The man started to walk. His legs seemed to be made of paper. By the time they reached the jail the fresh air had helped to revive him. Inside the office, Evans took one look at the iron grill of the jail and wilted again.
“You’re not going to lock me up,” he said, “nobody ever did that.”
“First time for everythin’,” McAllister said. “Sit down before you fall down.”
The trail-driver came to the grill and watched them with interest.
Evans sat down.
McAllister said: “Why’d you ride in from west of town this mornin’?”
The man looked startled.
“What in hell does that have to do with me carrying a gun and assaulting a peace officer?”
“Nothin’. Answer the question.”
“I went for a ride.”
“Good answer. Only it ain’t the truth and I’m goin’ to have the truth from you, Evans. An’ I’m goin’ to have it quick. I just naturally hate to sit around jawin’ with a coyote like you.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
McAllister said: “Look, Evans, either you talk or any minute now you’re goin’ to assault me again and I’m goin’ to beat the livin’ daylights outa you.”
Evans looked enraged.
“That’s more than you dare do, McAllister. That boy there’s a witness. You heard him threaten me, son.”
McAllister laughed, which should have been warning enough.
“Mister,” he said, “that boy just killed a man in self-defense. Come mornin’ he’ll walk outa here after payin’ a ten-dollar fine. An’ he don’t like Yankee trash like you any more’n I do.” He turned to the boy. “That right, son?”
“Sure thing, marshal.”
McAllister turned to Evans, smiling blandly.
Chapter Four
Fred Darcy turned to his brother as soon as McAllister had dragged the unfortunate Evans from the Golden Fleece and said: “Look after the place, boy, I got urgent business.”
Johnny Darcy said: “If Evans talks we could end up with rope collars.”
Fred cursed. “You’re tellin’ me. It was the craziest thing I ever heard, pulling this thing and getting back here in town.”
“Let me go settle Evans. Evans and McAllister both.”
“You stay still, kid, hear? You’n’me come out of this with a whole skin. There’re hired guns to do this kind of work.”
Fred walked along the bar, let himself out of a side entrance into an alleyway and reached the backlots. He kept to the shadows until he was near the intersection with Garrett, hurried across Main and entered the backlots behind Garrett. He was nervous, not only because he didn’t want to be seen on the streets by Carson or McAllister, but because he wanted to approach the man he was going to see without the knowledge of his housekeeper.
He knew that he had reached the house he wanted when he saw the white picket fence in the glooming. He stepped over it and approached the house. Peering through the window, he saw the housekeeper sitting at the table in the kitchen. He went around to the front of the house and peeked in at the parlor window. Here he saw Penshurst, the banker, and his daughter. Sitting opposite them, chatting pleasantly was the man he had come to see – Drummond.
Rack his brains as he might, he could think of no way of speaking to Drummond without calling attention to himself, so he decided to take a risk and knock on the front door. He did this and the housekeeper answered his knock. By the look on her face he could see that he was not approved of.
“I’d like a word with Mr. Drummond, ma’am.”
“I’m afraid he’s entertaining at the moment.”
Darcy tried some of his Texas charm. “I can’t say how sorry I am to bother you, ma’am. But this is a matter of the greatest urgency.”
She hesitated, then she said: “I’ll tell Mr. Drummond.”
Darcy waited, worrying. He wasn’t scared of Drummond, he told himself. He wasn’t scared of any man living. What was there about Drummond that made him uneasy? The man was soft-handed, he wasn’t any hand with a gun, he was a Northerner. But his brain was clear, he possessed a cool daring which aroused the admiration of the Texan and he was utterly ruthless. He was also a gentleman, a status that puzzled Darcy.
Drummond appeared. At the sight of Darcy his face went white and set. He came close to the Texan and spoke in a low voice through his teeth.
“I thought I told you never to contact me direct,” he said.
Darcy didn’t like the tone. He was his own master and he didn’t like being treated like a servant.
“You think I’d of come if it wasn’t urgent?”
“What happened?”
“McAllister took Burt Evans.”
“What?”
Drummond was aghast. Darcy never would have thought to see the man so shaken.
“Walked into my place and suckered him,” Darcy said. “Knocked seven different kinds of hell outa him and dragged him off to the calaboose.”
“Didn’t Evans have a gun on him?” Drummond demanded.
“McAllister took it from him like a feller takin’ candy from a kid. Never seen anything like it.” He lowered his voice. “Drummond, we want McAllister dead, fast. And I’m the man to do it.”
“Not you, Fred,” Drummond told him.
“I’m fast enough.”
“I’m sure you are. But we need you for other work. I’ll handle this. Leave it with me.”
“All right. Make it good, Drummond. We have a sweet set-up here and we don’t want it spoiled,” Darcy said.
“I’ve managed matters to your satisfaction, haven’t I?” Drummond asked.
Darcy grinned a little.
“Sure thing. I don’t have any grumbles.”
“Anybody see you come here.”
“Nary a one, except that woman of yourn.”
“She won’t talk.”
“See you.”
Darcy hurried away along the side of the house and disappeared into the darkness. Drummond stood for a moment deep in thought, before he went back into the house, a pleasant smile set on his face for the benefit of his guests.
As he entered the room, the girl at the table looked up with a smile.
“You’re greatly in demand tonight,” she said.
He shrugged ruefully.
“Always business,” he said. “One could hanker after being a failure sometimes.”
The banker stared at him like a man in shock, envying the younger man, knowing that his own life had come to an end. He was finished financially. It would take a miracle to put him on his feet again. He had been struck a blow in a few minutes of time that had hurled him from a position of power and respect to one of failure and poverty. Always a confident man, he suddenly lacked all confidence. He had lost twenty thousand dollars belonging to the business men of this community. First thing in the morning he would get on the wire and see how many of his so-called friends in the banking world would rally to his aid. When he recovered himself sufficiently. Just for now he would try and relax here, drinking Drummond’s good wine, try to get some warmth back into his chilled body. Drummond was being more attentive than usual to his daughter. Of course, if the two of them married ...
They were laughing and talking together. How Emily could laugh at a time like this, he couldn’t fathom. She must be harder than he thought her. Maybe, of course, if she were really her father’s daughter, as he suspected she was, she might be playing Drummond on the end of a line. He had suspected that she had been fond of that Art Malloy fellow, but her head had ruled against her heart. With Drummond, she would have everything.
He jerked himself to attention. Drummond was talking to him.
“... I don’t want you to feel too badly, sir. All is not lost. The situation has come upon me suddenly and I have not thought my way through it yet, but I am sure when we have talked it over that some solution can be found.”
The banker’s voice was shaking when he spoke -
“Wh
at do you mean exactly?”
Drummond laughed lightly.
“That’s what I’m saying, sir,” he said. “I can’t say exactly what I mean. But I feel sure we can come to some arrangement. I have money lying idle and I detest idle money. I don’t know how much precisely, but there is a fair amount. We’ll have a talk soon.”
“If you talking,” Penshurst said, “about the bank going into liquidation, I shall be wiring friends in the morning to see what help I can raise.”
“No need for that,” Drummond said largely. “I mean, let’s try and keep it in the family, as it were.” Emily blushed and smiled at him. “We’ll talk in the morning. How does that suit you?”
“If you have any hope to offer,” the banker said, “it suits me very well.”
Drummond’s hand was resting on his daughter’s and Emily had not taken hers away. Perhaps this was the miracle Penshurst had been hoping for.
Later that evening, when his guests had departed, Drummond put his head into the kitchen. The housekeeper raised her head.
“What did that man Darcy want?” she demanded.
Drummond told her. She swore like a man.
“You’ll have to do something and damned quick,” she told him.
“I intend to.”
“You’ll have to kill Evans and McAllister, you know.”
“Evans is our immediate worry.”
“They’ll be taking him in front of the judge tomorrow at ten. Both men could be killed then.”
“We’ll see.”
“There mustn’t be any seeing about it. Kill ’em both and have done.”
Drummond protested: “There could be real risk in killing a marshal.”
“You killed Malloy and there was no risk to it.”
“That’s not true. McAllister’s sniffing at the truth now. He’s shown that by taking in Evans.”
“That was for the bank I’ll bet. Any road, it proves we want McAllister dead even more. Do it, boy, or you’ll regret it, mark my words.”
“All right, I’ll try.”
He shut the door and walked into the parlor. From the drawer of a bureau he took a pocket Remington and slipped it under his belt. His coat covered it to perfection, but the butt was within easy access of his right hand. He went out of the house through the kitchen without another word to the woman and made his way through the backlots to the edge of town. Here was timber and brush. He picked his way carefully through this so that he would not get his clothes torn or his boots muddy, till he came to a shack hidden among the trees.
He hailed it from a distance because he knew the men inside were jumpy. He had taught them to be that way. He was annoyed at having to come here at all, because he hated having to contact these men. These were the laborers and he despised them. Though some of them were efficient enough, a few of them masters of their craft. At his hail somebody inside dimmed the light. There came the sound of the door opening.
A man’s voice called -
“Who is this?”
“The boss.”
No names.
“Come ahead.”
He approached the shack and entered. A hand turned up the lamp. He glanced around at the untidy interior, the bunks and their disheveled blankets, the dirty crockery, the bottles and cans lying around on the floor. The place smelled of unwashed bodies and foul tobacco. Whenever he came here, he wanted to retch, to take a bath. They lived like the pigs they were.
Marve and Frank Little were at the table playing cards. They watched him now and having their eyes on him made him squirm. They were like animals and their eyes were without feeling. There were maybe a half dozen men there and they were of the same breed, but none of them were in the same class with the two brothers.
“Evening, men,” Drummond said.
They murmured a reply. The Little brothers said nothing. They just stared at him.
“Marve, Frank, I’d like a word with you outside,” he said.
They considered that, as though there was a possibility of their not going. Then slowly, they put down their cards and strolled slowly to the door. Outside they turned and waited for him. He shut the door and turned to them.
“McAllister took Burt Evans,” he told them.
They said nothing. Marve sneered a little. They were tall rangy men, built on the lean side. They were good hands with horses, but better hands with guns. Mercy was a word foreign to them. They liked fast horses, drink, women and easy money.
“Evans talks,” he said, “and we could all hang. You two first.”
Frank said: “Evans won’t talk so easy.” He lisped a little because his front teeth were missing.
“McAllister’s an Indian,” Marve said. “He’s no Malloy. He’ll make Evans talk.”
“So I want Evans dead.”
“And McAllister?”
“Dead too. But Evans is your first target.”
“We ain’t agreed to no target yet,” Marve said.
“It’s in your own interests,” Drummond said. “Any day now, McAllister’s coming after you.”
Frank said: “We could ride.”
Drummond was prepared for this eventuality. He’d tried to gain his objective cheaply and failed. Now he would dicker about the price.
He said: “You boys don’t think I meant you to do this for nothing, did you? I’ll arrange for the money owing to you and for fifty extra dollars each to be paid into my bank in El Paso.”
As Drummond knew one of them would say, Marve said: “Not enough.”
“Two hundred,” Frank said.
“I can find somebody else,” Drummond told them.
“Hunnerd and fifty,” Marve offered.
“One hundred extra each and that’s final,” Drummond said.
They nodded and Marve said: “Fifty each now for expenses.” That was the figure that Drummond had decided in his own mind. He was pleased.
“Done,” he said. He took two rolls of notes from his pockets and handed them to the brothers. They stuffed them carelessly into their clothes as if they were worthless paper. Drummond shuddered. He went on: “McAllister or Carson will take Evans in front of the judge around ten tomorrow most likely. That should be your best chance. If you can’t get McAllister, don’t hang around. Evans is the one we have to have dead.”
Marve said, his voice deadly: “Play it straight, Drummond. That money had better be in El Paso when we get there.”
Drummond said: “I never welched in my life.”
“There’s always a first time.”
“Do you have fast horses?”
“Best in the country.”
“Fresh?”
“Raring to go.”
“Good. I’ll wish you luck, boys.” None of them offered their hands. Drummond could not have touched either man. He nodded, turned on his heel and walked away. Marve spat. Frank laughed softly.
Frank said: “It surely tempts a man to take that bastard and clean this place out.”
Marve said: “His kind make me sick to the stomach. You know that, Frank? He looked at us like we was dirt.”
“How do we do it in the mornin’? Two rifles?”
“One’ll do it. One of us with the horses. If McAllister ain’t dead, we’ll need to be movin’ and then some.”
“That canelo of his is sure fast.”
“Nothin’ ain’t as fast as our two beauties.”
“Highest card does the shootin’.”
“Suits me.”
They strolled back into the shack.
Chapter Five
McAllister knocked out his pipe and stood up. Carson was cleaning his boots. They had decided that they would both guard Evans on the short trip to the judge’s court in the Golden Fleece. McAllister loved the irony of court being held there. But it spelled real danger. Evans was important and the men behind him couldn’t afford for him to talk. Neither marshal fooled himself that there could be more violence in the offing.
McAllister stood considering the matter of weapons
. If anybody wanted Evans dead, they would want to remain safe themselves. That meant a rifle. Every rooftop and window was a potential danger spot. Both men would have to watch front, back, sides and upward as well. A dozen marshals could not have done the job properly. They had argued over swearing some more deputies in for the morning, but had decided against it. A handful of undisciplined guns could have added to their troubles.
“And,” Carson said, “maybe they won’t just be gunning for Evans. If they feel we’re pushin’ ’em, they would like to see us dead too.”
McAllister laughed and the laugh didn’t sound too good.
“You’re in a real gay mood this morning,” he said.
He decided on the Henry as against a greener. He knew the Henry and what it was capable of.
After some more argument, Carson thought that the opposition might not want Evans dead. Maybe they looked after their own and would try to get him out alive. In that case, he favored a scattergun.
“Quicker, cheaper and safer to have him dead,” was McAllister’s opinion and not for the first time he wished he were hunting bear in the Rockies, or roping wild longhorns in the brush - some safe occupation more to his liking.
Evans’ attorney, Thomas Keene, a pale young man with ambition, arrived to see if his client was well and had not been knocked about. He talked with Evans for five minutes with their faces against the grill, then Keene left with a look of distaste for the two lawmen. It didn’t trouble them unduly.
“Time to go,” Carson said, found the keys and unlocked the cell door. Evans stepped out. He looked pale. He hadn’t shaved because they hadn’t allowed him a razor. This gave him an unkempt look that was not in character. This morning, he was very frightened.
McAllister picked up the Henry and said: “Feel like talking before we go, Evans? Either about Art or the robbery?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said. His voice shook.
Carson clicked the irons on his wrists so that his hands were behind his back. Both lawmen were tense and knew it. Carson poured two drinks and he and McAllister drank. Evans ran a thirsty tongue over his lips. His eyes were starting to look a little wild.
McAllister Makes War Page 4