Watts told him who was behind this deal then he was dead for sure ...
“Well, I’ll tell you who owns this place, Cato, and who’s behind the railroad deal ... But first, you got it all wrong. There ain’t a lot of profit in it for him. Like you said, he don’t need the money, but it keeps us fellers who work for him happy, see? He’s got other motives and ambitions ... One of ’em’s to be governor of Texas. Dukes’ integrity’ll kind of take a plunge when those fake maps are made public and word will be ‘leaked’ that he organized it so’s he could buy up the right land cheap and sell at a profit. Ah, sure, a lot won’t believe it, but a hell of a lot will, too, and Congress’ll have to put pressure on him to resign.” He laughed at the concerned expression on Cato’s face. “Sure, it’ll work. Just ask the man who thought of it: Senator Jason Onslow Rainey!”
~*~
It was chaos at suppertime in the Wallis house, with the children all fighting and squabbling. One of the girls grabbed a fresh-baked cake and tried to run off. Mrs. Wallis reached out, cuffed her and slammed her down into a chair at the table, going the rounds and delivering a solid clout to all five of the children. The yelling stopped, to be replaced with outraged whines and then, wearily brushing a strand of lank hair out of her eyes, she grabbed the big iron pot of stew from the fireplace and slammed it down into the center of the table.
She was just starting to dish it out when there was a knocking on the front door of the tumbledown shack. Mrs. Wallis gave a moan of despair and dropped the ladle into the pot. She shook a forefinger at the snuffling children.
“Now, Joey, you serve the others while I see who that is. And if I hear one word, one single word, from any of you, you’ll get a good scrubbin’ in the tub and off to bed without any supper ... All right, all right, I’m coming!”
She gave one last threatening glare around the kitchen, then hurried through the cluttered parlor to the front door, wiping her hands on her apron. She opened the door, prepared to see someone from the infirmary come to ask her to do an extra shift. But her jaw dropped and her eyes widened when she saw Senator Jason Rainey standing there, smiling, hat in hand. He bowed slightly at the waist, the yellow lamplight from the parlor catching his steel-gray hair as he lifted one hand and smoothed it down.
“Good evening, Mrs. Wallis. Sorry to disrupt your supper, but I have something important to tell you ... to your advantage, I promise you. May I come in?”
Still overwhelmed by the senator calling on her, Mrs. Wallis smiled nervously as she nodded, stepping aside as Rainey came in. She closed the door, acutely aware of the shabbiness of the parlor and the untidy room with its cheap furniture and the clothing scattered around. Hurriedly she began to gather it up as the senator found himself a chair, dusted off the seat with his handkerchief and sat down. He smiled at the five grubby faces staring at him from the kitchen doorway. Mrs. Wallis hurried across and the kids ducked back as she slammed the door and turned back to face Rainey.
“Sorry, Senator. They’re no doubt wondering what a gentleman like yourself is doing calling on us here.”
“As you yourself are, Mrs. Wallis, which is only natural.” He looked around at the shabby place and could not keep the distaste from his face. “This is much too small for a family of your size, I dare say.”
“It’s all I can afford, Senator,” Mrs. Wallis said, her tone resentful. She wasn’t about to take any patronizing from him, now that her first awe was fading, to be replaced by avid curiosity ... and maybe a little suspicion. She knew Rainey’s reputation with women and she knew, without boasting, that she still had her looks and cut a fine figure, whether it be in her old housedress or the smartly starched uniform of the infirmary.
“I understand that you’ve found the going difficult, since your husband’s untimely death, Mrs. Wallis ...”
“Governor Dukes does what he can for me. He’s trying to get me a pension.”
Rainey nodded absently, reaching into his jacket pocket and bringing out a folded oblong of paper. “You only rent this place, I understand.”
“That’s right,” she agreed warily.
“And you’re in arrears.”
“If that’s any business of yours!” she snapped.
Rainey smiled at her, but without warmth. “It is my business. You see, I own this place ... I own the whole street, in fact.”
Shock showed on her face and she sat down slowly, wondering what was coming, her eyes going to that paper in his hands. Her hands plucked nervously at her apron. “I—I can’t pay up till I get some money from the infirmary, and then I need most of that to feed the little ones …”
He waved the paper at her and her voice faded away. She stared at the paper as if hypnotized, sensing that it was important.
“I have here the total of your arrears,” Rainey said. “And also a deed to a seven-roomed house down in San Antonio, in quite a nice neighborhood, as a matter of fact, in a street running off the Plaza del Sol ... It would be quite large enough for you and your family and I could arrange for you to have steady employment there, perhaps even set you up in a little dressmaking shop of your own. Some of my lady acquaintances tell me you are really remarkable with needle and thread.”
She stared at him, then blurted out, “I—I don’t understand!”
“I’ll explain it to you.” Rainey leaned forward and placed the paper in her lap. He laughed at the look she gave him. “Don’t worry, it’s yours ... You’ll be free of debt here, I’ll buy rail tickets for you and your children to San Antonio and I’ll turn over the deeds of the house to you. We can come to some arrangement about the shop if you wish ... Perhaps a loan …”
Mrs. Wallis didn’t touch the paper. She raised her eyes from it and stared at the senator, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice as she spoke. “And just what do I have to do to get all these things?”
“A small job for me ... Very small, I assure you. The idea does appeal to you, then?”
“What? Being out of this dump, with no debts hanging over my head? Able to give the kids a bed each, most of ’em a room of their own? And the chance of my own business? Senator Rainey, that’s a damn foolish question if you’ll forgive me saying so!”
Rainey laughed, leaned forward and patted her knee. “Of course it is! Naturally you’re interested in obtaining these things I have offered. In fact I’d venture to say that you would do almost anything to get them. Am I right?”
“Almost, Senator.”
“And where do you draw the line?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure that I know what you’re getting at, sir.”
He looked steadily into her face for a long minute, his eyes hard and calculating, right hand inside his jacket pocket. Slowly, still watching her face, he drew his hand out and, keeping it closed, held it out towards her. Frowning, she reached out with her own hand, palm up. He held his hand above hers, hesitated a little longer and then opened his fingers. A small hexagonal brown bottle with ribbed sides dropped lightly into her palm. She look the bottle in her fingers, still puzzled, then turned it so she could read the label.
Her head snapped up and she looked horrified as she stared at her.
“My God! This is poison!”
Rainey looked at her soberly. “Just how far are you prepared to go for the future security of yourself and your children, Mrs. Wallis?” He asked, his tone harsh. “Come on! I want your answer now! Right now!”
~*~
It was pitch dark in the room where they had thrown Cato and, as there were no windows and the door was tightly sealed, he didn’t know whether it was daylight or dark outside. One thing was for sure, though, he figured. Rainey wouldn’t let him live under any circumstances. He couldn’t afford to.
Cato had been round and round the room which he knew was off the cellar of the main house. It was cold and damp, but the walls were adobe and even if they weren’t, there was nothing he could do about digging his way out. He had a short dagger blade hidden in the heavy brass buckle of his trouser belt; it was standard equipment for the Enforcers, but it wasn’t going to be much use to him right now. The door was of heavy oak, with iron-bound hinges, and he had heard at least two bolts shot home after Watts had flung him in here. He guessed he was lucky that he hadn’t been killed outright. Obviously, they wanted more information out of him. But he had been a fool to think he could talk his way out of things here; he should never have handed over his guns that way ...
But self-recrimination was pointless, and would get him nothing but despair. Not that he had given up; he knew what was most likely to happen and he was prepared to face up to it: after all, he had known when he had taken on the chore of Enforcer what dangers were entailed. Once he had faced up to the very real possibility of death only a short time away, Cato settled down to examine his position and see what advantages he had.
It all boiled down to two things: the dagger blade in his belt buckle and the total darkness of the underground room. When they eventually opened the door, the guard would be sure to have a lamp of some sort, but it would not throw light into every corner of the room at once. He had figured it out that by pressing back into the corner on the right-hand side of the door, he stood a chance of surprising the first man through that door. Likely they would come in pairs, but surprise was a good weapon to have and he might have time to get the second man, too. The first one through would be expecting to find him in the center of the room or against the rear wall where they had thrown him, not crouched off to one side, and certainly not with a knife in his hand.
It was all he had. There was no ledge above the door where he might crouch; no furniture, or canteens or utensils he might use as a weapon. No bed, nothing but the bare floor and the four walls. Even the ceiling was of earth and rock, the room was so deep beneath the main house ...
Cato was almost caught unawares. He had been thinking so hard he had almost missed the first slight sound of the bolt sliding free. Hurriedly, he groped his way to the right hand corner of the room, hands fumbling at his belt, pressing the stud that freed the buckle and allowed the tiny knife blade to slide out of its sheath between the layers of leather. He could see a line of dull orange now that marked the bottom of the door. He heard the second bolt sliding free; it was rusty and screeched loudly. Then the door opened, outwards, and he squinted his eyes against the light, dull though it was.
He saw the man holding the lantern step in, arm out in front, raising, trying to make the lantern’s light reach every corner of the cell. There was a gun in his other hand. Cato didn’t know if there was another man with him outside the door. The one in the doorway called out:
“All right, Cato! Show yourself!”
Cato stepped silently forward, chopping at the man’s gun-hand with his left fist while he drove the short, four-inch knife blade deep into the man’s neck. He convulsed and Cato cursed as he missed the falling six-gun, whirled, grabbing the lantern from the dying man and leaping out into the other room as the second guard stepped around the door to see what the scuffling sounds were. The man didn’t have his gun clear of the holster but carried a large iron ring of keys. He swung them at Cato as the Enforcer leapt at him, swinging the lantern. The keys struck the glass chimney and it shattered, but the metal lamp-frame arced down and cracked the guard just above the left eye. He was driven to his knees and he started to lift his six-gun. Cato hit him with the lantern’s base as he felt hot oil spill over his hand and the flame went out. The guard fell sideways and knocked over the second lantern that had been resting on the floor. In an instant, the hot oil flowing across the cellar floor was a sheet of flame and Cato staggered back as it flared with a whoosh between him and the door, cutting him off from the first guard’s fallen gun.
He tried to reach the gun of the man at his feet but it, too, was already enveloped in flames and he leapt back as crates and the wooden stairs leading to the house above caught fire with a dry, crackling sound. Cato leapt for the stairs, figuring on getting out of the cellar before his escape was cut off completely. He was halfway up the stairs, knife in hand, leaping them two at a time, when the door at the top was wrenched open and a man appeared with a gun. He fired instantly at Cato and the Enforcer ducked, dropping flat, surprised that the wood under his hands was already hot. The place was old and the timber must be as dry as tinder, he thought fleetingly, as a second shot tore splinters from the step in front of his face.
Cato bunched his legs under him, aiming to launch himself at the guard up there, but the man ducked back, snapping another shot down at him first. The whole house would be awakened by now and he would have little chance to make good his escape. If it was any solace, he would at least go down fighting, but he didn’t reckon that was any real compensation ...
If he could help it, he didn’t want to go down at all.
The flames behind him licked at his heels and he made his jump, just as the gunman stepped back, and began to throw down again. The buckle knife wasn’t designed for throwing, but Cato flung it anyway and the heavy brass hilt hit the man in the middle of the face, knocking him backwards as he fired. Then Cato was on him, twisting the gun from his grasp and kicking him viciously in the kidneys. He slammed the gun against the side of the man’s head and put him down, leaping over him and leaving the knife. A door smashed open down the corridor and he whirled that way, seeing someone coming out and lining up a gun on him. He fired and his lead screeched across the adobe wall, raising a long, spraying line of white dust. The man dodged back but got off one shot and Cato dropped, knowing that his own Manstopper was being used on him.
It had been one of the standard .45 cartridges that had been fired but he knew their distinctive sound—he loaded them all by hand with his own mixture of propellant powder, giving them a peculiar flat, cracking sound. He pounded down the corridor, side aching, wet with blood oozing from his old wound. A man came around the far end of the passage and Cato fired, seeing him go down in a flailing heap. Another man stepped around and Cato shot him, too, and he knew the gun was either empty or else he only had one shot left. He wasn’t quite sure how many the gun’s original owner had gotten off at him on the steps. Flames and smoke billowed up from the cellar and he stopped dead as Arnie Watts stepped out of the room on his left, holding Marnie Hendry half in front of him. He held the Manstopper in his other hand.
“Hold it, Cato! You’re through!” Watts angled the gun towards the girl as Cato started to lift his hands out from his sides. Then Marnie sank her teeth into Watts’ hand and he yelled a curse, wrenching his hand back. She threw her body into him and grabbed with both hands at the Manstopper.
Cato dropped hammer on his six-gun but it fell on an empty chamber. He jumped forward, slamming a knee into Watts’ groin and the man gagged, falling to one knee. Bullets spanged against the wall next to Cato. He heaved Watts and the girl into the room and kicked the door closed. Watts was rolling on the floor and Cato reached down and snatched up his Manstopper. Immediately he felt as if he was ten feet tall. He grabbed Marnie’s hand and dragged her across the room towards the window. He threw it up as someone pounded on the door. He pushed the girl to the sill.
“Out ... It’s only a short drop!” he snapped.
He watched as she climbed over the sill and, looking back at him, she suddenly yelled a warning. Watts was getting painfully to his knees, dragging his own six-gun from its holster. Cato shot him between the eyes, thumbed the hammer toggle to ‘shot barrel’ and lifted the gun as the door burst open and three men entered with guns blazing. He dropped hammer and the Manstopper roared its thunderous message of death. The three men went down, writhing and screaming against a background of smoke and flames. Then Cato swung a leg over the window sill and dropped five feet to the ground where the white-faced girl crouched.
Together they ran towards the corrals where, in the light of flames now billowing from the adobe mansion’s windows, he could see four or five mounts tethered, still saddled. Men were running about, forming a bucket brigade from the pumps and horse troughs near the house, intent only on the fire. Cato and Marnie scrambled into the saddles of two mounts and thundered out into the night, not stopping until they were on the top of the tree-fringed knoll. Here he reined down, turned to look back at the gigantic blaze at Rainey’s ranch.
“How the hell did you get here?” Cato panted, wincing a little and holding his elbow tightly against his wounded side.
“I—I hadn’t wanted us to part bad friends,” Marnie said hesitantly. “And I was worried about that wound in your side ... So I set out to follow you. They caught me just after dark and Watts, of course, recognized me from the train wreck ... He thought I must be working for Dukes, too, and sent for you to be brought up ... Then—then ... Oh, dear John! I’m so glad you’re safe!”
She leaned from the saddle and hugged him tightly.
“I’m glad we’re safe!” Cato told her with a grin and kissed her soundly.
As they turned and headed out on the long trail to Austin, he thought this was the first time ever that any woman had followed him into danger, faced bullets and death, just to be with him.
A man would be loco to let go a woman like that, he thought. Plumb loco ...
They rode on side by side into the night.
~*~
Rainey came slowly into Yancey’s room and gave the Enforcer a wide smile as he closed the door behind him. Mrs. Wallis, white-faced and strained-looking, dropped a thick-bottomed glass with a clatter on the bedside table.
The senator stood at the end of the bed and looked at her, then turned his gaze to Yancey as she busied herself with her tray of medicines.
“Well, Yancey! Feeling much better, I hear.”
“Some, Senator,” Yancey said tiredly. He couldn’t quite stifle a yawn. “I’m thinkin’ Dr. Boles is doping my medicine or somethin’ I’m so—damn weak …”
Rainey glanced at Mrs. Wallis, but the woman had her back to him and continued working at her tray of bottles, measuring dark brown liquid into a glass and mixing it with water.
“Well, I guess he knows best. I’m glad you’ve got your memory back, Yancey.” Rainey’s smile was fixed. “Must have been hell not knowin’ who you were or what had happened back there in Bent’s Junction ... or before that.”
Yancey nodded. “Sure was.” He looked up at Mrs. Wallis as she handed him a glass of dark liquid. He took it and frowned up at her. “This mine, ma’am? Looks different somehow.”
She couldn’t help a glance in Rainey’s direction. “It’s ... been prescribed for you ... Now drink it down.”
Rainey looked strained as Yancey swirled the liquid around in the glass and then started to lift it to his mouth.
He got it as far as his lips, glanced at the tensed Rainey and the tight-lipped Mrs. Wallis. He froze, lowered the glass, then held it out abruptly towards Rainey.
“You care to try it, Senator?”
Rainey blinked in surprise. “Medicine?” He forced a laugh. “No, thanks, Yancey! It’s all yours. Now drink it up like Mrs. Wallis says.”
“I want to see you drink some first, Rainey!” Yancey snapped in a harsh voice, holding the glass out, hand rock steady.
Rainey frowned, looked at the woman and saw that she was shaking. “Damn you! You told him!”
He whipped a hand beneath his coat for the Sheriff’s Model Colt with the short, two-and-a-half-inch barrel he carried in a shoulder holster. Mrs. Wallis screamed and dropped to the floor beside the bed as the gun appeared in Rainey’s hand and he bared his teeth as he swung it to cover Yancey.
Then there was a muffled explosion and the bed covers jerked as flame stabbed through them, leaving a smoldering hole. Rainey staggered as the lead hit him in the chest and he slammed against the wall. The door burst open and the big Ranger who had been on guard burst in, gun in hand. But Rainey had no fight left in him. He was coughing a ribbon of blood and Yancey sat up in bed, holding his smoking gun out in the open now.
“Get him to Dr. Boles ... He might save him for the hangman,” he ordered and the Ranger dragged the wounded senator out. Mrs. Wallis stood up, still shaking, and looked towards the door as the governor and Kate hurried in. Kate went to Yancey’s side, taking his hand and squeezing it in her relief.
“Thanks, Mrs. Wallis,” Yancey said with feeling. “If you hadn’t told us about Rainey coming to you ...”
“I—I could never do murder just for the sake of a little security, Mr. Bannerman,” she said, flushing. “Not even for my children.”
“Well, you won’t have to worry about security after this,” Dukes told her, smiling. “The state will provide you with a proper home and a guaranteed pension. And there will be a bank loan to get you started in your dressmaking shop.”
Mrs. Wallis, looking as though she could hardly believe it, went out of the room, still thanking the governor profusely.
“Funny thing is,” Yancey said, “Rainey needn’t have tipped his hand. Carlsen hadn’t told me anything about him. I knew there was someone named Onslow in Bent’s Junction, but that was all. If Rainey had sat tight, he might have gotten away with it.”
“Oh, no,” Kate told him. “John Cato managed to track the trouble right back to Rainey’s ranch. He’s sent a wire and is on his way here now with a girl, no less.”
“Why the note of surprise?” Yancey asked. “Cato’s always got some woman in tow.”
“Yancey, I think there’s something a little more permanent about this one. Just from the tone and his choice of words in his telegram,” Kate said.
Yancey arched his eyebrows. “This I’ve got to see!”
“Well, he’ll be here tomorrow,” Dukes said, looking at Kate and Yancey. “Until that time, I think I might leave you two alone. Somehow I feel superfluous.”
They looked at him innocently, but Kate, smiling, held open the door for him. Dukes shook his head slowly as he went out. Kate closed the door and put the lock peg through the latch tongue as she moved back towards the bed and the smiling Yancey. His arms were waiting for her.