Tough to Kill

by Matt Chisholm

  They were back on the other side of the creek now, following the well beaten trail along its eastern bank. The way was hard and fairly even and a horse could hit a fast pace and hold it. The dun, not breathing hard even yet, settled down to a long stretching gallop. McAllister let it have its head and make its own pace. The animal always gave of its best. He saw Sarie swerve Red into the ford and go across in a plummet of water. He hit the ford a half minute behind her and saw the stallion climb the shoulder of the hill ahead, scarcely breaking its pace to do so. Once at a particularly stiff place, he saw Sarie jump from the saddle and run beside the horse. Thirty paces and she hauled herself into the saddle again on the run. It was a sight worth seeing.

  Starlight hit the ford, ploughed through the water and heaved itself up on the bank on the farther side. Looking back, McAllister had a good look at the black and saw that it was a very tired horse indeed. The climbs had been too much for it. But the rider whipped it on and by the time the dun was halfway up the shoulder of the hill, the black had reached the base and was straining up after it.

  McAllister reached the top and plunged once again into timber. Red and Sarie were not out of sight. The dun slowed his pace to negotiate the trees and then burst from them to come to the surprise slope that led down to the flat that continued to the end of the race. McAllister checked the dun for the sudden and abrupt descent. He heard a whinny and turned his head. To his astonishment and dismay he saw Red in the act of climbing to his feet. In that first moment, he could not see Sarie.

  He turned the dun quickly and jumped it nearer.

  Red got to his feet and stood shaking, covered in dust down one side. Sarie was on her hands and knees. She raised a dust-flecked face to McAllister.

  “You hurt, honey?” the man demanded.

  She got to her feet in disgust and snarled: “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.”

  “Then for God’s sake get up an’ ride,” he shouted. He could hear the sound of Starlight coming through the timber. He waited long enough to see Sarie drag herself wretchedly onto the stallion’s back and turned the dun down the steep grade. Halfway down, he heard Starlight start the descent. When he hit the flat he heard the sound of a horse pounding hard behind him and couldn’t supress a grin when he saw that it was Red, mad that its running companion was ahead of it.

  McShannon, Owen and Foley came piling out of the trees and started down the steep slope.

  McAllister called to the dun and the animal hit a long-paced gallop again with Red no more than three lengths behind it. He heard Sarie calling to her horse.

  He thought he could see the roofs of the town in sight now. Not far to go and Starlight seemed to have taken on a new lease of life. It may have been that the black could clearly see its adversaries and was determined to overtake them, but certainly it came on with an appalling speed. Red was trying his utmost now and within a half-mile it had drawn level with McAllister. The man and the girl grinned at each other.

  McAllister called: “You’ll do it, sweetheart.”

  The girl screamed back: “You bet your damn life I will.”

  Then slowly, she passed him and the dun ate the red’s dust. McAllister glanced back. Starlight was slowly catching him up. He wondered if he could get any more speed out of the dun without killing it and decided against it. If Sarie won, that was enough.

  He glanced back again. Foley and Jack Owen were riding neck and neck. Close behind them came McShannon. The remainder of the riders were pouring from the timber at the top of the slope, several of them coming to grief on the sudden descent.

  Half a mile from the end of the race - the crowd was in sight now and he could almost hear them cheering Sarie and the stallion. Starlight’s nose was now level with the rump of the dun. It’s rider shouted something shrilly to McAllister who shouted triumphantly: “You’ll never do it, son.” Red was going like a dream, increasing the distance between itself and McAllister. Starlight drew level with the dun. McAllister glanced at the lovely horse and saw that it had nearly run itself to death.

  “Ease up,” McAllister shouted, “you’ll kill it.”

  The rider’s answer was to use the quirt. Slowly, Starlight pulled past the dun, but it was too late. McAllister saw Sarie go across the finishing line, saw the stallion come to a halt and somebody lift the child down from the horse’s back. Then McAllister was pulling the dun in and there were people all around him. He stepped down from the saddle and found that he was shaking. Somebody slapped him on the back and said: “Good ole Rem,” and he started toward Sarie, leading the dun. He passed Starlight and saw that the magnificent animal stood with its front legs splayed and its head down. Markham was there shouting in fury at the rider.

  Jack Owen pounded in on his bay with Foley close behind him on the gray. Then came McShannon whooping like a wild Kiowa and a cheer went up because he was a popular man in town. Markham took his attention from Starlight’s rider and went over to shout at Foley, It looked like the man was answering back.

  McAllister reached Sarie. The child was standing with the sheriff’s arm around her. Men and women stood around, all talking, all trying to get over the fact that a child had won the race. The judge came up and solemnly shook her hand and she said, “Aw, shucks, it ain’t nothing y’honor.” Carlotta came pushing through the crowd and clung to McAllister’s arm. “We did it, Rem, we did it,” she cried. Meanwhile Alvina and Lucy sought out their dream men and likewise clung to them.

  Markham, while the judge and the sheriff called to him by name to give the prize, was howling for his daughters to leave those no-good saddle-bums alone and go about their business. The crowd loved it and greeted each bellow with roars of laughter and shouts of encouragement until the poor man didn’t know which way to turn. Finally, he was brought dazed and red-faced to the sheriff by the lawman’s two deputies and stared at Sarie as if he could not believe his eyes.

  “It ain’t legal,” he roared. “Nobody said no kids could enter the race. What chance has a growed man against a kid like that?”

  The judge said: “It’s legal, Markham.”

  “Pay the child,” the sheriff said.

  Markham looked from one to the other as though they had committed the lowest treachery.

  “What’s a kid like that going to do with five hunnerd dollars?” he demanded.

  McAllister said: “She’s going to rebuild the house you burned down.”

  The crowd heard this and gasped. Markham spun around, looking for his stalwarts. He saw in front of him, McShannon, Jack Owen and his sister Carlotta. They all regarded him coldly. Alvina was on the arm of McShannon and Lucy stood by Jack Owen.

  “You two girls leave them men alone,” Markham shouted.

  “You pay Sarie,” Alvina said flatly.

  “Foley,” Markham shouted, “where you at?”

  Looking sour, the foreman stepped forward.

  “We won’t have any trouble,” the sheriff said. “You will pay Miss Sarie the prize money, then you will disperse like the rest of the crowd into town. Peaceably.”

  Foley didn’t have a gun. He looked lost without it. Markham looked around. His men were there, but there were a great many other folk as well. He knew that he was beaten. He took a very deep breath and held out his hand to the sheriff who held the stake money.

  It was a heavy leather bag full of gold. Sarie couldn’t take her eyes off it. Without looking at her, Markham took the money from the sheriff and thrust it into the girl’s hands. It was so heavy that she nearly dropped it. McAllister took it from her and hefted it in one hand with a grin.

  “That’s part of what you owe us,” he said.

  Markham gave him a hard fierce look and thrust his way through the crowd, roaring for his daughters to follow. McShannon and Jack Owen started to say fond farewells. Foley lingered a moment as if he would say something to McAllister, but he thought better of it and stalked away. Slowly, the crowd and Markham’s riders scattered. The two girls finally followed their father
with many backward glances and waves, McAllister’s group mounted their tired horses and rode slowly away to their camp.

  17

  In camp, they talked. Inside an hour, they knew what they would do with the money. Carlotta was right. They must build a house and a good one. They broke camp and moved down into town. They stayed together. Those were McAllister’s orders and he stated them in that tone that brooked no opposition. They went to the bank and deposited the bulk of the money in Sarie’s name. Then they went to the timber mill and picked out their timber and arranged to have it hauled out to the site of the old house. Next they bought a light wagon and filled it with supplies. Last, they bought three of the latest Winchesters and enough ammunition for an army. Then, considering that the day’s success demanded a small celebration that could be enjoyed by the ladies, they went to the best restaurant in town and had a slap-up meal. They enjoyed it all the more because it was on Markham.

  It was dark when they moved out of town, Sarie and Carlotta on the wagon and the men riding guard around it. They didn’t reach the site of the old house till the early hours of the morning. They camped by the side of the creek and all slept the sleep of folk who feel that they have a good day. McAllister, pleased though he was, could not help feeling that Markham would never let things rest there. The man’s pride had been badly mauled. His best horses had been beaten, his enemies had taken five hundred dollars from him and his sister had run off with one of the said enemies. McAllister’s assessment of the situation told him that the next time Markham appeared on the scene it would be with plenty of men and plenty of guns. The sooner they had a stout house built the better.

  The following morning, they arose early and the girls cooked breakfast over the open fire while the men took a much needed bathe in the creek. And then, while the men talked, the girls retired to a discreet spot and also took a bath. Everybody was in high spirits and there was some horseplay between McShannon and the sober Jack Owen. When the girls came back from the creek, they all voted on the spot where the new house was to be built. They chose a place on slightly raised ground about a hundred yards from the old site and McAllister and McShannon marked out the plan on the ground. It was to be a big house with a large central room, and rooms off for Sarie, Jack, McShannon and a larger one for McAllister and Carlotta. Jack and McShannon protested that they’d want pretty big rooms themselves as they aimed to be married before long. McAllister said he would believe that when he saw it.

  McShannon started to build the chimney to fill in the time till the lumber arrived from town. He was pretty proud of the way he could build chimneys, so the others let him get to it while they carried stones for him. Most of them they brought from the old chimney, some of which was still standing, other stones, they found along the creek. In the afternoon, the lumber arrived from town. There were three wagon-loads of it and there was more to come. The men off-loaded and the wagons started the light haul home. They brought with them Sven Larsen, the carpenter, and he set to work at once, bossing everybody about and not giving anybody a minute’s peace. Not long after Arch Sorenson from further down the valley turned up in a wagon with his two stalwart sons, saying that he had heard that they were house-building and could they lend a hand? They were welcomed warmly. The Sorensons had brought a jug with them and this was handed around to cheer the men at their work. Before dark, Tom Frazer from the edge of the foothills came up with his one rider and asked if he could pitch in. The two men were given a drink from the jug and told to get to it. By nightfall, the frame and half an outer wall were up.

  As they sat around the fire, eating the chow that Carlotta and Sarie had rustled up, McAllister said: “At this rate, she’ll be finished in a couple of days.”

  The next day early, the Maxtons from the north came in. They were father, mother, son and two daughters. This made a picnic of the whole affair. At noon, more lumber arrived and on its tail came John Dowell and his brood of two sons and a daughter. He was a farmer from the edge of Markham’s range. In a cow-country, he was frowned upon. But he was the kind of man who didn’t give a damn. McAllister and his crowd were neighbours a-building and he’d come to help. He was offered the little that was left of the jug and his whole family set to work. By the end of the day, all the other walls were finished and Sven Larsen was putting the shingles on. That night, with the camp fires burning Maxton got out his fiddle and they danced. They danced as only people starved of community fun can dance. There wasn’t much skill to it, but there was a hell of a lot of pleasure. There was a lot of laughter and the women declared they were plumb tuckered out and the men were proud that they could dance the women off their feet. A fight broke out over the Dowell girl between one of the Sorenson boys and one other boy McAllister couldn’t place, so he and McShannon threw them both in the creek to cool off and that was declared the highlight of the evening. Nobody slept till after midnight, but everybody was up in the dawn being bossed remorsely by Sven Larsen. By the end of the day, McAllister declared the house finished. All they wanted now was some furniture.

  John Dowell said it just so happened he had a thing or two in his wagon. Things they didn’t have room for in his house. Out came a table and a chair. Sorenson said that was a kind of coincidence because he had an item or so in his wagon they just didn’t know where to put in his house. He came with another chair and a large bed. A roar went up at the sight of the last and McShannon told everybody in a very loud voice that that was for Carlotta and McAllister. The poor critturs hadn’t had a chance to share a proper bed yet. The folks roared at that. The Maxtons then produced some cups and plates and cutlery from their wagon and capped their effort with the presentation of a rocking chair and a bureau.

  Carlotta, who knew what sacrifices these people had made on their behalf and how treasured such possessions were in this country, stood watching with tears in her eyes.

  McAllister said: “What’s the matter, girl? You should be pleased, not blubbing.”

  She said: “I just know what I’ve missed by being a Markham.”

  He grinned.

  “You ain’t a Markham no more. You’re all McAllister.”

  Her hand squeezed his arm gratefully.

  That night there was a last shindig. It was louder, wilder and longer than the other. It seemed that dawn was peeking coldly at them before they crawled into the blankets. They danced, they sang, they yarned and joked endlessly like being starved for companionship. This time there were no fights, but everybody enjoyed themselves in spite of that. But early in the morning, the teams were hitched to the wagons ready for pulling out. Hands were shaken all around and promises made to have gatherings like this more often. McShannon said sure, there would be another shortly when he got married to Alvina Markham. Jack piped up that it would be a double wedding and everybody would be welcome.

  At the farewells, Maxton managed to get McAllister on one side.

  “Ain’t mentioned it till now, Rem. Markham’s pushin’ me.”

  Sorenson came up and heard the words. He was obviously seeking McAllister out for a last word.

  “Wait a minute, boys,” he said, “let’s have Dowell in on this.” He waved his hand to Dowell and the small rancher came over. McAllister looked around at the faces of the three men. They were all set and sober. Grim.

  “Me too,” Sorenson said. “The man’s plumb crazy. Don’t he have enough land?”

  Dowell said: “A man like that can’t never have enough of anything.”

  McAllister said: “How far’s this gone?”

  Maxton said: “He’s given me a week.”

  The other two men nodded and Dowell said: “Me too.”

  McAllister said: “I’ll ride into town and have a talk with George Gibson.”

  “The sheriff!” Dowell said. ‘Where will that get you? You and me and all of us know how this bird operates. We heard yarns of how he acted down in Texas. It’ll be a shot in the dark. I’ve got a wife and kids, I don’t aim to die that way.”

  �
�I heard,” Maxton said, matter-of-factly, “he likes to use a rope. No, Rem, leave the sheriff out of it. We either settle this ourselves or we clear out of the country. Which is it to be?”

  McAllister said lightly: “I have a new house, I don’t aim to move.”

  “What do we do?” Maxton said. “How do we go about this?”

  Dowell put in: “There ain’t enough of us to do anything.”

  Maxton came back with: “What’s Markham got - hired men? What good’s a hired man when it comes to a showdown?”

  “A hired man,” McAllister said, “will die for his wages in a cow outfit - you know that.”

  They stood and looked at each other, their minds ranging this way and that over the problem.

  Maxton finally said: “We could count on Job Wilcox over on Lone Pine an’ Bill Somers. They know they’ll be next.”

  “But you won’t get any support from the town or the sheriff,” McAllister said. “We got to think about this.”

  “There ain’t much time for thinkin’,” Sorenson said. “We have to make up our minds fast. We don’t have no more’n a week. Rem, we talked about this an’ we want you to lead us. We ain’t goin’ to get anyplace without a leader. You come up with something. Fast.”

  McAllister nodded. He was accustomed to men turning to him. He accepted authority naturally.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll try an’ let you know tomorrow what we do. I’ve got to come up with something that gives you men freedom to hit Markham an’ that leaves your families safe. I want a Goddam miracle.”