‘Ain’t I?’ said McAllister sweetly. ‘Let’s get outa here. I could do with a drink.’
‘You must not drink. You have the race to run yet.’
‘I need beer, girl.’
He slipped into his shirt and took her arm, propelling her through the crowd. Hands slapped him on the back, a man cursed him to his face. They reached the saloon and went inside. The place was deserted except for the morose man behind the bar.
‘Beer,’ McAllister said and it came. He drained it, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and demanded another. He was finishing this when the door burst open and Jim Rigby raged in with Pat and Billy close behind him. One look at their faces was enough to tell McAllister that something unpleasant had happened. Rigby reached the bar and said: ‘Whiskey. Leave the bottle. By God, I’m going to get real drunk.’
Pat said: ‘You’re going to do no such thing. Not at a time like this.’
‘What happened?’ McAllister demanded.
‘Charlie Renno just rode in.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘A neighbour. Brenell’s men rode into my place this morning and burned us out. By God …’
Rosa said: ‘But this is terrible. Brenell’s right here in town.’
‘Just to put me off. That damn foreman of his and all his hands rode in and burned by place down. The house, the barn, everything’s gone. Rem, I’ll never recover from this. I’m finished.’
McAllister said: ‘Don’t talk a load of buffalo chips, Jim. You ain’t finished.’
‘All I have is cattle. I don’t have the money to rebuild. This’ll put a scare into all the other small men in the country. Nobody can afford to be burned out. They’ll hightail outa here. I’ll be left alone.’
‘You ain’t alone,’ McAllister said. ‘There’s me an’ Billy. Ain’t that so, Billy?’
‘Sure,’ said Billy. ‘We’re siding you, Jim. All the way.’
‘Don’t talk foolish,’ Rigby said. ‘There’s no future here for you. You and Pat go back east. There’s nothing here for you. The trouble’s started. The next thing, there’ll be men killed. I don’t want bloodshed.’
McAllister said: ‘Drink some more whiskey. Nothing like liquor to make a man want to fight. I do it all the time.’
Rigby said: ‘No, I ain’t fighting. I’ve had my belly full. I’m pulling out. I have Pat to think of.’
‘That’s why we’re going to make a fight of it,’ McAllister said.
‘You bet,’ said Billy. Jim Rigby looked from one to the other of them and said: ‘By God, I believe you mean it.’
‘Nothing’s worth bloodshed,’ Pat said, looking at Billy, and McAllister knew that all her fears were for the fair man.
Rosa agreed. ‘All men want to do is fight. Why fight over a piece of land? There’s other land.’
‘But none that belongs to Jim here,’ McAllister said.
Pat said: ‘If you want to stop Brenell, go get the sheriff.’
‘Mart’s a good lawman,’ McAllister said. ‘But he’ll never prove a thing against Brenell. No, we’ll kill our own snakes.’
‘They’re not your snakes and you know it,’ Rosa told him.
McAllister hitched his pants.
‘Billy, let’s go finish this contest. We’ll run the race then we head for Jim’s place.’
‘There ain’t no place,’ Rigby said.
McAllister grinned. ‘Then we’ll sleep at Brenell’s. Come on, Billy.’ He pushed Billy toward the door and they walked out onto the street. People turned to watch them as they walked along side by side. Two big men, one fair and one dark, both champions. Rosa and Pat followed behind. Jim Rigby, forehead creased in a heavy frown, brought up the rear. Halfway down the street, they came face to face with the sheriff. Mart Krantz looked like a man with troubles.
‘Jim,’ he said, ‘I heard about what happened. I hope you don’t intend to do something foolish.’
‘Not a thing,’ Rigby said. ‘I wash my hands of it.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘It’s Billy an’ me that intend to be foolish, Mart,’ McAllister said. ‘I hope you don’t intend to stop us.’
Mart said: ‘Go run your race, Rem. I’ll put you back in that cell to keep the peace if I have to.’
‘You’ll have to,’ McAllister said.
They went on. They came to the edge of the town with a crowd following at their heels. Here were the judge and the mayor all ready and waiting with a great concourse of people. The betting was still going on and it was pretty even now. McAllister caught sight of Shultz’s evil face and wondered if the other man were around. He hoped for Billy’s sake that he, McAllister, won the race. There was enough trouble ahead of them without Billy getting himself killed.
As they stripped off their outer clothing, McAllister said to Billy: ‘Maybe they’ll try to nobble you during the race, boy. Stay close to me. We’ll stick together until the last. A hundred yards from the end we’ll agree on a sprint. All right.’
‘All right,’ Billy said. ‘Rem, you’re a whiteman.’
‘Only half,’ McAllister said.
‘Ready, boys?’ asked the judge.
Pat put her arms around Billy’s neck and kissed him, not giving a damn for all the eyes that were on them. A great cheer went up. So Rosa had to kiss McAllister, just to make his chances equal. He patted her on the shoulder and she said: ‘How do you feel?’
‘Just fine,’ he said, but he didn’t—he felt like hell. He had never felt less like running a race in his life. The wrestling had taken the starch out of him and he would have liked nothing better than to lie down and sleep. The pain from his side seemed to be shooting through the whole of his body.
‘You don’t look fine,’ Rosa told him. ‘You look terrible.’
‘I’m doin’ that a-purpose,’ he told her, ‘just to fool Billy.’
‘Get set,’ the judge said.
The two men walked forward a couple of paces and halted. The crowd shouted encouragement to their chosen champion. McAllister thought Billy looked horribly spry in spite of the beatings he had taken in the two fights. He was sorry about that. He didn’t want the boy to win the race. He was sure that Shultz would do something about it. He was the kind of man who would.
‘Ready?’ demanded the judge.
‘Let’s go,’ McAllister said.
The judge put a finger in his ear and fired a gun in the air. McAllister and Billy sprang forward as one man and the crowd roared its head off. Only then did McAllister realise that he had no idea where he was supposed to run to. He hoped Billy knew, because he intended to follow him.
In a moment, they were clear of the people and running straight out onto the prairie, hammering along at a steady pace. At first, it was tough going for McAllister, his side had started to stiffen and the pain increased, but as he contiued to run, it seemed to become more supple and the running became a little easier. In no time at all, it seemed, he gained his second wind and settled down to keep pace with his opponent. Billy was running well, hitting a loping easy stride. It was not easy, running over the thick tufted grass and the ground, though it looked smooth enough at a distance was actually badly rutted and broken in places. McAllister knew he only had to put one foot wrong and his ankle would be out.
After they had run for about fifteen minutes, moving along easily almost side by side, McAllister found that they were running up a slight incline towards a small cluster of rocks and stunted trees.
‘Do you have to go near them?’ McAllister asked.
‘We have to go around ‘em before we change direction,’ Billy replied.
‘Go well clear of ‘em,’ McAllister told him. ‘It’s too easy to stop a man going around there out of sight of town.’
Billy gave him a look and said: ‘He wouldn’t try——’
‘Somebody tried in the same sort of place at Abbotsville.’
There was no arguing with that. Billy changed direction slightly and they ran a wide deto
ur around the rocks. Then Billy changed direction and they ran into the south-east, still holding the same steady pace. This brought them swinging down a slight gradient towards the winding creek and, though the going was easier, they didn’t quicken their pace. When they reached the creek, they waded through it, both of them scooping of water with their hands to cool their hot faces and bodies. They then heaved their way up the far bank and went on. Now their landmark was a small hillock that arose abruptly from the plain and this they headed for.
‘Same again,’ McAllister said. ‘There could be trouble here too.’
‘You see trouble everywhere,’ Billy said.
‘Usually find it, too,’ McAllister informed him.
They circled the hill wide, headed into the north and ran on. McAllister was starting to feel the effects of his efforts now on top of the wound. Suddenly, his wind started to give him a little trouble. It wasn’t much, but it worried him. Such a thing had never happened to him before. Slowly, he became conscious that he was having to make an effort to keep abreast of his opponent. That really troubled him. He looked closely at his companion and saw that he was as fresh as when he had started.
I have to beat him, McAllister thought, or he could be a dead man by sunset.
And that wasn’t the only reason. There was McAllister’s own reason. Simply that he hated to be beaten. He got his will to work on the problem, but that didn’t seem to help much. They hit the meandering creek again and the effort that it took to wade through it almost creased McAllister. It broke his pace too and it was hard work to start again. Billy pulled ahead and looked back over his shoulder at McAllister with a query in his eyes.
Get on, McAllister—quit playing the fool.
He tried lengthening his pace and pulled up a little, but it wasn’t enough. Another mile and they hit the creek again and McAllister groaned. Billy reached it ahead of him and went across strongly. McAllister struggled through the water, gasping air into his now aching lungs. The pain from his side burned through him like fire. When he reached the steep bank, he almost stopped. When he had heaved his way to the top he saw that Billy was a good twenty yards ahead of him. Strength seemed to be ebbing away remorselessly.
They hit a slightly downward slope and, while Billy didn’t change his pace, McAllister used it to quicken his and to bring himself to within two or three yards of the fair man. He seemed to be running a little better now, getting more air into his tortured lungs. Billy looked back again and gave him a faint grin.
‘You ain’t goin’ to beat me, Rem.’
McAllister didn’t reply, but saved his breath.
Fifteeen minutes later, he saw the town, sprawled out on the prairie. Billy angled a little and headed for it. He seemed to have quickened his pace again. McAllister cursed, gulped air into his lungs and ploughed on, running now through a sea of pain. Suddenly, his sight seemed to play him tricks. His vision seemed to be clouded with the red of blood. Giant spots swam before his eyes. He tried to blink his eyes clear.
Run, his mind screamed, run, man, or you’re going to have a dead boy on your hands.
His legs seemed to be like lead, too heavy to lift.
Billy seemed to have quickened his pace again.
No, no, boy, you’re running to your death.
The town was larger now. He could make out the blurred outlines of the buildings, the moving mass that was the crowd waiting to cheer them.
Now, his mind bawled at him, make your sprint now. You no-good sonovabitch.
He opened his mouth wide and sucked air violently into his lungs, then gritted his teeth and demanded more from his legs and heart than they had to give. Or did he? He was moving faster. The miracle was happening. He was breaking into a sprint, his moccasined feet pounded the earth, faster, faster. Billy was drawing nearer.
‘Run, Billy,’ he heard himself call.
Billy looked back, saw the increased pace and started to sprint.
Somewhere inside McAllister there was a maniac laughing. Faster, faster. His legs were going like pistons, he drove his big body on, suddenly insanely exhilarated by the new strength and determination that was in him. It was like getting a sight of glory.
He was within a few yards of Billy now. A moment and several paces later, he could have reached out and touched him. His vision cleared; suddenly there was no pain, his lungs and heart and legs were responding. It was as though some magic hand had brought a new strength to him. He was abreast of the fair man now. Billy was running to capacity, at the straining point. Slowly, McAllister surged past him. He could see the faces of the people now, men jumping and throwing their hats in the air. He was well past Billy, going strong. Nothing could stop him now.
He covered another fifty yards and he could hear shots being fired into the air. The crowd was going frantic.
Then suddenly, it happened.
Suddenly everything seemed to fail. Suddenly, it seemed that heart and lungs burst within him, suddenly the pain in his side exploded once more into life. His legs seemed to turn to water, to run into the dry ground, fading away beneath him. He was aware of Billy going past him, travelling like the wind, strong and fast.
The voice inside McAllister cried out: No, no, no. But the cry was pitiful and hopeless.
He felt the ground come up and hit him. He made a feeble attempt to rise and then his mouth and eyes were full of dust, the sky reeled overhead and he knew no more.
Eleven
There was the soft glow of lamplight, soft shadows. Voices murmured, a door softly opened and closed. He opened his eyes after what could have been a minute or an hour and lifted his head.
He was lying in bed, naked under the sheets. A bed soft as down. There was a woman by the door, turning toward him. He could hear the sound of her feet faintly. It was Rosa.
‘What the hell, girl?’ he said and his voice was like a croak.
She pushed his head back onto the pillow.
‘Lie still,’ she said.
‘What happened?’
‘You must have fainted.’
‘Fainted! I never fainted in my life.’ That was something for women and children.
‘Well, you fainted this time and don’t think you’re going to get any sympathy from me, Remington McAllister. You’re a damned fool, playing childish games with that wound in your side.’
He remembered Billy Gage.
‘Billy … where’s Billy?’
‘He’s downstairs, waiting to see if you’re going to live or not.’
‘Get him.’ She started to protest. But he croaked at her: ‘Get him up here.’ She gave him a look that was half despairing and half angry and left the room. When she returned a few minutes later with Billy Gage he was sitting on the edge of the bed with a sheet draped around him, loading the Remington. She screamed at him to get back into bed. He turned on her, his voice coming stronger now——
‘You know what’s goin’ to happen? This boy’s goin’ to get himself killed.’
‘Killed?’ She looked from McAllister to Billy.
Billy said: ‘You ought to be taking it easy, Rem.’
‘Take it easy. You know damn well Shultz will carry out his promise.’
‘I can look after myself.’
‘Like a kid in diapers can. This ain’t the back alleys of New York, boy.’
Billy produced a Colt’s pistol from his waist-band and said: ‘I have this and I know how to use it.’
McAllister looked at him approvingly. ‘That’s more like it.’ He looked around. ‘Where the hell’re my clothes? Rosa, hustle them togs up.’
She raised her hands to her face.
‘You’re not going out of here.’
‘You’d think we was married the way this woman goes on,’ McAllister snarled.
‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.’
‘Fetch me a drink.’
Billy said: ‘Do you think you ought?’
With the sheet wrapped around him, McAllister staggered
to the bureau, found a bottle of whiskey and wrenched the cork out with his teeth. When he had drunk copiously, he slammed the bottle down and started looking for his clothes.
‘How do you feel?’ Billy asked.
‘Goddam awful,’ McAllister snapped. ‘How do you think I feel?’ He found his longjohns and started dragging them on. That exhausted him and he sat on the bed for a moment, panting.
Rosa said: ‘I wash my hands of you. You don’t have more sense than a—a——’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Give me a kiss to show you ain’t really mad at me.’ She snorted and turned away. Billy handed him his shirt and he dragged it over his head. Next, the boots. Billy would have helped with those, but McAllister slapped his hands away. He got up and stamped his feet into them. Rosa looked like she could kill him. He took another drink of whiskey and declared he felt a lot better. He looked at Billy, a lopsided grin on his face: ‘I ought to hate you,’ he said. ‘You know that. Beatin’ me that way. You reckon the mob’ll hang me if’n I go out on the streets now?’
‘A good job if they do,’ Rosa told him.
He put his arm around her and gave her a resounding kiss. She fought him at first, then she gentled and put her arms around him.
‘You ought to stay here and rest,’ she said.
‘Sure,’ he told her. ‘I’ll rest when this is over. Where’s Jim an’ Pat?’
‘Pat’s at the hotel. Jim rode out to his place to see if there’s anything left.’
Rosa said: ‘What’re you going to do?’ ‘I’m goin’ to start a war.’
‘Don’t drag Jim into this. He wants out. Let him at least stay alive.’
‘He can want out all he wants. I ain’t goin’ to let him out. A man has to fight for what’s his. If he don’t want to fight I drag him back in by the scruff of his neck.’
‘Pat was right. You are a savage.’
He was buckling his gun on, picking up the Henry from where it leaned against the wall. He became still for a moment, looking down at Rosa.
‘Say somethin’ nice afore I go, honey,’ he said.
For a moment, she looked as if she would strike him, but she softened suddenly, went up to him and took his face in her hands. He stooped and she kissed him on the mouth.
Blood on Mcallister Page 11