“I’m sort of busy,” Jeff declared. “Looking for someone.”
“Sure,” said Owen. “I know all about that. Come out in the back and kill a bottle with me.”
He reached out and took the bottle the bartender had set out for Jeff.
For a moment, Jeff hesitated. He wasn’t Peaceful Jones and maybe he’d save himself a heap of trouble by up and saying so. But he’d come to Cactus City looking for trouble and now that he’d found it …
“Guess I can spare some time,” he said slowly.
The drunk, he saw, had fallen asleep once more. His hat had fallen off again and lay on the floor.
The back room was a bare affair. An empty bottle, a few glasses and a deck of greasy cards littered the table.
Jeff slid into a chair while Owen poured liquor into two glasses.
“So Banker Slemp hired you,” Owen fired at Jim.
Jeff picked up a glass, twirled it between his hands. Owen stared at him.
“Lay down your cards,” said Jeff. “Face up.”
“You’re making it tough to deal with you,” Owen complained.
“Me,” said Jeff. “I got a job.”
“With Slemp,” said Owen.
Jeff nodded.
“That way you’re bucking me,” Owen told him flatly.
“I don’t know about that,” said Jeff. “Slemp has a job for me. That’s all I know about it.”
Owen drained his glass, thumped it on the table.
“Likely figuring on cheating you out of half your money,” he declared. “Same as he’s cheated all the ranchers.”
“What you figuring on doing about it?” demanded Jeff.
Owen hiked his chair forward, leaned across the table. “What if the bank happened to get robbed and Slemp got killed?”
Jeff stifled his gasp. He bent his head, staring at the glass, brain racing. Trying to figure it out, trying to find the answer.
“Slemp wouldn’t be underfoot any more,” he said.
“You catch on quick,” said Owen. “Quick on the trigger, quick on the savvy. That’s the way I like it.”
“Bank robbing,” Jeff pointed out, “is sometimes downright risky.”
Owen chuckled thickly. “Not the way we’d do it. With you inside and us outside it would be a cinch. Some night when Slemp was working on the books. And it would be blamed on the Hills gang.”
He chuckled again. “No one would even think of us.”
Jeff tilted the glass and swallowed the whisky, put the glass back on the table. He rose and hitched up his gunbelt.
“There’d be something in it for me?” he asked.
Owen guffawed. “Plenty. You needn’t worry. I ain’t interested in the money. Just Slemp.”
“I’ll be in to see you,” Jeff said.
“We’ll be watching you,” warned Owen.
“Just be careful,” said Jeff, “that you don’t crowd me none.”
On the street in front of the Silver Dollar, Jeff stood for a moment, looking down the street. One sign said RESTAURANT. Another said SADDLES. The third one said BANK.
The pony still stood with hanging head, switching lazily. A dog had come from somewhere and lay curled in the shadows at the corner of a building.
Jeff headed down the street. Little puffs of dust spatted around his boots. The dog watched him with sad, half interested eyes.
The bank was one room, divided in half by a counter topped by a black iron netting that formed a cage. There was one window. A man writing at a desk got up.
“You Slemp?” asked Jeff.
The banker nodded.
“I’m Jones,” said Jeff.
What passed for a smile glinted beneath the weedy mustache.
“You must have made good time, Mr. Jones. I hadn’t expected you for a day or two.”
“When I travel,” said Jeff, “I travel.”
“I’ll let you in, Mr. Jones,” said Slemp.
“The name,” said Jeff, “is Peaceful.”
“I’ll lock up,” said Slemp. “It’s almost closing time anyhow. Not much business these days.”
He pulled a chain from his pocket, selected a key and walked to the front door.
Jeff heard a lock click and Slemp was back again, holding open the door that led behind the cage.
“Have a chair,” he invited.
Jeff hooked a chair from under the desk with the toe of his boot and sat down.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
Slemp motioned. “Those guns? You handy with them?”
“Might say I was,” admitted Jeff.
“You may have occasion to use them,” declared Slemp.
“What’s the trouble, Slemp? Some of the ranchers on the prod?”
“What do you mean?” rasped Slemp.
Jeff grinned. “Some bankers ain’t too popular. Just a mite particular about foreclosure laws.”
“I’ve never had any trouble that way,” Slemp declared. “Whatever I’ve done was strictly legal. Any foreclosures I might have made were only carried out to protect the loan.”
“Naturally,” said Jeff.
“The man you have to watch,” said Slemp, leaning closer, lowering his voice, “is a man named Owen. Owns the Silver Dollar.”
“Yeah,” said Jeff, “I know. I stopped there for a drink.”
Slemp frowned. “Didn’t meet Owen, did you?”
“Me and him,” said Jeff, “had a drink together.”
“Know who you were?”
“Guess he did,” admitted Jeff. “Hombre in there recognized me. Came gunning for me. Claimed I’d crossed him down in Texas.”
“You killed him?”
“Nope, Just gun-whipped him some.”
Slemp shook his head. “Don’t like that, Jones. You should have come straight here.”
Jeff’s hand shot out and grasped Slemp by the shirt front, pulling the fabric tight with a vicious twist, dragging the man close to him.
“Don’t start telling me what I should of done,” he snarled. “Don’t start figuring you can treat me like a hired hand. Tell me what the layout is and tell me quick. Quit beating around the bush and tell it straight.”
“It’s Owen,” gasped Slemp. “I’m getting afraid of him. He’s planning something. I got ways of finding out.”
“Spies?”
The banker’s face twisted. “Yes, you might call them that. Men in Owen’s gang that tell me things I need to know. I pay them for it.”
“Why are you afraid of Owen?” rapped Jeff. “What’s he got against you?”
Slemp hesitated. Jeff shook him roughly.
“We were in some deals together,” Slemp said, eyes showing white with fear.
“And you double-crossed him?”
“No. No, Jones, it isn’t that. Between us we run this country. But Owen isn’t satisfied with that. He wants it all himself. I’m afraid …”
Jeff released his hold upon the shirt.
“You got a damn good right to be,” he said.
The banker reached out a hand for a chair, sat down in it carefully.
“So I’m supposed to save your hide,” said Jeff. “What do you want me to do? Just some plain and fancy guarding or gunsmoke Owen and his gang plumb out of town?”
Slemp gulped. “Just guarding,” he said. “Just a month or two. I’m fixing up a deal to run Owen out myself. Vigilante committee or a law and order association or something like that.”
Jeff spat in disgust. “You can do it, too. A solid citizen like you.”
“You bet I can,” the banker said.
“Figure all those ranchers you robbed are going to back you up, heh?”
Slemp flared. “I didn’t rob anyone, Jones. The boys all knew when they got their loans they had to have the payments here on time. I told them so before they got the money. Ain’t my fault they couldn’t make it.”
“Have it your own way,” said Jeff. “I’ll start work tomorrow.”