Tough to Kill

by Matt Chisholm

  “Go further west?” McShannon asked.

  “No, that’s goin’ away from Markham. We’ll move east, where we’re near him. Now, we have to think of what we’re goin’ to do with Sarie.”

  Sarie said: “You ain’t goin’ to do a thing with Sarie. She stays right along with you.”

  “Now, listen, honey - ”

  “Don’t you listen honey me, McAllister. This is my home as much as yours.”

  They wrangled about it this way and that, but all the way it looked pretty clear that Sarie was staying along.

  Jack asked: “What about horses? Hell, all we have is two horses and two saddles between us. They burned everything: saddles, rifles, grub. They didn’t leave us a damn thing.”

  McShannon brightened.

  “I bet my bottom dollar they didn’t burn our cash,” he said.

  McAllister said: “They better not had. That was your bottom dollar.”

  McShannon looked around, couldn’t find what he wanted and finally drew his rifle from the saddle boot. He walked into the embers of the house, dancing this way and that to avoid the hotspots and started straining at something on the ground with the barrel of the rifle. They watched him till they heard his cry of satisfaction and at last he walked back to them carrying several small cowhide sacks.

  McAllister grinned.

  “Four hundred and twenty three dollars,” he said. “That’s our war fund. We’d best go mighty careful with it.”

  McShannon said: “Four hunnerd dollars, three men an’ a girl. That’s our army an’ we’ll beat ’em.”

  “We better,” McAllister said.

  *

  The weather was warm and the night clear. They camped on the edge of the creek. They had little to eat except for a few scraps McAllister and McShannon had taken with them on their ride. The only blankets they had were from the two saddles and these they gave to Sarie. Nobody slept very well except the girl and as dawn broke, McShannon and McAllister saddled up and went looking for the horses.

  It took them all day and when they returned with a fair-sized cavvy, Jack and Sarie were pretty hungry. But they also brought beef with them. Nobody asked whose brand it had worn. McShannon built Sarie a fire and she broiled the meat over it while McAllister and Jack made a rope corral to hold the horses.

  It was full dark before they hungrily ate the half-cooked meat and washed it down with creek water. That done, McAllister told the others to stay put till dawn and then detailed them of the exact route to take the following dawn and the exact spot to halt at. Both McShannon and Jack were first rate at tracking and finding landmarks, so he had no fear that they would find their way there.

  “This route,” he said, “goes well south. It’ll take you well clear of Markham range and you shouldn’t have no trouble.”

  “Where’ll you be?” Jack asked.

  I’ll take two horses into town. I’ll bring back another saddle and supplies. If I ain’t with you by tomorrow night, don’t fret. I’ll be there the followin’ day.”

  Jack said: “Maybe there’ll be trouble in town. There’s the sheriff and Markham’s a powerful man.”

  “Gibson always tried to keep to the middle road. He don’t want to offend Markham, but he won’t try to push me either. Not yet. The only real trouble there’ll be is if some of Markham’s men’re in town.”

  They slept without cover again, but at least with full bellies and with the dawn McShannon, Owen and Sarie drove the horses south while McAllister set off north-east at a steady clip.

  *

  After a few miles, McAllister cut across the corner of the range claimed by Markham to save himself an hour’s travel, but he saw nothing of any riders except for a distant line-rider. He reached town by noon, put his horses in the livery stable for a good bait, fed himself at a restaurant better than he had done so in days, took a bath and treated himself to a shave and a haircut. Feeling a new man, he sauntered through the growing town, greeting friends here and there, not stopping for long talk with anybody and ordered his supplies at the main store. He bought a second-hand pack-saddle that still had years of wear in it and a second-hand saddle for Jack Owen. It wouldn’t suit Jack, who was fussy about his saddles, but it would have to do. Then he strolled down the street for a drink at the Imperial Hotel.

  He never got the drink.

  Standing on the sidewalk was a dumpy man with a large ginger mustache. On the lapel of his dark nicely-tailored coat was a sheriff’s badge. He looked more like a banker than a lawman. He went in for narrow-brimmed hats and low-heeled shoes. If he wore a gun, it didn’t show.

  McAllister was not deceived. He knew George Gibson and he knew his record. He could be tough and he could be smart. McAllister wondered which he was going to be now.

  “Howdy, Rem.”

  “Howdy, George.”

  “Busy right now?”

  “Aimin’ to take a drink.”

  “Buy you one later. Come over to the office for a little talk.”

  McAllister thought about that, looking at his boot-toe. Finally, he said: “Sure, why not?”

  “Good.”

  Gibson led the way across the street to his office. Over it was the courtroom. The whole building was new, made of green wood like the rest of the town. It smelled of new-sawn lumber. McAllister liked it.

  When they got inside, he saw that the place was empty. Gibson waved a hand toward a chair and seated himself behind his desk. He leaned back, puffed a little as if the walk in the sun had been too much for a man of his weight, took a cigar from his vest pocket and lit it. When he had it going to his satisfaction, he said: “We’ve known each other a good many years, Rem.”

  “Must be all of ten.”

  Eyebrows raised. “As long as that? Whatya know? Time flies and waits for no man. An’ times’re changin’, Rem. Things ain’t what they were.”

  “You’re right there.”

  “An’ men and their ways have changed too, Rem. The old wild days when a man could take the law into his own hands, for instance, have gone an’ they will never return. An’ you know why they won’t never return, Rem?”

  “No, George, but you’re goin’ to tell me.”

  “I sure am. They won’t never return because of men like me.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” McAllister agreed pleasantly. “You’re doin’ a fine job and nobody knows it better’n me.”

  “Glad you think so.”

  The door opened and two men came in. They looked blankly at McAllister and sat themselves on chairs against the wall on the opposite side of the room from him. McAllister knew them. Deputies Arch Dolan and Lou Goad. With men like that Gibson didn’t have to handle a gun. They both knew all about guns. They followed Gibson’s lead and they were good.

  “Nice to see you, boys,” McAllister said. They grunted and nodded. “How’s the family, Lou?”

  “Fine, jest fine, Rem.”

  “Rheumatics still playin’ you up, Arch?”

  “Tolerably, Rem.”

  They’re going to take me in, McAllister told himself. Gibson doesn’t make a show of strength for nothing.

  “All right, George,” he said. “Let’s have it. We ain’t here for a chat.”

  “Well,” Gibson said, avoiding McAllister’s eyes, “I heard talk, Rem. An’ it ain’t too pleasin’.”

  “What kind of talk?”

  “About you an’ Markham.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “’Bout you goin’ up there and havin’ your partners cover Markham with rifles while you beat the livin’ daylights outa him.”

  A high-pitched giggle came from Lou Goad.

  “What’s ticklin’ you?” Gibson demanded, suddenly nettled.

  “Markham gettin’ beat up. I’d of given a month’s pay to of seen that.”

  “That ain’t impartial, Lou boy. I tol’ you an’ I tol’ you a deputy has to be impartial.”

  “But it’s human. Hell, nobody ain’t dared ever give that old bul
l-frog his comeuppance. He’s beat more men then I’ve had hot dinners an’ nobody didn’t never dare raise a hand to him.”

  “Shut up an’ keep shut.”

  “I whipped him good,” McAllister said.

  Arch said: “Why’d you do it, Rem?” Gibson shot him a venomous glance.

  “I always like to be first.”

  Gibson leaned forward quickly.

  “You admit the charge?”

  “What charge?”

  “Assault.”

  “Did Markham make it?”

  “That’s no never mind.” Gibson cleared his throat. “Now, see here, Rem, I tol’ you the old days were over when a man took the law into his own hands an’ I meant every word of it. I ain’t takin’ this kind of thing in my county.”

  McAllister stood up.

  “Make a charge or shut up, George,” he said quietly.

  The right hands of Dolan and Goad touched their holsters. All the laughter had gone from Goad’s face. They knew McAllister and what he was capable of. They didn’t take their eyes from him. Gibson hesitated. He hated show-downs except when he was certain of their outcome. He knew if it came to force, McAllister would draw and fire, no matter what the consequences. At least one man would die. It might be him.

  “Now, Rem,” he said softly, “don’t let’s be like this. We’re old friends. You have beaten a respectable citizen brutally. At least, I can expect an explanation. Though, I tell you, it’ll have to be a good one to satisfy me.”

  McAllister relaxed suddenly and sat down again.

  He smiled.

  “My partners and I,” he said, “have decided to take wives.”

  “What in hell has this to do with you beatin’ Markham?”

  “Everythin’. It’s his sister and two daughters we’re courtin’”

  “What?”

  The three men spoke as one.

  “Markham objected. He set his whole pack on McShannon and nigh killed him. Next day we went courtin’ in force, as you might say. Markham objected. I beat him. While McShannon an’ I were out ridin’ line he came with his cohorts an’ burned us out.” McAllister smiled again. “Who’re you goin’ to charge now, George?”

  Gibson was at a loss.

  He searched the room with his eyes as if he were looking for an answer to the questions in his mind. Finally, he spoke:

  “This the truth, Rem?”

  “Ever known me lie, George?”

  “Ask a silly question … What do you expect me to do?”

  “Nothing Election time’s comin’ mighty soon and Markham can carry a hull lot of votes with him.”

  Gibson looked a little hurt.

  “I ain’t as bad as that,” he said. “Sure a man has to have votes. But he doesn’t have to be less of a sheriff for that. Now, you see here, Rem, I don’t want any of your old ways around my bailiwick.”

  McAllister stood again.

  “George,” he said, “it’s Markham who’s gone back to the old ways. All I did was court his sister. That ain’t an offense where I come from. He burned me out. All I did was beat him.”

  Goad grinned again and Gibson snapped him a look.

  “If guns start talkin’,” the sheriff said, “I’m comin’ after you, Rem. I have to - you know that.”

  “I know that, George,” he said. “I think I’ll go for that drink now.”

  “Do that.”

  “So long, boys. Nice to have seen you.”

  “So long, Rem.”

  He walked out, crossed the street and went into the Imperial. This was a hotel with the saloon to one side of the lobby and dining hall on the first floor. Behind the bar talking to the barkeep, polishing glasses, was Evalina Craddock. Evalina owned the whole place, but she liked to be in the bar because she liked the company of men. Men liked Evalina. She was on the wrong side of thirty, but she was a considerable amount of woman, all of it put together in fine proportion. She dressed so that none of her charms were wasted. And in a place like Ketchum Springs with its predominantly male population there was no need for them to be wasted at all. The west to Evalina was a sort of man-hungry female’s heaven, virile men wherever she looked.

  Though she might not look it, Evalina was not for sale. She did it only for love and her capacity for love was limitless. She did a wonderful job and saved many a lonely and enforced bachelor from becoming a little weird in his outlook and tastes. She was rather on the stately side and would, in her later years, turn to fat. But right now she was the answer to a womanless man’s prayer. For that matter, she was the answer to any man’s prayer.

  She stood taller than most of her sex, full-breasted and strong-hipped. Her hands and feet were small, her gestures as graceful and intended as those of an actress. Her hair was of a brilliant gold that was no product of nature. Her speech, which she claimed was southern, smacked of the Bronx, New York. She was tough, made money and was tender-hearted to foolishness - except with her money. She greeted McAllister with the glad cry she reserved for all men still able to totter.

  “Why, Remington McAllister, where’ve you been all this time? What’s the matter, darlin’, don’t you love me no more?”

  McAllister grinned. He liked Evalina a lot. She was his kind and he understood her.

  “Howdy, Ev girl. How’ve you been?”

  He looked around. The place was deserted but for Evalina and her help. She leaned across the bar and touched his face. She just had to touch a man as soon as she saw him. Then, quickly, knowing men as she did, she poured two whiskeys, put them on a tray, added the bottle as an afterthought and carried them over to a table. McAllister sat himself down.

  Evalina pouted.

  “I been hearin’ stories about you, sweetheart.”

  “You have?”

  “Yeah. An’ I don’t know I ain’t a little bit jealous.” McAllister knocked back his whiskey and Evalina followed suit. She poured two more. The whiskey burned its way through the big man and he started to feel good. He needed to feel good for a bit, because a black dog had been sitting on his shoulder ever since Markham had burned his house.

  “Carlotta Markham,” he said.

  Evalina pulled a face.

  “What about me?” she demanded, her eyes devouring him.

  “Now don’t get the wrong idea, honey,” McAllister told her. “This ain’t serious. This is marriage.”

  She roared with laughter like a man and slapped him on the chest.

  “Remington,” she shrieked, “you are dreadful.”

  They drank again. McAllister began to even feel better still. Suddenly, Evalina sobered.

  “I heard other things,” she said.

  “Such as?”

  “Kiowa was beat near to death. Them Box M riders was in here boastin’ about it.”

  “That ain’t all. I beat Markham near to death.”

  Evalina clapped her hands with delight. Markham had tried to buy her one night for twenty five dollars and she had never forgiven him.

  “You did not.”

  “I did. But Markham trumped my card.”

  “How?”

  “He burned us out.”

  Evalina looked aghast. She stayed still for a moment, thinking about what that involved.

  “This means war,” she said. “Aw, Rem, this could be terrible. All them fine boys shootin’ at each other an’ gettin’ killed. The waste.” She leaned forward. “What can I do to help. You want money?” She said it in a whisper because she didn’t want anybody hearing her offering money. It had come as a terrible impulse that she had never experienced before. She was surprised at herself.

  “I don’t want no shootin’,” he said.

  “But where’ll you live? What about that poor li’l girl, Sarie?”

  “We’ll manage.”

  “I’ll have Sarie here.”

  “She wouldn’t come,” McAllister told her with a grin. “She reckons we can’t make out without her. Now, let’s talk about something nice an’ pleasant. What’s new
around here? What’s the gossip of the burg?”

  Evalina pouted prettily, thinking. She brightened.

  “That ole Markham’s race.”

  McAllister pricked up his ears.

  “What race?”

  “Well, you know how he always claims he has the best horse-flesh in the west (an’ I reckon he has), well, he aims to hold a race. He’s so durned sure of winnin’, he’s put up a five hundred dollar prize for the winnin’ owner.”

  McAllister thought a while, drank the whiskey off and burst out laughing.

  Evalina said: “You ain’t thinkin’ of winnin’ that money, Rem?”

  “I just might have a try,” he said. “I’d like to see the bullfrog’s face if one of us took it off’n him.”

  The door opened and five men walked in. The man in the lead was Foley. McAllister tensed. Evalina went white to the lips. Foley stared at McAllister for a short moment, then walked to the bar and called for whiskey.

  The bartender poured, the men drank and turned to face the room, leaning their elbows on the bar. McAllister poured himself another whiskey and put it down him. He asked himself if he still felt good and decided that he did. Whether he felt good enough to take on five men, he didn’t know.

  Evalina whispered hoarsely -

  “Rem, get outa here.”

  He turned and smiled. Then, still smiling, he turned and looked at Foley.

  “Real sorry I wasn’t at home when you called, Foley,” he said.

  Foley gave a twisted smile. He looked like he was enjoying the situation, knowing the odds were on his side.

  “You start somethin’ in my house,” Evalina whispered, “an’ I’ll fetch the law.”

  “I’ll pay for all breakages,” McAllister told her.

  She swore under her breath and took another drink. She needed it.

  Foley said: “You wasn’t as sorry as me, Rem.”

  McAllister said: “Markham owes me for one house, one barn and a corral. He’ll pay me plenty, but right now I’ll be satisfied with the hides of you five coyotes.”

  Five hands came off the bar and lay alongside bolstered guns.

  “No, please. Rem,” Evalina said.

  McAllister stood up. Five hands jerked.