Tough to Kill

by Matt Chisholm

  They told him goodbye then and hands were shaken. The men walked to their wagons and the woman wanted to know what all the talk was about.

  McAllister stood with Carlotta and the others waving to the families as they slowly moved off. Everybody felt pretty good. Only the men were weighed down with doubt about the future. As for McAllister, he thought he knew what he had to do even before the wagons were out of sight. But he didn’t say anything to the others. He wanted to sleep on it, for he couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Too much depended on it.

  They all puttered around the house, putting their rooms to rights. McShannon built a bunk for Sarie in her room and then he and Jack Owen put up bunks in their own rooms. McAllister carried the large bed into the room to be shared by himself and Carlotta and had to suffer more ribald remarks from McShannon and Owen. The girls were busy preparing food and putting curtains up. As yet there were no window panes in the frames, but McAllister planned to bring those out from town later. If there was going to be shooting, he didn’t see why they should waste that quantity of good glass.

  He and Carlotta slept in their fine bed that night and for an hour or two, locked in the struggle that was sweeter than he had thought possible on the confort of a good mattress, he forgot his cares. Then while Carlotta slept at his side, he lay on his back and thought, his mind clear and active.

  Houses, he thought, were expendable. Men and women and children were not. Therefore, he had to make the families safe if the men were to strike at Markham. He had to have a stout building easily defended where he could house the women and kids. The Sorenson place was the only one that answered that description. Sorenson had built in the Indian days (which were not so long ago) and had placed it on high ground that was surrounded on three sides by the creek. The waterway was deep there and could only be crossed at one narrow shallow spot. The house was made of stout logs chinked with mud and would withstand cannon fire. If the women and kids could be housed there safely for a week, it would give a fastmoving striking force that amount of time to put paid to friend Markham.

  He thought about McShannon and Jack. He knew that both young men were dead set on marrying the Markham girls and he wondered if that would ever be possible if the valley moved against the cattle king. Time would tell.

  His mind returned to the families. He wondered what Markham would do if the families all collected at Sorenson’s place. Would the rancher take fire to every untenanted house in the valley? He had not hesitated to do that to McAllister’s and McShannon’s. That was a risk they had to take. First, Markham had to be shown that he was not the only one who could carry violence into the other camp.

  He fell asleep, knowing that he would have to move fast early in the morning.

  18

  He was awake before dawn as was his custom. He leaned over, kissed Carlotta who merely stirred in her sleep, and went into the main room to stir up the fire and put the coffee pot on the stove. Sarie came in, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

  “Get McShannon and Jack out here,” McAllister told her.

  Sarie said: “Look who’s givin’ the orders this mornin’.”

  McAllister said: “Do it an’ don’t give me no sass.”

  She did it.

  McShannon and Owen walked sleepily into the room, buttoning their pants.

  “What the hell is this?” McShannon demanded.

  McAllister poured steaming hot coffee and told them what had passed between him and the valley men on the day before. They listened, their eyes wide now.

  When he had finished, McShannon said: “That Markham’s a regular Injun, ain’t he? How’d he ever have daughters like that?”

  “What do we do, Rem?” Jack wanted to know.

  “Grab yourselves some chow, saddle up an’ ride. Kiowa, you go south, Jack you go north. Take my word to every family an’ make it fast. We don’t know when or where Markham’s goin’ to start. An’ this is what you tell ’em.” He gave them their messages in detail and made them repeat them till he was satisfied they had them right. After that, he said: “They must all be at Sorenson’s place by noon tomorrow at the latest. Everybody brings all the supplies and ammunition they can carry. If they can move at night, so much the better.”

  McShannon and Jack ate standing and hurried out to catch up their fastest horses. McShannon took his sorrel and Jack the red stallion. As they pounded out of the yard, Carlotta came out of the house and asked where they were both off to in such a hurry. McAllister told her what had taken place. She looked worried.

  “Rem,” she said, “there’s only one thing for me to do. I’ll have to go and see Markham. Somebody has to talk some sanity into him.”

  “No,” McAllister told her. “You don’t go anywhere. You stay right here with me.”

  “But, Rem, I might be able to stop the bloodshed. There’s bound to be shooting. Anything’s better than that.”

  “Like you say,” McAllister said, “Markham’s crazy. Once he has his hands on you, he has me by the short hairs. No, you stay close to the house and keep your eyes open. I’m expectin’ a visit from Markham any minute.”

  She argued, but it didn’t do her any good. So she cooked him a fine breakfast and gave him endless cups of coffee and he started to mellow out a bit. But he was a worried man and couldn’t hide the fact. There was plenty of work to be done, but he didn’t do it. He mooned around the house with one of the new Winchester’s in his hands and a pocketful of shells. At noon, he ate briefly and wandered down to the creek. There in the shade of some brush, he sat down to think with the gentle sound of the water in his ears.

  Maybe he dozed lightly. A sound jerked his head up. The chink of a shod hoof on stone.

  There above him, on the other side of the creek, silhouetted against the sky was a small bunch of riders.

  He doubted that they could see him. They were about three-quarters of a mile off and he was in the shade. They were headed toward him. Slowly, he backed through the brush and sought the protection of the rocks scattered at the top of the bank of the creek. He took off his hat and waited.

  They weren’t hurrying. He counted six of them, well-mounted and riding slack in the saddle like men not expecting trouble. They would cross the creek and then they would expect trouble. He knew that the man in the lead was Foley. He cursed. He didn’t want Markham’s men spying out the valley till the families were safely at Sorenson’s place. They had to be halted here. But he knew that the chances were that these men were but a small part of a larger bunch. Similar groups could be crossing the creek up and down the valley.

  His mind weighed the problem and he knew that he may have made his move too late. All this might be his own fault. If he had not driven Markham to the brink by entering and winning the race, this might never have happened. It was up to him to save the valley and its folks.

  The riders were a half-mile off now, coming ahead steadily. As they approached the creek, so their attitudes slowly changed. Men started to sit more upright in the saddle; one reached down and pulled a carbine from a saddle-boot. Foley turned in the saddle and spoke to them. McAllister thought that it was good that they were bunched to cross the narrow ford. That made them an easy target If he missed one, he would hit another.

  One of the men was pointing toward the house. McAllister cautiously glanced over his shoulder and saw Carlotta and Sarie on the stoop. He wanted to shout to them and tell them to get inside. As if in answer to his wishes, he saw Carlotta push Sarie inside. The door shut behind them both and he sighed with relief.

  The riders came right up to the bank of the creek and stopped. They looked over the new house and started making comments about it. One wag said: “They put ’em up, we burn ’em down. We oughta buy shares in the sawmill.”

  Foley said sourly: “Watch it now. If McAllister’s around, we got troubles.”

  Hands went down to heave carbines from leather. Men checked their weapons. For several minutes, Foley stayed where he was as if he were hesitating to put his horse i
nto the water, as if some instinct warned him that there was danger here.

  The new Winchester was hot to McAllister’s touch. He had kept it by his side so that the sun glinting on the barrel would not give his presence away.

  A man said: “What’s holdin’ us up. Let’s get it over with.”

  “All right,” Foley said. “Let’s go.”

  He lifted his lines with his left hand and put his horse down the bank. The animal slipped a little, entered the water and lowered its head to drink. Foley jerked its head up angrily. McAllister sensed an agonising tension in the man.

  McAllister pulled the Winchester forward and lined it up with Foley.

  The other riders were slowly piling over the bank and putting their horses into the water. Foley had reached the center and was slightly to the left of the position where McAllister was lying.

  McAllister called out -

  “Hold it right there.”

  For a moment, every man there was frozen into immobility. Foley’s head jerked this way and that as he searched for the hidden man.

  A man to the rear spotted McAllister. He started to raise his rifle. McAllister moved the Winchester a mite and fired. The man’s hat was lifted from his head with a flicking movement and hit the surface of the creek. It floated slowly away.

  Pandemonium broke out. Men under shock behave illogically and these men were no exception. Four of the men turned their horses with great difficulty in the water and tried to get back the way they had come, while Foley and another man spurred their horses forward.

  McAllister fired again.

  The front legs of Foley’s horse crumpled as though they were made of paper. The rider was flung over its head and landed with a loud splash in the water where he floundered helplessly, rifle gone.

  The second rider managed to reach the bank and spurred his horse up it. When he reached the top, McAllister had rolled onto his back, aimed and fired. The man was smashed out of the saddle, landed heavily on the ground and the horse dashed on toward the house.

  McAllister rose to one knee and peered down at Foley in the water. The man was staggering spluttering to his feet. He raised his eyes to the four other men and saw that they had reined in about a hundred yards away. Turning, he looked at the wounded man who had rolled down the bank and was lying rocking backward and forward near the edge of the water holding his shoulder, his face contorted with pain.

  To Foley, McAllister said: “Come ahead.”

  The foreman waded out of the water and stood on the sand, dripping miserably.

  McAllister jerked his chin toward the wounded man.

  “Tote him outa here.”

  All Foley could say was: “Christ!”

  “Pick him up.”

  Foley stooped and strained as he picked the man up. He stood for a moment.

  “You shot a man an’ you shot a horse,” he said. “You’ll pay for both.”

  McAllister said: “Get outa my sight before I shoot another man. An’, Foley, the next time you ride in on my place - I’ll kill you.”

  The foreman gave him a bleak look and started wading across the creek. It took a lot of effort to get the wounded man across, but finally he staggered up the further bank and two of the horsemen plucked up courage under the hidden rifle to come and give him a hand. Then the little cavalcade rode slowly away.

  McAllister walked back to the house.

  Carlotta and Sarie came out to meet him in the yard. Carlotta asked anxiously: “Are you hurt?”

  “I ain’t hurt. But one of them is. Get your things together, girls, we’re goin’ over to Sorenson’s place.”

  They both wailed at that. They were not going to be driven out of their home again by Markham or anybody else. He’d burned one house down and he would burn this one down if it were left untenanted.

  McAllister said: “He’ll burn it just as easily if you’re here.” He tramped off for the team to hitch it to the wagon while the girls went disconsolately into the house. McAllister was cursing himself for having built the house. He should have waited till the trouble was over. But it was done and he had to face the fact. He carried food and ammunition and spare guns from the house to the wagon and helped Carlotta and Sarie with their effects. Then Carlotta, white-faced, took the lines and drove the wagon off down valley. McAllister saddled the dun and drove out the stock.

  In a couple of hours, they reached Sorenson’s place to find that the Dowells and Maxton’s were already there. Tents were pitched near wagons and cook-fires were burning. There seemed to be women and kids eveywhere. Sarie slept that night in the house while Carlotta and McAllister used the wagon. By the following dawn all the men were in, including McShannon and Jack Owen who had carried out the job of warning all the valley to gather there.

  McAllister counted heads and found that he had, including the older boys who could handle a gun, fourteen ablebodied men. It was good to know that he didn’t have a wild one among them. The older men were steady and the youngsters were of the kind that obeyed their parents. He saw that all were armed with both rifles and belt-guns and that every man had a sufficiency of ammunition. Horses were checked, food rations allocated and canteens filled. The women hovered worriedly. Among them, the older ones had handled a rifle in the Indian days. He left two men, a Sorenson boy and an older man, Blain, to guard the house. Then they were ready to ride. They slept on their arms, woke to a quick hot breakfast at two in the morning and were on their way by three. McAllister noted that there were no grumbles at the earliness of the hour. These men had a job to do and they were determined to do it.

  When they were five miles from Sorenson’s place, he sent McShannon forward to scout out the land. Jack Owen went out on the right flank and Dowell, who had fought Indians in his day, rode the left flank.

  An hour from dawn, they lifted out of the valley, and McShannon came back to say that one of Markham’s line camps was ahead. McAllister called a halt. He knew now that his timing had been bad and that he should have set out earlier. He could not afford to settle the line-camp if he meant to come on the headquarters buildings in the dawn. Even if he did not wait, he would need to move fast. He detailed McShannon to take three men and silence the line-camp. He was not to kill unless it was absolutely necessary, but if it meant losing valley men, McShannon should shoot to kill. McShannon picked his men and rode off into the darkness. That left McAllister and seven men to go ahead to tackle the headquarters. He reckoned he didn’t hold a very strong hand.

  Dawn overtook them a mile from the Markham buldings and McAllister knew that it was almost too late. But he would have to go ahead if Markham was to be stopped from moving into the valley. Of course, Markham may already have moved.

  Behind a ridge, he called a halt and, using a glass, he spied out the land. There seemed to be very little activity around the ranch-house. He swung the glass this way and that and saw his best lines of advance. He detailed two men to work their way around the east and two more to move in from the west. He told them what cover to use and where he wanted them to end up. The three remaining men, one of whom was Sorenson, he told to head straight for the house and to halt on the ridge above it so that, if they needed to shoot, they could cover the whole front of the house and the bunkhouses.

  He kneed the dun forward.

  “Where you goin’?” Sorenson demanded.

  “To talk to Markham. There’s just a chance he might see some sense.”

  “You’re wastin’ your breath.”

  “Likely.”

  A man said: “Horses comin’.”

  They turned in the saddle. Four men came out of the scattered brush and McAllister saw that it was McShannon and the three men he had taken to the line-camp. They rode up and one man showed that he had been shot through the arm.

  McShannon looked grim. There were gunpowder marks on his face.

  “How’d it go?” McAllister asked.

  McShannon said: “We jumped ‘em, but they tried to fight. Four of ‘em. They winged
Charlie here. We killed one of ’em. That kind of shook ’em up a mite. They reckoned this wasn’t their fight. ‘Pears Markham don’t make his men overly loyal. We took their guns and they lit out goin’ south. We burned the shack an’ scattered the stock.”

  McAllister nodded. So a man was dead. It had really started.

  “Stay with Sorenson,” he told McShannon. “Luke and Thomas, you ride around on the other side of the creek and come up the creek bed to the rear of the house. That’ll mean we have ’em surrounded.”

  He touched the dun with the spurs and rode ahead.

  They saw him coming long before he reached the house. He knew as soon as he drew near that Markham’s main force was not there. That probably meant that it w*s out in the valley. Depression settled on him. Already the houses could be burning. When he rode into the yard, men came out of the bunkhouses on either side of him with rifles in their hands. He counted six of them.

  He knew that he was in a bad situation.

  He sat his horse for a moment, undecided, but not showing his indecision. To the men who watched him, he looked cool and unhurried.

  The door of the house opened and Markham walked onto the stoop. He was back in his old range clothes now and he looked his old froglike self. He looked at McAllister steadily and without anger for a moment before he spoke.

  “Either you’re a damn fool,” he said, “or you’ve a lot of nerve. But it don’t make no difference, Sittin’ there, you’re a dead duck.”

  McAllister ignored the words. Foley was not in the yard. That could mean the straw-boss was already riding with the men through the valley.

  “Where’s Foley?” he asked.

  “It ain’t none of your business,” Markham told him, “but he’s ridin’ line.”

  One of the men near the bunk-house spoke.

  “Let me cut him down, Mr. Markham.”

  The rancher seemed to consider the possibility.

  McAllister said: “If Foley’s in the valley, Markham. I’m goin’ to burn you out. If you don’t play your cards right, you could end up dead.”