McAllister Makes War Read Free Page A

Darcy said: “I heard Malloy was killed.”
    McAllister told him: “Two men walked into his office and cut down on him with a greener.”
    Darcy tapped McAllister’s badge with a forefinger.
    â€œThat gives you a personal interest, I reckon.”
    â€œSure does.”
    They were very casual about it, but tension came between the two of them. Darcy had treed more town marshals in his time than any other man alive.
    â€œAin’t many Texas men town marshals, Rem. Not in Kansas.”
    â€œAin’t many Texas men had a friend shot down in front of their eyes, Fred.”
    They eyed each other like wary dogs.
    â€œYou get a good look at the men who did it?”
    â€œI’d know ‘em if they grew beards, I’d know them twenty years from now. And I’m goin’ to find ‘em.”
    Darcy laughed.
    â€œYou don’t thinly them fellers stayed around here after doin’ that. Hell, they’d be crazy.”
    â€œMaybe they did and maybe they didn’t, but I’ll find ‘em.”
    There was a short silence and Remington added: “You know who did it, Fred?”
    â€œNo,” Darcy said, “I don’t have no idea.”
    McAllister knew he did. He started to go on, nodding his farewell.
    â€œCome around and have a drink with me,” Darcy invited.
    â€œI’ll take you up on that.”
    He walked the town, visited the stock-pens and the railroad spurs, walked through the smell of cattle, the dust and the bawling. A crowd of punchers with their long staffs with the pricker at the end were mouching near the line, men were driving cows aboard the train. McAllister turned away – this part of the cattle trade always sickened him a little. He didn’t like to see the wild creatures who had run free on the prairies and in the brush being packed into wagons. He looked out over the prairie to the holding grounds and saw the thousands of cattle grazing and wondered when the northward flow of the newfound wealth of Texas would stop. Then he turned back toward the office, found a small café and went in for breakfast. He had just enough for ham, eggs, fried potatoes and coffee. He would have to ask Carson for some money or he’d starve.
    He returned to the office and spent the day dozing at his desk. He wasn’t a man who believed in action when it wasn’t necessary and he hadn’t made up his mind what he was going to do or even what he could do about Art Malloy. What he wanted to know was: had the men who had killed him come of their own accord or had they been sent? If they had been sent, any one of a half-dozen men could have sent them.
    He had his eyes closed and his hat over them, chair tilted back and feet on desk when he heard the door to the street open softly. Before he could move he heard a female gasp of horror. He pushed his hat back, opened his eyes, let all four legs of the chair fall flat and took his feet from the desk.
    In the center of the office stood a vision. Golden hair and blue eyes that were now wide with indignation, dress of green silk, bonnet bright with flowers. Her figure was superlative, slim waist and full breasts. She was maybe a couple of years older than he was.
    â€œHow can you sit there?” she demanded.
    McAllister rose to his feet.
    â€œWa-al, ma’am, I bend my legs an’ I -”
    â€œAnd now you can joke.”
    â€œMa’am?”
    â€œArt Malloy has not been dead more than a few hours-”
    â€œMay I ask you name, ma’am?”
    She drew herself up,
    â€œI’m Miss Emily Penshurst.”
    â€œAny relation to the banker?”
    â€œI’m his daughter.”
    â€œAn’ you were a friend of Art’s?”
    She sobered a little, but the indignation still showed in her fine eyes.
    â€œI was a friend of his. Both my father and I were.”
    â€œWere you an’ Art engaged to be married?”
    She hesitated and McAllister interpreted