Blood on Mcallister (2 page)

‘You mean you don't know?' Frank told him about it. A professional fighter and athlete had come to town challenging all comers. They'd heaved weights, run races, had a fist fight, God knew what and the fellow had won everything so far and the town was going crazy, men were betting their last dollar this way or that.

‘There's some big money in it,' McAllister said.

‘There sure is,' Frank agreed. ‘How'd you know that?'

McAllister told him what had happened on his way to town. Frank whistled and wondered who the men could have been.

‘But I'll find 'em for you if they come back into town, Rem, an' I'll nail ‘em for you.'

‘Thanks, but I'll kill my own snakes, boy.'

‘But not with a gun in my town, Rem.'

McAllister raised his eyebrows. ‘It's like that here, is it?'

‘Sure is. I want to stay alive when the Texas hellions arrive.'

They laughed, slapped each other on the back and McAllister went on his way to find the barber's. He found it on Main, went in, soaked for a long long time in a tub, was shaved and had his hair cut to civilised length and swaggered smelling a little sweeter onto the street. He found a store, bought some new pants, shirt and underwear, changed in the rear of the store and asked the owner to burn his old clothes. Then he was ready for the world.

When he came out on Main, he felt good, but not so good that a drink wouldn't make him feel a mite better. He headed for the saloon, but he never got there. In the center of the far end of Main he found a large gathering of people, all talking at once and at the top of their voices. He found Frank Deblon on the outskirts of the crowd and asked him what the hell was going on. Frank told him. Billy Gage, the visiting professional, had prepared to fight the town champion at wrestling, the last of a series of contests. Now the local champion, seeing that so far the visitor had been unbeaten had shown a change of mind. The townsmen, having bet large sums of money on their man wanted to hang him, but he had gone into hiding and couldn't be found.

McAllister thought. Mentally he counted the money he possessed.

He said: ‘What's this feller like?'

‘Come an' meet him,' said Frank.

He led the way through the crowd until they reached a tall young man of about McAllister's own age, standing talking with several other men. Where McAllister was dark as an Indian, this young man was fair with clear blue eyes. It was the runner McAllister had seen on the prairie and whom McAllister had saved from the nobblers. His face lit up at once when he caught sight of McAllister and he advanced on him with a hand outstretched. Though McAllister held some reservations toward the fellow, he took the hand and shook it.

Frank Deblon was saying: ‘Meet Billy Gage, Rem. This is the man who's been beating the pants off this town.'

‘And this,' Gage said with an openness of manner that McAllister liked at once, ‘is the man who saved my bacon in the foot-race. This is the feller I told you about men. He took on those three roughs while I went on to win the race. What's your name, sir? McAllister? Well, Mr. McAllister, I owe you a whole lot and if there's any way I can repay you, you've only got to name it.'

McAllister got the better of his better nature and snarled: ‘They could of killed me. You know that? While you went on to win your damned race, they could have beaten my fool brains out. Say, the feller I want to meet up with is the sonovabitch who was runnin' behind you. Three roughs tryin' to beat my head in ain't enough, but one of the fellers in the race has to join in.'

A sudden movement in the crowd brought his head around. He saw a man pushing his way hastily through the gathered men. When he reached their outskirts, he took to his heels and ran off down the road. Billy Gage laughed.

‘That's Hank Forman. The boys that tried to stop me out there had all their money on Hank.'

McAllister said darkly: ‘He'd best not stay in this town or you'll be arrestin' me for murder, Frank.'

‘I'm sorry you take it that way, McAllister,' Gage went on. ‘I don't doubt I'd have a broken skull now if you didn't come along.'

McAllister repented as quickly as he had got mad.

‘Shucks,' he said, ‘it ain't nothin'. Let's all go have a drink.'

Frank said: ‘We have to have a fight. We got to find somebody for Billy to fight.' ‘An' I don't drink,' said Gage. ‘Spoils trainin'.'

McAllister looked aghast.

‘You mean trainin' spoils livin',' he said. ‘Well, boy, I reckon a drinker better show a T.T. how he can fight.'

Gage's eyes came open wide.

‘You don't mean … say …'

‘Sure, I'll give you a fight.'

‘That's great. Harry, you hear that?' Gage started looking around for somebody and a beefy man with enormous shoulders pushed a couple of men aside and came forward. He had a face like a talking ape, large ears, hair that grew
down low on his forehead and a mouth that smiled under hard eyes that never smiled. McAllister had seen the kind before and had more than once ended by knocking a few teeth loose. Gage went on: ‘McAllister here says he'll give me a fight.'

The man Harry flicked his small alert eyes over McAllister and didn't appear to like what they saw.

‘Sure,' he said, smiling with his mouth, ‘we'll give you a fight, McAllister. You know our rules?'

McAllister grinned unpleasantly and said: ‘I didn't know there was any rules about fightin'. I always thought you just had to kill the other feller.'

Frank Deblon said hastily, but not without humor, ‘We're civilised here, Rem. We have rules. No kicking, gouging or strangling. If you throw a man, you step back into your corner.'

‘Hell,' said McAllister in disgust. ‘That ain't fightin', that's playin'.' Billy Gage laughed.

‘Lord, man,' he cried, ‘you fight like you talk we'll give the boys some entertainment.'

‘Right', said McAllister, ‘let's git started.'

Harry roared out: ‘Not so Goddam fast. Let's get the money comin' in. Place your bets, gentlemen. Who'll match a hunred on the champeen? Anybody shoutin' a hunred?'

Men began making bets all round. A cattleman rushed forward to match Harry's hundred. McAllister stood amazed. He had never seen money move so fast in such amounts in his life. The marshal had out his notebook and was taking money as quick as he could move as stakeholder. McAllister took a hundred dollars from his clothes and found that the odds were heavily against him, a fact that pleased him fine. He started laying bets left, right and center. He kept his ears and eyes open and as far as he could tell the only man who put money on him was Frank Deblon. Then Frank was the only man who knew him. Finally, the hubbub started to die down and Frank Deblon started clearing a circle. McAllister ran to the livery stable and exchanged his boots for the Cheyenne moccasins in his saddlebags. When he reached the scene of the fight again, there was Billy Gage ready for him, stripped to the waist, smiling, looking fresh and strong.
McAllister reckoned he was going to have his work cut out.

‘Now, Rem,' Frank said, ‘the rules around here say you have to hold your man down for a count of ten. Or you can knock him out. But no using your fists.'

‘How the hell do I knock him out, then?'

‘Use your forearm.'

McAllister frowned. He had never heard of this kind of fighting and it sounded crazy to him. But he was willing to give it a whirl. He had to—he had staked most of his money on his winning. He peeled off his new shirt, took off his gun and handed it to a bystander.

‘Best out of three throws,' Frank said.

‘You makin' the rules up as you go along?' McAllister demanded.

Frank scowled.

‘Ready?'

‘Sure.'

‘Ready, Billy?'

Gage grinned and nodded, he advanced across the open space made for them and held out his hand. McAllister shook it and stepped back hastily in case it was a trick. It wasn't. Gage circled him, his grin now reduced to a steady smile. McAllister inspected his deep chest, flat belly and developed biceps and wondered if he was as fast as he was strong. He rather hoped not and hoped that the tricks the Cheyenne had taught him would work on this man.

Gage held out his hand, but McAllister didn't reckon it was for another handshake. He gripped it, put a great pressure on it, found that it did not give and suddenly threw his whole weight backward. Gage came forward easily, too easily, passed him and whirled McAllister from his feet. To
say that the big man was surprised would be to put the case mildly, but he was not too surprised to land light as a feather, to roll and come easily to his feet. He was impressed by Gage, Gage was impressed by the way he had fallen and recovered. They both respected each other from the start.

McAllister decided to go ahead with some caution, though he intended to take the fight to the other man, it not being in his character to believe that defense could bring victory. He sprang in on his opponent, Indian fashion and feinted for a hold. Suddenly Gage seemed to take fright and stepped back. McAllister went after him. Gage went back till he was almost on the toes of the onlookers, then launched himself incredibly feet-first through the air so that his feet smashed into McAllister's face before the big man could duck. He was knocked backward hard, hit the ground hard and lay almost stunned.

Woozily he got to his feet, hazily surprised that Gage had not followed through and dropped on him.

‘I thought,' he said indistinctly, ‘that kicking wasn't allowed.'

‘I'm real sorry, Rem,' Frank said apologetically. ‘I forgot to tell you. That's a drop-kick. That's allowed.'

‘Hell,' McAllister said. ‘If there're any more rules, tell me now—like, is he goin' to use a knife or a club on me.'

That brought a howl of delight from the onlookers. They put him down as a green hand at fighting and the betting started up again, but there were few willing to bet on McAllister. He was the real outsider now. But Frank wasn't put off and, although acting as referee, took another bet for fifty dollars on McAllister with the man Harry.

McAllister was shaken, but his confidence was still intact. He just felt as if his jaw had been kicked by a mule. He advanced on Gage, got into a hand grip with him, broke it with a use of strength and speed, got a grip on the back of the man's head and under his jaw and hurled him across the open space. He bounced once and went into the crowd. They threw him back in and yelled at him. He got to his feet, looking a little ruffled. His fine golden body was covered with dust and he was spitting the stuff out of his mouth. He gave McAllister a little grin and came back into the fight looking a little cautious. McAllister waded in. Gage hit him
in the face with his right forearm with a force that rattled his teeth, got a lock on his arm, rolled him over his left thigh, turned him and landed him on the ground on his back. In a second he had him spreadeagled and his shoulders on the ground.

Frank started to count: ‘One … two … three …'

McAllister got his right arm free, darted his hand under Gage's leg and pinched him on the soft flesh of his inner thigh with all his strength. Gage made a sound like a scream, tried to escape, McAllister rolled and threw him free. Gage fell on his back and McAllister dropped both knees into his belly. The sound he got out was like a dying church organ.

‘That's against the rules,' Frank shouted.

McAllister got to his feet and roared: ‘I've had all the rules I can Goddam well swallow. Let's git on with the fight.' The crowd was baying loudly now. Gage got to his feet looking slightly sick. McAllister hit him in the belly with a forearm and felt very virtuous and law-abiding by so doing. Gage doubled with a look of distant amazement in his eyes. McAllister took him by the left wrist, whirled him off his feet and hurled him into the crowd again. The crowd threw him back. Gage lay there for a moment and Frank started counting again. Gage didn't get to his feet by six. He rose slowly on eight. He looked dazed and as if he would like to part with his breakfast.

McAllister advanced for the kill.

Gage exploded in front of his eyes, got an arm around McAllister's neck and tossed him across the ring as if he weighed no more than a child of two. McAllister landed well, bounced to his feet, came back in, didn't get a grip and was thrown again. This time he didn't land too well and got to his feet, slower, chastened and not so full of fight. The men with their money on Gage, and that was most of them, howled their triumph, telling Gage to get in there and kill the bastard. Frank looked a little anxious.

McAllister came in slowly, backed up from a couple of tries from Gage and then Gage tried another kick to the face. He almost made contact, but McAllister moved just in time and Gage measured his length on the ground. This time he didn't land well and got to his feet looking as if he had quarreled with a Kentucky mule. McAllister hit him a couple
of times in the face with a hard forearm to keep him dazed, performed an adequate flying-mare, dropped both knees into his belly and knelt on Gage's shoulders as he had seen Gage try to do to him. He guessed that was the proper thing by the rules Frank hadn't told him. Gage fought him muscle against muscle and McAllister knew then just how strong a boy he had there. He knew he couldn't hold him. So he rose slowly as though tired. Gage also started to his feet, slowly. McAllister drove his right knee into Gage's face, knocking him flat on the ground again and once more dropped on both knees on the man's belly. This time it was easier to hold his shoulders down.

Frank started counting.

He didn't stop till he got to ten. He told McAllister to get off and back up. McAllister did as he was told. The crowd looked as if it would like to maim him. Harry looked as if he would like to cut his throat. McAllister looked pleased with himself and strutted around a little.