McAllister 7 by Matt Chisholm

Author:Matt Chisholm
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: westerns, peter watts, piccadilly publishing, matt chisholm, old west fiction, gold hunters, rem mcallister
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Sixteen

A still sleep-eyed boy, riding Mark Tully’s horse, woke McAllister to tell him that he was wanted in town. When McAllister was saddling the mare, Lige, grey-faced from his bed, staggered into the barn and demanded to know if he should go along. He looked mystified when McAllister said, no, he dared not use any more Copleys. The town boy did not know why McAllister was wanted, but he said Mr Tully was fussing some. The boy had gathered from Mr Tully that it was about “some goddamn girl”.

McAllister galloped into town and tied up outside the saloon. Mark Tully was in the bar drinking black coffee and old Joe was flushed with whiskey.

Mark said: ‘They took the girl, Rem.’

‘Did they say why?’

Joe said: ‘They want to know where my claim is.’

McAllister poured himself some coffee and stared at the barkeep, who was sitting upright behind the bar, fast asleep. Three drunks stood at the bar, leaning and not moving.

McAllister said: ‘I ain’t worried two cents worth of cold piss.’

Joe said: ‘Well, I’m worried to hell, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll start worrying, McAllister. I’m not just any old citizen. I’m Joe Ramage and I’m worth a million. If I’m worried, everybody else has to be worried.’

‘Joe,’ said McAllister, ‘you’re losing faith. Just sit around till the stage gets in and all will be revealed.’

Mark finished a cup of coffee, poured himself another and said: ‘You’re taking this very calmly. I thought you thought a lot of that girl.’

‘Sure,’ said McAllister, ‘I think she’s one hell of a girl. But I ain’t fazed.’

He drank his cup of coffee, settled himself in a corner in a chair, put his feet on another chair and went to sleep. Joe said: ‘He’s getting too damn old for the job, he did ought to be replaced by a younger and more able man.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Mark, though there was doubt in his voice. ‘I reckon the bastard is about to play his hole card.’ The old man said: ‘It had better be good, or I’ll have his guts for galluses. The thought of that girl ...’

They were all there on the sidewalk when the stage got in, Horry Wanlace up, grinning, whip in hand. The first passenger out of the vehicle was Charlie Stellino. He moved stiffly and in evident pain. His grin was glassy and inclined to be fixed.

‘Don’t pretend I ain’t a surprise, McAllister,’ he said, ‘because I know I am. I bet you told these fellers I was out of the fight. All washed up.’

McAllister told him coldly: ‘Your name just naturally didn’t crop up.’

Charlie looked hurt. He turned to hand somebody down from the stage. This was a tall and extremely fine-looking girl. One of those women who, without the aid of any kind of artifice or chemistry, are able to turn men’s heads and bowl them over. On the face of it, she had a number of things going against her physically, but the general effect was stunning.

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