Tough to Kill (20 page)

Jack Owen of the sharp ears said: “One horse only.”

Just the same, the valley men walked into the bunkhouses and took up their positions at the windows. McShannon and McAllister stayed in the middle of the yard, their rifles in their hands. A lone rider came at a gallop into the yard. McAllister was shocked and surprised to see that it was Carlotta. Her hair was all over the place and she looked terrible.

McAllister said her name and helped her down from the saddle. She rested for a moment against him and whispered: “I had to come.”

Markham came storming forward, letting the tension out of him by shouting.

“You git outa here. I told you I didn't never want to set eyes on you again.” He looked as if he would strike her. McAllister let some of the tension out of himself by taking the man by the scruff of his neck and hurling him clear of her. Markham tripped and fell. A growl went up from his men.

Carlotta looked at him coldly for a moment, then said: “I came to stop it. There's been shooting enough.”

Markham got to his feet, looking with a terrible bitterness at McAllister.

“Your brother,” McAllister told her, “sent a rider to fetch Foley and the crew from raiding the valley. They're due any minute. You'd best get into the house.”

She said: “They'll kill you.”

McAllister gestured to the valley men at the windows of the bunkhouses and she was the snouts of the rifles for the first time. She gasped and reached out a hand to steady herself on McAllister.

“This place could be a slaughter-house,” she said.

Gently, McAllister pushed her toward the house.

“Go inside, honey,” he said. “Nobody's goin' to get killed if I can help it.”

She gave him a lost look and walked past her brother into the house. The door had no sooner closed behind her than the listening men heard the sound of horses approaching.

Markham laughed.

“Now we'll see,” he said. McAllister and McShannon said nothing. Riders came surging out of the darkness. Suddenly, the yard was full of men and horses, the stamping of hoofs, the creak of saddle-leather. Foley showed in the lead. He started to dismount.

McAllister's voice cracked out.

“Stay in the saddle where we can see you,” he said. Foley hesitated for a moment. He looked around warily and saw the rifles. He looked aghast. Turning to Markham, he asked: “Did you call us back?”

“I did. I had a gun on me.”

“I should of knowed.”

“They'd of hung us all if you hadn't of come.”

McAllister said: “Don't any of you men try anything. Every one of you's covered. You don't have a snowball's chance in hell.”

There was silence, as if the mounted men were counting their chances.

McShannon said in a tight voice: “How many houses did you burn, Foley?”

For a moment, the man didn't answer. He threw uneasy glances around him. Finally, he said quietly: “Dowell's place.”

“Kill anybody?”

“Didn't see nobody.”

A man walked out of one of the bunkhouses with a rope in his hands. It was Dowell.

“What do you think you're goin' to do with that?” McAllister asked.

Dowell said: “I'm goin' to hang the bastard that burned my home.”

Every man in the center of the yard, seemed to stiffen. Hands jerked to gun butts or rifles were shifted. The rifles in the windows of the bunk-houses clicked back onto full cock.

His voice shaking, Foley said: “Put away that rope, Dowell, or this place will be a shambles.”

Someone ran lightly out of the house and past McAllister. Too late he saw that it was Carlotta. She came to a halt between Foley and Dowell.

“Stop it, you men,” she cried out. “Can't you see that this can only end one way? Foley, you turn your horses around and ride away from here. And don't ever come back.”

McAllister didn't know what to do. She was right in the
line of fire from both parties. If he made the wrong move now it would not only end in the deaths of a dozen men, but in Carlotta's too. He stood impotently raging.

Markham, whom he had forgotten, spoke, his voice wavering with the danger of the moment.

“Charlie, for God's sake stand aside.”

Alvina and Lucy came out of the house and halted near McAllister and McShannon. McAllister said: “Go back,” but they didn't move.

Then something happened that took them all by surprise. One moment, Foley was in the saddle, the next he wasn't. Suddenly, he was on foot, an arm had shot out and grasped Carlotta around the body. The dark barrel of his gun stood out against the whiteness of her throat. She made a sort of strangled sound and tried to pluck at his holding arm with her fingers, but his grasp stayed like steel.

Foley shouted: “Don't nobody move till I tell 'em. Anybody looks at me wrong and the woman's dead.”

“For Crissake,” Markham said in futile protest. “You gone crazy, Foley? Put down that fool gun.”

Dowell said: “He's bluffin'. He knows he touches her, we'll stretch his neck.”

Foley said: “You'll stretch my neck any road. I don't have nothin' to lose.”

McAllister raised his voice.

“He means it. He's mad dog enough to do it. Don't nobody move.”

Foley said: “I'm goin' to walk outa here and the woman goes with me.”

Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Carlotta looked at McAllister. He stayed motionless, holding his breath.

Markham spoke.

“Get outa here, Foley. Nobody ain't goin' to try nothin'. But when you're safe away, you leave Charlie go. You harm a hair of her head an' I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”

“Save your gab, Markham,” Foley said. “I had enough of it over the past few years. Right, boys, stay put, I'm movin' out.”

He started to move backward slowly, dragging Carlotta with him. She made no resistance. Her face was drained of blood and her eyes showed her fear. He covered five yards, six, and
by then he was almost untouched by the light from the house. McAllister watched and sweated, helpless.

Foley was almost out of his sight, when there came the flat crack of a rifle. Every man there jumped. It seemed that Foley was wrenched violently away from Carlotta. He fell and she fell with him. McAllister and McShannon sprang forward. McAllister reached her first and lifted her from the gound. McShannon looked down at Foley and turned him over with the toe of his boot. He saw that the man was shot through the side of the head. McShannon looked toward the right hand bunkhouse and knew that the man who had fired the shot had taken a terrible risk, one that he would never have dared to take. As the bullet struck Foley's brain, he could so easily have triggered off a shot that would have killed Carlotta.

Jack Owen walked from the bunk-house with a smoking rifle in his hands. He looked awful. He stood there blinking around him. Finally, his eyes fell on McAllister.

“Did I do right?” he asked.

Wordlessly, McAllister nodded. He walked through them all toward the house, carrying Carlotta, who was clinging to him and weeping softly.

Markham said in a strangely soft gruff voice: “You done fine, boy.” The frog-man looked around him out of blinking eyes. “Put away your guns, boys. It's all over.”

Jack Owen looked mildly astonished when he found that Lucy Markham was in his arms, rifle and all.

“Shucks,” he said. Markham didn't even seem to notice. He was shouting at his men to get down from their horses and to take care of them. Didn't they know that horses weren't machines? They couldn't be ridden regardless. Did they think he paid good money for first-class horseflesh, just so they could ride it into the ground?

Alvina said in a clear voice: “I think I'm going to faint.”

“Fall this way, honey,” McShannon said and caught her deftly. Markham didn't seem to notice that either.

*

When Markham tramped into the house, he carried a bottle of whiskey. He found McAllister and Carlotta, McShannon and Alvina, Jack Owen and Lucy in the parlor. Each male was paired with a female and they were very close physically. The fact did not seem to make much impression on him.

“I daresay,” he said, squinting at them from the doorway, “that you boys could use a drink.”

“Yessirree,” said McShannon.

“I reckon,” McAllister nodded.

“I ain't one for strong drink myself,” Jack Owen said, taking his eyes reluctantly from Lucy for a moment, “but seein' a how this is kind of an occasion …”

McAllister said: “You owe Dowell a house, Markham.”

Markham waved a hand.

“I'll pay. Godamighty, there's houses a-plenty I can burn down in Colorado and Texas. Folks ain't so techy in them parts. I suppose you reckon I owe you a house too, McAllister?”

McAllister grinned.

“We'll say you paid for that,” he said. “An' Carlotta was interest.”

Markham reached for glasses on the table and poured. He glanced from McShannon and Jack Owen.

“I suppose I could do worse than you two saddlebums for sons-in-law. You've got spunk any road. But I ain't settin' you up or nothin' like that. You gotta make your own way same as I did. Maybe you thought you was marryin' into money, but let me tell you - ”

McShannon said idly: “Maybe you're kind of my daddy from here on, Markham, but that ain't goin' to stop me from rammin' your teeth down your throat.”

Jack Owen gulped manfully and said in a whisper: “Nor me.”

Markham looked for a moment as if he would explode, then he laughed and said: “Like I said, you got spunk. I like spunk.

He handed around the drinks.

Carlotta said: “Here's to peace in the valley.”

They drank.

Markham glared around at them.

“I reckon you fellers got everythin' you want now,” he growled.

“I ain't,” McAllister said.

“What in hell more do you want from me?” Markham demanded.

“Some good chow,” McAllister said, “all this excitement sure works up a hunger in a man.”

“Sure does,” McShannon agreed.

“I reckon,” Jack Owen added.

The girls bustled to the door and Carlotta said: “You men talk awhile and we'll rustle up a meal.” They departed.

Markham picked up the bottle.

“Another snort, boys,” he said.

They agreed that it was a good idea.

This electronic edition published in July 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader

Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP

Copyright © P. C. Watts 1968

The Moral rights of this author have been asserted.

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ISBN: 9781448205950
eISBN: 9781448205646

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