Read Online Blood on Mcallister by Matt Chisholm - Free Book Online Page B

still.
    One of the men on the ground rolled about and groaned.
    McAllister said to Brenell: ‘Put that gun down, you crazy fool.’
    â€˜I’m goin’ to kill you,’ Brenell said. ‘I’m going to cut you down like a mad dawg. I’m goin’ to gut-shoot you and watch you squirm.’
    He meant it and McAllister knew he meant it.
    The mind started calculating again, placing Griff with the gun to one side, the two men on the ground to the other. Both were hurt, but both could shoot from the ground. He was up the creek without a paddle and no mistake.
    Nothing would get him out of this but two well-placed shots and even then it might not be over.
    He watched Brenell minutely.
    The man’s hand cocked the hammer of the Colt’s gun and as the clicks came McAllister moved fast to the left and backward so he had all four of them in plain sight.
    Brenell’s shot came too quickly and a foot to the right. McAllister drew from the high seemingly awkward position he carried the old Remington. It came out with deceptive smoothness and speed, hammer cocked as it came up. He fired once, knew he’d hit, jumped on his flat feet so that he faced slightly to the right and fired again.
    Brenell took one pace backward, stepped stiffly through the doors of the saloon and fell on his back with a loud thud.
    Griff was hurled back against the wall. He fell to the planks and his gun clattered to them also and went off again, this time harmlessly.
    McAllister swung his gun left. One of the men on theground had a gun out, but now it was there he didn’t know what to do with it.
    â€˜Wa-al?’ McAllister asked.
    The man said: ‘This ain’t my fight.’
    â€˜It was a minute back,’ McAllister reminded him.
    The other man said: ‘Hell, if you’re goin’ to shoot, git it over with.’
    McAllister said: ‘Shuck your guns in the dust good an’ easy.’
    They obeyed him. The weapons hit the dust.
    A gabble of voices sounded inside the saloon, a man ran along the sidewalk, others came pounding along the street. The two men climbed to their feet and stood watching McAllister in the lamplight.
    As a man came near from up the street, McAllister said: ‘You, fetch the doctor.’ The man hesitated. McAllister barked: ‘Move—you want men to bleed to death?’ The fellow turned and ran back up the street.
    McAllister found that he was shaking violently. He reloaded the Remington and thrust it away in its sheath. A man came up beside him and asked: ‘What happened?’
    He turned his head and saw that it was Mart Krantz, the sheriff.
    â€˜It started out as a fist-fight,’ McAllister explained. ‘Brenell and his men jumped me. They didn’t do so good. Brenell pulled a gun. I shot him and Griff.’
    â€˜Jesus,’ Mart said and saw a whole lot of complications straight off. His mind worked politically these days. His mind flitted over possible developments. He moved forward and McAllister followed him. As the sheriff dropped to one knee beside Griff, men crowded around. Krantz told somebody to bring a lamp and a man fetched one from the saloon. Griff was alive and groaning. Krantz stood up and said: ‘Carry him into the saloon. Take it easy now.’ He and McAllister went on into the saloon and found a bunch of men gathered around the fallen Clem Brenell. There was scarcely room to get into the place.
    â€˜Give me air. Go on now, get back,’ the sheriff snapped. Men stepped back and revealed Rosa on her knees beside Brenell. She looked up.
    â€˜He’s been hit in the leg,’ she said.
    McAllister sighed with relief.
    Brenell had his eyes closed and his face was pinched up with pain. The sheriff said: ‘Pick him up and lay him on the bar.’ They obeyed him, accompanied by the man’s groans. McAllister saw that his bullet had taken Brenell high in the left thigh. There was a lot of blood. He took