Kill McAllister Read Online Free PDF Page B

upturned bucket at the barn door.
    McAllister dismounted stiffly and said: “Howdy, pop.”
    The old man grunted, got up and said: “Dollar a day.” Then he eyed the canelo and sucked his loose lips in appreciation of a fine horse.
    â€œDon’t see many of these around,” he said.
    McAllister paid him a dollar and walked back onto the street. Now he was here he was undecided what his first move should be. He wanted a bath and a good meal, he wanted to wash the dust of the trail from his throat. The marshal’s sign swinging in the wind decided that he would postpone enjoying any of these. He turned left and walked toward the lawman’s office.
    When he entered the office he saw a small man sitting behind a large desk with a pen in his hand. His hat was on the desk at his side and his head was revealed as not being over-endowed with hair. The man’s mustache was so large and black that it made an otherwise strong chin look weak. McAllister reckoned he was aged about thirty. He was one of those wiry men who never look as though they amount to much, but who keep going when the big ones have faltered. His eyes were pale and sleepy, but McAllister was not deceived.
    â€œHowdy,” said McAllister.
    â€œHowdy.”
    â€œYou the marshal?”
    â€œYeah.”
    A Yankee. Which was what McAllister expected in a town like this.
    â€œName’s Remington McAllister.”
    â€œArt Malloy.” The little man extended a bony hand across the desk and they shook. The hand McAllister gripped was like rawhide. “Any kin to Chadwick McAllister?”
    â€œSon.”
    â€œInterestin’. Seat.”
    McAllister took a couple of books and a quirt from a chair and sat. The little man peered at him for a moment, laid down his pen with the patient air of a man who has been interrupted in a distasteful task and said: “What can I do for you?”
    McAllister said: “I come up the trail with a herd from the Brasa da. We come through the Nations and got stopped this side of the Kansas line by a bunch of Jayhawkers.”
    â€œKnew your daddy way back,” the little man said. “Go ahead.”
    â€œThey jumped us one night. Killed our boss.”
    â€œWho owned the herd?”
    â€œColonel Struthers.”
    The marshal nodded. He’d heard of the colonel. Who hadn’t?
    â€œI come ahead looking for the man who led them.”
    McAllister thought he saw a smile flicker for a brief moment beneath that gigantic mustache, but he could have been mistaken.
    â€œWell, that’s layin’ it on the line,” the little man said. “You know what this man looks like?”
    â€œSure. He’s tall, over six feet. Fair hair and beard. Maybe a little red. He tried to talk rough, but I reckon he was an educated man.”
    â€œThat could be a number of men, couldn’t it?”
    â€œI reckon. But add this – on his third right hand finger, he wore a gold ring. On his right hand, back of it, he had a tattoo mark. His nose was broke in a fight.”
    This time the grin showed.
    â€œYou sure took a good look at this man, friend.”
    â€œHe rid into our camp with a dozen men, the night before he raided us and tried to con us out of some cows. I saw him pretty close in bright firelight.”
    â€œSo you aren’t certain it was him raided your herd?”
    â€œYou think there was two bunches of cow-thieves after our cows?”
    â€œI don’t think anything. I’m a lawman. I’m listening to you to see how much proof you have.”
    â€œYou don’t reckon I’ve gotten much.”
    â€œNot much.”
    â€œSo there ain’t anythin’ you can do for me.”
    â€œNot at the moment.”
    â€œThen I’m wastin’ my time.”
    â€œYou’ve not wasted anythin’. What makes you think he’s in my town?”
    â€œI trailed the cattle as far as the holding ground.”
    â€œThat