Free Blood on Mcallister by Matt Chisholm Page A

rope there?’
    Hank had the rope there with a noose already built. A great shout went up. Men pushed, the crowd started to surge forward. Two men lunged up against McAllister and seizedhim by the arms. McAllister took them by their necks and smashed their heads together. As they reeled back from him, the crowd recoiled for a second and in that time, McAllister and the sheriff had drawn their guns.
    Mart said: ‘Stand back, men. We’re goin’ to walk outa here. Put that gun up or somebody’ll get hurt.’
    The two guns made all the difference, but they didn’t quieten the crowd’s rage. The shouting went on so the sound battered against the two lone men. Those at the back wanted to come forward, those at the front wanted to get away from the two guns they respected so much. McAllister picked up his shirt and vest and said: ‘See you later, Rosa.’ The woman’s face was white.
    The sheriff started edging toward the door; McAllister followed him; the crowd moved steadily after them.
    A man yelled: ‘You ain’t doin’ yourself any good, Krantz. We’ll have the bastard an’ we’ll have you too if you stand in the way.’
    Krantz shouted: ‘I heard that, Williams. That was a direct threat to a peace officer.’
    They howled back at him. He and McAllister reached the door and somehow got out onto the sidewalk. The crowd surged out after them. They started down the street toward the sheriff’s office. Men began to run ahead of them and both McAllister and the sheriff knew that it would take only one shot from one of them to start a blood-bath. In seconds the street could be a shambles. McAllister was sweating in spite of the fact that the top of his body was bare. By the street lights the rage on the men’s faces stood out dramatically. It was like some fantastic scene created by the imagination of Daumier—the leaping shadows, the strident yells, the darting figures and the small clear circle around the two lonely figures, a circle that was kept in being by their two guns and their reputations. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they reached the office and backs to the door, the sheriff gave his warning.
    â€˜You will disperse to your homes,’ he told them. ‘Go on home now. This can bring you nothin’ but trouble.’
    Their only reply was a volume of curses and insults. He and McAllister backed into the office and slammed the door. At once, Mart dropped the bar on the door. At once, thecourage of the mob rose. The shouting increased, rocks were hurled, cracking against the door. One shattered a window and the glass showered inside. Mart started putting up the shutters and said: ‘Find a shotgun, Rem.’
    McAllister went to the rack on the wall and found a greener. When the shutters were up, he lit the lamp. As its dim light blossomed Krantz turned to him and said: ‘By God, boy, you done it this time. I shoulda known you’d bring trouble with you.’ He said it without bitterness.

Six
    Mart Krantz was worried. It was midnight and the mob was still out there. They were drinking steadily and with the consumption of alcohol, their courage rose and their anger increased. Their champion lay on the bar in the saloon with a bullet in his leg. Their pockets and their civic pride had been hurt. They had no liking for the wounded man; in fact, they disliked him for his arrogance to a man, but he was their man and an outsider had come and done this to him. They wanted the stranger’s hide. And they meant to have it.
    The sheriff was in an impossible position. After all, these were his people. It was these men whose votes had put him in office. He was too independent a man to let that color his actions, but the idea of using force against his own people was repugnant to him. But he had another worry too. Clem Brenell’s father was a big man in the country and he could stir up real trouble. There was little