McAllister Makes War (12 page)

“Where was Fred Darcy at that time?”

“Mister, I work for Fred. He treats me right.”

McAllister's smile was unpleasant. He said: “And I'm the law. If you don't answer my questions I'm goin' to lean on you – hard.”

“You don't frighten me.”

“I'll find a way. Now where was Fred when the shooting started?”

“In his room I guess.”

“And Johnny?”

The man looked scared now. The question had taken him off-balance.

“Johnny ain't in town.”

“Where's he at?”

“He's gone to Texas.”

“When did he go?”

“How should I know that. Mister, I only work here.”

“That doesn't make you dumb and blind. So you can't say where Fred was at the time of the shooting?”

The man's face brightened. “I saw him down there in the crowd after. He must have run outa here about the same time I did,”

“But you don't know for sure.”

“I guess not.”

McAllister nodded his thanks and walked out of the saloon. He was tireder than ever now, but he knew he wasn't finished yet. As he went through the door, he glanced back. Fred Darcy was at the corridor door and had seen him talking to the barkeep. Fred would be a worried man now. The worrieder the better.

On the sidewalk, McAllister came face to face with Will Drummond.

“Howdy, Drummond.”

The man stopped, smiling, pleasant, his hand outstretched.

“I must congratulate you, marshal,” he said.

“What did I do?”

“You brought in Marve Little,” Drummond said. “Everybody in town bet you wouldn't. That was a terrible thing that happened while you were out of town.”

“What was that?”

Drummond looked surprised.

“Why the raid on the marshal's office, the killing of those two men,” he said.

“Aw, that,” said McAllister. “I ain't cryin'. Saved the hangman a chore, I reckon. Besides, it helped identify the men behind it and the men behind it were the same that raided the bank and killed Art Malloy.”

Drummond's face was a picture. His jaw fell.

“You can't mean it, McAllister,” he exclaimed.

“Sure, I mean it. Another twenty-four hours and I'll have the whole bunch of 'em nailed.”

“Well... I know you're a confident man, but surely this is pushing confidence a little too far.”

“You wanta bet?”

“I'm not a betting man.”

McAllister laughed.

“Pity - a lawman's pay is pretty poor.”

He lifted a hand and strolled on. Drummond stared after him. A sudden panic hit him. For a moment, he believed what the man told him. Then disbelief came. McAllister had to be bluffing. But what if it were true and McAllister did know the men who had killed Malloy, raided the bank and shot up the marshal's office? That didn't mean he knew that Drummond was in any way connected with the incidents. Drummond looked up and saw that he was outside the Golden Fleece. His mind froze ... McAllister had just come from there. He had been talking to Fred Darcy. The dead Johnny ...

Drummond looked around hastily. McAllister's back was squarely to him. Drummond quickly slipped into the alleyway and hurried along it. He let himself in the rear entrance of the saloon, went along the corridor and pushed into Darcy's office. It was empty. He cursed. He dare not go into the saloon for Darcy. He would have to wait.

He waited. It was almost thirty minutes before Darcy came in and his patience was stretched to the limit.

Darcy stared at him for a moment, then said: “Aw, it's you. What do you want?”

“I just talked to McAllister,” Drummond said.

“So?”

“He was here questioning you.”

“You couldn't hardly call it that.”

“What would you call it?”

Darcy moved to the table and poured himself a drink. He was drinking more than was good for him, Drummond thought. He had never before seen such a sudden and terrible change in a man. Darcy was going to pieces. It was a terrible risk having him around. When he was himself, Drummond relied on him like he did no other man. He had nerves of steel, he could be ruthless. A first rate tool for Drummond to use. But now - the man had outlived his uses. He must leave town. But he would be
hard to move out. He had too much at stake, too much to lose. Everything he had in the world was here in town, in this saloon. But Drummond would find a way to move him and he would find a way to profit from it as well. With all the witnesses against him out of the way, he could start again in a stronger position than ever. This storm of violence would pay off better than he had ever dreamed.

Darcy was saying: “He's a marshal. It's his job to nose around. It don't mean nothin'.”

“Did he ask about Johnny?”

Darcy's painfilled eyes met Drummond's. He was reluctant to answer, but he did. Drummond still had some mysterious power over him.

“Yeah, he did. I told him the kid'd gone home to Texas.”

“And did he swallow that?”

“I reckon.”

Drummond rested back on the couch, the couch on which the dead Johnny had lain so short a time before. He put his fingertips together. His hands were very white and soft.

“As I told you,” he said, “I just talked with McAllister. He suspects you, Fred. I've come to you as a friend with your interest at heart. I owe you more than I could owe any man. I don't want to see you pay for everything we have all done.”

Darcy scowled.

“What the hell's that supposed to mean? Why should McAllister suspect me?” he demanded fiercely.

“I don't know precisely,” Drummond said thoughtfully. “It must have been something that happened here? What exactly did happen?”

“Nothin'... Christ!
It was the blood!”

Drummond sat bolt upright.

“Blood?”

Darcy pointed.

“There was a spot on the floor there. Johnny's.”

“My God,” said Drummond, springing to his feet, “I knew it was bad, but I didn't know it was that bad.”

“He can't prove a thing.”

“Fred - he told me he was going to arrest you within twenty-four hours.”

Darcy had not been frightened many times in his life, but he was as close as he had ever been now. Johnny getting killed, the drink ... McAllister coming here; now Drummond... He was confused.

“I ain't scared of McAllister,” he said.

Drummond said: “It isn't a matter of being scared. It's a matter of using your head. You've got a lot to lose, Fred. You've built this place up and it's made you a lot of money.”

“I don't aim to lose this. I'll kill McAllister first,” Fred declared.

“There's a lot of risk involved. As I said, you have a lot to lose now. I know what I'd do if I were in your boots.”

“What?”

“Cut my losses. You must have a good pile in the bank now. I'd sell and light out for Montana, California, anywhere where I'm not known.”

Darcy eyed him. He looked wary, as well he might.

“You sayin' I should sell out?” he demanded.

“Fred, listen to me ... you've got to run. McAllister is coming for you as sure as God made little apples. You want to run and lose the value of this place?”

Darcy put his head down in his hands, fingers working in his hair. When he looked up his eyes were wild.

“You've got me over a barrel, Drummond, an' you know it, God damn you.”

“Don't put it that way, Fred. We're friends. I want to help. You need me. How else're you going to get your money from the bank. You'll want a fast horse. You'll want to sell this place. I'll give you a fair price for it.”

Darcy looked like a lost and wounded bear, not knowing which way to turn.

“I know what the place is worth,” he almost shouted. “You ain't gettin' nothin' cheap from me, Drummond.”

Drummond allowed the tone of his voice to alter slightly. Enough to put a little coldness into it.

“You're a good business man, Fred. You have been till now. Let's be practical. You can't get this place bought by anybody but me and you know it. You sell to anybody else and McAllister will hear of it.”

Darcy's anger started to show plainly.

“So this is the barrel you got me over.”

“This is business. I'm not a sentimentalist.”

“This place is worth every cent of ten thousand.”

Drummond looked aghast.

“Ten thousand? You must be out of your mind. I'll be frank, under these circumstances I wouldn't give you more than three for it.”

Darcy looked so savage that, for a moment, Drummond thought the man was going to hurl himself at him. His hand flicked inside his coat and gripped the butt of the pocket gun.

“You tryin' to steal me blind,” Darcy shouted. “You know what? I'd druther burn the place down than give it you at that price.”

Drummond knew the man meant it. It was just the kind of highly emotional thing he would do.

Drummond allowed himself a smile. He wanted Darcy cooled off.

“All right,” he said. “For a friend, I'll add a thousand. I'm being generous. I'll make it up to four thousand for old time's sake. I wouldn't do it for any other man.”

“You'd rob your grandmother and raise your hat while you did it,” Darcy growled. “Four thousand's a joke and you know it. You're wastin' your breath. I'll not come below seven thousand. I'm givin' it away at that price.”

Drummond shook his head regretfully.

“Sorry, Fred, it's no deal. We'd best leave it. Forget it.” He turned to the door. “I'll see you get your money from the bank. I'll arrange for a good horse to be delivered to the rear door. When are you going?”

“I ain't said I'm goin' yet.”

“All right, please yourself. Forget the whole thing.” He opened the door.

“Hold up,” Darcy said.

Drummond turned back.

“Make it six and you have a deal.”

Drummond shook his head again. “There's only another season to go in this town. I'd never get the money back. I'll meet you at five.”

“Christ!” Fred breathed through his teeth. “You're a hard bastard, Drummond.” The man in the doorway waited patiently. He would pay the price he had reckoned on. “All right, it's a deal.”

“I'm glad you saw sense. I'll go straight to the bank and make arrangements. When do you want the horse?”

Darcy thought. Finally, he said: “Midnight tonight.”

“Right.”

Drummond left.

Fred Darcy stood thinking how he would like to kill him. One day...

McAllister sloped into a restaurant. It was almost empty. A little Mexican girl waited on him. He demanded a large steak, eggs, fried potatoes, coffee. Make it enough for two. The girl flounced her hips at him and later brought him what he wanted. He ate his way steadily through the feast and when it was under his belt he felt considerably better. He paid, slapped the waitress on the behind and tramped back to the office. Pat O'Doran sat behind the desk still with the shotgun in front of him. McAllister told him that he was going to get some sleep.

Jim Carson asked: “How's it goin'?”

“So-so.”

McAllister made his bed up on the floor and was asleep in seconds.

* * *

Drummond arranged Darcy's affairs at the bank. Penshurst didn't like it, but what he liked didn't matter any more. The banker asked questions, but Drummond evaded them. He walked back to the saloon, entered by the rear door and found Darcy again. The Texan was subdued now, surly, still drinking. Drummond didn't like the look of him and wondered if he would cut up rough. He was rather surprised to find some of the fight gone out of Darcy.

“What's the talk in the town?” he asked.

“That McAllister's going to make an arrest.”

Darcy seemed to search the room for an answer to that. He didn't find it. His eyes came back to Drummond.

“I can't get outa here till dark.”

Drummond said confidently: “You'll be all right if you go tonight. I've arranged everything at the bank.”

“Did Penshurst ask questions?”

“Yes, but I didn't answer them. Don't worry about him. He'll keep his mouth shut.” He laid a bulging envelope on the table. Darcy opened it and glanced through the contents, grunting as he did so. When he finished, he said: “That looks all right.”

“The papers for this place,” Drummond said.

“They're here.” They spent the next ten minutes going over them. They signed. Drummond handed over the money. Only then did Darcy cheer up. The sight of it seemed like magic.

“You'll find me in San Francisco if you want me,” he said.
“The best of everythin' for a while.”

Drummond put the papers in his pocket. He felt good.

“I'll bring the horse personally at midnight,” he said. “I'll tie in the shadow of that tree behind your loading platform.”

“Is it good?”

“The best.”

Drummond held out his hand. Darcy hesitated for a moment, then gripped the other's hand hard.

“We had a good run for our money,” he said.

“Goodbye, Fred, and the best of luck.”

Drummond turned and went from the room. In the alleyway, he paused. Now there was only Marve to worry about and he wasn't a man who talked easily. But McAllister might be a man who made it hard for a man not to talk. McAllister was an Indian through and through. Drummond estimated the man as being able to make stone talk.

He didn't know what he was going to do about Marve. But he knew what he was going to do about Darcy. It was risky, but there had been risk in all the profit he had made in the past and he had won through.

That evening he dined with Emily Penshurst and her father, with Clarissa waiting at table. She put on a very fine dinner with wine at a perfect temperature. During the dinner, Drummond was gay, suave and entertaining. Emily Penshurst didn't know when she had spent a happier or more stimulating evening. She was almost reconciled to the fact of marrying a man she wasn't in love with. She could do a lot worse than Will Drummond. Certainly other women would envy her. She would have everything any woman could want. Drummond was a good-looking man with an easy manner and a great kindliness. He was attentive and gave as much consideration to her opinions as he would if she had been a man. Her father too seemed to have softened toward Will. The men chatted amiably. Drummond may have taken over the bank, but he seemed to treat the older man with every consideration. At one point he even went so far as to say 'we' when he referred to his future operations. Laughingly, he said: “Mr. Penshurst, with your experience and my nerve, there's nothing we couldn't accomplish. But we must look forward. This town can't last forever. There's a fortune to be made by the men ready to change their locations quick enough and at the right time. Buying and selling in towns is like handling shares. You won't make a cent if you don't buy and sell at the right moment.”