Blood on Mcallister (18 page)

Tommy,' he told the Indian. ‘You find that sign or by God I'll have your hide.'

The Indian continued with his work. Brenell sat his horse and watched and fumed. The sight of the men sitting around and doing the same thing infuriated him and he bellowed for them to get hunting sign. This upset the Indian who wouldn't stand much chance of finding sign after the several horsemen had churned up the ground. By nightfall nobody had found anything. Brenell was fit to be tied.

Then the Indian went a half-mile beyond the other riders and fired his gun in the air. He had found sign. Brenell spurred his horse toward him. The Indian was excited.

‘T'ree hoss,' he said. ‘Go north.'

My God,
Brenell thought in fear,
where's this man taken my boy?
He imagined Clem lying dead in some buffalo wallow his brains blown out. It was too much to bear. He panicked now and his panic came out in rage. He stormed for the Indian not to sit there, but to get on. Tommy rode slowly north following the sign. It swung west after a while, then slowly came around into the south. The little cavalcade of riders followed. Brenell fumed with impatience all the while.

Then they hit the creek.

‘Goddam,' the Indian said. ‘No good. Heap look now.'

‘Which way'd he go?' Brenell demanded.

The Indian spread his hands. He crossed the creek and hunted around but the men hadn't crossed the water. They could have gone either way, north-west or south-east. They had taken to the water and had most likely stayed in it for a good while. This McAllister was plenty smart. It would not be easy to find where he had left the water.

Time was running out, Brenell thought. The more time that passed, the nearer to death his boy was. Or was it that McAllister was holding him as a hostage. God Almighty, Brenell raged, if he'd done that and Shultz killed him… It didn't bear thinking on. If McAllister was killed then this Billy Gage who was with him would kill Clem. Brenell was in terror.

‘You find that sign, Tommy,' he said. ‘An' you find it fast, or I'll…'

The Indian understood. He got hunting. He sent men up and down stream looking for where the two men and their prisoner had left the water, but night came down before they could find the spot. Brenell decided to camp by the water. Nobody had any food with them, so they tightened their belts, rolled up in their blankets and slept hungry. The men didn't like it and they grumbled. Brenell didn't give a damn. He wanted his son found and he wanted him found soon.

First light he had the men out looking again. They were still looking at noon. And then a rider came on the run from headquarters. He had gone there from town with the news looking for Brenell. He'd ruined a couple of horses he'd travelled so fast.

‘What news, man?' Brenell shouted.

‘Why, McAllister's in town, Mr. Brenell,' the man said.

Harry Shultz, looking out of his hotel window, couldn't believe his eyes. Calling over his shoulder, he said: ‘Moose, come and look at this.'

The immense man crossed the room heavily and stared over his shoulder.

‘Christ,' he said softly.

McAllister was down there on the street, talking to Mart Krantz, the sheriff.

They looked at each other, Mose remembering that humiliating throw he had suffered from McAllister in the livery barn, Shultz knowing the hatred he felt always for a man who had in any way defeated him.

At the same moment, two of Brenell's hands were looking out of the window of a saloon. They could scarcely believe their eyes.

One said: ‘You have to admit—the feller has nerve.'

‘Fog it for the boss,' the other said. ‘I'll keep an eye on him.'

‘For Crissake don't brace him,' the other warned. ‘You think I'm crazy.'

One of the men went to his horse, got quickly into the saddle and rode down the street. McAllister glanced idly after him as he went and smiled.

‘Won't be long before Brenell arrives,' he said to Mart Krantz.

The sheriff frowned. He said: ‘I ain't pretending I like this, Rem. Tell me where you have Clem an' leave the rest to me. You know you can trust me, boy.'

‘Sure I do. But I clean forgot where I put Clem. Maybe it'll come back to me. If it does, I'll sure let you know, Mart.'

The sheriff made a despairing noise and went back into his office. Today was the day his deputy, Ole Carlson, came back from collecting taxes out in the county and he was sure going to be glad to see him. He was going to need all the help he could get with the trouble that was coming. He stared out of his window at the retreating figure of McAllister as the big man sauntered across the street to the saloon. It was, he thought, time he started asking questions. It would be a good thing if he found out where McAllister was keeping Clem before Brenell did. Some questions had to be asked. He strapped on his gun, shrugged himself into his jacket and walked out onto the street. The first people he visited were Jim and Pat Rigby at the hotel.

He had never seen such a profound and rapid change in a man as he found in Rigby. Confidence seemed to have drained out of him. He seemed no more than a shadow now and it didn't take much imagination to know that he was a very frightened man. When questioned he shook his head. No, he knew nothing. This affair was nothing to do with him. He had had nothing to do with the kidnapping of Clem. Mart had to believe that. Had Brenell approached him on the matter? The fear in the man's eyes answered that. The truth came out slowly. Brenell had found out that McAllister and Gage had Clem hidden in Two-Mile. He had ridden there and had been unable to trace any of them. He was scouring
the plain now for sign. Rigby showed then that the burning of his house had almost broken his nerve. His words and his scare ran away with him. He had lost everything, he was finished and Brenell was convinced that he was in on this with McAllister. It was a lie. He had washed his hands of the whole affair. Mart didn't have to be convinced. One look at Rigby showed him that it was true. He questioned Pat. The girl's answers were sincere enough. She hated the thought that her man, Billy Gage, was mixed up in this, but Mart knew what men were like when he came to playing cowboys and Indians. She didn't have any idea where Clem might be, but the sooner this business was finished, the happier she would be. Couldn't Mart do something about it? Couldn't he arrest Carl Brenell for burning down their house? He was the guilty man. Mart agreed that he knew in his heart that Carl was guilty. But there was nothing he could do about it. He had questioned Carl and had gotten nowhere. He had no witnesses; he was powerless.

‘Do anything, Mart,' Pat said, ‘to stop them before it comes to shooting. Can't you arrest Rem and Billy? Anything.'

‘No, my dear,' Mart told her. ‘I can't do that. I have no grounds. All I can do is stand on the sidelines and watch, hoping I can stop it when it starts. Mind you, Carl isn't going to do much while Rem has Clem in his hands.' He chuckled. ‘You have to hand it to Rem. He has all the sand in the world.'

The girl snorted, her lovely face flushed with anger. ‘He's just an overgrown boy leading my Billy astray.'

Mart wandered out onto the street, wondering what he should do next. He walked into the Bull, saw McAllister drinking a beer at the bar and went into Rosa's office.

The girl turned from her desk as he entered.

‘Hello, Rosa.'

‘Hello, sheriff.'

He sat down and looked at her, knowing her to be about the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on.

‘Rosa, you know Rem has Clem Brenell hidden away some place.' She nodded. He wondered how much she felt for McAllister. How much she would sacrifice for him. Was what she felt for him no more than a passing physical passion?

‘Sheriff,' she said, ‘I suspect you are about to pump me for
information.'

‘It's my job.'

‘You should know beter than to question a woman who has feelings for a man.'

‘If you have any real feeling for him, you'll help me.'

She looked at him with her head on one side, smiling crookedly.

‘You should know McAllister well enough to know that he wouldn't tell a mere woman a thing.'

Mart smiled. ‘I'd think a man would tell you anythin', Rosa. Listen, girl, I have to know where young Brenell's hidden for Rem's sake. Kidnapping is a serious crime. He could go to the pen for it.'

She smiled innocently. ‘It's like when Brenell burned out Jim Rigby,' she said. ‘There's no evidence. You know McAllister has Clem, I know and he admits it. But we have no real evidence.'

He rose. ‘I don't want to have to take Rem in, but that's what I'll do.'

He walked out of the saloon, but when he reached the street, he knew he didn't have anything to take McAllister in for. He reached his office and was surprised to find Jim Rigby waiting there. The man seemed in a highly nervous state and jumped to his feet when Mart entered.

Mart said: ‘You look like a man with somethin' to tell, Jim.'

‘I know where Clem Brenell is, Mart,' Rigby said.

‘You do? Then tell it.'

‘He's in Two-Mile.'

Mart sat down wearily behind his desk. For a moment, Rigby had him believing that he really knew. He said: ‘We knew he
was
in Two-Mile, but we know he ain't there now. Why come wastin' my time, Jim? Did McAllister put you up to this.'

Rigby leaned forward eagerly.

‘Don't you see,' he said. ‘McAllister took Clem out of Two-Mile and hid his tracks. He took him down to the creek and worked his way north again and back into Two-Mile. He waited till Brenell's men were clear.'

‘How do you know this?'

‘I heard McAllister and Rosa talking.'

‘Why you tellin' me?'

‘I want this finished. I don't want Billy Gage killed. Pat and him're going to be married.'

‘Where's Gage?'

‘He's in Two-Mile guarding Clem.'

‘Is this an attempt to get me outa town?'

‘No, Mart, I swear it.'

For the first time in years, Mart had the feeling that he was in out of his depth and he had a sneaking suspicion that before very long he was going to wish he'd never been born. For a brief moment, he hated McAllister for putting him in such a predicament.

‘Jim,' he said, ‘if you ain't tellin' me the truth, I'll find somethin' to take you in on. Now go an' try to talk some sense into McAllister.'

Rigby went, pale-faced and worried. Mart thought he had never seen such a rapid change in a man. Maybe he too was changing under the worry of this situation. It wouldn't be too long before Brenell rode into town with his men with him. Then, unless McAllister played his cards right, there was going to be some shooting and men were going to die. Mart didn't like men dying from lead in his bailiwick.

Ole Carlson came in from the street. He was a tall, slow-moving man, steady, but not as bright as he could have been. Mart mulled over the possibility of leaving him in charge here in town and going out to Two-Mile himself to fetch Clem. But he didn't like the feel of that. On the other hand, could Ole handle Billy Gage? That was the gamble that had to be taken.

‘Ole,' he said. ‘Rigby says Billy Gage is holding Clem Brenell out in Two-Mile. Go get him.'

Ole looked a little put out.

‘Whereabouts in Two-Mile?'

‘How the hell should I know?' Mart snarled. ‘Do I have to do all the thinkin' around here?'

Carlson was startled. He had never heard Mart short before. He didn't say another word, but took his rifle from the rack on the wall and tramped out of the office. A half-hour later, Mart watched him ride down the street on his sorrel horse, headed north.

He ought to be able to handle a pilgrim in a canyon,
Mart
told himself. He sat around the office for the rest of the day, thinking, waiting for Brenell to return. He knew that nothing would be resolved until Carl rode into town. Then he reckoned everything would be resolved in the time-honored way—by death. Whoever won would immediately be put under arrest. So the trouble could start all over again. Maybe he was getting too old for this job.

Dark came. He didn't light a lamp, but sat in the dark, his thoughts worrying. After a while, he filled his smoking pipe and strolled out onto the sidewalk, puffing. But there was no enjoyment in the tobacco. He must have leaned there for a half-hour idly watching the few pedestrians passing in the lamplight, hearing the sound of hammers coming from the cattle-pens where men were still working to prepare for the great tide of cattle that would arrive from the south soon. Then the town would hum.

He was startled from his thoughts by the hammering blast of a gun. Men stopped and stared. Mart knocked out his pipe and stuffed it into his pocket. More shots. Another gun. So it was a gunfight. He swept back the tails of his coat, plucked his heavy Colt from leather and started running. Even as he angled across the ruts of the street, warnings sounded in his head. He knew that the shots came from the alleyway that ran alongside the saloon and he knew just as well that alleyways were occupational hazards for lawmen.

Men were shouting at him. He ignored them. Shooting in his town was like a personal insult. If it was done by men who knew him it was a direct insult to him; if it was done by men who didn't know him, they must be quickly introduced to his rules.

He reached the mouth of the alleyway. It was dark as the entrance to hell. The shooting had stopped, but he could smell burned powder on the close air.

An uncertain stream of light came from a window of the saloon. In it, he made out a man. He thought he could see a gun in his hand.

‘You do that shootin'?' he called. The Colt was cocked, ready for action. His nerves were taut and he knew from experience that in that moment he was a highly lethal creature. If the man yonder moved too fast, he was dead.