Blood on Mcallister

by Matt Chisholm

  ‘McAllister.’

  ‘Rem?’

  ‘The same.’

  A man rushed out of the darkness, McAllister slid from the saddle and his hand was clasped by the strong hand of the other.

  ‘Why, you old son-of-a-gun …’

  ‘How’ve you been, Jim?’

  ‘Fine, fine. My God, it’s good to see you. What brought you this way?’

  ‘Why, I hankered to visit with you an’ Pat is-all.’

  ‘Pat’ll go crazy when she sees you, man.’ A heavy slap on the back. ‘I was never more pleased to see a feller. Come on up to the house.’

  McAllister said: ‘Why the rifle? You got trouble?’

  ‘Sure, I got trouble. Tell you later. Now come an’ tell Pat hello. She’ll sure go crazy.’

  They crossed the yard, McAllister ground-hitched the canelo, they mounted the stoop and went into the house. A woman turned from the table in the center of the room with the lighted lamp on it. McAllister thought: Hell, Jim’s got himself a wife. She was a beauty—perfect face capped by a heavy dusting of red-gold hair; the body was deep-breasted, narrow-waisted and full in the hip. She was tall and long-legged. Enough to take any man’s breath away and McAllister stood there gaping with his breath gone.

  Then she smiled, her generous mouth exposing fine white teeth and said: ‘Rem! It can’t be,’ and he saw it was Pat.

  ‘Holy mackerel,’ he exclaimed. ‘Shucks … I…’ But she was in his arms, kissing him. He held her at arms’ length and looked at her, feeling the power of those clear gray eyes, wondering why the hell he’d been away so long.

  ‘Jim,’ he said, ‘it ain’t possible. What happened to the scrawny kid I knew?’ He laughed in sheer delight and wonder and she had the grace to blush under his unashamed admiration. ‘Heck, this one’s a real beauty. I seen ‘em from Canada to the Border, but there ain’t one in the land to match this one.’

  She broke free of his grip and said: ‘That’s enough of that, I guess. You don’t change, Remington McAllister.’

  Jim was laughing. They talked and laughed together for the next half-hour, happy in each other’s company, with McAllister every now and then turning to look at Pat and laugh in delight, saying: ‘If I’d knowed about this I’d of been here a lot sooner.’

  ‘You’ll have to get in line and take your turn,’ Rigby said.

  ‘You mean I have competition?’

  ‘The whole country below the age of forty and I even have trouble with the oldsters. Every damn cowhand and settler within miles gets himself lost in this direction and has to come to the house to ask his way.’

  Pat busied herself preparing them a meal saying that if she’d known McAllister was coming she’d have prepared them something special and McAllister told her he’d seen the tastiest dish around there. While she worked at the stove the men talked. McAllister told Rigby of his experience on the Double B range. Rigby looked grave. It was the old old story. Rigby had been the first man into the country. He’d run cattle onto this grass while there were still buffalo around. They’d given him a hell of a lot of trouble, his cows had got caught up with the buffalo and had drifted off. Other things. He’d had Indian scares till he never slept without a hand on a rifle. But they’d survived. The country was opening up now. Settlers were moving in, but he’d foreseen that. It was bound to come. The natural way of things. He’d home-steaded himself, got his riders to do the same so they checkered the water-rights. Many of the homesteaders had water, but Brenell who had not moved in with his herds until late last year didn’t have enough for half his cows. Brenell was the old phenomenon of the cattle range, the man who was land-hungry and cow-hungry. He couldn’t get enough of either. He’d made a show of force right from the start. There’d been a shooting or two, nothing to make a song and dance about. Nobody had died. Some of the sodbusters had been frightened off. Some had gone on west, others had gone east. Brenell had moved in on their land. But Rigby sat on the main water supply and Brenell wanted it.

  That wasn’t all. If the father was land-hungry, the son was woman hungry and he’d been hanging around Pat.

  ‘But she don’t like him?’ McAllister said.

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ Rigby told him. ‘I don’t know what she thinks. Sometimes she acts as if the sun shines outa his earholes, others she won’t have nothing to do with him. But she never did anything to keep him away from here.’

  ‘What kind of a man is he?’ McAllister asked.

  ‘He likes the drink too much, he thinks he’s God’s gift to women and he uses his fists too much.’ McAllister thought: He could be describing me. Rigby went on: ‘He’s his father’s gun. He’s always in trouble and the old man hauls him out of it. He’ll end up putting a bullet in the wrong man or having a bullet put in him.’

  Pat put a superb meal before them and McAllister, after his long fast, attacked it with the appreciation of a hungry wolf. Father and daughter watched him put away a stack of food with wonder and admiration. Afterward the men smoked and Rigby produced a jug and glasses and they drank. Pat sat in the rocker and busied himself with sewing while they talked. It was just like old times, except that in place of the kid Pat, there was a devastatingly beautiful woman. McAllister decided that he would have to do something about that or move on.

  That night he actually slept in a bed, the first time in a year or so, except for the disastrous attempt to do so at Abbotsville when he had been attacked. He thought he had never slept so deep and Rigby had to waken him an hour after dawn, a thing that hadn’t happened to him in a long time. He washed up at the pump in the yard and went into the house to a breakfast of ham and eggs, the ham from Rigby’s own hogs and the eggs from Pat’s hens. Rigby came in from working in the corral and joined him over a cup of coffee. He’d eaten two hours before.

  ‘We have another guest arriving today,’ he announced. ‘You’ll like him, honey. Young, good-looking, opposition for Rem, here.’ Rigby laughed. ‘With this feller around, Rem’ll have to look to his laurels.’

  Pat said: ‘Why, pa, you didn’t tell me anybody was coming. Who is it?’

  ‘Feller named Billy Gage.’

  McAllister sat bolt upright.

  ‘Who?’ he demanded.

  ‘Billy Gage. Why, do you know him?’

  ‘Yep, I know him.’

  ‘You sound doubtful. Don’t you like him?’

  ‘Sure,’ said McAllister. ‘I like him fine.’

  ‘Where’d you meet up with him?’

  ‘Abbotsville.’

  ‘You saw him perform then.’

  ‘Sure did. He was great.’

  ‘He’s come to Clanton to take on the local champion and I’m hoping he runs his Goddam legs off, that he beats his head off and he makes him look the damn fool he is in front of the whole country.’

  ‘Pa,’ Pat said, ‘you shouldn’t talk that way.’

  ‘Strikes me,’ McAllister said, ‘you’re sadly lacking in local pride, Jim, if you want to see your local man beat.’

  ‘See him beat,’ Jim cried, ‘I hope Gage kills him.’

  Pat said: ‘Pa, you know you don’t mean that.’

  ‘I mean every damn word of it.’

  ‘Who is the local feller?’ McAllister asked.

  Rigby calmed down a mite.

  ‘Clem Brenell,’ he said.

  McAllister then saw just what Rigby meant.

  ‘I seen Brenell,’ he said. ‘I know how you feel.’

  Pat said: ‘I don’t know Why pa carries on so about Clem. There’s nothing wrong with Clem a good wife couldn’t put right. He’s just a little wild.’

  ‘I’ve told you, Pat, and told you again and again,’ Rigby said, ‘the boy’s the old man’s gun. He’ll come to grief, mark my words.’

  ‘Nonsense. He’s a nice boy.’

  ‘That nice boy nearly had my hide yesterday,’ McAllister said. ‘I wish I was Billy Gage and had the chance of knocking some of the stuffing outa him.’

  ‘You’d h
ave your work cut out, Rem,’ Rigby told him. ‘Now honey, I aim to put Billy and his manager up in the barn. I’ll make a coupla mattresses up with straw. Let me have some spare blankets.’

  ‘His manager’s comin’ too, huh?’ McAllister said idly.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘When’s the contest?’

  ‘Day after tomorrow. Why, the whole country’ll be there. I never saw such wagering in my whole life.’

  Pat said: ‘Pa bet two hundred dollars on Billy Gage, you know that? Two hundred dollars! And he talks about Clem being wild. If that isn’t wild I don’t know what is.’

  ‘That ain’t wild,’ Rigby protested. ‘That’s a certainty. Gage’ll knock his fool head off his shoulders.’

  ‘But he won’t run faster than Clem. Nobody can run like Clem.’

  ‘Aw, he’s Goddam perfect.’

  McAllister said: ‘You’re goin’ to be a mite crowded around here, Jim. I’ll move into town.’

  They protested at once. They wouldn’t hear of such a thing. They hadn’t seen him in a long time and they wanted to see all they could of him. Besides, Rigby added, he could run and fight better than average and he might like to help Billy get into the peak of condition. That amused McAllister and he said, all right, if they wanted it and he wouldn’t be in the way, he’d stay.

  Later in the day when he was fooling around in the corral with a young horse, a rig drove out from the direction of town. Driving it was none other than Harry Shultz. Sitting beside him was Billy Gage. Rigby and his daughter came forward to greet them, Pat stood there smiling and blushing and McAllister left the corral. Walking toward them, he watched them closely. Shultz’s face was worth seeing when he sighted McAllister. His mouth dropped and fear flitted momentarily across his face. Billy Gage exclaimed with what appeared to be genuine pleasure at the sight of him and hurried forward to shake his hand.

  ‘Why, McAllister, this is great. I wondered when we’d see you. Sorry I had to rush off from Abbotsville, but Harry had a telegraph from Clanton and we had to come here fast. Didn’t have a chance to find you.’

  There wasn’t a telegraph office in Clanton, but, just the same, Gage looked like the genuine pleased article. McAllister wondered if it were possible for him to be the man to hit him on the back of the head in the hotel room. He took Gage’s hand and shook it. Gage gripped him by the arm and led him back to the rig saying: ‘Hey, Harry, look who’s here. Say, Mr. Rigby, did McAllister tell you how he beat me in Abbotsville? Did he tell you that?’

  ‘No,’ said Pat, ‘he didn’t say a thing about it.’

  Gage went on: ‘There was some skullduggery in Abbotsville and some fellers tried to nobble me in the foot-race. McAllister here came to my rescue and saved the race for me and the feller who’d challenged me didn’t wait for the wrestling and high-tailed outa town fast as he could go. That left me with nobody to fight, so McAllister stepped in and offered. And, say, folks, did I take a beating. This feller knocked me clean out. Beat the pants off me. Boy, was Harry mad. He lost a packet of money on the fight. Didn’t you, Harry?’

  Shultz looked a little sick, but he managed to spread his ugly face in a pale smile.

  ‘Sure did,’ he said. ‘But if s all in the game. You lose one day, you win the next. You can’t win ‘em all.’

  ‘That’s real sporting of you,’ McAllister said.

  ‘You’ve got to be a sport in my game,’ Shultz said.

  Rigby said: ‘I thought Rem could do some work-outs with you, Billy. Get you in trim for when you meet Clem.’

  Gage looked eager.

  ‘You mean that, McAllister. Say, that’s real great. How about me calling you Rem? That all right?’

  ‘Sure thing, Billy.’

  ‘Great, just great.’

  Rigby showed them where they could sleep in the barn, McAllister unhitched the horse from the rig and loosed it in the corral. Then they repaired to the house for a drink. Gage didn’t touch the stuff and drank water. He and Pat kept looking at each other and McAllister got the message loud and clear that something could easily grow between those two. He didn’t like it one little bit and reckoned he would have to do something about it. What, he didn’t know quite. But he reckoned he’d think of something.

  The day was still young and Billy announced that he would go for a run. McAllister said he would come along. Rigby had work to do. Pat said she’d saddle a horse and ride with them. Shultz said he’d do the same. They caught and saddled a couple of horses and Pat appeared in a divided skirt. McAllister changed into his Cheyenne moccasins and Billy put on running shoes. They set off north at a steady lope with the horses trotting alongside, Shultz riding as if he were a sack of cow chips tied in the middle, Pat sitting her saddle like the ranch girl she was. McAllister thought he had never seen a woman so beautiful. The thought of Gage getting her he didn’t like, the thought of Clem Brenell getting her made him sick.

  He watched the way Gage ran and saw that he knew his business. His stride was easy and unhurried, his breathing was excellent. They ran about three miles and Gage was as fresh as when he started.

  Without pausing, they headed back, not talking, just keeping the same steady mile-eating pace, neck-and-neck, neither man straining to get ahead of the other. Gage didn’t show his surprise at McAllister being able to keep up with him, but the surprise was there and McAllister knew it.

  They came in sight of the house—they had now covered nearly six miles. McAllister now spoke softly to the man at his side so the two on the horses couldn’t hear him.

  ‘This is where we sort the men from the boys, Billy.’

  Gage gave him a puzzled look.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’m sprinting the rest of the way.’

  Gage grinned confidently.

  ‘Go ahead,’ he said.

  Like a violently spurred horse, McAllister abruptly changed pace, suddenly doubling the tempo. Though Gage also increased his pace, McAlister shot away from him, making him look like a man standing still. Shultz shouted to his man and Gage strained. He got a little speed, but not enough to make any difference. McAllister in a matter of seconds was a dozen paces in the lead and going strong. Shultz showed his temper then, riding alongside Gage and cursing him without regard to the presence of the girl. The professional made another supreme effort, but it broke his wind and he started to pant. His pace began to lag. McAllister ran on, disappeared from view around the house and was standing leaning on the pump when Gage puffed agonisingly into the yard.

  Shultz hurled himself down from the saddle.

  ‘I never seen such a disgustin’ sight in all my life,’ he cried. He hurled his hat into the dust. ‘You call yourself a runner? You let this beat-up cowhand run your ass off?’

  ‘Tut, tut,’ McAllister said, ‘ladies present, Mr. Shultz.’

  ‘What did you do that for, Rem?’ Pat said, dismounting. ‘I think that was real mean of you. I thought Mr. Gage did very well.’

  ‘He did,’ McAllister said. ‘He did very well. He’ll practice that last spurt, he’ll get it an’ he’ll be unbeatable.’

  ‘You were just showing off,’ Pat said.

  ‘Sure I was,’ McAllister admitted. ‘Never could bear to be beat in front of a beautiful gal.’

  She said: ‘Oh,’ in disgust and stormed into the house.

  Panting, Gage laid a hand on McAllister’s arm. He was so winded that he could hardly speak.

  ‘Where … where’d you learn … to run … like that?’ he demanded.

  ‘Cheyenne Indians,’ McAllister told him.

  ‘You mean they can all run … like that?’

  ‘Not all of ‘em. But a good few can leave me standin’.’

  Gage looked dismayed.

  ‘Hell,’ he said. ‘The foot-race is open to all-comers. You don’t think there’s going to be any there, do you?’

  McAllister grinned.

  ‘Could be,’ he said.

  ‘I’m disgusted,’ Shultz said. ‘This feller
beats you at wrestlin’—now this.’

  McAllister said: ‘You don’t have to worry. I shan’t be competing in Clanton.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Gage said.

  ‘I’m real disgusted,’ Shultz said again and went into the barn to sulk.

  ‘This Brenell guy, Rem,’ Gage said, ‘do you reckon he’s good.’

  ‘Hard to tell. He sure looks like a has sand, I’ll say that. But he looks like he’s wild. Got a temper. Fighting—I reckon he don’t like bein’ hurt because nobody’s been able to hurt him in a long while. I seen you fight, Billy, an’ I’d reckon you have a good chance.’

  ‘I reckon if I start losing, Harry’ll drop me like hot coals.’

  ‘Would that be so terrible?’ McAllister asked.

  Gage looked at him. He seemed like a little lost boy.

  ‘Why, Harry’s done everything for me,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t be nothing today if it wasn’t for him.’

  McAllister said: ‘Get your breath back and we’ll fool around in the yard. Only don’t try kicking my teeth in again.’

  Billy laughed and put his head under the pump.

  Five

  It was nice at the Rigbys’ in spite of the nauseous presence of the man Shultz, but McAllister hankered for town. Not only that, he wanted to visit with his old friend Mart Krantz who was currently sheriff of the county with its seat at Clanton. And he felt too that if he bought a handsome present for Pat his chances might be increased. Though what he would use for money he had no idea because Shultz, when he had attacked him in the hotel, had cleaned him out down to his last dollar. All he had was loose change. Maybe Mart would stake him.

  So he told Rigby where he was headed, saddled the canelo and set off. He felt good; the run and the fooling around with Billy Gage had made him feel in fine fettle. He envied the contestants in the coming competition. As he rode, he wondered about Gage and still found it hard to believe that he had been the other man in the hotel room. If he had been McAllister was no judge of character.

  He followed the creek north-west as Rigby had directed, rounded the bluff he met at the bend in the creek and saw the lights of the town in front of him. The canelo lifted its feet.