Free McAllister Justice by Matt Chisholm

wake him for breakfast.
    When Jenny Mann said she was going home for a while, she told the truth, but not the whole truth. True, she crossed the street, but she walked on past her brother-in-law’s store and continued until she came to George Paston’s saloon. This she entered by a side door at the top of the outside stairs.
    She was nervous as she always was when she crept in here after dark. Till now she had been lucky and nobody had seen her. That the respectable people in town would learn of her relationship with George Paston was her great fear. George had demanded from her a promise that she would never be caught entering here. George liked a friend in every camp and Jenny was his friend in respectable circles in town.
    She ran down the corridor and went quickly into George’s room and shut the door behind her. Paston wasn’t there. It was always his privilege to be late for an assignment. She went through the office into the bedroom beyond. There was less chance of anybody coming here and discovering her. Here there was an oil-lamp burning low. She sat on the bed at the extreme edge of the light’s circle. It was ten minutes before she heard the office door open. She stayed still until she heard George’s voice say: “You there, Jen?”
    She got up and walked to the doorway. At the sight of her, he turned and quickly locked the door to the corridor. When he came to her, he gripped her by both arms and looked into her face, all admiration for her. Paston was smart. When he was alone with a woman he looked at nothing but her and that was the kind of flattery a woman could take a lot of.
    â€œBy God,” he said softly, “you get more damned beautiful every time I see you.” He bent his head, she tilted hers back as she stood on tiptoe and they kissed.
    She relaxed as he slid his arms around her and allowed him to run his mouth down the length of her slender neck to the curve where it met her shoulders. She gave a small shudder of pleasure.
    Then suddenly, she was cool, stepping away from him.
    â€œGeorge,” she said, “I know you play both ends against the middle, but I shouldn’t like to think that you had tricked me.”
    He looked hurt. “How would I want to trick you?”
    â€œTricks are as natural as breathing to you.”
    â€œA man has to survive.”
    â€œYou told me you didn’t have anything to do with the gold steals.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œBut Diblon suspects you.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make me guilty.”
    â€œHe also suspects Fennimore.”
    â€œWho wouldn’t? He’s a natural suspect. The sight of him is enough to make a lawman’s hackles rise. Now, don’t you go worrying sweetheart. Little George is playin’ this square.”
    She watched him, trying to fathom the thoughts behind that smiling face, wishing that she could hate him as much as she distrusted him and knew she never could.
    â€œIf you’re playing square,” she said, “why is it you want me to bring information out of the marshal’s office?”
    â€œA man in my position has to keep himself informed. Besides, it was my gun found beside Diblon. That kind of evidence makes me nervous.”
    â€œAn innocent man has nothing to fear from the law.”
    â€œDon’t make me laugh. The kind of law you have in a town like this would hang a man as soon as look at him. A man like McAllister don’t give a damn whose neck the noose goes around so long as it goes around somebody’s.”
    â€œNo,” she said firmly, “he’s not that kind.”
    The smile hovered off his face. “I didn’t like the way you said that.”
    Jenny said: “He’s tough and ruthless, but he’s straight.”
    He poured himself a drink and knocked it back, then stood brooding, staring into his empty glass. His mood seemed to have changed abruptly. “What else did you