Read Online Kill McAllister by Matt Chisholm - Free Book Online Page B

came Millie with Art Malloy behind her. Miss Stein looked defiantly at her maid and said: “I changed my mind, Millie.”
    â€œChanged your mind, ma’am,” cried the maid. “Well, I haven’t changed mine.”
    Malloy barked: “What’s all this about, McAllister?”
    â€œI’m on my way, marshal,” McAllister told him.
    â€œOver my dead body,” said Malloy.
    â€œYou tell him, marshal,” said Millie.
    â€œHe couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t go,” Nellie Stein said.
    â€œHe won’t live long if he tries riding like he is,” Malloy offered.
    â€œYou won’t do much good standin’ there jawin’, Malloy.” McAllister snarled. “You want to do somethin’ useful, you come along to the hotel with me and help tote my gear.”
    â€œLike – heck I will.”
    Ten minutes later, Malloy was in McAllister’s hotel room helping him with his gear. It was a great relief to McAllister to be clear of Millie and her sharp cockney tongue. Then he and Malloy were heading downtown to the livery and T ousting out the old man there. Malloy sullenly saddled the canelo, muttering that he was helping to kill a man and a lot he cared. If a man wanted to kill himself, he reckoned that was his own business. Getting into the saddle was a real chore for McAllister and Malloy had to give him a boost into the saddle. The old man cackled at McAllister’s discomfort.
    â€œLook kinda like you was kicked by a mule,” was his comment which was received by McAllister with a baleful glare.
    â€œWell,” McAllister said, “thanks for your help, marshal.”
    â€œIf those ribs don’t kill you,” Malloy said, “Forster and his men will.”
    â€œWanta bet?” McAllister demanded.
    â€œAw, shucks. You have that kind of fool’s luck, you’ll get away with it.”
    McAllister smiled.
    â€œThat’s what I’m bankin’ on.” He lifted the canelo’s lines and went out of the yard at a walk. At the gate he turned and lifted a hand in farewell.
    The old man cackled derisively.
    â€œThere goes a danged fool,” he said.
    Malloy looked at him coldly and said: “There goes a brave man.”
    McAllister walked the horse out of town, not daring to lift it into a trot, but once across the creek, he knew that he would have to make a better pace than that if his ride was going to be at all worthwhile. He kneed the canelo into a swinging trot and the animal hit a pace so smooth that he might have known what his master most wanted. McAllister kept it to it for a mile, then, bathed in sweat and in considerable pain, he slowed once more to a walk. The thought hit him that he wasn’t going to make it, that he had made a complete fool of himself and would be forced to return to town, but he kept on going.
    The sun came up and warmed his back. He started to think about his plans, working out in his mind how far along the Nations line Sam would go before he swung the herd north into Kansas, how long it would take Forster to locate it. Thinking took his mind off his pain. He lifted the pace again and the canelo hit a foxtrot that was the easiest pace to bear. They made better progress and McAllister’s mood cheered. Suddenly, it seemed possible that he would make out. He began to see slight hope that he would be able to reach Sam before the Kansas men did.
    He stopped and rested at noon, easing himself carefully from the saddle and wondering how the hell he was going to get back up again. He loosened the horse’s girth and took the bit from its mouth so that it could graze the better. Then he lay down in the horse’s shade and slept.
    He slept longer than he had intended, as he saw from the sun when he woke. Getting to his feet, he washed his mouth out with water, tightened the girth, put the bit back in the horse’s mouth and started to get into the saddle. Once