Blood on Mcallister (17 page)

‘Get Clem on this horse,' he said, ‘an' tie him. Quick, now.'

Together they heaved the protesting and cursing man aboard and tied his legs beneath the animal's belly.

‘Now head for Two-Mile,' McAllister said. ‘Do you reckon you can find it?'

Billy said: ‘No, I don't.'

McAllister sighed. He pointed into the moonlit landscape and said: ‘Head thataway an' keep goin'. I'll catch you. All right?'

‘All right,' Billy told him and mounted the bay.

‘What about me?' plaintively asked Charlie, the cook.

McAllister told him: ‘Start walking back to the house, Charlie. You'll find the biggest fire you ever had to cook by.'

Charlie groaned and started walking. Billy and his prisoner set off into the north-west, McAllister swung back on the canelo and headed south. He was going to do something that was damned silly. He knew it was and he was going to do it just the same. Brenell had burned Jim Rigby out and justice demanded that he should be burned out. So that was the way it would be. He circled the house on the run, using his eyes and seeing the men bunching and talking together in the yard outside the bunkhouse. He could imagine them arguing, some of them wanting to chase the horse-thief, the more cautious claiming that it was useless to try and trail anybody at night. He hit the yard from the south and they turned to watch him approach, none of them crazy enough to imagine that this could be the horse-thief back. McAllister's old man had always told him to do the unexpected and he was carrying out the old man's word. He rode down on them like a bat out of hell and he could tell that most of them thought he would pull up before he reached them. But he gave a shrill rebel yell and bore straight down on them. Most of them jumped clear, startled yells filled the air. One man wasn't quick enough and was caught by the canelo's shoulder. He was sent flying as if he weighed no more than paper. McAllister pounded on across the yard, came to a sliding halt at the stoop and piled out of the saddle before anybody had gathered his wits enough to draw a gun and shoot. By the time the first shot came, he was inside the house and taking a lucifer from a pocket.

He reached for the lamp that stood at the foot of the stairs, picked it up and hurled it into the parlor. It shattered
and coal-oil went all over, but wasn't set alight. He struck the match and tossed in into the pool of liquid. At once flame shot up and caught the curtain.

McAllister decided that was good enough for him. He valued his skin higher than a good fire. He ran into the kitchen. He thought he heard feet pounding along the side of the house. His eye caught a gleam of moonlight on something metal as he passed the table. He stopped and felt with his hand. A lamp! He picked it up and smashed it against the wall. Reached into a pocket for a lucifer, struck it on his pants and tossed it into the oil that splashed out over the floor. The flame jumped and licked at the wall. McAllister tossed the table into the flame and jumped for the door, paused there a moment and went on towards those hogs again.

A man shouted and a gun went off. Lead whistled so close past his head that he ducked instinctively. As he ran he ripped the Remington from leather. Then he ran headlong into a hog and went over. The gun went off again and a hog screamed in either rage or agony. McAllister snapped off a shot at the dim form of the man and started to his feet. Putting two fingers to his mouth, he gave a shrill whistle. Driving another shot at the man to one side of the house, he scrambled to his feet and started off running, praying fervently that the canelo would come to his call. It had never failed him yet, but it would just be his luck if it failed him now. He started up the slight slope down which he and Billy had approached the house so short a time before and let out another piercing whistle. But he didn't stop running. There were too many men back there with too many guns for his liking.

When he got to the crest of the hill, however, he halted and looked back. The house had caught nicely and the flames were taking over—the wood would be as dry as tinder this time of the year. He could hear the shouts of the men and another sound, one he wanted to hear. The sound of a horse's hoofs. His elation died almost immediately as he realised that he could hear several horses running. That meant they had some men mounted and were after him. Was the canelo running this way or not? He had to take a chance. He let out another shrill whistle and lay flat. If it
wasn't his horse, maybe the others would go past him in the dark.

A horse hit the bottom of the slope and he thought he could see the canelo in the moonlight, but couldn't be sure at that distance. Certainly the horse was riderless with stirrup-irons swinging. The animal came straight toward him. Behind came a darker mass of riders. They were indistinct, but he thought there were at least three of them and they were spurring and quirting their horses recklessly. As the leading horse came near, he stood up. It snorted and he knew it was his own. Turning, he caught the animal's mane as it passed. It was slowing, but even so the action was enough to almost pull him from his feet. He kicked against the ground and vaulted onto the animal's back, hitting the saddle hard and yelling to it. Even before he got his feet into the stirrup-irons, the canelo had its legs under it and was running. The men behind were banging away at him, but they were moving too fast for shooting and he had little fear they would hit him.

He went directly north, praying the horse would keep its feet out of prairie-dog holes and he ran away from them simply because he had superior horseflesh. A couple of miles and they gave up. He went on another half-mile, then he turned east, looking for Billy and wondering how many men back at the house got their backsides singed trying to get a man out of the upstairs bedroom who wasn't there. It was a nice thought.

It wasn't easy easy finding Billy and he took the risk of calling every now and again because he didn't want the damn fool to be found wandering over this range when daylight came. After a couple of hours and uncomfortably near dawn, he found a very worried Billy. As he rode up the fair man said: ‘My God, am I pleased to see you?'

McAllister grinned. ‘I'm pretty pleased to see you too.'

‘All I want to do is get into camp, get off this Goddam horse and go to sleep lying on my belly.'

‘You have a mite more ridin' to do yet. In fact you won't be off'n that horse for a long time. So grit your teeth, boy.' Billy groaned.

Clem said: ‘You're a damn Indian, McAllister. My leg's givin' me hell. I didn't ought to be ridin'.'

“You did a lot of things you didn't ought,' McAllister told him. One more won't hurt you.'

‘The wound's poisoned. This could kill me.'

McAllister said: ‘We have to travel fast now, Billy. I'll lead the way. Keep behind that one and keep that horse of his movin'.'

Billy said: ‘He
is
in pain, Rem.'

McAllister made a sound of disgust and got the canelo on the move. The horse stretched out in a long lope and he kept them to the pace for the next hour. They didn't draw rein until it was dawn and they were on the brink of the canyon.

McAllister stepped down.

‘Lead the horses down into the canyon,' he said. ‘Catch up the pack-horse, pack the supplies and lead all the animals up the other side. Then go on north a mile and I'll join you there.'

‘What're you going to do?'

‘Delay anbody that tries to follow us.'

Billy dismounted, gathered the lines of the horses together and started to lead them down the narrow trail into the canyon. Clem looked as though he didn't like being on a horse going down that narrow way, one little bit. McAllister didn't let it bother him. As soon as they had gone on, he cut some brush with his knife and started wiping out tracks. By the time he reached the camping spot, Billy had managed to load the pack-horse and was ready to lead on. McAllister had to admit to himself that Clem Brenell looked pretty awful. It didn't soften his feelings towards the man much.

A couple of hours later, he joined Billy a mile north of the canyon and mounted the canelo.

‘Where do we go now?' Billy asked.

‘The creek.'

‘Why the creek?'

‘You'll see.'

Clem said: ‘Pa'll kill you for this.'

‘You said that before.'

They went on.

Carl Brenell was in a confused state of mind. He didn't know whether he was more astonished than enraged. He didn't know if he was more enraged than worried. Nothing had ever hapened to him like this before. He sat in his room in the hotel with four or five of his men gathered there. Cal Bryant was there, and Griff. They had just ridden in from headquarters or what was left of headquarters and had told him the news. What he didn't know was that they had debated whether to bring the news to their boss or to ride clean out of the country. After a taste of Brenell's rage they wished they had got out of the country. When Brenell had simmered down a bit, he said: ‘How do you know the boy wasn't burned?'

Cal said: ‘No, boss. Not a chance. Griff an' me, we went up to his room. It wasn't touched then. The parlor and kitchen was on fire, but the flames hadn't gotten up the stairs. They took him for sure.'

‘Who took him?'

‘The cook said it was McAllister.'

That brought the man's head up as if he'd been touched by a red-hot poker.

‘McAllister! I knew it. I knew it the minute I set eyes on the man. Trouble. Rigby's gun-hand.' He put his head in his hands and thought a while. ‘Cal, take one of the boys and get Rigby for me. Griff, you go find that feller Harry Shultz an' tell him I want a word with him.'

Ten minutes later Cal Bryan returned with Jim Rigby. He looked a worried man. As soon as he entered the room, he showed the frame of mind he was in.

‘Brenell,' he said, ‘it's no good you starting anything. I want out. This isn't my fight.'

Brenell got to his feet and strode across the room to him, shoving him violently into a chair.

‘Isn't your fight?' he roared. ‘Your Goddam gun-hand burns my house down and it ain't your fight?'

Rigby gasped.

‘Burned your house? Aw, no. It isn't possible.'

‘That ain't all. They burned my house an' rid off with my boy. You hear that? My boy. By God, I got the law on my side now. Now, you tell me where that McAllister's at. Tell me where he took my boy.'

Rigby shook his head helplessly.

‘I don't know,' he said.

Brenell pulled up a chair so they were knee to knee. He stared into the other man's face.

‘You know,' he said, ‘an' you're goin' to tell me.'

‘I don't know. I swear I don't.'

‘Where'd you go with that pack of supplies yesterday?' Brenell shot at him. ‘See here, I know everything that goes on in this country. It's my country. I know you went off with that pack-animal, loaded. An' you came back without it. Where'd you go.'

‘I went to Half-Mile. But he won't be there now. He'll have moved.'

Cal said: ‘He went north for sure, Mr. Brenell. He could of headed for Two-Mile. Arch is trailing him now.'

‘Look, Brenell,' Rigby said, ‘I don't want any part of this. I swear I didn't call McAllister in. I don't want any trouble. I have my daughter to think of.'

Brenell said: ‘You stay in town, Rigby, or you'll get all the trouble you ever dreamt of. Hear? Now get outa here.'

Rigby went. A moment later Harry Shultz entered the room. Brenell at once sent the others out.

‘You didn't kill him,' Brenell said, stabbing a finger at him.

Harry Shultz said: ‘I'll do it when the time's right.'

‘My money says the time was right yesterday,' Brenell shouted. ‘You know that sonovabitch burned me out and took my son? You know that?'

Shultz looked impressed.

‘You don't say,' he said.

‘Don't stand there looking smart,' Brenell snarled. ‘Find McAllister and kill him.'

Shultz took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end and spat it on the floor.

‘It ain't only McAllister,' he said. ‘That Billy Gage's thrown in with him.'

‘Your man?'

‘He ain't my man no longer.'

Brenell said: ‘I want McAllister found and killed. Understand?'

Shultz didn't know how he was going to do this. He didn't know the country and it seemed that McAllister was somewhere out there on the plains. Shultz knew he would have to wait his time till McAllister came into town. Now Brenell's house was burned the chances were that he would stay in town. If this affair had to be finished, McAllister and Brenell had to come face to face. That meant that McAllister would have to come into town. When he did, Shultz would kill him. This time he would make sure he did. He owed it to himself.

‘I'll kill him,' Shultz said. ‘Don't you have no fears on that score. This is personal, now.'

He walked out of the room. Brenell put on his hat and picked up his quirt. Going out through the lobby of the hotel he gathered his men and they walked out to their horses. They rode out of town and kept going till they came within sight of their headquarters. Brenell had prepared himself for the sight, but he couldn't help being appalled when he saw the black burned out remains of the house. He had built it with pride and it had cost him a lot of money. All that was left standing was the corral, the barn and the bunkhouse. Cal informed him that he had some of the boys led by an Osage Indian on the payroll hunting sign. This Osage was called Tommy Gee and was said to be a first-class man at reading sign. Brenell hoped that was true. Thought of his precious son in the hands of a mad-dog killer like McAllister was more than he could bear. More than that, he simply wanted to come up with the man who would dare to burn his house.

The cook managed some kind of a meal and they ate it outside the barn, Brenell keeping himself apart from the men. Before it was over, a man rode in from the north to say that the Osage had trailed McAllister and another man without too much trouble, all the way to Two-Mile, but had lost sign after that. Brenell called for his horse, told the men to get mounted and rode for Two-Mile. He rode hard and didn't take much care of horseflesh while he did it. The animals were in a poor way when he arrived to find the Indian to the north of the canyon casting around fruitlessly
for sign.