I waited five minutes, then followed. There were no customers in the bank when I entered. At one side were two grilled windows; at the other a flat desk for clients. No chair there. A chair might have been an expense. The cashier stood at his window; another man worked at a ledger behind him. At the rear was a small room with a small door marked, "Private".
The cashier said, "Morning, Johnny."
I moved easily toward his window. "I got a date to see Mr. Kirby. He said shortly after eight. Is he in yet?"
"Just came in a minute ago." He smiled wanly. "Usual dill pickle disposition. If you want a loan, I'll warn you his humor is bad."
I laughed easily. "When was it good? Well, I'm not asking much, but I got a chance to pick up some beef steers at a bargain."
The cashier nodded. "Better give him a minute or so, until he recovers from his usual morning indigestion belches."
Wait a minute or so? And me tenser than a drum-head inside. I could feel that boiling indignation coming up again, but I only gave a short laugh and we fanned the air for a couple of minutes. I handed out that line about heading north for deer, again. That was three folks I'd told. Maybe they'd take stock in that "north" guff when the law got on my trail. After a minute I took off in the direction of Kirby's office.
I paused an instant at the door, knocked once, then turned the knob and pushed inside, closing the door behind me. Kirby's head shot up. "You, Cardinal, don't you know enough to wait for an invitation to enter?"
"I know enough, but time is short," I said briefly. "I've got a couple of things to say to you—" He had started to rise from his chair.
I slapped one hand sharply to my Colt butt. "Sit down," I snapped.
His face went a dirty-gray color and he dropped back in the chair. He didn't know I was damn' near as scared as he was, but I kept up the bluff. "Wha—wha—what do you want?" he stammered.
"First, I've wanted to tell you for a long time that you're a low-down, greedy, penny-pinching scoundrel and lower than a rattler's belly. Everybody in town hates you—in town and out. Once you get your talons in a man you never let up, and it's time you was taught a lesson. Is that clear?"
He gulped hard, tried to answer, but couldn't. I went on in a snarly tone of voice. "More than once I've been ready to throw a chunk of lead through your worthless guts. Now I think the time is prime for just that."
"You—you wouldn't dare," he quavered. "You'd swing for murder—"
"But you'd be dead," I laughed coldly. "I'd have the thanks of every man in Tenango City. You ready for it? No!"—as he opened his mouth—"Don't yell for help." Again I reached toward my gun-butt.
Only a half groan issued from his white lips. He half stumbled up then went down on his knees and began to plead for mercy. Slobber ran from his mouth. It was disgusting. Now he was pleading for mercy, tears running down his cheeks, offering to do anything. He started to sob in broken tones and I was afraid he'd be heard in the outer bank.
Again, I touched my gun-butt and told him to tone down. He quieted, but still remained on his knees, body shaking like a calf being branded. "All right," I growled at last. "You've got just one chance—"
"Any—anything you say, Mister Cardinal," he gasped.
"You get a chance to prove just that," I said tersely. "I need three hundred dollars. That's a cheap price for your life. So, it's up to you."
The thought of losing money stiffened his spine a mite. He clambered back in his chair, still shaking though. "Now, look here, if you think you can cover the Serrano mortgage in such fashion—"
"Old Pablo? I don't have anything to do with his business. Hell, no! I've got to have three hundred to get some cows at a bargain price, from a feller up north. But I got to act quick. Now, shake your hoofs!"
"I got to have security," he whined. "Why can't you come here decent and do business? You'll have to sign—"
"Goddamit, I'll sign your death warrant in a minute. Move pronto!"
I jerked out my .44 and that caved him. Shoulders slumped, he stumbled toward the safe in one corner, fumbled at the combination and reluctantly drew open the door. I snapped menacingly, "No double-crossing, now. Bring the cash here and count it before my eyes."
It didn't take long. He spread bills, gold and silver on his desk. I scooped it up, cramming it into pockets. I was shaky as hell, thinking how time was passing. "Thanks," I told him sarcastically, as he drooped back limply in his chair, sweat beading his forehead. "Now you just stay that way for fifteen minutes. I'll be waiting that long at the front of the bank, and if you let one peep out of that rat-trap mouth, you can count on a date with a .44 slug. You mind! I'll take no chances."
I whirled to the door, stepped outside, then immediately reopened it. He hadn't made a move, and I knew I'd made my bluff stick. He seemed half paralyzed with fright, his eyes looked slightly glazed, vacant, as though he were about to faint, his jaw was slack. I nodded hard-faced, again slapped hand to gun-butt, and closed the door quietly.
Outside there were a couple of customers at the grill windows. The cashier hailed me as I passed. "Hope you had some luck, Johnny."
"That's to be seen," I laughed, and passed through to the sidewalk.
The clock ticking on the wall had said eight-thirty as I left, and I knew there was no time to lose. Stepping back to the saddle, I glanced along the street and saw the town deputy standing in conversation with the livery stable man, a block distant. Then I wheeled the pony and started to make time to the ranch.
Fortunately, Dad Pablo was in sight when I loped down near the corral, looking the picture of despondency, as he sat alone on a bench in front of the bunkhouse. I pulled my horse to a halt in a scattering of gravel and dust as he slid to a halt.
"Juan, what is it? Why are you back—"
"I forgot something. Dad. You saddle up the fastest bronc you got and get to town. There's not much time." I cut short his questions, explaining, "We'll beat the old skinflint banker yet. I got the money for you. I was a fool not to think of it before. Now, pronto, get that horse. I'll be back in a minute."
He was still looking bewildered when I left but I saw him heading for the corral gate, and yelling at a hand who stood near. I dashed into the house and entered my bedroom, then out again. That, all bluff, of course. Mama Josefa met me near the outer door and started a question. I interrupted, smacked a kiss on her cheek and whirled outside.
A cowhand was just pulling tight the cinch on the horse, with old Pablo, mouth agape, standing nearby. I started to cram the money into his hands. "Don't stop to count it now. It's all there. Just get going." I helped him stuff the money into his pockets.
"But, Juan, I do not understand. This money—"
"It's dinero we've saved—Miguel and I—from wages you paid us. I'm loco for not thinking of it until this morning." I didn't feel too good about that lie either.
"You saved so much?"
"Sure, sure—" I started to push him toward the horse, and he lifted one foot to a stirrup. "Just one thing, Dad, don't tell Banker Kirby where you got the money. Keep me—and Miguel—out of it. We'd look like ungrateful sons for not giving it to you before. Town folks would look down on us. Another thing,"—forcing a laugh I was far from feeling—"think how it will drive the old skinflint crazy trying to figure out where you got the money. He won't be able to sleep nights." I laughed some more.
Old Pablo chuckled and then he too saw the joke and burst into loud guffaws. "It will make his mind leap about like a jumping bean—"