It Takes a Smart Man
Mano rode back to the High Chaparral. He came from Mexico having returned a breeding stallion to Rancho Montoya. Instead of travelling via the curvy road Mano took a shortcut straight across the terrain. Halfway between Nogales and Tucson, near the border between Apache country and the High Chaparral, he suddenly heard the sound of rifle fire. Riding to the overhang ahead of him, he looked down into the canyon. A white man was fleeing from a group of Apache warriors. Manolito took his rifle from its holster and rode to intercept the man.
At the end the of the canyon the walls levelled out into a pass. On its sides huge boulders were strewn that had broken off from the overhang. They provided excellent cover. The white man had taken refuge behind such a boulder, trusting the overhang to guard his back. Mano tied his horse to a bush. Rifle in hand he took aim and, after a mighty jump, landed behind the white man's boulder.
The man swung his own rifle around. "Where do you come from?" he asked in surprise. He wore a kind of faded blue uniform. His hair and beard were white. Manolito estimated that he was about John Cannon's age.
Mano lay on his stomach and looked up at the stranger. "I saw that the Apaches were chasing you. I thought you might need some help," he explained.
The other shook his head. "No, I do not need no help," he declined, refocussing his attention on the Apaches. The warriors had taken cover behind the many bushes down in the canyon and were firing at them at will.
"Look," Mano countered, crawling further into the cover of the boulder, "even if you don't need help, I think I do."
The man pointed his gun at Mano once more. "That's your problem, mister," he stated coldly.
Getting annoyed, Mano took him by the arm and held him back. "Wait a minute."
"Look, mister, nobody asked you to butt in," the other retorted angrily. "This is my fight, and I'll fight it. And all I want you to do is keep out of my way." He turned away again to look for a better position from which to shoot, ignoring his unwanted ally. The rock was slanted, not quite standing upright. He had to lie on it to be able to look down into the canyon.
Manolito came to lie down beside him. "They're all around us. We're trapped," he said after a brief look at the positions of the Apaches.
The man turned his head. "No, I got 'em right in the palm of my hands," he replied confidently.
They began to shoot. Mano had turned to the right, his back to the stranger. "I think they're going to rush us," he said after a while. Sweeping his right arm in a semicircle, he continued, "I will cover this side, you cover that side, alright?" He got no answer. Mano turned. The rock was empty; the man had disappeared. Stunned, Mano looked around. Now he knew why the trap would not snap shut behind the other. It would snap shut behind Manolito Montoya. He inwardly cursed his stupidity to have let the stranger out of sight. Now there would be hell to pay. He resolved to sell his life as dearly as he could. Mano started shooting again, defending his hiding place as long as possible.
Finally he ran out of bullets. His pockets were all empty, so was his rifle. Mano readied his revolver. He stopped in mid-motion and cocked his head. He had heard a gun that sounded different from the rifles of the Apaches. A moment later the gunfire stopped altogether. Rifle in his left hand, revolver in his right, Manolito cautiously came out from behind the boulder. He stealthily went towards the bushes where the Apaches had taken up position. A brown leather boot peeked out from between the branches. Mano slowly walked towards it. Any moment he expected the Apache to jump up and attack him, but everything remained quiet. The silence became more eerie by the second. Ill at ease, Manolito stopped to look around. A little further away another three Apache warriors lay side by side on the ground, as motionless as the first one Mano had encountered. Their ponies had been tied to the bushes a few yards off. The animals grazed contentedly, evincing not even the smallest sign of unrest. Mano shook his head in bewilderment. He went to his horse, mounted hastily and rushed away as if the devil himself were after him.
As the High Chaparral came into view, Manolito began to relax. When he rode in he had regained his composure. He calmly unsaddled Mackadoo, then went into the kitchen to freshen up.
His sister was sweeping the floor. "Did you see our father when you were in Mexico?" she asked.
"Yes, unfortunately," Mano said, dipping his face into the washbowl.
"How is he?" Victoria wanted to know, the smile on her face mirrored in her voice.
"The same," her brother replied, shrugging his shoulders. He took the towel that was lying next to the bowl and began to dry off.
"Did you ask him if he was coming here again?" his sister asked further. She had insisted that Mano extend the invitation.
"Yes."
Victoria looked up. "Well?"
"He said he would pay us a visit the next time there is snow on Rancho Montoya," Mano said dryly.
From one moment to the other, his sister looked indignant. "Your father is-"
"Our father," Mano corrected her.
"There is a rider coming," the guard at the gate called out as the Montoya siblings were about to start an argument.
Mano, towel around his neck, went into the courtyard and looked towards the gate. He saw Buck coming out of the house, taking up position at the hitching rack.
The visitor rode up to Buck, dismounted and handed him the reins. "Give him a few oats and water and rub him down good," he ordered as if he was the lord of the outfit.
Buck took the reins but did not move from the spot.
The visitor went towards the house. Mano had immediately recognized the faded uniform, the white hair and especially the attitude. He walked up to the stranger. "Señor, buenas tardes. You have a nice ride?" he asked quietly, stamping down on his unease. Only the blinking of his eyes betrayed him. The visitor wordlessly gave him a once-over, turned and walked into the house. Mano went to Buck who sullenly stared after the man.
"Buck?" Manolito began.
"Hm?"
"You know that hombre?"
"No," Buck replied tersely.
Mano's gaze fell on the reins. "Why are you holding his horse?" he quipped.
Cool as you please, Buck let the reins drop from his hand.
The visitor meanwhile stepped into the living room and looked around. "Cannon. John Cannon," he shouted.
Victoria hurried through the side door and rushed towards him. "Can I help you?" she asked eagerly.
The man took off his hat, making a token attempt of dusting off his jacket with it. "Perhaps, madam. Can you tell me where I can find Big John Cannon?" he asked politely.
"Oh, yes," Victoria smiled, heading for the stairs. "John?" she called.
"Coming, Victoria," her husband replied, moving towards her. Victoria turned around expectantly, nodding her head towards the visitor. The rancher stopped as soon as his eyes fell upon the man who was waiting for him downstairs. His open, friendly expression became wary.
"John," the man greeted him quietly.
Big John slowly walked down the stairs. He hesitated the fraction of a second before he took the proffered hand. "Hello, Tulsa," he replied at length, keeping his tone and face carefully neutral.
Mano tensely watched the meeting from the front door. Buck joined him there after a moment. He had hooked his thumbs into his front pockets, his hands as close to his revolver as possible without actually drawing the weapon. Mano stiffened. He could feel Buck's dislike for the visitor almost physically.
"Is there someplace we can talk?" Mano heard Tulsa ask and refocussed his attention on the guest.
"Yeah," Big John replied curtly. "Why don't we meet in town?"
"No need for that since I'm already here," Tulsa pointed out calmly.
"Alright," the rancher grumbled. "In here." He motioned for the other to follow him into his study.
Just before they reached the door Tulsa stopped and looked up at Victoria. "Ain't you gonna introduce me?" he demanded.
John nodded towards the front door. "That's my brother, Buck Cannon. The other is my wife's brother, Manolito Montoya." Tulsa gave the two a cursory glance, then looked back at Victoria. "That's my wife, Victoria. This is Tulsa, an old friend of mine," the rancher rushed through the formalities.
Tulsa went over to Victoria and took her hand. "Mrs. Cannon, with a wife like you a man must wake up to sunshine every morning."
"Thank you," the lady of the house replied in surprise.
Big John made a sour face. "In here," he ordered, opening the door to his study. This time, Tulsa went in without delay.
Victoria made her way to the entrance. "John's friend certainly has a way with words," she told Buck and Manolito, a happy smile on her face.
"Perhaps with words, Victoria. That is as far as it goes," her brother replied gravely.
"I don't think he is John's friend," Buck put in darkly. His hands were still near his gun, and he showed no sign of relaxing.
Mano shook his head. "All you heard, my sister, were a few soft words. I can tell a rattlesnake by the sound of its voice. And I have heard this man's rattle and have seen him strike. I just hope his rattle is not for John," he explained.
Victoria gazed at her brother for a long moment. Manolito's face was dead serious, as if he sensed a coming disaster. Victoria turned back to the study, suddenly frightened.
Tulsa took his sweet time looking around the room. He shot the glass cabinet that stood on the wall next to the door an appraising glance. Opposite the door, on the shelf above the fireplace, he noticed a cash box. He opened it. When he saw it held only papers, he closed it again in disappointment. Walking over to a table by the window, his eyes fell on a deer sculpture made of solid bronze. He lifted the sculpture from its place for a closer examination.
John sat astride his desk. "What do you want here, Tulsa?" he demanded.
The visitor turned his head. "Don't you want to offer me a drink?" he asked quietly.
John sighed. He took a bottle of whisky and a glass from the cabinet. He placed both on the desk, then retreated to the window.
Tulsa opened the bottle, sniffing first the cork and then the bottle itself. "This is the good stuff, not the bar whisky?" he wanted to know.
John ignored the question. "What do you want?" he impatiently asked instead.
"Ain't you gonna have a drink with me?" Tulsa calmly replied as he poured himself a drink.
"No," John refused firmly.
Tulsa put the full glass on the table in front of the rancher anyway, went back to the cabinet and filled a second glass. "It ain't good when a man has to drink alone. Kinda puts him at a disadvantage," he remarked as he returned to his host, lifting his glass. "To the good old days."
Gazing at the floor, John shook his head while Tulsa drank. "And to present business," the visitor went on. Big John looked up, startled. He had no intention to do business with the man. "And to the future," Tulsa beamed. He took John's glass and drained it in one go.
"Now, what do you want, Tulsa?" the rancher snapped as soon as the visitor had emptied the glass.
"Five thousand dollars," the other finally let the cat out of the bag.
"Five thousand dollars?" John repeated, aghast.
"Consider it a loan," Tulsa said smoothly.
Big John shook his head resolutely. "I won't consider it at all."
"Wait a minute, John," the visitor countered. "You haven't heard my proposition yet."
The rancher went back to his desk. "Won't make any difference. I haven't got in my hands that much cash," he stated.
"A place like this with all that cattle, and you try to tell me-" Tulsa began in disbelief.
Big John crossed his arms over his chest. "Tulsa, the answer is no."
The visitor tried a different tactic. He came to stand in front of the rancher, looking at him with as much earnestness as he could muster. "I walked the straight and narrow path after that trial in Kansas City, and I know a man don't get what you got by being honest."
The rancher gave the other an incredulous look. "You think being honest made you poor?" he asked in utter disbelief.
Tulsa shrugged. "Well, it didn't make me rich. Now, I need five thousand dollars, and I figure you owe it to me."
"If there's any owing, I think it's the other way around," John told him angrily. "My testimony saved your life."
The visitor slightly shook his head. "You only told the truth. It was a fair fight."
John nodded. "Yes, as far as the law is concerned, it was fair. But that man never had a chance. Not against you."
Tulsa shook his head once more. "John, I can't help it if I'm good with a gun," he said, then added by way of explanation, "That's a gift. That's like some people who get born that can sing songs, some people who draw pictures."
"And you're just a natural-born killer," the rancher extrapolated dryly, retreating behind his desk.
Tulsa poured himself another glass of whisky. "Does that bother you?" he asked with a quiet, pleased smile in his voice.
The rancher frowned. "What bothers me is that it was my testimony that saved your life," he stated bluntly.
"That's right." The gunslinger nodded sharply, gesturing with the bottle towards John. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here. That's why I figure you owe me the money."
John's hand closed around his wooden pen holder as if he wanted to crush it. "And you got the nerve to ask me-"
Tulsa slammed his glass down on the table. "John, I ain't asking. I'm telling you. I want five thousand dollars, and I've come a long, hard way to get it."
Big John shrugged, unimpressed. "Well, you have come a long, hard way for nothing."
Tulsa looked at him with a sly expression. "Any man can be persuaded," he hinted.
"What're you gonna do? Kill me?" John countered, irony colouring his voice.
The other shook his head. "No. A dead goose don't lay golden eggs." He helped himself to yet another glass of whisky.
A faint smile appeared on Big John's face. "Tulsa, the answer is no," he decided and opened the door.
They stepped out onto the porch. Tulsa looked around admiringly. "You've got a quite nice place here," he said, fanning himself some air with his hat. "Don't stand behind me, John. It makes me nervous," he told the rancher.
John did him the favour of stepping next to him. "That's one of your problems, Tulsa. You judge everybody by yourself," he declared.
"I never backshot anyone in my life", the other retorted. He put on his hat, letting his eyes wander some more and saw his horse. It was standing where he had left it, still unsaddled. Buck was leaning against the post of the front porch, calmly drinking a cup of coffee.
"So that's your brother," Tulsa asked the rancher.
"That's right," Big John confirmed.
"Hey, fella," the gunslinger called out to Buck, going to him. Big John suddenly grimaced. He had the feeling that Tulsa intended to show him how he could be persuaded. "A man's not supposed to drink coffee until he's finished with his work. Now, did you water that horse?" the visitor continued imperiously.
Buck stared straight ahead. "No," he replied quietly.
Tulsa put his hands on his hips. "Did you rub him down good?"
"No, I didn't do that, either," Buck said indifferently, still not considering the other worthy of a glance.
Tulsa hazarded an educated guess. "And you didn't feed him," he stated.
Buck shook his head minutely and continued to sip his coffee.
"Well, I bet you've got a pretty good reason for not doing those things, don't you?" Tulsa said through gritted teeth, scolding Buck as if John's brother was a naughty child. "You mind telling me what it is?"
If Tulsa had hoped to bully Buck into submission, he got disappointed. Buck merely shrugged. "Ain't my horse," he said, unperturbed.
"That's right. He's mine, and I told you to take care of him," Tulsa snapped.
"And I don't much like people telling me what to do," Buck growled.
"And I don't much like people that don't do what I tell them," the other countered.
"Well, then I guess you and me ain't gonna be the best of friends," Buck declared frostily. He dumped his remaining coffee and wiped his cup off on his shirt.
"Goodbye, Tulsa," John said firmly from the front door.
"So long, John," the visitor answered. He went to his horse, giving Buck a shove as he passed him.
Buck caught himself on the post so as not to fall backwards against the wall. When he had regained his balance, he followed Tulsa, finally losing his calm demeanor. Big John stepped into his path. "No, wait! Wait," he cried, catching his brother by the arms.
Buck shoved John aside and went after Tulsa. "Hey, you." He grabbed the man by the left shoulder. "You."
Tulsa turned and delivered a punch to Buck's chin. Buck staggered back. John pulled his brother's revolver from the gunbelt and threw it on the porch. Mano picked it up, leaning against the post Buck had just vacated.
When Buck was about to g afther the gunslinger once more, John held his brother back again.
"Let me go," Buck shouted angrily.
"No," Big John objected. "Tulsa, get out of here."
"Go on, John. Let him go," the gunslinger demanded.
At this point the ranch hands drew near to see what the commotion was all about. They came to stand in a semicircle around Tulsa, leaving Mano, the only one with a drawn gun, a clear line of fire.
"Get out of here, Tulsa," the rancher repeated, tightening his grip on his brother.
Tulsa gazed at the reinforcements. "What are you doing, John?" he asked slowly. "Set the dogs on me?" His stomach started to knot. The gunslinger admitted to himself that he just might have bitten off more than he could chew.
Sam stepped up to him. "You heard him, mister."
The visitor looked around again. When none of the ranch hands went for their guns, he relaxed. Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned to the rancher. "I'll be in Tucson till our business is finished, John." He glanced at Buck. "If I see that little yellow dog in town, I'll just spit on him. And then I'll kill him."
Mano stiffened. He watched Big John holding his brother back with all his might.
"Ride, mister," Sam butted in impatiently.
Tulsa went to his horse, keeping a wary eye on Mano. Revolver in hand, Big John's brother-in-law watched Tulsa's every move like a hawk. By the look on his face he seemed to welcome the slightest pretext to be able to let his weapon do the speaking.
Tulsa made it safely to his horse. As soon as he had mounted he was back on the proverbial high horse as well. "I better not see you in town, either," he told Sam.
The foreman took a threatening step towards him. "Sam," John warned, and the foreman stopped.
The crew of the High Chaparral tensely watched the visitor ride from the ranch. The guard at the gate, rifle held high, also kept a sharp eye on him.
When the man had finally left, Sam turned to the ranch hands. "Fun's over, boys. Let's get back to work," he ordered, and the men returned to their respective tasks.
As the courtyard cleared, the tension abated. Big John suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. Slowly he let go of his brother.
"John, if you ever lay hands on me again, I'll break you in two," Buck promised him grimly and went to Mano on the front porch. Manolito uncocked the revolver. With a disapproving glance he pushed the gun into his brother-in-law's hand, then made himself scarce. He had rarely seen his friend so angry. Buck watched Mano go, speechless for a moment. He had not even noticed that his revolver had been taken from its holster.
Big John came over, leaning against the post. "Buck, I was trying to stop a killing," he explained quietly.
"I wasn't gonna kill him," Buck replied as he put away his gun, looking towards the gate as if to make sure that the man had not come back all of a sudden.
"I know. He was gonna kill you," his brother clarified. "He was trying to shoot you to blackmail me."
Buck's head shot up. "What?"
John nodded emphatically. "He wants me to lend him five thousand dollars," he said, casting a quick glance towards the gate himself.
"You turned him down," Buck remarked confidently.
His brother nodded again and took a deep breath. "The name of Tulsa Red mean anything to you?" he asked.
Buck shrugged. "A gunslinger from Kansas, Missouri. He notched eighteen men before he was twenty-three. Got killed a couple of years back."
"No," John said. "He was tried for murder but set free. Dropped out of sight. That was the last I heard of him. Until today."
Buck looked at his brother, startled. "And that's who's gonna be waitin' for me in Tucson," he said softly.
"Yeah. What are you gonna do?" John asked, concern written all over his face.
"Well, sooner or later, I'll have to go to Tucson, Tulsa Red or no Tulsa Red."
Big John nodded. "I know."
Buck walked a few steps. He knelt down, took a handful of dust and thoughtfully looked down on it. He needed time to come up with a plan. Jumping the gun would be fatal in this case. And besides, it would do Tulsa a world of good to exercise a little patience and wait for him a couple of days.
"I think I'll ride up to Gila Flat with Sam and the boys and help them round up that stock," Buck finally announced.
Big John came up behind his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. "Good," he said in relief as his brother rose from the sand. "Sam can always use an extra hand."
Buck rolled his eyes and went to the bunkhouse.
The men were busy packing their belongings for the trip to Gila Flat. "We're probably at the flats for two or three days, boys. So think of everything you need," the foreman instructed them.
Pedro carefully checked his rifle. "You know, Sam, I think we've come that close," he indicated the hair's breadth with his thumb and index finger, "of having a killing out there."
Sam shook his head. "Now, Pedro, a man who would try to kill a Cannon at the High Chaparral would be crazy," he commented.
"If Buck pushes him?" Pedro asked doubtfully.
Sam shrugged. "Makes no difference. Big John wouldn't let lie no matter how it happened."
"You talk like the Cannons were something special," Carter put in. He had not been at the High Chaparral long and had not yet had the opportunity to see how closely-knit a community this ranch was. "They're just men," he continued as he rolled up his sleeping bag on the bed. "They got two legs. They put their pants on one leg at a time." He threw Sam and Pedro a glance over his shoulder. "Just like me."
Before anyone could reply, Buck strode in. "Hey, Sam."
The foreman looked up. "Hey, Buck," he returned the greeting.
"I'll be part of the crew going up to the Gila Flat with you," Buck explained, looking uncomfortable.
Sam's face brightened. "Good. You're packed yet?" he asked.
"Er, yes," Buck said, looking at the ground. He turned on his heels and walked to the door.
"Ain't you going to Tucson, Buck?" Carter quipped from his bed.
Buck stopped. He turned to face the ranch hand, straightening up. "What for?" he wanted to know.
"I just thought you was gonna meet somebody there," grinned the other.
"Is that what you thought?" Buck asked quietly.
Carter nodded, his grin growing wider with every word. "That's what I thought."
Buck allowed himself a slight smile. "Well, you thought wrong," he informed the ranch hand and left the bunkhouse for good.
Carter laughed. When he saw Sam and Pedro looking daggers at him, he let his grin fade in a hurry.
Mano and John left the house with Buck to see him off. The ranch hands had already mounted.
"Adios." Mano waved to his friend, leaning against the post.
Buck did not react. He silently mounted his horse, keeping his eyes rigidly on the ground.
Big John stepped towards his foreman. "You got everything you need, Sam?" he asked.
"We got everything for three days," Sam confirmed.
"If it takes a bit longer, I'll send you more up," John said, hoping that the foreman understood and delayed as long as possible to keep Buck away from Tucson.
"Well, if we run out of food, you're gonna hear from us," Sam replied with a smile, indicating that he had understood what his boss was getting at.
Buck looked up. He, too, had understood the message. "If anybody comes looking for me, you tell him where to find me," he instructed his brother.
Big John nodded. "Alright, Buck." He stepped back a few paces to where Mano was standing and watched Buck and the others leave the ranch.
"John," Manolito said softly after a few seconds of silence. "Are you afraid of this man, Tulsa?"
The rancher looked towards the gate for a long moment. "Yes," he admitted finally, heaving a sigh.
"I think you're a smart man," Mano told him with a faint smile. Putting his hands on his hips, he looked at John resolutely. "But still, what are we gonna do about him?" he demanded.
"We've got to get him out of Tucson before Buck gets back," Big John declared.
Mano worriedly looked after his best friend. "Yeah," he agreed wholeheartedly.
Big John paced the living room like a caged tiger. He had told Victoria about his plan, but his wife was dead set against it. "Victoria, I just can't think of any other way to get rid of him," John agitatedly explained again.
His wife cleaned the oil lamp next to the stairs. "It's blackmail, John. It's a crime," she said quietly. "It's as though he is holding a gun against your ribs."
John shook his head and walked to the window. "It's not my ribs. It's Buck's ribs."
His wife paused. "That's the same thing," she answered softly.
"I know that, Victoria," John nodded behind her back.
"Why don't you just take Mano and some of the other men and drive him out of Tucson?" his wife demanded.
Big John turned from the window and came back to her. "What do you think it would do to Buck if somebody else was fighting his battles?" he asked.
"It's not Buck's fight. It's yours," Victoria argued.
"I know," John admitted, coming to stand before her. "But I have seen this man fight. He's fast as there is. Buck wouldn't stand a chance. And neither would I."
His wife looked up at him worriedly. "But it's still blackmail. It's still wrong," she protested.
John paced around the room again. "Victoria, I can take twenty men into town, but he might still kill one of them before we got him." He came back and looked her seriously in the eyes. "Five thousand dollars is not worth a life. Not the hands', not Buck's."
"Will you concede?" Victoria asked quietly.
John nodded. "I know it's wrong, Victoria. But it's the only way."
His wife finally agreed. She took a deep breath and nodded as well.
The next morning John rode with his brother-in-law into town. He asked Mano to locate Tulsa while he himself went to the bank.
The banker bade the rancher into the consultation area and looked over the papers. "I know you are good for the money, John. But you already have two notes from the bank," he began.
"I'll have the money as soon as the drive is over," the rancher promised.
The banker shook his head thoughtfully. "It's quite a lot of money depending on that drive. Why putting all your eggs in one basket? If anything would go wrong-"
"I've done a lot of business with this bank," Big John cut in.
"Don't go off the deep end. I'm not saying no," the banker replied calmly. "I could have the money on a ninety-day note for just your signature."
"But what?" John asked impatiently.
Manolito heard the voice of his brother-in-law and came quietly closer, stopping at the barrier. "Ninety days doesn't give you much time to raise the money," he heard the banker say.
"I'll raise the money. I can always sell a part of Chaparral," Big John replied firmly.
It had come to that? Mano thought in dismay. He knew for sure that Buck would resent this. Maybe his best friend would resent it so much that he would leave the High Chaparral. In the wan light of the building Mano had already looked pale. Now he blanched.
"All right, John," the banker decided. He took his quill to sign the note.
Big John looked to the side. At second glance he noticed Mano standing behind the barrier and went to him. "Did you find him?" John asked his brother-in-law.
Manolito nodded. "It was not hard. He is waiting at the saloon."
The rancher looked absently into the direction of said building. "Sign here," the banker interrupted his thoughts, pushing the note over to him. "And give that to the teller."
John put his signature on the note. "Thank you. I appreciate it," he said gratefully and left the service area.
"John, you are paying him off?" Mano asked, disappointment colouring his voice.
The rancher shrugged, avoiding Mano's eyes, looking down at the note instead. "Yes. I want him out of town." He went to the teller. Manolito threw the banker a quick glance, then followed Big John to the cashier desk.
As soon as John had got hold of the money, they went to the saloon. Tulsa was sitting at a table near the counter, drinking whisky. Big John stopped there while Mano continued to the bar.
"Hello, John. Are you ready for that drink now?" Manolito heard Tulsa ask.
"You were expecting me," the rancher declared.
The gunsliger inclined his head. "So it is," he admitted. "I just figured you would be here before your brother since you got less to loose."
John sat down. "Don't underestimate him, Tulsa," he warned. "You 'd be surprised."
Tulsa took it in stride. So far Buck's reaction had not surprised him at all. "I wasn't bettin' on him, John. I was bettin' on you. And here you are. With a smile on your face and money in your pocket, right?" he said with a broad grin on his own face.
With a surly expression Big John took the wad of banknotes from his breast pocket and handed them to Tulsa. "You take this, you get on your horse and ride," he demanded sternly.
"Sure, John. Ain't nothing keeping me any more." The gunslinger grabbed for the money.
John pulled his hand back again. "And don't ever come back," he added stonily.
Tulsa leaned back. "I don't make promises I can't keep, John."
"That's the deal," the rancher said firmly.
Tulsa shook his head. "I'll take the money, and I'll ride out. And maybe you won't ever see me again. But maybe you will. That's the deal." He glanced in Manolito's direction. John's brother-in-law looked worried but gave no sign that he was about to hit the roof.
Big John also leaned back in his chair. " What if I don't take it?" he asked quietly.
"But you will, John. See, you're scared. And I'm not," the gunslinger said with utter conviction.
John shook his head, smiling slightly. "You don't scare me, Tulsa."
The gunslinger took another sip of whisky. "Well, I'll put it another way. You care. You care what happens to people - like your brother, like him," he nodded towards Mano, "your foreman, and even your hands. And that's a weakness, John," he stated.
"And you don't have any weakness?" the rancher asked sarcastically.
The gunslinger shook his head. "None that I know of. Life treats me pretty good. It gives me everything I need." He took the money from John's unresisting hands, hid it under his hat and produced a slip of paper and a pencil. Mano came closer to look over his shoulder.
"Now, what's that?" John asked, puzzled.
"That's my IOU. Just to keep everything legal," Tulsa answered. He handed the paper and his pen to the rancher, then got up and poured himself a last glass of whisky. "To success," he toasted Manolito, then looked disappointedly at the rancher. "Now, you ain't drinking again, John."
"Tulsa," Mano finally put in. He had to keep himself under very tight control or he would be trembling with rage by now. "Is there anything you are afraid of?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah. One thing," the gunslinger admitted and put the glass down. "Being stone-cold broke," he grinned. He pulled a bill from the wad of money and laid it on the table. "Now, go ahead, finish the bottle on me," he said. Then he left, keeping a careful eye on John and Mano until he was out the door.
Manolito looked at John who was sitting in his chair, clutching his hat. He seemed to have as much trouble as Mano to keep his anger in check.
Buck rounded up the cattle with the ranch hands. They had driven the animals into a box canyon that could be easily monitored by a few men. Buck had teamed up with Sam. In the afternoon they were taking a breather when Pedro and Carter met up with them.
"Buck, take Pedro and Carter and ride back up that draw and see if we miss any up there," Sam ordered, looking up at the canyon walls.
Buck wiped the sweat from his brow. "Will be a pleasure," he said. "It sure is hot down here on these flats."
"It's a lot cooler here than it is in Tucson," Carter grinned.
Buck leaned forward in his saddle, his face clouding over. Sam and Pedro shot Carter equally unfriendly looks.
Before anyone could answer, Mano arrived. "Buenas tardes, muchachos," he shouted from afar.
Sam waved to him, then turned to Buck. "Buck, you take Mano with you. I'll keep Carter here with me."
Buck nodded and turned his horse around. "Mano, you're just in time to do some work. Come on," he told his best friend and rode up the rocks. Carter thoughtfully stared after them.
"Carter," Sam addressed him, and the ranch hand directed his horse towards the foreman. "Ride back to the High Chaparral and tell Big John we'll be finished here ahead of time," Sam ordered.
Carter nodded. "Is that all?" he asked.
Sam shook his head. "No. While you're there, draw whatever pay you've got outstanding and get off the High Chaparral."
"Wait a minute," Carter protested.
"I don't want no man in my crew that picks fights," Sam replied firmly.
"I never pick no fights," the ranch hand exclaimed.
"You already have. It just hasn't taken place yet," the foreman countered.
Carter shook his head, holding out his hand. "All I said was-"
"I know what you said. I know what you meant," Sam interrupted him. "So does Buck. If you stay, you'll fight right after supper. Now, ride!" The foreman jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the High Chaparral and watched Carter go until the man was out of sight.
After supper Manolito lay down in his sleeping bag next to the campfire, hugging his blanket. "I will never understand this desert," he told the man opposite the fire. "How can it be so hot during the day and get so cold at night?" He took his cup, sipped the hot brew cautiously, then looked up at Buck. "The coffee is good, huh?"
Buck restlessly walked through the rows of bedrolls. "Yes," he replied curtly and moved on. He ended up in front of Sam and the supply wagon.
The foreman also sipped on a cup of coffee. "Looking for somebody?" he asked quietly.
Buck shrugged. "Nobody in particular. Just- Carter," he admitted.
"I sent him back to the ranch."
Buck shrugged again, taking a sip of his coffee. "Well, I guess it'll have to wait till I get back," he sighed.
"He won't be there, Buck. I fired him," the foreman told him.
Buck looked up in surprise. "Sam, are you gonna start getting mixed up in my fights, too?" he asked, the warning in his voice clearly audible.
"I wasn't thinking about you, Buck. I was-"
"Now, Sam," Buck tried to interrupt.
"-thinking about my crew," the foreman finished.
"Sam," Buck repeated warningly.
Mano listened in on the argument. He shook his head, put his cup down and jumped up.
"Look, Buck," the foreman began to explain. "After you got through breaking him apart he'd be lying around the bunkhouse for two or three weeks, getting well and doing nothing and still drawing his pay."
Buck paused. "Well, it sounds about right," he finally admitted.
Mano approached them. He rubbed his cold hands, buried them in his pockets and came to stand next to his brother-in-law. "Sure it is," he put in reasonably. "Besides, it is over. Tulsa Red has left Tucson."
"John gave him the money," Buck observed irritatedly.
"No," contradicted Mano, then looked at Sam with a sad smile. He knew how the conversation would end and wished he could change it.
The foreman sipped his coffee, watching the darama unfold. He would never dream of trying to hold Buck back. The younger Cannon brother was stronger than most when he was in a good mood, but all fired up as he was right now, he was definitely the stronger one. And Sam knew for a fact that he had far less leverage with Buck than Mano had.
"Mano," Buck demanded irritably, his temper flaring, "don't you lie to me."
"I don't lie to you," Manolito protested with clenched teeth. "John did not give him the money, he loaned it to him."
The bomb is ticking, Sam thought. He knew it was only a matter of time before Buck would explode.
"Which way did Tulsa go?" he heard Buck ask and knew the fuse was lit.
Manolito remained silent. He threw first Buck a pleading look, then Sam. This was exactly what he had tried to prevent.
"Mano," Buck repeated, sharper this time.
Manolito lowered his eyes. "He took the east fork to Benson," he finally answered in a low voice.
Buck poured his coffee down on the ground with a decisive gesture and went to his bedroll. Mano followed him. "Buck," he asked worriedly. "Where are you going?"
Buck took his blanket. "Gonna get that money back," he answered with restrained anger.
"Wait a minute. I'm going with you." Mano turned to get his own gear.
"No!" Buck's hand shot forward and closed around Manolito's upper arm like a vise. Shocked to the core, Mano gazed at his arm. He slowly raised his head and looked into Buck's absolutely furious face. Buck squeezed a little harder to lend yet more weight to his next words. "You stir a leg out of this camp, I'll break it in three places," he hissed. He jerked his hand away, whirled around and strode to his horse.
Manolito lowered his head, fighting to keep his desparation in check. He was forced to obey Buck's order to remain in the camp. Mano knew that his friend would otherwise put him out of commission to protect him. And Manolito knew that he needed Buck's protection in this case. But who would protect Buck? Mano had accused John of backing down. Right now Manolito himself would have agreed to anything if it would serve to save his best friend's life.
Mano took the first and then also the second watch. He intently listened into the darkness, praying that his brother-in-law would return. Perhaps, Mano hoped, Buck had lost Tulsa's trail - or had never found it in the first place. When he was finally relieved of his duty, Manolito threw himself down onto his bedroll in defeat, trying not to let on how much the loss of his best friend got to him. He could not hide it completely.
Buck rode silently through the night, determined to track Tulsa down. He knew instinctively that he could only eliminate the gunslinger alone. If he showed up with somebody else, Tulsa would play them off against each other, killing at least one of them. However, in the whole time Buck had herded the cattle with the ranch hands, he had not been able to come up with a viable plan of how to deal with the man. Only John's statement that the gunslinger judged everybody according to his own standards and Tulsa's answer that he had never shot someone from behind kept going around and around in Buck's head. When Mano had told him about the loan, Buck had finally hit the roof. And suddenly it had dawned on him how he could defeat Tulsa.
Buck neared a stone circle and walked more softly. After another couple of steps he saw a campfire. The gunslinger was sitting next to it; his white hair was easily recognizable, even in the dark. Buck crept to the nearest standing stone and assessed the situation. Tulsa warmed his hands on his coffee pot. From time to time he took a sip to fend off the cold of the night, staring thoughtfully into the fire. Buck picked up a few pebbles and crept to the other side of the rock. He tossed the first pebble high into the air. It landed on a spot right across from his hiding place, falling down among the bushes with a loud, rustling sound. Tulsa jumped up. With a lightning fast movement he pulled out his revolver, looking in the direction from which the noise had come. Behind Tulsa's back Buck threw a second pebble into the bushes where the gunslinger had been sitting. Tulsa uneasily searched his surroundings with his eyes. He inwardly cursed his fire. It blinded him to the dangers that lurked in the dark. He retreated backwards into the shadows of Buck's stone - and stopped abruptly when he felt the barrel of a gun in his back.
"Just open your hand and let it drop. Easy," Buck hissed.
Tulsa extended his right arm and let his gun fall to the ground.
Buck pulled the barrel of his own gun slowly down Tulsa's spine, crouched down and started to frisk the man. He pulled a weapon from Tulsa's left boot, threw it into the bushes, then straightened up again. "Now you turn around," he ordered. When Tulsa hesitated Buck jabbed his gun firmly into the man's back. The gunslinger finally obeyed.
"The bank sent me to cancel your loan," Buck explained. "Where is the money?"
Tulsa remained silent. Buck cocked his weapon. "I feel kinda bad takin' it off your dead body," he stated.
Tulsa lifted the left side of his coat, gesturing in invitation towards his money pouch. Buck slightly shook his head. "You take it out. You hand it to me. Easy."
Tulsa did. Buck took the bundle and put it away. "Now you go back there and pour yourself another cup of coffee," he ordered.
The gunslinger slowly walked to the campfire. Buck meanwhile covertly counted the bills.
Tulsa squatted down by the fire and refilled his cup. "I'll be looking for you tomorrow," he began. "This thing got nothing to do with John Cannon any more. This is personal."
Buck nodded imperceptibly. "Just so that you won't have any trouble finding me. I'll be in the saloon," he answered calmly.
Tulsa got up, cup in his hand. "Don't worry. I'll find you."
"Now you sit down and drink your coffee," Buck replied sharply. "And turn the other way. I don't like your face."
Tulsa did him the favour. "You know, Buck, I'm beginning to look forward to killing you," he grinned.
Buck absconded noiselessly but did not ride back to the camp. He would not lead Tulsa to his friends, should the gunslinger get it into his head to follow him. Instead, Buck rode on to Benson, spending the night at the hotel. In the morning he seized the opportunity to buy supplies, then made his way back to the High Chaparral. Around one o'clock in the afternoon he arrived.
As usual, Big John was busy with his book-keeping. He raised his cup. After a moment of surprise, he set it down again. "Victoria, bring me another cup of coffee," he shouted towards the kitchen, then returned his attention to his books.
A wad of money landed on top of them. "Since when does Big John Cannon pay blackmail to anyone?" Buck fumed.
John stiffened. "Er, Buck, this was a business deal. He asked me for a loan, and I gave it to him. Well, here is his IOU," he stuttered, handing his brother the receipt.
Buck took the paper. He barely looked at it before he tore it up. "If it's business, it's bad business," he said angrily, turned on his heels and marched out again.
Big John heard the front door slam shut. He tapped the wad thoughtfully on the table. The next instant he shot out of his chair. Putting the money in the pocket of his waistcoat, he headed for the door, his expression more than worried. Since Buck had brought him the money, he must have gotten it from Tulsa, the rancher reasoned. And the gunslinger surely had not coughed it up voluntarily. John took his hat and gun belt and hurried after his brother. He stopped on the front porch. A rider disappeared in the distance; Sam and Mano were riding up to him.
"Was that Buck who rode out of here?" Big John asked.
Sam nodded. "Yes, as fast as he was coming in. It looks like he was heading for Tucson."
"He went after Tulsa last night," Manolito admitted.
"He found him." John pulled the money from his pocket, shooting Manolito a reprimanding look.
"He is still alive," Mano pointed out.
Big John nodded. "Yeah." He mounted his horse and rode after his brother, although at a more sedate pace.
Mano turned his horse, worriedly staring after Big John. "Well, I think I'll ride to Tucson," he declared.
"I just might go with you," Sam put in.
"Me, too," Pedro announced. He had just arrived from the paddock.
"Momento, muchachos." Mano held up a hand. "I do not think Buck will like that."
"Look, Mano, Big John said when we finished the flats we could have a day off. And on my day off, I go where I want," Sam grinned at Mano.
"Exactly," Pedro concurred.
Manolito nodded, and the three of them made their way to Tucson.
Buck stood at the bar in the saloon, a glass of whisky in front of him, his back to the entrance. He was the only guest. The bartender, Mike, busied himself by polishing glasses. A man came through the door. Mike looked up, then turned back to his glasses with absolute indifference.
The man approached the counter. "Things are kind of quiet, aren't they?" he asked with a broad grin.
"For the time being," the bartender said. "You're new in town?" he asked casually.
The man nodded effusively. "I just registered at the hotel."
"Why don't you come back later in the day?" Mike suggested as he refilled Buck's glass.
The newcomer looked longingly at the bottle. " Mind if I had a shot of the same?"
"Yep," Mike told him firmly.
The man looked at him in disbelief. "You don't want to do business?"
"Nope." The bartender ignored his guest and continued to polish glasses with a dedication that seemed unwarranted. At a loss of how to deal with the situation, the newcomer left. At the door he stopped again. He turned around for a last, uncomprehending look, put his hat on, and finally exited. A moment later Big John came in.
Nerves strung high, Buck stared straight ahead at the wall behind the bar.
"Mike," John greeted the barkeeper, pointing to the bottle. Mike poured him a glass, then retreated to the other end of the counter.
Big John turned to his brother. "I came to have a drink with you, Buck," he said quietly.
Buck did not react. He continued to stare straight ahead, his muscles tight, the worry lines on his face deepening with every passing second.
John raised his glass. "Salud."
Buck's tension dissolved. He let his pent-up breath escape, smiled a little and looked down at his own glass.
John looked around the empty saloon. He realized that his brother must have something in mind and that now was not the time to disturb him. He gently laid a hand on Buck 's arm. "I'll see you at the ranch," he smiled, then left.
When John was safely out the door, Buck finally raised his glass. "Salud," he said in a hoarse voice, drank up and held his glass out again to Mike for a refill.
"Think ya should, Buck?" the barkeeper frowned.
Buck shrugged. "I don't think it makes much difference one way or other."
Shaking his head, Mike gave in.
Manolito, Sam and Pedro kept watch on the road to Tucson. They directed their horses to the side to let a wagon that came from the town pass.
"I don't think he can come back any other way," Sam said worriedly.
Mano looked up at the foreman restlessly. "I don't think he had. We would have heard - something," he said, glancing meaningfully after the wagon. Still he turned around to gaze in the direction of Tucson.
"Sam, Mano," Pedro exclaimed suddenly, pointing ahead. Tulsa approached them at a leisurely pace.
The three men from the High Chaparral barred the road with their horses.
"Buenas tardes, señor," Mano greeted the gunslinger.
"You're in my way," Tulsa growled.
"This is as far as you go," Sam answered him.
Manolito smiled tightly. "You can go anywhere you like, except Tucson," he declared.
Tulsa looked at him sharply. "And will you be here tomorrow? And the next day? And the next? You gonna ride bodyguard on him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?" he asked.
Mano, Sam and Pedro lowered their eyes, disappointment clouding their faces.
"He is right. The only way you gotta stop him is kill him," Big John called out from behind them. He rode up to them from the direction of Tucson. "You ready for that?" he demanded.
Mano nodded stonily. "It crossed my mind, John."
"Four against one?" Big John countered. "The law would hang you for sure."
The gunslinger began to feel uncomfortable. "Did you bring the money, John?" he asked quickly.
The rancher shook his head. "Not this time, Tulsa. You have an argument with my brother, you settle it with him. He's at the saloon."He looked at his men. "Get out of his way, Sam."
"But boss-" Sam started to protest.
"Now," Big John ordered.
Why this change of heart all of a sudden? Manolito wondered. Buck must have planned something - he hoped. He gave the gunslinger one last grim look, then nodded to Sam and Pedro.
Tulsa spurred his horse on. He felt awkward riding through the cordon. John had stopped on one side, and the other three on the opposite side of the road.
"Tulsa," John said when he had drawn level with the rancher, "I'll be seeing you before you leave town."
Mano 's heart skipped a beat. John seemed after all not so sure that Buck had a plan.
Buck had relaxed somewhat. He poured himself a glass of whisky when Tulsa sneaked on silent feet into the saloon. Only the faint squeaking of the swinging doors drew Buck's attention to the newcomer. Buck straightened up and listened intently towards the door. Mike retreated to the other end of his counter.
Tulsa carefully hung his arms over the saloon's wooden screen panel. "Howdy, Buck," he began. "You're kind of a hard man to meet head on."
"Well, I usually am kind of careful of the company I keep," Buck told him without leaving his station or even turning to look at him.
"Well, we all make a mistake now and then," the gunslinger said.
Buck nodded. "That is a sure thing, Tulsa."
"If you was to kind of admit that you made a mistake, crawl all over here and give me that money," Tulsa continued conversationally, "I might just forget the whole thing."
"I don't have it," Buck replied curtly.
Tulsa grimaced. "Now, that's too bad." Slowly and silently he entered the saloon. "A man don't get paid for his labours, he should at least get a lot of satisfaction. Turn around, Buck," he said softly.
Buck still did not budge. "Now I tell you, Tulsa," he began. "If you was to admit that you had made a mistake, and if you was to crawl on out here, I just might forget the whole thing."
"I don't make mistakes," Tulsa blustered and took a few steps further into the saloon. "Turn around."
Buck swallowed. "You - sure?" he asked hesitantly.
Tulsa impatiently kicked a chair aside. "Turn around!" he barked.
Buck turned. He held a small revolver in his hand, the barrel aimed dead centre at Tulsa's heart.
"What are you doing?" the gunslinger asked, his mouth suddenly dry.
"Turn around, like you said," Buck replied quietly.
"That's murder, Buck," Tulsa protested.
"Well, I think I'm going to the backroom to check the stock," the barkeeper put in and went to the back door. "What I don't see I can't testify." He was out of the room at his last word. Tulsa watched him go for a second, then quickly looked back at Buck.
"Your play, Tulsa. It's now your play," Buck said quietly, his gun never wavering.
"It's murder, Buck. You gotta give me a chance," Tulsa demanded.
"I don't have to give you anything," Buck countered icily.
The gunslinger shook his head, sweating. "This won't be a fair fight," he insisted.
Buck grimaced. "Fair? Hey that's a good word. I bet you would like to cut it in my tombstone, won't you? 'Here lies Buck Cannon, a fair man'. But you know, I'd sooner end up standing over your grave with people whispering behind their hands, 'That's Buck Cannon, he don't fight fair'."
Tulsa looked at Buck in disappointment. "I never figured you for a coward."
Buck smiled calmly. "Well, you live and you learn." He became serious. "I just don't wanna die. Not by someone like you. Those who are ready to kill must be ready to die, too. This is the other side of the coin."
"You gotta give me an even chance," Tulsa tried again.
Buck smiled once more. "Who is gonna say it wasn't a fair fight? There is only you and me. And you'll be dead."
Tulsa straightened up, turning his body completely towards Buck. He confidently crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't believe you'd do it," he stated.
He had barely finished when a shot rang out. Tulsa stumbled back against a table, holding his right shoulder. The barkeeper rushed in through the back door, the crew from the High Chaparral through the front entrance. Mano looked from Tulsa to Buck. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his friend was uninjured.
Buck put his small revolver on the counter. "Aim must be off," he said laconically. "Now it's a fair fight. Draw," he told the gunslinger. No one moved. "Whenever you're ready," Buck patiently offered after a while.
Tulsa stood opposite Buck, squaring his shoulders as best he could. He tried to move his arm, but could not produce more than a tremor. "No, this ain't fair," he complained, half turning his head to John who stood behind him.
"Tough," Buck countered stonily.
Tulsa finally unbuckled his gun belt. "You kill an unarmed man, that's murder," he told the assembled men.
"He's right," Big John put in.
Manolito stiffened. Why did he have to come to Tulsa's aid?
"Murder, yeah," Buck nodded.
"It ain't over, Buck," Tulsa trumped up again.
"Sure it is, Tulsa," Buck replied calmly. "For now, anyways."
"We will meet again, I promise you," the gunslinger seethed.
Buck nodded stoically. "It may happen. Just remember I'm not as fast as you. I won't draw against you. So I just might have to backshoot you next time."
Tulsa finally understood the warning. "I believe you would, too," he conceded.
"Try me," Buck growled.
The gunslinger made his way through the men from the High Chaparral and assorted town folks. The unfriendly glances the people threw him he would not forget in a hurry.
When they were finally alone, Buck closed his eyes for a moment, then turned back to the bar, leaning heavily on it. Big John came to stand next to his brother.
"You know what, John? I don't fight fair," Buck said softly.
"You know what, Buck? Nobody is gonna hold it against you. He would have killed you," Big John reassured him just as softly.
"I'll ride back to the Chaparral with you," Buck mumbled. "All of a sudden I feel tired."
Manolito finally relaxed. He smiled at John who left the saloon with his brother. Pedro watched them go.
"Pedro," Mano called to him, "a drink on me, muchachos."
"Good idea," Sam interjected enthusiastically.
Thev moved to the counter.
"Hey, Mike, guess who is going to buy," Mano asked the barkeeper with a happy smile.
Mike made a puzzled face. "Who?"
Mano grinned. "You."
The others nodded affirmatively. "You," they laughed, and Mike poured them each a glass.