McAllister Rides (20 page)

Seth yelled wildly: “I hit him, I hit him, I hit him.” He laughed like a maniac. “You see that, fellers. I suckered him good. I really suckered him.”

Hastily, McAllister lay on one side thumbing fresh rounds into the Remington. He lifted his eyes and saw a dark shape showing above the corral fence. Seth was coming in to make sure.

Feet pounded as the other two men came running.

One shouted: “Watch out, Seth.” Seth was laughing fit to bust.

McAllister cut short that laugh with one sure shot. Seth Richards was ripped over the top of the fence as if he were no heavier than a feather. But he hit hard and his light-triggered gun went off as it fell. There was not another sound from Seth and McAllister knew that he had killed him. This time there was not the usual regret.

The footsteps stopped.

Morny's voice came.

“Careful, kid, he just killed Seth.”

The awed tone of the boy – “My Gawd.”

They were thirty yards apart, one on either side of him
and him in an open corral. He thrust two more rounds into the revolver and listened. He knew there was only one way this could finish. He had killed their brother and they wouldn't stop until he was dead.

He felt his side and his hand came away sticky with blood and he wondered how long he could last before he became too weak. Bourn would laugh when he heard about this. He wondered what Ike was aiming to do after hearing the shots. He reckoned he would strictly mind his own business. None of the other men would make a move. The code of the country came first. A man minded his own business. McAllister reckoned you could take a code a mite too far.

McAllister's mind flitted, trying to think of something that could offer him cover. Both men were pretty near him now on the other side of the corral fence within easy pistol shot of him. His only protection was the dim light of the moon. The horses in the corral had bunched on the other side, skittering every time there was a gunshot. The farther fence was a good fifty paces away. He could never reach it alive.

“McAllister.”

That was Morny, nervous, not knowing how bad McAllister had been hit. The sound of the voice gave McAllister a good idea of the man's position.

Rick called –

“You reckon he's dead, Morny?”

“Playin' 'possum more like. Can you see him?”

“I ain't sure.”

McAllister had them both placed now.

Getting himself awkwardly to one knee with a movement that sent a shoot of agony through his side, he drove a shot in Morny's direction, turned hastily and sent one at Rick. This one hit the corral fence. McAllister swore and let go another one. The instant he had fired this last shot, he was on the move, rising and charging straight for Morny, knowing him to be the more dangerous of the two.

Two shots came at him, before he dove forward into a sliding dive, hard up against the fence and thrust the Remington over the lower pole. Morny, he could now see, was standing out in the open. McAllister fired again and missed in the uncertain light. Morny drove two shots back at him. One
passed just by his right ear, the other hit the upright. McAllister fired back and then his gun was empty.

Morny must have heard the empty click of the hammer.

“His gun's empty,” he yelled and started forward.

McAllister heard Rick start to run. He managed to get one round into the chamber of the Remington. He strove to get to his feet. Morny reached the fence, thrust his gun through and fired from not more than four or five yards away. Even so he missed. McAllister felt the wind of the bullet past his face. He fired his one shot and heard it strike the fence.

Morny chopped another shot at him, but he was moving first to the left and then charging straight in on the man. Morny rose to meet him, raising his gun and yelling. The hammer clicked emptily and then McAllister was swinging the Remington for the man's head. Morny dodged and the barrel of the heavy weapon struck him on the shoulder. He grunted with the violence of the blow. He struck out blindly at McAllister and, as luck would have it, the barrel of his gun caught McAllister a stunning blow across the face. McAllister staggered back, tripped on his own feet and went down. As he hit ground, he was vaguely aware that Rick was coming over the fence. They both seemed to be shouting instructions in their excitement. Morny started over the fence. Rick fired one shot and it ploughed up dirt near McAllister who felt as though he had been kicked by a mule. He knew that his speed had been halved and it was only speed that could save him now.

He flicked the Remington, caught it by the barrel and hurled it with all his might at the approaching Morny. The man cried out and charged forward. But McAllister was no longer there, he had ripped his knife from leather and hurled himself at Rick. The boy tried to fire at him, but he was startled by the suddenness of McAllister's movement and missed hopelessly. The next instant, McAllister had lunged at him with the heavy knife. The boy screamed and staggered back clutching his arm.

Morny bellowed. McAllister turned and met his charge, He crouched, knife held forward and Morny halted.

McAllister said: “You're finished, Morny. Just throw down the gun.”

From behind McAllister came Rick's voice: “I've one shot
left, McAllister. Hold it right there.” His voice was full of pain.

* * *

Back in the store, Ike listened to the flurry of shots and picked up his shotgun from under the counter. It was a Greener, made in Pall Mall, London, and it was his pride.

One of the men playing cards turned his head and said: “Stay out of this, Ike, it ain't none of your business.”

Ike said: “Dat iss a friend of mine out zere. Dat makes it my pizzness.”

The man pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Change your mind,” he said.

Ike swung the twin barrels of the shotgun till they pointed straight at the man. At that range the gun would have taken the fellow apart.

“Don't pe foolish,” Ike said.

Another man said: “Stay out of it, Tom.”

The man gulped once and sat down. Ike walked to the door. His wife said: “You pe careful, Ike.”

But the fat man never got beyond the doorway. Men were walking slowly up from the corral. Everybody in the store went still and listened.

Ike frowned and looked worried. Slowly, he started backward and crossed the room until he was backed up against his counter. His wife looked at him with fear on her face.

The footsteps came closer.

Ike said: “If they killed McAllister, you poys are going to witness an execution.”

The footsteps came up to the doorway. A man stooped and entered the store. It was Morny Richards. He looked around at them like a man dazed. He stood there as if he didn't know what to do.

Another man entered. They saw this was young Rick Richards. His face was deathly white and he held his left arm. Blood dripped from it to the floor.

Mrs. Ike put a hand to her mouth and gasped in horror.

Rick came and stood by his brother. Another man entered. They saw this was McAllister. He had the same dazed look
the other men wore. In his right hand was a bloodstained knife.

“These fellers bit off a little more than they could chew, I reckon,” he said. “Tie 'em up will you, Ike, they ain't too safe to have around. There's a dead man out in your corral.” he walked to the center of the room, smiled at Mrs. Ike and said: “How's that steak coming, ma'am?” took one more pace and fell on his face.

Mrs. Ike screamed –

“They've killed him.”

Ike said: “Don't be foolish, voman. He's a McAllister.”

“Chad was killed.”

“It took six bullets and a drop of a thousand feet to kill
him.”

Mrs. Ike rushed forward to attend to McAllister, Ike turned his attention to the two Richards.

* * *

Two days later.

McAllister, Ike and his wife were standing at the door of the store. The
canelo
stood saddled and ready. The mule was back in Ike's possession for McAllister's debt McAllister shook hands with Ike.

Ike said: “I know it ain't no goot saying nothink, but try to stay out off trouble, poy.”

McAllister grinned. “I'll do my best. Pay you off at the end of the trip, Ike.”

Ike waved a hand in glorious abandon.

“It is only money.”

His wife gave him a startled look. She went to McAllister, stood on tiptoe and pecked him a kiss.

McAllister said: “Go easy, Mrs. Ike, you know how jealous the old man is.” She slapped him. McAllister walked to the
canelo
and stepped into the saddle. He took things mighty easily because his side was still as sore as hell. He lifted a hand to them and rode slowly away, crossing the creek at the ford and kept on going. He rode a couple of miles when he came to the bedding grounds where the trail bosses bedded the cattle before crossing the river. He sighted a wagon and headed for it. At the tailboard a cook was busy preparing a
meal. McAllister knew cooks and he knew the manners of the range. He did not ride close and raise a dust near the cooking, but called out a greeting. The cook answered in a surly manner as cooks will, for they are men permitted a temperament.

“Boss around?” McAllister asked.

“Here he comes yonder,” the man replied.

McAllister turned and saw a man riding in from the herd on a roan horse. He went to meet him.

“You bossing this outfit?” he asked when they both halted.

The man eyed McAllister's horse with some admiration and said: “I am. Tom Harding's the name.”

“Rem McAllister.”

They shook and Harding asked: “Old Chad McAllister's boy?”

“I reckon. You hiring riders?”

“Sure am. Headed for Combville, Kansas, and trouble. We had word the Jayhawkers are out and waiting for us.”

“What's the pay?”

“Dollar a day and found.”

“I'm your man.”

“Good, throw your horse in with the remuda and I'll show you your string.”

“How good's the cook?”

“First rate. We eat real good in this outfit.”

McAllister nodded, pleased. If there was anything he liked in this world, it was good chow. The Jayhawkers could raise all the hell they wanted if the chow was right. He turned his horse and headed for the wagon. He reckoned he'd talk to the cook real nice and maybe he'd rustle up a steak.

THE END

This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London
WC1B 3DP
Copyright © P. C. Watts 1969
First published by Panther Books
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ISBN: 9781448207497
eISBN: 9781448207183
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