Kill McAllister (17 page)

“If'n we fight these fellers to a standstill,” Sam said, “you ever thought on how we git them cows outa here, just the two of us'ns.”

McAllister said: “We'll figure that when we get there.”

“What you got on your mind to do next?”

“Go take a look at the valley and wait for inspiration to come.”

Next day, they headed in for the valley, riding with caution, their rifles across their saddles, knowing that by now men were combing the hills for them. But nothing happened and they met nobody. When they reached the valley they saw why. They sat on their horses and looked at the great rich spread of grass below them.

“Jumpin' snakes,” Sam said, “they's a cowhunt on.”

So
, thought McAllister,
they know why we're here right enough
. Forster and his crew were rounding up the cattle preparatory to
a move out. They were preparing to drive the herd to market.

“We got to stop 'em,” Sam said. “How the hell do we do that, boy?”

“Let 'em gather 'em for us,” McAllister said.

Sam's face lightened.

“Ketch 'em on the trail,” he said. “Do unto others as they have done unto you, like my mammy taught me.”

“Somethin' like that,” McAllister said.

The valley for a large area around the buildings was full of activity. Two branding fires were in evidence. Men were driving cows in from the hills, riders scurried back and forth, men worked at the branding fires. It looked as if the animals were being divided into two main herds.

“They dividin' up,” McAllister said.

“They's the cows belonging to the feller ‘at owns this range and the fellers ‘at took our cows.”

“An' maybe giving the local man a cut of our cows in payment,” said McAllister.

“It adds.”

“So we have to hit 'em pretty damned quick.”

“That's the way she looks.”

“An' us pretty damn low on shells for hittin' anybody. Sam, we have to take one or two of them jaspers.”

Sam grinned quickly.

“You'm the general,” he said.

* * *

They rode south again and found a couple of riders in the breaks winkling out strays. They laid their guns on them, took their weapons, their ammunition, which was not much, and, which was most important, tobacco. They sent the men's horses running and told the two to get walking. Neither took to this kindly. They cursed the two Texans roundly.

For the first time, the enemy had seen the faces of Sam and McAllister.

As soon as they were out of sight, the two partners built smokes and drew smoke into their lungs.

“Man,” said Sam. “I can start livin' again.”

They rode across the valley to the east, circled north and came up with the two buildings. They came with the express purpose of burning up the shells they had just stolen.

* * *

Though not ordinarily a coward, Link Forster was a frightened man, frightened now because he had a lot at stake. Easy to be brave, he thought, when you have nothing to lose.

The main source of his anxiety were the men who were apparently constantly in wait in the valley for mischief. First the horses had been run off, then the two men wounded, now the two men robbed to the south. There was no knowing where they would strike next. All his efforts were now directed to getting the cattle in and branded safely for the trip to market. And here another anxiety arose – where was he going to sell the cattle? Should he go back to the Kansas railroad and try for a buyer in one of the cattle towns? There seemed a good deal of risk in that. The men who were now harrassing him might well have spread their story through the cowtowns. No, it seemed to Forster that his chance lay on the ranges of Colorado. Once again the idea of going in for cattle growing was strong in his mind. He sought Grotten out by the branding fire.

Grotten, as ever, was doing a thorough job. He had known little of branding and throwing till one of his brother's hands showed him, but he had quickly caught on and was now working like an experienced hand, sweating and straining, working tirelessly. Forster could see now as he came up to him that the man loved to work and, not for the first time, wondered at his failure to be honest. Grotten should have been a respectable craftsman. Not for the first time, again, Forster wondered if it had not been for him Dice would have been straight. It was possible.

As he approached, Grotten rose from bending over a calf, blood on his hands, his face covered with sweat and dust. He grinned a little.

“If we stopped branding and gathering today, Dice,” Forster asked, “how would we be?”

Dice said: “Not too bad, captain. What's on your mind?”

Forster looked around. Mike Grotten's hand who was working with Dice was just out of earshot.

“I'll be blunt,” Forster said in a low voice. “I don't trust your brother and he doesn't trust me. He's agreed to a cut. It's a murderous deal, but for convenience I've agreed to it. Now, I want to get the cows clear of this valley before he changes his mind.”

Dice said: “He won't do that, captain. The odds're against him. He isn't a fool.”

“No, but he's your brother and he could be counting on you.”

Dice's face changed. He looked hurt and angry.

“You saying I'd play you dirty?”

“Nothing of the sort, but you might throw your argument on his side. I meant nothing more than that.”

But Dice knew that was a lie. Forster was starting to doubt him. For the first time, he wondered if he was starting to doubt the captain.

“What's on your mind?” he demanded.

“We'll never sell these cows in Kansas. The Texans would have spread the story by now. It's too dangerous. I had the idea of starting a ranch earlier. Colorado is opening up. We could do worse than go further west.”

“There's the Indians there and they could be difficult. But I've had the same thing in my mind. I'm game if you are. But we won't be making quick money like you want.”

“I've thought of that. Maybe I'll have to put off my plans for a year. But there's a great future in these cows. Together we could build a great outfit, Dice.”

Dice liked the sound of that.

“I'm with you.”

But he wondered how far with the captain he was and the doubt made him profoundly uneasy.

Forster went on: “We have to get the Texans off our backs. Tomorrow we put every effort into finding and killing them. Already we have two men wounded and the rest are getting scared. Maybe the two halfbreeds'll get on their trail today. Tomorrow, I want every man out scouring the valley. I don't believe there are any more than two of them doing this to us. They'll be back to hit us and when they come, I want them dead.”

He turned on his heel and walked away to sit outside the shack and smoke. Not for Captain Link Forster the dust, the blood and sweat. That was for rougher men. Mike and Dice Grotten might slave with the men, but he would not. He was made for better things. He sat running his eyes over the growing herds of cattle, thinking wistfully that if it wasn't for Dice he would wipe out Mike and his men and make the whole valley and its animals his own. But he needed Dice. There would come a day when he wouldn't, but right now he needed him badly.

He was lighting his second smoke when the shot came.

The man working with Dice staggered a couple of paces and fell into the fire with a howl of alarm and pain. Dice dragged him from the fire and started hurriedly to put out his burning clothing. Every man on the wide scene showed alarm. Forster leapt to his
feet, dived into the cabin behind him and came out with his rifle in his hands. Men were running for cover. Another shot rang out. Forster looked this way and that, uncertain of where the shots came from. There was no fear in him now; this was something he understood. His experienced eye told him that the men were above and in good cover. The rocks.

He pointed, yelling—

“Up in the rocks there. Dice, head for 'em.”

Mike Grotten came running for the shack to fetch his rifle. A shot came, but missed his racing figure. The big man panted past Forster as the captain ran for the cover of the rocks and brush at the foot of the valley side. Mike came out of the cabin with a rifle in his hands. He ran for a horse standing ground-hitched nearby, leapt into the saddle and sent the animal racing off north to circle the men in the rocks. Dice saw his brother's move, caught another horse and galloped south to complete the encirclement, shouting to the other men to get on the move. Three or four obeyed him.

Forster started working his way up the slope. It wasn't long before the men above spotted him and opened up on him. He hugged cover, cursing. He wanted those men more than anything in the world. This time, they wouldn't get away. He bawled out for the men to give him covering fire, but it was minutes before they pulled themselves together enough. But eventually the fire came and he went on. He could glimpse the drifting smoke above him now and headed for it. He caught sight of a black face and fired. The man dived for cover. He climbed on, feeling that this time he would kill the enemy.

* * *

Up in the rocks, Sam said: “Time we lit a shuck, ole pard, afore we have them boys up our butts.”

McAllister said: “You could be right.”

They started working their way back toward the horses. They both knew they had been to the north and south of them now. Men were pushing up from the valley floor, firing as they came. The rocks were becoming too hot to hold. This time they had overstepped themselves and they knew it.

McAllister glanced back over his shoulder and sighted the horses and knew that a fifty yard sprint would see him in the saddle.

“Go ahead,” he said, “I'll cover you.”

Sam slapped him on the shoulder to show he was going, got to his feet and started to run, doubled up.

At once a rifle shot came, winged viciously past his ear and tore through brush. He flung himself headlong. The shot came from the north. As he lay there, he heard the clatter of hooves to the south.

“Rem,” he called, “they got us penned.”

McAllister started to feel a little desperate. He looked this way and that, found fair cover to his rear, turned and dove for it. A shot almost parted his hair as he went. Sam was a dozen yards to his left with his face pressed into the ground. They would have to move quick or they would never move again. He raised himself to look south and a shot came that clipped a rock near his nose and drove splinters into his face. That made him break into a sweat. He lay cursing efficiently.

“This won't get us no place,” he called to Sam. “Get movin'. I'll cover you.”

Smoke drifted idly to the south. He snapped a shot at it. Sam was on his feet running. Rifles north and south opened up on him and the air seemed full of flying lead. McAllister fired first in one direction and then the other. The rifleman to the north concentrated on Sam; the fellow to the south turned his attention to McAllister.

Sam reached his pony, hauled himself into the saddle and got it on the move. McAllister got himself on his feet and started running.

Sam's horse reared and screamed, came down on front legs that failed to support it and pitched over sideways. Just in time, the Negro managed to kick his feet free of the stirrup-irons and land running. He got into cover and started shooting north. McAllister changed directions, going north now, charging at the man there. No shots came. He leapt a rock, burst violently through brush and stumbled over something lying on the ground.

It was a man and he was dead.

McAllister didn't waste any time. He yelled: “Bring the horse, Sam.”

He bent over the dead man, took off his gun-belt and emptied his pockets of rifle shells. He heard Sam clattering toward him with the canelo. He hurled the dead man's rifle and revolver as far as he could and rose to meet Sam, The Negro vaulted onto the canelo's back and reached down to give McAllister a boost. McAllister got up behind him. The rifle to the south was going
crazy now. A shot clipped McAllister's hat and then the canelo was running, straining nobly under the double load.

They went directly south along the edge of the valley. Fifty yards and Sam halted the horse. A sorrel pony stood tied to some brush, spooking at the sound of gunfire and trying to break loose. Sam threw a leg over the apple and jumped to the ground, ran to this horse, tore the line loose and leapt into the saddle. McAllister shifted into his own saddle and together they ran north. The firing behind them died down.

“Where to?” Sam shouted.

“Across the valley and into the hills.”

They swung west, half-ran and half-slithered down the, wall of the valley, hit the flat and ran on. There was scattered timber here that offered them some cover and they reckoned they were out of sight of the men behind. They didn't break pace till they were in the hills. There wasn't time to hide their sign so they kept on going, though at a reduced pace now to save the horses. They didn't stop till dark. They camped not far from water on good grass and slept with their animals tied to their wrists ready for an easy getaway.

Dice Grotten knew the two men had gotten away. He rose to his feet, nerves relaxing after the shooting, and started to walk north. He wondered who the man shooting from the north was. Whoever it might be, the Negro had silenced him, probably for ever.

It was a matter of minutes, Grotten knew.

He pushed through the brush and looked down at the man lying there.

“Mike,” he said.

He bent and rolled his brother onto his back and saw where the bullet had entered his head. He felt for the heartbreat, but he knew there wasn't a chance. Mike was dead all right.

He stood there for a while, the dreadful bitterness rising in him. Then he shouted for men. They came, dragging slowly up the hill, Forster with them.

“Carry him down,” Dice said woodenly.