Blood on Mcallister (7 page)

They went to the table and sat, Carlos brought the bottle and two glasses.

McAllister took a good look at her.

She was older, of course, but who wasn't? She was about a couple of years older than he was and the years had been good to her. He didn't doubt that she was now at her most beautiful. Her hair was dark, but touched at the front by deep red, a color no doubt inherited from some Spanish forebear; her eyes were the deepest brown, fringed by lashes that were almost ridiculously long. Her mouth was large and generous, but finely modeled; her nose one of character, maybe a little on the large side for a woman. Piece by piece her face may have fallen short of beauty, put all together, she was a woman who would turn men's heads till she was old. The toughness that was an integral part of her didn't show.

They talked. She wanted to know what had happened to him since she had seen him last. He wanted to know the same about her. She kept up with him, drink for drink, but for all the effect it had on her she might have been drinking water. They laughed together and each time they did so men turned to watch them.

Clem Brenell and his men leaned back against the bar on their elbows and never took their eyes from them. Brenell drank steadily. By the time an hour passed, he was looking savage. McAllister overheard some of the words that passed between him and his men and he didn't have much doubt that Clem Brenell, while courting Pat Rigby, laid some claim to Rosa here.

He fired the question straight at Rosa.

‘What's the Brenell boy to you, Rosa?'

She opened her fine eyes wide.

‘To me? Why he is nothing to me, Rem.'

‘You mean that?'

‘Certainly I mean it. He thinks that he has claim to any woman he wants, that one. But he is not my kind.'

‘I didn't think he was.'

She must have read the signs.

She laid a hand on his arm and said: ‘You will stay away from him. He is no good and his father is a powerful man in this country. Many men have been hurt who have stood in their way.'

‘You make it almost a challenge.'

‘No, I do not. Now, you have outgrown your foolish ways. You are wild no longer.'

‘The Double B boys stopped me on the open range. They took me to their headquarters and this man and his father threatened me. You know how I like to be threatened. Now, my guess is he's going to do it again.'

Clem Brenell was coming toward them. His men fanned out behind. It was all so childlike and obvious that McAllisster couldn't help laughing out loud. Rage showed in the young Brenell's eyes.

Brenell halted, hands on hips. McAllister noted the gun slung low on the hip like a legendary gunfighter. He had never favored the position himself. The gun was tied down to the thigh by a rawhide thong. This boy was playing at being the real thing. Which didn't mean he could not handle the gun. And he was itching to—McAllister could see that in the angry eyes. There didn't have to be a reason; there never did have to be a reason with this man. He hankered to use the gun and on a human target so that was what he would do. Backed by three men. That was his style.

McAllister let the laugh turn into a grin. He kept his eyes on Brenell and the grin on his lips. If this man wanted to get mad, then McAllister would help him on his way.

Rosa's hand on his arm tightened.

‘Rem,' she said.

Not taking his eyes from Brenell he said softly: ‘I'll pay for damages, honey.'

Brenell said: ‘I told you to move on, mister.'

‘You said get off'n your range, boy. I'm off'n it.'

‘Wa-al, now I'm tellin' you to git outa town. Clean out. Walk to that door, git on your fancy horse an' ride. Now.'

‘Go,' Rosa said softly. ‘There are four of them.'

‘Sure,' McAllister said, ‘I'll go. Never did cross a lady in all my life.' He stood up. ‘Bein' nice seein' you, Rosa. Sorry we didn't have longer. Still, that's the way it goes.'

He touched his hat to her and was suddenly aware there wasn't a sound in the room. Turning he headed for the door not looking back. He heard the sound of their bootheels following him.

They'll do it outside,
he thought.
Four of ‘em. Three'll hold me while Mr. Brenell has his fun. Like hell.

The funny thing was, Brenell had to be in one piece to fight Billy Gage. Too bad.

Outside, he leaned against the upright of the sidewalk with which the saloon was graced. Brenell came through the doors, stood looking at him for a moment, puffing on his smoke. Then he stepped forward to allow the others to come out. He threw his smoke into the dust.

‘I don't like your attitude, drifter,' he said.

McAllister said: ‘I don't like your face, the way you wear your clothes, I don't like your tied-down gun, I don't like the way you think you own the world, I don't like you having men to back you when you bully your way around. There ain't nothin' I like about you. I reckon you an' your old man are just bags of wind. I aim to bust you.'

The light of battle came into the wild eyes.

‘You think I couldn't take you?' Brenell asked.

‘You couldn't take a candy from a kid.'

The hand snapped down to the gun-butt. McAllister hadn't reckoned on that. He knew the boy was a bully; he hadn't reckoned him on being a killer. His own attitude
changed at once. He was suddenly cold, his mind clicking like a machine, calculating, placing each man, thinking of his next move. It all happened in the batting of an eye.

A grin flicked across Brenell's face. It was a grin of pure rage.

‘I'm goin' to teach you,' he said and he could scarcely get the words out. ‘I'm goin' to teach you an' you're goin' to stay teached.'

Old Chad McAllister had once said, during the few years of McAllister's education: ‘Son, if a feller's aimin' to get hit, oblige him fast afore he hits you.'

As usual, the old man was right.

McAllister hit Brenell.

He hit him in the belly with all the strength in him just above the buckle. Brenell jack-knifed. As one of the men jumped forward, McAllister brought over his left, landed his knuckles on the side of Brenell's head and drove him into this man. They fell through the door of the saloon and landed in a heap.

The two other men, stunned for a second by the abrupt violence of this action, now moved. One of them aimed a kick at McAllister. The boot toe caught him as he rammed forward and it landed on the wound that had been dealt him by Harry Shultz. In his imagination he saw the wound burst open and it was like a moment of truth. He knew he was a damned fool for doing this. Why couldn't he back down and beat a retreat like other men?

The kick sent him reeling against the wall of the saloon and there the fourth man caught him, pounding a fist into his ribs and chopping down with the other fist in the back of McAllister's head. The big man came down to one knee, dazed and confused. The other man came close and joined the other. They took turns hitting him like two hammermen driving in a drill.

He came to his feet with his head down, got it into one man's belly and bore him backward. The man was breathless from the hard contact with McAllister's head; landing on his back with McAllister's weight on top of him nearly knocked him out. He rolled away from under and tried to get to his feet, but McAllister hurled himself forward in a flying tackle and put him back in the dust again.

The other man bounded from the sidewalk and landed on McAllister's back. Or that what his intention. McAllister heard him coming and sidestepped in time. The man landed on his face in the dust, McAllister dropped on the small of his back with both knees. The man screamed.

McAllister turned.

Clem Brenell and Griff came out of the saloon. In the lamplight, they both looked like hell.

Brenell was howling: ‘I'm goin' to kill him, kill him, kill him kill him kill him.'

Griff drew his gun.

McAllister stopped and went still.

One of the men on the ground rolled about and groaned.

McAllister said to Brenell: ‘Put that gun down, you crazy fool.'

‘I'm goin' to kill you,' Brenell said. ‘I'm going to cut you down like a mad dawg. I'm goin' to gut-shoot you and watch you squirm.'

He meant it and McAllister knew he meant it.

The mind started calculating again, placing Griff with the gun to one side, the two men on the ground to the other. Both were hurt, but both could shoot from the ground. He was up the creek without a paddle and no mistake.

Nothing would get him out of this but two well-placed shots and even then it might not be over.

He watched Brenell minutely.

The man's hand cocked the hammer of the Colt's gun and as the clicks came McAllister moved fast to the left and backward so he had all four of them in plain sight.

Brenell's shot came too quickly and a foot to the right. McAllister drew from the high seemingly awkward position he carried the old Remington. It came out with deceptive smoothness and speed, hammer cocked as it came up. He fired once, knew he'd hit, jumped on his flat feet so that he faced slightly to the right and fired again.

Brenell took one pace backward, stepped stiffly through the doors of the saloon and fell on his back with a loud thud.

Griff was hurled back against the wall. He fell to the planks and his gun clattered to them also and went off again, this time harmlessly.

McAllister swung his gun left. One of the men on the
ground had a gun out, but now it was there he didn't know what to do with it.

‘Wa-al?' McAllister asked.

The man said: ‘This ain't my fight.'

‘It was a minute back,' McAllister reminded him.

The other man said: ‘Hell, if you're goin' to shoot, git it over with.'

McAllister said: ‘Shuck your guns in the dust good an' easy.'

They obeyed him. The weapons hit the dust.

A gabble of voices sounded inside the saloon, a man ran along the sidewalk, others came pounding along the street. The two men climbed to their feet and stood watching McAllister in the lamplight.

As a man came near from up the street, McAllister said: ‘You, fetch the doctor.' The man hesitated. McAllister barked: ‘Move—you want men to bleed to death?' The fellow turned and ran back up the street.

McAllister found that he was shaking violently. He reloaded the Remington and thrust it away in its sheath. A man came up beside him and asked: ‘What happened?'

He turned his head and saw that it was Mart Krantz, the sheriff.

‘It started out as a fist-fight,' McAllister explained. ‘Brenell and his men jumped me. They didn't do so good. Brenell pulled a gun. I shot him and Griff.'

‘Jesus,' Mart said and saw a whole lot of complications straight off. His mind worked politically these days. His mind flitted over possible developments. He moved forward and McAllister followed him. As the sheriff dropped to one knee beside Griff, men crowded around. Krantz told somebody to bring a lamp and a man fetched one from the saloon. Griff was alive and groaning. Krantz stood up and said: ‘Carry him into the saloon. Take it easy now.' He and McAllister went on into the saloon and found a bunch of men gathered around the fallen Clem Brenell. There was scarcely room to get into the place.

‘Give me air. Go on now, get back,' the sheriff snapped. Men stepped back and revealed Rosa on her knees beside Brenell. She looked up.

‘He's been hit in the leg,' she said.

McAllister sighed with relief.

Brenell had his eyes closed and his face was pinched up with pain. The sheriff said: ‘Pick him up and lay him on the bar.' They obeyed him, accompanied by the man's groans. McAllister saw that his bullet had taken Brenell high in the left thigh. There was a lot of blood. He took off the man's bandanna, tied it around the leg and twisted it tight. The flow of blood stopped almost immediately. He was still holding the tourniquet when the doctor came in. He was a young man with a busy air. As he got busy on the wounded men, Rosa led McAllister to a chair and sat him down. He had never been more thankful to sit. He felt terrible.

Krantz came over and said: ‘You all right, boy?'

‘Sure.'

Rosa said: ‘You don't look all right.'

‘You hit?' Krantz asked.

‘No. But I think one of them opened an old wound when he kicked me,' McAllister said.

Rosa made him strip off his vest and shirt and, as he had feared, his side was all bloody where the kick had opened the knife wound. The woman drew her breath in through her teeth at the terrible sight.

Krantz said: ‘That don't look so old to me.'

‘Been there a day or two,' McAllister admitted.

‘You're a boy for punishment,' Krantz remarked.

‘It's time you grew up,' Rosa said tersely.

‘Maybe you have somethin' there,' McAllister admitted.

When the doctor had finished with the two wounded men, he came over and looked at McAllister. He pulled a face when he saw the wound and declared that a couple of the stitches had been broken open.

‘You'll have to take care of that or you'll be in trouble,' he declared. He cleaned the wound carefully and repaired the damage. ‘I want to see that tomorrow. Take it easy. The flesh is all churned up and it could become a mess. Go home now and get some rest. The less you move, the better.'

He packed his bag and walked out.

Krantz said: ‘You know what you just did? You just put the local champion out of action?'

‘The damn fool didn't give me any choice,' McAllister said.

‘Tell that to the men who have money on him,' Krantz
said. ‘Half the town have bet a fortune on Brenell. They ain't exactly going to love you.'

The saloon was filling with men now. They bunched down the other end of the place from McAllister and started looking toward him, murmuring among themselves. Krantz was looking troubled. Slowly, they started moving toward the three people at the table. Krantz turned to face them. A man at the back yelled: ‘A rope's too good for this bastard.' A shout went up. Another bellowed for them to take McAllister outside and string him up now.