Blood on Mcallister

by Matt Chisholm

  ‘Yes, Harry,’ Billy said, ‘all you say’s right. I ain’t denying it, but this ain’t the time to talk about it.’

  ‘This is just the right time to talk about it,’ Shultz insisted. ‘We’ve reached a cross-roads right now. At this moment, we have to reach a decision. We can’t win ‘em all, Billy.’

  Billy looked slightly shocked.

  ‘You mean you think McAllister could beat me?’

  Shultz looked at him in disgust. ‘He beat you at Abbotsville, didn’t he?’

  ‘A man can lose once in a while,’ Billy said.

  Shultz snarled ‘Once is too often when I got money on him. I ain’t takin’ any more risks like I took at Abbotsville. No, boy, McAllister’s too good for you. He’s goin’ to beat you.’

  ‘He just ain’t, Harry. I swear. I got his style now. I got him taped and no mistake. Maybe he can put-run me, but fightin’, I’ll win. I only have to win three of the contests.’

  ‘No,’ Shultz said. ‘I can’t afford to take the risk. My money goes on McAllister.’

  Harry looked horrified. ‘You mean you’d back him? Harry, ain’t I your fighter?’

  ‘Sure you are, kid. That’s why I’m tellin’ you you’re goin’ to lose.’

  ‘But I ain’t.’ Then Billy went silent as the truth came to him. Harry wanted him to lose the fight. He drew in his breath, looking at his manager in a kind of horrified wonder. ‘I never threw a fight in my life.’

  ‘Christ—how many fights did you ever have? Huh? An’ what kind of a Goddam livin’ was you makin’ before I come along? Huh? Tell me that, kiddo.’

  Billy said firmly: ‘I ain’t doin’ it. I’m goin’ to beat McAllister.’

  Shultz made an impatient sound.

  He put a hand inside his coat and drew out a pocket Colt.

  ‘You see this? I’m goin’ to use this on you, boy, if you don’t lose. There it is, straight. Think it over.’

  Billy picked up the lines and slapped the horses. They moved on. He cracked the whip and laid it across their backs. They broke into a run so violently that Shultz hastily put the gun away and held on with both hands. Billy yelled: ‘To hell with you, Shultz. You’re a no-good punk and you always was. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. You waylaid McAllister in the hotel in Abbotsville and he thinks it was me helped you. You’re no damn good and I’m through after today. You can take your money off McAllister and put it on me.’

  He used the whip again and the frightened Shultz hung on as the light vehicle rocked and bucked over the rough trail. Neither spoke a word till they drew up in a cloud of dust in the yard of the livery. Billy Gage jumped down and went to say something angrily to Shultz, but the manager spoke first. His voice was quiet and terse now, trembling with controlled anger.

  ‘I’ll kill you, kid, if you cross me,’ he said.

  Billy stared at him for a moment, turned on his heel and walked out onto the street.

  The liveryman hobbled forward, eagerly.

  ‘That the young feller goin’ to fight McAllister?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Is he goin’ to win?’

  ‘Put your money on him, partner. You can’t lose.’

  Shultz threw the man the lines and walked slowly after the champion. The streets were full of people. He never thought to see so many people in a cow-town. All hicks, he thought with derision, all suckers. He asked around, trying to find where Brenell was. Finally, he located him at a hotel and went up to his room. Here he found the cattle king talking with another man.

  Brenell looked startled as he entered the room. Getting to his feet, he demanded: ‘What in hell’re you doin’ here?’

  ‘Who’s this?’ Shultz demanded looking at the other man.

  ‘My foreman.’

  ‘I walk to talk to you private.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s private too.’

  Brenell hesitated, then made up his mind and said: ‘I’ll see you later, Cal.’ The cowman left the room and as soon as the door was closed behind him, Brenell said: ‘I’ll say it again—what the hell’re you doin’ here?’

  ‘The name’s Harry Shultz this time, Brenell, an’ I’m the manager of the champion, Billy Gage.’

  ‘Changed your mode of livin’, eh? How’d you trace me?’

  ‘Heard your name by accident over to Abbotsville. Like old times, Carl. You an’ me. I heard you was the big man around here.’

  ‘It’s no good you startin’ the old game,’ Brenell said. ‘I’m too big to pull down now. An’ remember, I have as much on you as you have on me.’

  ‘But you have somethin’ to lose now.’

  ‘You’re right. An’ I have power too. Wait.’ He fell into a deep reverie, staring at the crowds on the street from the window. Finally, he turned slowly and said: ‘Maybe it’s a good thing you came after all.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘We’re pretty near a range war in these parts. The little men’re keepin’ me from water. I have all the high range, but it’s drier than hell. Now they’ve imported a gunman to fight me. An’ they mean business. Only yesterday, this feller shot down my son.’

  Shultz looked interested and asked: ‘Who is he?’

  ‘McAllister.’

  Shultz showed surprise. ‘You mean——’

  ‘The man your feller’s up against.’

  ‘Is he a gunman?’

  ‘The best. The son of old Chad McAllister.’

  ‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’

  ‘An Easterner like you wouldn’t know.’

  Shultz saw it coming a mile off. He could smell death like an old hound. He had dealt in it for so long before he had found the soft life with Billy Gage. That was when he had first met up with Carl Brenell over in Missouri before the war. In the same state he had served with him in the Northern army. And they had both fought the war in the same way. Blood had meant much the same to them both in those days. Only Brenell had changed. He had a taste for the finer things in life now.

  ‘Why don’t you kill him?’ he asked, his voice dropping like a stone in the silence of the room.

  ‘I’ve known men try and fail.’

  ‘By God, you’re scared of him.’

  ‘I pay for that kind of work now.’

  Shultz thought it over. He knew an offer when he heard one.

  ‘How much you payin’?’

  Brenell looked at him. They were men who understood each other.

  ‘A hundred.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh. That’s cigar money to you now.’ They argued, gently, like professionals who had done it many times before, occasionally allowing small flashes of false anger to show. They went on till both knew that the other wouldn’t budge. They concluded the haggling at three hundred dollars.

  Shultz said: ‘What’s the law like around here?’

  ‘He straddles the fence. But he’s good and he can shoot.’

  Shultz smiled.

  ‘I’ll do the job after the contest. Half payment now and half when it’s done.’

  Brenell counted out the money. Shultz didn’t waste any more time, but walked out of the room. He grinned to himself as he descended the stairs—there was going to be considerable shooting in town if Gage crossed him. But Gage didn’t trouble him. McAllister did. He didn’t like men with reputations; that meant they had luck and Shultz was a man who believed in luck. He walked out of the hotel, shouldered his way into the crowd and headed for the contest ground. A flutter of worry went through him … supposing Gage did win … That would cost him. He’d have to put another scare into him.

  He reached the contest ground on the edge of town. Some rough stands had been constructed here. The place was crowded with people, some standing, some sitting on the ground, some on the stands or up on wagons for a better view. It was a great crowd and he wished he could charge them for admission. The first man he recognised was McAllister. He was on the far side of a roped-off open space and he was talking to an exceptiona
lly beautiful woman. The man looked grave and calm.

  His eyes searched the surrounding crowd and finally he found his man Moose. Their eyes met briefly, but they made no further sign of recognition. The big man was some twenty feet to his right, watching the scene with his deceptive benignity. Shultz decided then and there that when his work was done here, he would take Moose on to California and work him there. He could take on all-comers at wrestling. He’d heard the Cornish miners out there were dab hands at wrestling. Pity the big man didn’t have the speed and all-round ability of Billy Gage.

  He turned back to McAllister and saw a man go up to him and start speaking. It was a small shock to see that it was Billy Gage. He knew then that Billy was telling McAllister what had happened out on the trail. Still, no harm done. McAllister wouldn’t be lasting long after he had beaten Gage.

  A cheer went up at the sight of the champion. Billy turned and grinned at them, waving a hand above his head. Then he went back to talking earnestly to McAllister who listened gravely with bent head.

  Shultz’s eyes shifted through the crowd, found Rigby and his daughter. There was a filly for you …

  Billy Gage was saying: ‘So now I know you was telling the truth, Rem. It was Shultz attacked you in the hotel. But I swear I don’t know who the other man was.’

  McAllister raised his head and looked at him.

  ‘You goin’ to throw it, Billy?’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m going to beat you. Then I’m packing this game in.’ McAllister raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m going to marry Pat Rigby and I’m going into the cattle business.’

  McAllister whistled and said: ‘By God, that was quick work.’

  ‘Oh,’ Billy said, ‘she don’t know yet.’

  McAllister laughed and Rosa smiled. Then McAllister sobered and said: ‘I want you to promise me one thing, Billy. If you win, you an’ me stay together till Shultz leaves town. I think he’ll kill you like he says. An’ there won’t be just him. There’s somebody else in cahoots with him we don’t know.’

  Billy slapped McAllister on the arm and said: ‘That’s a deal.’ He walked across the open space and Shultz walked to meet him, all smiles for the sake of the crowd. They met out of earshot of the people and Shultz, still smiling, said: ‘You do like I say or I’ll kill you like I said, boy. I mean it, don’t fool yourself I don’t.’

  Billy looked him in the eye.

  ‘I know you mean it,’ he said. ‘Just the same, to hell with you.’

  Shultz continued to grin like a maniac. He was sweating now. Seeing all that money going down the drain. If they had been alone his rage would have driven him to draw his gun and cut the boy down right there and then.

  ‘I’ll plant the lead in your guts,’ he said through his teeth. ‘It’ll be slow and hard.’

  Billy walked away from him to the edge of the crowd and started to peel off his outer clothing.

  Martin Krantz paced slowly around the outskirts of the crowd, nodding here, speaking there, his sharp eyes assessing the mood of the day. The people were good-humored enough now and not much liquor had been drunk, but later when money had been lost and won things could change.

  He noticed Carl Brenell and three of his men, which meant that the majority of the outfit was still out on the range. Mart didn’t like that. This would be a good time to start real trouble. Another fact that worried him was that Cal Clancy, Carl’s foreman, had ridden out of town thirty minutes ago.

  He pushed his way through the crowd and came to the space that had been roped off for the contestants. In the center of this were two posts some fifteen feet apart with a light wand joining them. This was for the first contest, the standing jump. Little more than a warming up.

  The judge and the mayor came forward dressed in their best, the mayor strutting importantly as usual. The mayor held up his hands for silence when the crowd gave him a half-ironic cheer and the hubbub died away to a murmur. The mayor then made a speech that was several times too long, welcoming the contestants and the crowd started to get restless. When the mayor finished, he was booed and cheered. Not far from Mart a cowhand yipped and fired a gun in the air. Mart moved quickly, reached the man and suggested that firearms be kept where they ought to be on an occasion like this. The man complied with a poor grace. Mart drifted away, hearing the drone of the judge’s speech as the old man told the listening crowd the rules. In this contest, it had been agreed between the participants that each man should jump until one failed to do so. He would be then allowed two more attempts before he was declared beaten.

  McAllister and Billy Gage walked forward and shook hands. There wasn’t much to choose between them as they stood there, grinning faintly at each other, shaking hands. McAllister’s body gleamed darkly, lean and hard, narrow in the waist, broad in the shoulder, contrasting with Billy Gage’s fairness. McAllister stood maybe an inch taller and his reach was a mite longer. Billy looked bulkier, the muscles of his torso and arms showed massively, but there was not much to chose between the two of them. Everybody reckoned they were going to have a good contest Bets were still being shouted.

  McAllister gestured for Billy to make the first jump. The fair man walked forward, stood squarely in front of the jump, feet together. The crowd went quiet as he concentrated, bracing his muscles and suddenly bunching his body up and then exploding into the leap. He cleared the jump by several inches and a sigh went through the crowd. They cheered him and he grinned. McAllister came forward, the knife wound showing lividly on his body, took up the same position as his opponent and made the jump. He tipped the wand as he went over, the crowd held its breath as they thought the wand would fall but it did not. They cheered, but the people who had bet on him started their first frowns. A man who couldn’t do better than that at a first attempt was a doubtful from the start.

  The wand was raised an inch. Billy came forward, made his jump easily and got another cheer. McAllister approached the jump, made it and just cleared it. He looked like he was sweating profusely now. People were starting to talk about the scar on his side. Those that had bet on him hadn’t known about that, they said. By God, how could an injured man hope to win a contest like this? The betting started to go against him at once.

  The jump was raised again. Billy made it with the same ease as before. McAllister knocked it down this time. There were sounds of disgust all round. The judge came forward and declared that McAllister might make three more tries. McAllister made two more and failed them all. They could see now that he was bathed in sweat. The judge declared that McAllister had one last chance and if he failed, this part of the contest would go to Billy Gage.

  McAllister came forward and stood before the wand. His face was wooden. He braced himself, crouched his body for the leap and snapped into the air.

  Ten

  There was a dead silence.

  He landed with both feet on the wand and snapped it. The crowd roared, men laughed, cursed and cheered. Billy Gage was dancing around waving both hands above his head and laughing.

  McAllister grinned wryly. The jump was taken away and a large rock was brought into the arena. The sheriff was busy clearing the people back from the southern end of the open space. Betting was furious now.

  Billy went up to McAllister and said: ‘You go first this time, Rem.’

  McAllister told him: ‘No, you first, I never did this before in my life. I want to see how it’s done.’

  Billy looked surprised and walked to the rock, hefted it with one hand and braced it against his shoulder. McAllister watched each move carefully, trying not to miss a single point. With the rock in his right hand, Billy curved his body back to the right and started to circle within a circle which had been drawn in the dust. Then he swung quickly around, seemed to give a little skip and straightened his right arm. The rock shot away like a shot out of a catapult. McAllister was impressed. Billy’s feet hadn’t crossed the line of the drawn circle.

  A man ran and put a peg in the ground where the rock had fallen. He p
icked the rock up in both hands and brought it back to McAllister.

  ‘Beat that,’ he said with a grin.

  McAllister wondered if he could. His side was aching furiously from the effort put into the jumping and he didn’t feel so good. He knew that Rosa was looking at him anxiously and he thought: Damn all women. They fuss so. He seemed to bring out the mother in them.

  He took the stone in his right hand in the way he had seen Billy do and did his best to imitate Billy’s actions. He made a good follow through with his right arm and hurled the rock into space. It landed a foot further on than Billy’s. The crowd went crazy again and those who had bet against McAllister started to worry. Rosa, he could see, was jumping up and down and slapping her hands together. Pat Rigby made a face at him.

  Billy came forward for his second effort and this time he lobbed the rock another foot on from McAllister’s throw. McAllister put a supreme effort into his next throw and was successful. The rock fell a yard beyond Billy’s throw. The crowd was frantic now; men were throwing their hats in the air and several shots were fired into the air. Billy came forward and just beat McAllister by a matter of inches. McAllister was a little worried now, guessing that he had reached his capacity already and could not out-do himself. He was right. When he threw this time, the rock fell short of his previous throw. He made three unsuccessful attempts to beat his own shot, but failed more miserably each time and by now his side was pretty uncomfortable. The crowd was beside itself. Billy came and slapped him on the back, pleased with himself. Pat Rigby was dancing on tiptoe and cheering. Rosa looked like she was ready to cry. McAllister didn’t feel too bad about it; there were three to go yet.

  The mayor came bustling up.

  ‘Well, how do you feel, boys. Fisticuffs before or after noon?’

  McAllister and Billy looked at each other. Billy shrugged.

  ‘Now,’ said McAllister.

  The fourth side of the open space quickly filled with people again. Ropes were put up to form a square ring. Rosa was at the front, watching McAllister anxiously. Pat Rigby was on the other side of the ring bestowing bright smiles on Billy Gage.