McAllister Makes War

by Matt Chisholm

  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.

  Chapter Ten

  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?�
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  “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.”

  “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.”

&
nbsp; “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.