‘Come back,’ she said, ‘alive.’
‘I’d bet on it,’ he said. ‘Start sayin’ your prayers for the other feller.’
‘Why are you doin’ this, Rem?’
‘I can’t tolerate puffed up bastards.’
He patted her on the bottom and walked to the door, opened it and went out without a backward glance. Billy followed him.
Out on the street, the few lamps were lit. McAllister stopped on the sidewalk and looked up and down the street.
‘You could back out now, Billy, without no shame,’ he said.
‘That ain’t true and you know it,’ Billy said. ‘Let’s get on.’
They angled across the street to the livery. As they walked, McAllister said: ‘Keep your eyes skinned. We watch for Shultz from here on.’
They walked into the livery yard and called for the ostler, but received no reply.
McAllister said: ‘We’ll help ourselves. There’s a nice little bay he has will do you just fine.’ He turned toward the barn and saw that there was a lamp burning dimly in there. They entered the close warmness of the building and McAllister reached up to turn the wick of the lamp up.
From his right a voice said: ‘Hold it right there, McAllister.’
He knew that it was Shultz. Billy went very still, sudden fear showing on his face.
McAllister said: ‘You made your first mistake, Shultz.’
‘How was that?’
‘You should of shot without talkin’ about it.’
‘I want you both,’ Shultz said. He was standing in the deep shadows of one of the stalls. ‘I’d like Billy to know who was killing him. And why. Nobody ever crosses me.’
McAllister heard a faint sound behind him, but dared not move for fear of the gun Shultz held on him. He heard heavy breathing and the next second, a pair of iron arms encircled him, one around his throat. Shultz laughed and said: ‘Hold him there, Moose. We don’t want no noise. We’ll do this with the knife.’
Billy said: ‘For God’s sake, Harry.’
‘I’ll come to you in good time.’ Shultz appeared from out of the shadows, lifted the gun from Billy’s pants’ top and threw it aside. He laughed and put his gun away. The grip on McAllister tightened and he thought he would strangle. He thought that the man holding him must be made like a gorilla. He knew that even when he was fighting fit his strength would not be up to this man’s.
Shultz slid a hand under his coat and produced a long-bladed knife. It glittered in the light of the lamp. He advanced toward McAllister with the point directed at the big man’s belly. As it came close, McAllister’s stomach muscles contracted in expectation.
Billy said: ‘You don’t have to harm McAllister, Harry. He ain’t in this.’
Harry said: ‘That shows how much you know, Billy, my boy. McAllister’s very much in it. You both die.’
McAllister wondered why Billy didn’t jump the man. Now was his chance. It was a gamble, but with both of them on the edge of death a gamble was worth taking. All the time he had been standing there with those great arms around him he had been steadily resisting their pull backward. Now he gave a little under the pressure as though his strength was giving out—which wasn’t far from the truth. In fact, he wondered if he had the strength to do what he planned. He would know in a second or two.
Shultz was nearly within striking distance now with Billy off to one side of him. The fair man was standing still, staring at the knife in fascinated horror.
McAllister gave a little more under the pull of the massive arms. He heard a grunt in his ear and felt the hot breath.
‘Let me strangle the bastard,’ the voice said an inch from McAllister’s ear.
McAllister held his breath.
Shultz grinned quickly and said: ‘Go ahead, Moose. Why should I have all the fun?’
The grip slowly started to tighten. McAllister put up a token struggle. The man behind him shifted his grip and during the release of the hold McAllister made no attempt to get free. He felt the pair of fingers and thumbs in the back of his neck and his windpipe. He allowed a strangling sound to break from his lips. The man grunted again and started some real pressure. McAllister reckoned if he didn’t move now he’d pass out.
He reached up quickly, seized the wrists and jerked himself forward, doubled up. The weight he heaved was massive and it took every ounce of strength in his body to lift it. There was a howl of rage and disbelief. McAllister read the same disbelief briefly on Shultz’s face as the gorilla sailed through the air. He hit Shultz like a house coming down and they went across the barn in a tangle of arms and legs. McAllister and Billy went into action. Though there wasn’t much action left in McAllister. He’d about used up his strength. But he heaved the Remington from leather and waited for Billy to finish.
The fair man leapt forward as soon as the action started. The head of the gorilla had hit a side of a stall reducing part of it to matchwood. This laid the giant out a groaning mass on the hard earth of the barn. Shultz came off somewhat better. He staggered to his feet, the knife still in his hand and Billy hit him hard in the face with his clenched fist. Shultz went down as if he were pole-axed. Billy stood panting.
McAllister said: ‘Get some rope, Billy.’
The fair man found some rope hanging from a hook. In no time at all he had the gorilla tied hand and foot. McAllister lifted the lamp down and took a look at him. So at last he had sight of the man who had slugged him in the hotel. He was a giant with a heavy brutalised face. He was coming to consciousness now, glaring at McAllister out of pig eyes, savage as a captured animal. Shultz came around too after Billy had bound him.
‘Gag ‘em,’ McAllister said. ‘The longer they’re here, the better.’ Billy obeyed him.
Shultz’s eyes looked at them with murder in them.
McAllister knew he should kill the pair of them, but he didn’t have the stomach for that kind of thing. If he didn’t do that, he should hand them over to Mart Krantz. But there wasn’t time for that. He wanted to be in the saddle and getting things moving against Brenell. He holstered the Remington and saddled the canelo which whinnied with pleasure as he did so. Billy chose a small bay, throwing a saddle on it.
As they rode out through the town, McAllister had a dim worry in him about the two men he had left back there. As soon as they were free, they would come after them again. That brought him to the question of why Shultz wanted to kill him, McAllister? There was something here he didn’t know about. Who wanted him dead? He could only think of Brenell, but he didn’t know he was coming for him yet. But back on the range that day when he was headed for town, Brenell’s men had stopped him. Brenell had thought him a gun-hand. Maybe that was the answer. It didn’t matter much, for Brenell was going to want him dead, any road, pretty soon.
They found their way through the water of the creek and rode north-east, McAllister leading the way unerringly. They didn’t talk. After a couple of hours, McAllister slackened pace and said: ‘We go in easy now, maybe there’s some Brenell’s riders around.’
But there weren’t. It was Jim Rigby’s voice that challenged them out of the darkness. They walked their horses forward and there was Rigby with a rifle in his hands.
‘They burned everything,’ he said in angry disgust. ‘There isn’t a damn thing left. They even chopped the corral up and burned it.’
McAllister and Billy stepped down from the saddle and loosened girths.
‘We might as well sleep the night here, Billy,’ McAllister said. ‘Where’s your outfit, Jim?’
‘Over yonder.’
They led their horses over to where Rigby had his horse staked and took their bed rolls from behind their saddles. Then they unsaddled and allowed their horses to roll. Then they staked them. They squatted and McAllister loaded and fired his pipe. When he had it going to his satisfaction, he said: ‘What do you aim to do, Jim?’
‘Like I said before—pull out. There’s nothing left for Pat and me here.’
‘Bill
y an’ me think different.’
‘Rem, it’s reached the shooting stage. No land is worth killing a man for.’
‘That depends on the man, don’t it? Maybe if somebody was to get rid of a bloated bull-frog like Brenell, the world would be a better place. Say, there ain’t a damned hill for miles around here. I never saw flatter country in all my life. If you wanted to hide out, where would you go?’
Rigby peered at him in the gloom.
‘What’re you cooking up?’ he said.
‘Just answer the question.’
‘Well, there’s Two-Mile.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a two-mile gully, I suppose you’d call it a canyon, about ten miles north of here. What do you have in mind, Rem? I have a right to know.’
‘Just tryin’ to think of somethin’ that’d git your land back without no shootin’.’
‘It can’t be done. Brenell’s taken the range over. His cows’re everywhere.’
‘What do you aim to do right now?’
‘Sleep. Then I head for town. Then I get out of the country.’
‘Go to town an’ stay there. Give Billy an’ me a week, Jim. That’s all we ask.’
Rigby made a doubtful noise.
‘I hate to say it,’ he said, ‘but this ain’t your affair, Rem.’
Billy said: ‘But it’s my affair. You asked me to come in with you. My future and Pat’s are at stake.’
‘Aw, all right, if you both want to be damn fools. You’re not going about it the right way, though. Mart Krantz ought to be brought in on this.’
‘Why didn’t you bring him in?’
‘There wasn’t any evidence that Brenell had burned me out.’
‘That answers you,’ McAllister said. ‘Let’s sleep. It’ll maybe look different in the morning.’
They awoke with the dawn and ate sparingly of the little food that Rigby had brought with him. Rigby had had a slight change of mind in the night.
‘I’m sorry, fellers,’ he said. ‘I sounded ungrateful the way I talked. I guess I had my feet knocked clean out from under me. I just don’t want a war.’
McAllister said: ‘We’re heading for this Two-Mile, Jim. How about you going back into town and rustlin’ us up some supplies? Enough for a week, say. An’ while you’re there, check if Brenell is stayin’ in town. Find out what he intends to do next if you can.’
Rigby looked doubtful, then he said: ‘All right, I’ll do it.’ He saddled up and headed back for town and they want north across the Kansas prairie. Billy, who had never done much riding, was feeling pretty saddle-sore and stiff after yesterday’s ride. McAllister told him that he’d feel better after a day or two in the saddle. It was beyond his comprehension how a man couldn’t know how to sit a horse properly. He couldn’t remember when he had first been put astride a pony. All he knew was that he had always been able to ride. He reckoned he’d been able to do it before he’d known how to walk.
Before noon they came to the great break in the prairie that must be Two-Mile. Here they found a broadish canyon, tangled with rocks and timber, right below the surface of a prairie, the bottom gleaming with water. They went down and found the water good. There was excellent grass there and they hobbled their horses in it.
‘How long do we stay here?’ Billy asked.
‘Till Jim comes with the supplies,’ McAllister told him.
‘What do we do then?’
‘We get Brenell by the short hairs.’
‘How?’
‘Ain’t too sure yet,’ McAllister said with a grin. ‘But I’ll think of something.’
They slept and idled the day through. McAllister set some traps and caught a jack rabbit which they broiled over a fire. To the hungry Billy, food had never tasted so good. They slaked their thirst at the creek.
The following morning, McAllister climbed with his rifle up onto level ground and watched the country. The day’s rest had done him good and he was feeling something like his old self. By noon, Jim Rigby had arrived with a pack-horse laden with supplies. He agreed to leave the horse. He said he wouldn’t stay now, but would get back to Pat as she was anxious about him. She was pretty worried too about Billy and she had expressed what she knew to be a vain hope that McAllister wouldn’t get her husband to-be into any danger.
‘What do you aim to do, Rem?’ Rigby asked.
‘Don’t know for sure, Jim,’ McAllister said. ‘But we’ll make our headquarters here.’
‘Well, I’ll wish you luck and get back.’
They shook hands and Rigby jogged away south again. McAllister led the pack-horse down into the canyon and the two men inspected the supplies Rigby had brought. Their friend had done them proud. There was plenty of food and coffee, ammunition. They had enough here to fight a small and limited war. McAllister seemed satisfied. When they had eaten a big meal, he slept and advised Billy to do the same, they wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night.
‘Do you know what you’re going to do?’ Billy asked.
‘Jim told me Brenell’s still in town. He’s showing Mart Krantz he has nothing to do with anything going on out on the range. We’re going to make him wish he’s stayed at headquarters.’
‘How?’
‘I ain’t too sure yet. But I’ll think of something.’
Billy had to be content with that. They both fell asleep to the sound of their horses munching grass.
It was getting near dusk when McAllister woke Billy and told him that the coffee was ready. Billy rose sleepily and sipped scalding bitter coffee. It pulled him together. McAllister poured the dregs over the fire and buried it. Then they caught up their horses, removed the hobbles and saddled them. Full dark had fallen as they led their horses up the narrow path down from the canyon top. On the prairie, they mounted and rode south-east. Billy found that excitement was rising in him. He had confidence enough in himself in his contests, but he wondered if he had enough in him to keep up with this dark Western man he found himself partnering. They didn’t speak and there was no sound but the faint music of the bridle chains, the creak of leather and the swish-swish of the horses’ feet through the grass. The stars came out and the moon rode cold and clear in a cloudless sky. It was a good night for a raid. After a while, Billy was dimly aware that there were cattle about; once he saw a dark mass of them moving away from the trotting horses. He wondered if they were on Brenell range and thought they probably were.
Near midnight, McAllister brought his horse down to a walk.
‘We ain’t far off now,’ he said.
They travelled maybe ten minutes like this, then McAllister halted and Billy followed suit. McAllister dismounted and led his horse a short way. He handed his line to Billy and walked off some way into the night. When he came back, he said: ‘We’re nearly there. Stake the horses.’ They staked the horses strongly, knowing that to lose a horse in enemy country could prove disastrous.
McAllister said: ‘Let’s go,’ and moved off south. Billy noted that he left the Henry in the saddle-boot. He fingered the Colt in his own waist-band and wondered if he would shoot a man before the night was out. He had never shot a man in his life and he thought he probably wouldn’t like doing it.
They seemed to walk for about fifteen minutes before McAllister halted.
‘Can you see the house?’
‘Where?’
McAllister pointed and gradually Billy thought he could make out the outlines of a building.
McAllister said: ‘There’s the barn and the corral to the left. The bunkhouse is on the other side of the house.’
‘What’re you going to do?’
‘Young Clem Brenell’s in the house. We goin’ to take him. If things go our way we’ll burn down the whole shebang.’
Billy caught his breath. He knew McAllister was something of a heller, but this … He felt like the merest pilgrim.
‘But, Rem, we can’t do that. We don’t stand a chance. There must be a dozen hands in that bunkhouse.’
> McAllister looked at him in some astonishment.
‘Hell,’ he said, ‘it’s them don’t stand a chance. You don’t have the right attitude of mind, boy. You want out?’
‘No,’ Billy said hastily. ‘I’m with you,’
‘Good man. Here we go.’
They walked down from the slight rise on which they stood, going silently. To the rear of the house, they found a hog pen and chickens.
McAllister said: ‘We’ll take Clem first.’
‘How many men in the house?’
‘Don’t know. That’s a chance we have to take. I’ll handle Clem. You go to the front of the house and watch the yard. Anybody shows themselves there, you shoot and keep their heads down.’
Billy found that he was trembling slightly and sweating more than slightly. He found that he couldn’t stop swallowing. This wasn’t quite the sort of thing he had in mind when he decided on marrying Pat Rigby and entering the cattle business. He followed McAllister as he moved soundlessly toward the house.
They had no trouble entering, for the rear door was unfastened. McAllister opened it slightly and they went inside. Billy reckoned they were in the kitchen. They moved across this, found the door and in a moment were at the foot of a flight of stairs. To their left was a door; McAllister opened this and entered a room that must have been some sort of parlor. He signalled for Billy to go to the window and the fair man crossed the room and lifted the sash. He took his gun out and gazed across the yard at the bunkhouse which he could see clearly in the moonlight. In there slept the men who could shoot him to death. It was not a comforting thought.
McAllister picked up a lamp from the table and went with it into the hall. Here he lit it and, with the lamp in his left hand and his gun in his right, he started up the stairs.
At the head of the stairs was a door. He opened this quietly and saw a man asleep in bed. He was groaning faintly, but he was soundly off. This was Clem Brenell. McAllister backed out of the room and closed the door silently behind him. He went deeper into the house and found another door. He opened this onto an empty bedroom and reckoned it belonged to the absent Carl Brenell. Further along the corridor he found another door and, on opening it, found another man in bed. He went in and held the lamp high. The man was in his fifties and hadn’t shaved for a week. McAllister tapped on the nose with the muzzle of the Remington and he woke. He was startled down to his toenails and showed it. He was wide awake in a second flat and his frightened eyes were wide. He wouldn’t give any trouble.
Blood on Mcallister Page 12
