McAllister Makes War (11 page)

“Get rid of Darcy,” she said. “Get the saloon while you can. This is going to be a boom year for cattle. Maybe next year will be too late. The railhead is moving west. Make money while you can. This town may be worthless soon. You'll make more than you do from the rest of your property in town.”

“You could be right.”

“Have you ever known me wrong.”

“Can't say I have.”

“Go to Darcy and say that he's suspected. Frighten him.”

“He doesn't frighten too easily.”

“Any man frightens when he knows he's going to hang.”

After breakfast, he changed his clothes and walked down town. There were still a few of the curious around the Marshal's office door. Inside he found that the dead had been removed and the sight of them made him think of Johnny and to wonder what Fred would do with the body. There were several people in the office, most of them women and among them, he was astonished to see Emily Penshurst.

“Whatever are you doing here, Emily?” he enquired.

“Doing what I can to help,” she told him. “Oh, Will, did you ever hear of a more dreadful thing? To kill two helpless men
and to shoot down the marshal and his deputy ...”

“Terrible,' he said. “It doesn't bear thinking on. But you shouldn't be here, my dear. This isn't at all the place for you.”

She smiled at him.

“I'm not made of Dresden china, you know.”

He went up to the marshal who was now lying on the cot which Frank Little had occupied. The man's eyes were open, but he still looked dazed.

“Where'd they get you, Jim?” he asked.

“I bounced one off my head,” Carson replied hoarsely. “I have the other lodged in my ribs.”

“As soon as the doctor allows you to be moved,” Drummond said, “I'll have you brought up to my house. You'll be taken good care of there.”

“Thanks, Drummond,” the marshal said, “I wouldn't want to be a nuisance.”

“The least I can do.”

As he turned away, Emily came up to him.

“That was really nice of you, Will,” she said.

“A man feels so helpless, so little he can do. We can't undo what's done, we can only try to help a little.” She patted his arm. “You're looking tired, my dear. Maybe you should go home and try to rest.”

“Soon.”

They exchanged smiles and, as Drummond turned to leave, he found himself faced by the mayor.

Touch was a little distraught.

“To think this could happen in our town, Will,” he cried.

“And here we are without an effective marshal. McAllister had no right to ride off into the blue like that. It's his job to be in town. Maybe if he'd been here, this would never have happened.”

“You could be right, Homer,” Drummond said. “How much faith do you have in the man?”

“Must say I took to him right off,” the mayor replied. He cocked his head suspiciously. “You saying you don't trust him?”

“Wouldn't go as far as that,” Drummond replied. “But I must admit he makes me a little uneasy. He has a violent reputation.”

The mayor looked around him. “Maybe that's the kind of man this place needs after this mess.”

A few minutes later, Drummond stepped out onto the street. Curiously, there had been no mention of the men who did this
thing. Nobody had broached any suspicions. Maybe he should have mentioned the subject himself. He|paused for a moment among the men outside the office, lost in thought, reaching a stogie from his pocket. There was a stir among the men surrounding him. He glanced up. They were staring down the street toward the creek.

“Who is it?” a man demanded.

“By God,” said another, “it's McAllister.”

Drummond started to push his way through the men.

“He's got a prisoner with him.”

His heart started pounding. At last he had a clear view of the street. He stopped and stared, hands clenched.

A horseman rode slowly up the street on a tired horse. McAllister. Behind him came three led horses and on one of them rode a man with his hands tied behind his back. His hat was low over his face, but it looked very like Marve Little. It wasn't possible, Drummond thought. God-damn McAllister.

The two riders came closer. It was Marve all right. Drummond shrank back in the crowd, not wanting Marve to see him.

McAllister rode up to the office, greeted the men there with a tired smile and stepped down from the saddle. Homer Touch rushed from the office and caught him by both arms.

“My God, McAllister, am I glad to see you,” he cried.

“That's real nice, mayor.”

The mayor blurted out all that had happened since McAllister had been out of town. McAllister didn't make any reply, but went and cut the bonds that held Marve's feet. He heaved the man out of the saddle and said: “We don't want anything to happen to you, do we, Marve? You heard what the mayor said? Frank's been shot. By your friends. The same thing could happen to you.” He pushed Marve ahead of him and entered the office.

The first man he saw was Jim Carson lying, pale-faced, on the cot.

“Howdy, Jim.”

“Howdy, Rem.”

Carson's eyes went past McAllister and rested on Marve. “So we still have one.”

“We still have one.” McAllister looked to the left and saw Pat O'Doran. He didn't miss the badge on his chest. “Nice to have you with us, Pat. Sorry you had such a warm reception.”

Pat grinned a little.

“Sure, I'll live,” he said.

“You get any of 'em?” McAllister demanded.

Carson said: “Must have hit at least one. Before Frank died he let go both barrels of a greener through the window in their faces.”

McAllister looked at Marve. The man's face was grim and bitter.

McAllister walked to the cell and looked inside. On the cot in there lay the Texas cowhand. He didn't look too good.

“Hell,” said McAllister, “can't we ever get rid of you, son.”

The boy said: “I'm liable to sue you, Rem. I want compensation for this.”

“You're gettin' free board an' lodgin's, ain't you? What more do you want.”

“Just complainin' it gets awful noisy in the early hours,” the boy said.

McAllister walked back into the office and said: “I'll ask all you good people to clear outa here now. This is a marshal's office not a hospital.”

Emily Penshurst said: “That is the kind of thanks I'd expect to get from you, McAllister.”

“Then I haven't disappointed you, ma'am.”

He took hold of Marve and shoved him in the cell. The grill door clanged shut.

He told the man: “Set there an' think a mite. Think about how you can talk and save yourself from hangin'.”

He turned and saw Will Drummond standing in the doorway. His face was pale and his eyes looked large and dark in his face. Drummond turned to Emily Penshurst and took her by the arm. “Come, my dear,” he said. “I'll take you home. My offer still stands, marshal.”

As they walked out together, McAllister asked Carson: “What offer was that, Jim?”

“To take care of me at his house,” Carson told him.

“Over my dead body,” McAllister said. “You're a lawman an' you can still hold a gun, can't you? Pat, can you stand?”

“If I try real hard.”

“Then try real hard an' get behind that desk and look official. You an' Jim're holdin' the fort while I'm out on the town.”

The big Irishman set his teeth, sweated with the strain and the pain and got to his feet. Somebody came forward and offered to help him, but he shook off the helping hand with a curse. He reached the desk and fell into the chair behind it. McAllister picked up a greener from the rack and placed it on
the desk. He took a bottle and glass from the cupboard and placed it at Pat's elbow. The Irishman looked appreciative and poured himself a drink. When he had done that, McAllister took a long pull from the bottle.

The young doctor came forward and said: “These are two very sick men, Mr. McAllister.”

McAllister said: “They're lawmen, doctor.”

The young doctor picked up his bag and said: “I'll be around to see them this evening.”

McAllister said: “Let me know if there're any gunshot wounds around town, doc”

The doctor nodded and left the office. Homer Touch said: “Are you going to find the men who perpetrated this terrible deed, McAllister.”

“Reckon I am, mayor.”

“Let it be soon,” said the mayor. “Let it be very soon. None of us will feel safe in our beds before these murderers are brought to justice.”

He departed.

McAllister checked his gun, took off his coat because the day was warm now and spoke to Marve.

“I hope you're thinkin', Marve. Thinkin' real hard. I'm right out of patience. They killed your brother They gunned him down like he was no more'n an animal. Or is that what he was, an animal? Are you the same, without no feelin's? You got no feelin's? You don't feel a thing because Frank was murdered? You think about it. You just sit there and wonder whether you're a man or a yellow-livered coyote.”

Marve said: “To hell with you.”

McAllister went out onto the street. He gathered up the lines of his horses and walked up the street with them. He took them into the livery and gave precise instructions as to their care. To the livery owner he said: “I'll buy that dun from you. It'll do as crow bait when I get around to shootin' crows.”

The man protested: “You won't see a horse as good as that for a long time.”

“All right. Just remember, you sell him to anybody else an' I'll have your hide.”

He walked off and angled across the street to the Golden Fleece. He might as well start here as anywhere. He had to throw a scare into the town and he would do it right off. He would have preferred a large steak and a long sleep, but there was a proper time for everything.

Before he walked into the saloon, he braced himself. He couldn't remember when he had been so tired. He pushed open the door and saw that though it was mid-morning there was a goodly crowd there already. The herds were starting to come up from Texas and there were plenty of trail-drivers there drinking. Some just starting, some trying to get rid of hangovers from the night before. Everywhere he heard the Texas drawl. He felt at home.

He went up to the bar.

The fat barkeep said: “What's your pleasure, mister?”

“I don't have any this morning. Where's Fred an' Johnny?”

“Fred's in the office. I haven't seen Johnny.”

McAllister walked the length of the bar, went through the doorway beyond and entered the long dark passage. He walked into the office and found Fred sitting at the table drinking. He looked three-parts drunk.

Fred said: “I didn't hear you knock.”

McAllister ignored him and picked up the bottle.

“Got a glass?”

Fred jerked his head toward the sideboard. McAllister went over and picked up a glass. He poured himself some whiskey. He looked sideways at Darcy and thought he looked like a man who had been deeply shaken. There was something wrong here.

“You look like hell, Fred,” he told the other.

Darcy didn't look at him.

“I feel like hell,” he said. “Somethin' I ate.”

“Where's Johnny?”

“What do you want to know where he's at for?”

“It's a simple question, it don't take much answering and I couldn't convict you on it.”

Fred shot him a hard look from under his heavy brows.

“He ain't around.”

“Where is he, Fred?”

“What makes you so interested in knowin' where Johnny's at all of a sudden?” Fred Darcy seemed to have come out of his daze. His dark eyes were alert, suspicious.

“I wasn't very interested, but I am now,” McAllister told him.

“If you must know – he's gone home.”

“To Texas?”

“That's where.”

“Must of been somethin' pretty urgent to take Johnny back where there's a dozen lawmen waiting for him.”

Fred stared at him hard for a moment, then said: “Ma sent for him. When Ma sends you go runnin'.”

McAllister finished his whiskey and walked to the center of the room. He pushed back the couch with his foot.

“What's that on the floor there?” he asked abruptly, pointing down.

Fred looked.

“Where?”

“There.”

“I don't see a thing.”

McAllister looked at him hard.

“I see a spot of blood. Pretty fresh, too,” he said. “You been hurt, Fred?”

“Me? No, I ain't been hurt. It can't be blood,” Fred protested. “There ain't been nobody hurt around here.”

“Johnny?”

“I told you. Didn't I tell you? He's on his way home to Texas.”

McAllister turned and walked to the door, Once there he swung on Fred and said, pointing: “I'm goin' to nail you, Fred.”

Darcy looked dangerous. It was an impressive sight and anybody is his senses took notice of it. His skill with a gun was known from one end of the frontier to the other. McAllister had confidence in his own ability to handle a gun, but he wouldn't have liked to bet on himself against the man.

“Don't push me too hard, son,” Fred said. “I ain't the most peaceable man.”

McAllister grinned suddenly.

“You'll be peaceable when I pin you, Fred.” He opened the door, went out and shut it behind him. Fred found that he was sweating and shaking again. How much did that McAllister know?

McAllister walked into the bar and said to the barman: “You live on the premises?” The man said he did. “Where were you when the shooting started last night?”

“In my room above here.”

“What did you do when the shooting woke you?”

“I got dressed and I went to see what was goin' on.”