Kill McAllister

by Matt Chisholm

  “Go ahead,” said McAllister. His breath was rather taken away. He was used to making the running, but this Negro cowhand seemed to have it all worked out.

  Sam walked away into the darkness; there was a slight pause, during which McAllister walked around to the horse and got ahold of its mane. It shied a little, but it quietened when McAllister spoke to it and patted its neck.

  Suddenly the horses in the corral erupted as Sam gave a piercing yell. The terrified horses bunched, scampered across the corral, then headed along the edge till they hit the gate. They turned out of it, eyes rolling, manes flowing in the wind of their own making, crashing against the upright of the gate and wrenching it loose. It took all McAllister’s strength to hold his own horse.

  The door of the shack opened, surprising McAllister, but he drew quickly and drove a shot through the opening.

  In the next instant, the last of the horses swept past him, then Sam, yelling like a Comanche. McAllister vaulted onto the back of the mustang and gave it its head. It hunched its legs under it, jumped and ran. McAllister thought he heard the sound of a shot above the thunder of hoofs, but couldn’t be sure. He lay flat along the neck of that horse and kept his head down. He and Sam rode across the valley, yelling, the horses going ahead of them like frightened quail. McAllister couldn’t see too clearly, but it looked to him they had about thirty head on the move. They ran them a couple of miles across the valley into the hills, scattering them all over and riding on over the wall of the valley themselves. Sam started to laugh.

  “Man,” he said, “it was so Goddamn easy, I fancy a-goin’ back an’ tryin’ somethin’ more.”

  “No, you don’t,” McAllister said. “Enough’s enough. They’ll spend a day ketchin’ up them horses, then we hit ’em again. Each time we hit ’em, it gets worse.”

  “Say, Rem,” said Sam, “they’ll come lookin’ for those horses tomorrow. We could be there when they find ’em.”

  McAllister laughed.

  “Maybe you have somethin’ there,” he agreed.

  They rode back to camp, drove their borrowed horses off, saddled and mounted their own and moved along the water. They stayed in the water for two miles, came out onto rock and found a cosy corner in the hills. Here, they slept to past dawn, when they ate some cold deer-meat and washed it down with water. They saddled their horses and, taking their rifles with them, rode east again to where they had scattered the horses. They found a goodly bunch of them, tied their own mounts under cover and sat down to wait.

  They didn’t have to wait long. After some thirty minutes, Sam said: “You hear something?”

  McAllister grinned.

  “This time I’m with you,” he said. “Three riders comin’.”

  Three riders came picking their way through the rocks. At once the range was an easy one for a rifle. Three men riding loosely in the saddle, not expecting trouble, their mind on finding their horses. And now they had found them. They started rounding up the dozen or so horses.

  Sam said softly: “You aimin’ to kill?”

  McAllister shook his head.

  “I’m no great hand at killin’,” he said. “Not this way. Wait a while.”

  They jacked rounds into the breeches of their rifles. The riders circled below them and in short time had the horses bunched. They talked a little, then one of them used some trees to rig up a rope corral, which showed they reckoned on staying awhile. When the horses were inside the corral, the men unsaddled and turned their saddlers in with the remuda. One man started to collect kindling.

  McAllister said, “Now’s as good a time as any. Fleshy part of the leg is my target.”

  “That’ll be some shootin’.”

  “Some of us can do it.”

  Sam said: “I’ll take the man with the blue handkerchief around his neck.”

  “Red bandanna for me.”

  They raised their rifles. McAllister’s man was the one fetching the coffee from his saddle. He was stooped over, oblivious of his danger. Sam’s was the fellow with the kindling. McAllister fired. His man was knocked around violently, thrown over the saddle over which he was bending into the tree beyond. Sam’s target seemed to kick his leg backward like a crazy dancer before he fell yelling to the ground. The third man drew his belt-gun and seemed to be foolishly looking around for a target. Sam swung his rifle on him.

  McAllister said: “Leave him, Sam. He can tote the others home.”

  Sam put up his rifle and said: “All right, let’s pull out.”

  The man below with the revolver suddenly panicked at the silence of the rocks around him and hunted cover as fast as he could go, accompanied by the yells of one of his stricken comrades. Back in the cover of the rocks, the two Texans mounted and rode away.

  “It’s too Goddamn easy,” Sam said in disgust.

  “It’ll get harder as we go on,” McAllister promised him.

  Chapter 18

  They worked their way south now, going warily, knowing that there would be riders out not only in the valley, but in the hills. Once they spotted two horsemen at a distance and took cover till they had passed, but saw nobody else. Late afternoon they came on a lone cow wearing a strange brand. This they killed and skinned. They took a goodly supply of meat and the hide back into the hills to the west and ate well. Sam wanted to jerk the beef, but there wasn’t the time. To smoke it would have been to risk discovery; so he did the next best thing by cutting it into strips and cooking it slowly and thoroughly on hot stones. The hide, McAllister and he cut into strips and dried as best they could. They reckoned they would have need to for extra rope and their tackle needed repairing. They stayed at that spot quietly for a couple of days repairing their gear, resting and eating. Both were now badly in need of a smoke and discussed the taking of one of the enemy for the sake of his tobacco. But both felt on top of their form; Sam wasn’t at his full strength, but he was doing well and McAllister had never felt fitter. Both were now buoyed up with hope. Maybe they wouldn’t get all the cows back, but they’d pay the old colonel’s debt for him.

  “If’n we fight these fellers to a standstill,” Sam said, “you ever thought on how we git them cows outa here, just the two of us’ns.”

  McAllister said: “We’ll figure that when we get there.”

  “What you got on your mind to do next?”

  “Go take a look at the valley and wait for inspiration to come.”

  Next day, they headed in for the valley, riding with caution, their rifles across their saddles, knowing that by now men were combing the hills for them. But nothing happened and they met nobody. When they reached the valley they saw why. They sat on their horses and looked at the great rich spread of grass below them.

  “Jumpin’ snakes,” Sam said, “they’s a cowhunt on.”

  So, thought McAllister, they know why we’re here right enough. Forster and his crew were rounding up the cattle preparatory to a move out. They were preparing to drive the herd to market.

  “We got to stop ’em,” Sam said. “How the hell do we do that, boy?”

  “Let ’em gather ’em for us,” McAllister said.

  Sam’s face lightened.

  “Ketch ’em on the trail,” he said. “Do unto others as they have done unto you, like my mammy taught me.”

  “Somethin’ like that,” McAllister said.

  The valley for a large area around the buildings was full of activity. Two branding fires were in evidence. Men were driving cows in from the hills, riders scurried back and forth, men worked at the branding fires. It looked as if the animals were being divided into two main herds.

  “They dividin’ up,” McAllister said.

  “They’s the cows belonging to the feller ‘at owns this range and the fellers ‘at took our cows.”

  “An’ maybe giving the local man a cut of our cows in payment,” said McAllister.

  “It adds.”

  “So we have to hit ’em pretty damned quick.”

  “That’s the way she look
s.”

  “An’ us pretty damn low on shells for hittin’ anybody. Sam, we have to take one or two of them jaspers.”

  Sam grinned quickly.

  “You’m the general,” he said.

  * * *

  They rode south again and found a couple of riders in the breaks winkling out strays. They laid their guns on them, took their weapons, their ammunition, which was not much, and, which was most important, tobacco. They sent the men’s horses running and told the two to get walking. Neither took to this kindly. They cursed the two Texans roundly.

  For the first time, the enemy had seen the faces of Sam and McAllister.

  As soon as they were out of sight, the two partners built smokes and drew smoke into their lungs.

  “Man,” said Sam. “I can start livin’ again.”

  They rode across the valley to the east, circled north and came up with the two buildings. They came with the express purpose of burning up the shells they had just stolen.

  * * *

  Though not ordinarily a coward, Link Forster was a frightened man, frightened now because he had a lot at stake. Easy to be brave, he thought, when you have nothing to lose.

  The main source of his anxiety were the men who were apparently constantly in wait in the valley for mischief. First the horses had been run off, then the two men wounded, now the two men robbed to the south. There was no knowing where they would strike next. All his efforts were now directed to getting the cattle in and branded safely for the trip to market. And here another anxiety arose – where was he going to sell the cattle? Should he go back to the Kansas railroad and try for a buyer in one of the cattle towns? There seemed a good deal of risk in that. The men who were now harrassing him might well have spread their story through the cowtowns. No, it seemed to Forster that his chance lay on the ranges of Colorado. Once again the idea of going in for cattle growing was strong in his mind. He sought Grotten out by the branding fire.

  Grotten, as ever, was doing a thorough job. He had known little of branding and throwing till one of his brother’s hands showed him, but he had quickly caught on and was now working like an experienced hand, sweating and straining, working tirelessly. Forster could see now as he came up to him that the man loved to work and, not for the first time, wondered at his failure to be honest. Grotten should have been a respectable craftsman. Not for the first time, again, Forster wondered if it had not been for him Dice would have been straight. It was possible.

  As he approached, Grotten rose from bending over a calf, blood on his hands, his face covered with sweat and dust. He grinned a little.

  “If we stopped branding and gathering today, Dice,” Forster asked, “how would we be?”

  Dice said: “Not too bad, captain. What’s on your mind?”

  Forster looked around. Mike Grotten’s hand who was working with Dice was just out of earshot.

  “I’ll be blunt,” Forster said in a low voice. “I don’t trust your brother and he doesn’t trust me. He’s agreed to a cut. It’s a murderous deal, but for convenience I’ve agreed to it. Now, I want to get the cows clear of this valley before he changes his mind.”

  Dice said: “He won’t do that, captain. The odds’re against him. He isn’t a fool.”

  “No, but he’s your brother and he could be counting on you.”

  Dice’s face changed. He looked hurt and angry.

  “You saying I’d play you dirty?”

  “Nothing of the sort, but you might throw your argument on his side. I meant nothing more than that.”

  But Dice knew that was a lie. Forster was starting to doubt him. For the first time, he wondered if he was starting to doubt the captain.

  “What’s on your mind?” he demanded.

  “We’ll never sell these cows in Kansas. The Texans would have spread the story by now. It’s too dangerous. I had the idea of starting a ranch earlier. Colorado is opening up. We could do worse than go further west.”

  “There’s the Indians there and they could be difficult. But I’ve had the same thing in my mind. I’m game if you are. But we won’t be making quick money like you want.”

  “I’ve thought of that. Maybe I’ll have to put off my plans for a year. But there’s a great future in these cows. Together we could build a great outfit, Dice.”

  Dice liked the sound of that.

  “I’m with you.”

  But he wondered how far with the captain he was and the doubt made him profoundly uneasy.

  Forster went on: “We have to get the Texans off our backs. Tomorrow we put every effort into finding and killing them. Already we have two men wounded and the rest are getting scared. Maybe the two halfbreeds’ll get on their trail today. Tomorrow, I want every man out scouring the valley. I don’t believe there are any more than two of them doing this to us. They’ll be back to hit us and when they come, I want them dead.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away to sit outside the shack and smoke. Not for Captain Link Forster the dust, the blood and sweat. That was for rougher men. Mike and Dice Grotten might slave with the men, but he would not. He was made for better things. He sat running his eyes over the growing herds of cattle, thinking wistfully that if it wasn’t for Dice he would wipe out Mike and his men and make the whole valley and its animals his own. But he needed Dice. There would come a day when he wouldn’t, but right now he needed him badly.

  He was lighting his second smoke when the shot came.

  The man working with Dice staggered a couple of paces and fell into the fire with a howl of alarm and pain. Dice dragged him from the fire and started hurriedly to put out his burning clothing. Every man on the wide scene showed alarm. Forster leapt to his feet, dived into the cabin behind him and came out with his rifle in his hands. Men were running for cover. Another shot rang out. Forster looked this way and that, uncertain of where the shots came from. There was no fear in him now; this was something he understood. His experienced eye told him that the men were above and in good cover. The rocks.

  He pointed, yelling—

  “Up in the rocks there. Dice, head for ’em.”

  Mike Grotten came running for the shack to fetch his rifle. A shot came, but missed his racing figure. The big man panted past Forster as the captain ran for the cover of the rocks and brush at the foot of the valley side. Mike came out of the cabin with a rifle in his hands. He ran for a horse standing ground-hitched nearby, leapt into the saddle and sent the animal racing off north to circle the men in the rocks. Dice saw his brother’s move, caught another horse and galloped south to complete the encirclement, shouting to the other men to get on the move. Three or four obeyed him.

  Forster started working his way up the slope. It wasn’t long before the men above spotted him and opened up on him. He hugged cover, cursing. He wanted those men more than anything in the world. This time, they wouldn’t get away. He bawled out for the men to give him covering fire, but it was minutes before they pulled themselves together enough. But eventually the fire came and he went on. He could glimpse the drifting smoke above him now and headed for it. He caught sight of a black face and fired. The man dived for cover. He climbed on, feeling that this time he would kill the enemy.

  * * *

  Up in the rocks, Sam said: “Time we lit a shuck, ole pard, afore we have them boys up our butts.”

  McAllister said: “You could be right.”

  They started working their way back toward the horses. They both knew they had been to the north and south of them now. Men were pushing up from the valley floor, firing as they came. The rocks were becoming too hot to hold. This time they had overstepped themselves and they knew it.

  McAllister glanced back over his shoulder and sighted the horses and knew that a fifty yard sprint would see him in the saddle.

  “Go ahead,” he said, “I’ll cover you.”

  Sam slapped him on the shoulder to show he was going, got to his feet and started to run, doubled up.

  At once a rifle shot came, winged viciousl
y past his ear and tore through brush. He flung himself headlong. The shot came from the north. As he lay there, he heard the clatter of hooves to the south.

  “Rem,” he called, “they got us penned.”

  McAllister started to feel a little desperate. He looked this way and that, found fair cover to his rear, turned and dove for it. A shot almost parted his hair as he went. Sam was a dozen yards to his left with his face pressed into the ground. They would have to move quick or they would never move again. He raised himself to look south and a shot came that clipped a rock near his nose and drove splinters into his face. That made him break into a sweat. He lay cursing efficiently.

  “This won’t get us no place,” he called to Sam. “Get movin’. I’ll cover you.”

  Smoke drifted idly to the south. He snapped a shot at it. Sam was on his feet running. Rifles north and south opened up on him and the air seemed full of flying lead. McAllister fired first in one direction and then the other. The rifleman to the north concentrated on Sam; the fellow to the south turned his attention to McAllister.

  Sam reached his pony, hauled himself into the saddle and got it on the move. McAllister got himself on his feet and started running.

  Sam’s horse reared and screamed, came down on front legs that failed to support it and pitched over sideways. Just in time, the Negro managed to kick his feet free of the stirrup-irons and land running. He got into cover and started shooting north. McAllister changed directions, going north now, charging at the man there. No shots came. He leapt a rock, burst violently through brush and stumbled over something lying on the ground.

  It was a man and he was dead.

  McAllister didn’t waste any time. He yelled: “Bring the horse, Sam.”

  He bent over the dead man, took off his gun-belt and emptied his pockets of rifle shells. He heard Sam clattering toward him with the canelo. He hurled the dead man’s rifle and revolver as far as he could and rose to meet Sam, The Negro vaulted onto the canelo’s back and reached down to give McAllister a boost. McAllister got up behind him. The rifle to the south was going crazy now. A shot clipped McAllister’s hat and then the canelo was running, straining nobly under the double load.