He dreamed of being hunted in the dark on the open prairie. There wasn’t anywhere to hide and every time a man came for him and he fired the bullets went right through him. He reckoned he was being hunted by ghosts. He woke in a sweat and found himself all tangled up in the bed clothes.
It was dawn and the light was beginning to come in at the window.
He assessed himself and said out loud: “I feel pretty good.”
He got his legs over the side of the bed and there was a considerable amount of pain, but it was bearable. All the sleep he had had and the nourishment he had taken the night before, had done him some good. He stood up; the room rocked a couple of times, then steadied. He smiled with satisfaction and walked gingerly across the room. Every muscle in his body ached, but it was bearable. He pulled back the curtains, hunted around and found his longjohns on the top of the bureau. It took him a long time to climb into them, because it was almost impossible to bend his body, but he finally made it. After that he lowered himself carefully and painfully to the chair for a rest, all the time listening for the sounds of anybody moving about the house. He heard nothing. If madame was a singer, that meant she went to bed late and rose late. That suited him.
He got his strength up again, eased himself to his feet and pulled on his shirt. This was living hell; he sweated, cursed and winced, glad that there was nobody here to see him making a fool of himself. Getting into his pants was even worse, but when he had them on he felt so triumphant that he could have shouted with joy. His boots stumped him. He tried and tried again, but he couldn’t get them on. Finally, he was forced to stamp his feet into them. While he was doing this, the door flew open and Millie appeared. She looked so mad that for a moment she had him cowered.
“Mr. McAllister I What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing, sir?”
“Just climbin’ into my duds, ma’am, is all.”
“Then you can just climb out of them again.”
“Can’t be done. I’ve got to see a man.”
Another female figure appeared in the doorway. This was Nellie Stein in a silk dressing-gown, hair in curlers, but still managing to look vital and beautiful.
“What’s this, Millie?” she demanded, aghast.
“Mr. McAllister seems to think he’s going, ma’am.”
“Then he may think again.” Mistress looked as mad as the maid. “Get back into bed this instant, sir.”
“Ladies,” McAllister declared, “you sure got me scared an’ no mistake, but it don’t make no difference. I got a friend in trouble an’ I’ve got to be there when it happens. You’d do the same in my boots. Wouldn’t you now?”
Nellie Stein said: “At the moment, I am concerned with your welfare, Mr. McAllister.”
“Call me Rem.”
Both ladies toosed their heads. They came bustling over to him, one on either side and tried to force him out of the chair back to the bed.
“Look out,” McAllister cried. “You’re so strong, you moved a rib.”
They jumped back in horror.
“Millie,” Miss Stein said, “run and get Mr. Malloy. Perhaps he can make this foolish young man see some sense.”
Millie ran out without a word.
McAllister found his gun and strapped it on.
Miss Stein’s eyes snapped with temper.
“Did Millie tell you my story, ma’am?” McAllister asked.
“Yes, she did, but that doesn’t make any difference.”
“You ain’t the kind to let a friend down, Nellie.”
She softened suddenly.
“I don’t want you to let your friend down, Mr. McAllister,” she said. “It’s just that if you get on a horse you’re liable to kill yourself. See it from our point of view. We—”
“I know, you saved my life an’, believe me, I’m grateful. If there’s ever anythin’ I can do for you … you name it. But right now, I have to ride. Look, ma’am, if I stayed here while my friends were bein’ killed, you savin’ me wouldn’t amount to a row of beans. Can’t you see that?”
She sat down. She looked near to tears. McAllister thought he was starting to win.
“I can see that. If I were a man, that is how I should feel.”
“Then you be a real angel. Rustle me up some grub an’ I’ll be on my way.”
“But you’ll be careful. Promise me that.”
“Promise. I’m always careful. Now, the grub, ma’am.”
She stood.
“Very well. I suspect I’m doing wrong, but you leave me no alternative.” She went out of the room and McAllister walked up and down to test his strength. He didn’t feel like wrestling a longhorn, but he felt better than he would have thought possible yesterday. After a while, Nellie Stein came back with a parcel in her hands. On her heels came Millie with Art Malloy behind her. Miss Stein looked defiantly at her maid and said: “I changed my mind, Millie.”
“Changed your mind, ma’am,” cried the maid. “Well, I haven’t changed mine.”
Malloy barked: “What’s all this about, McAllister?”
“I’m on my way, marshal,” McAllister told him.
“Over my dead body,” said Malloy.
“You tell him, marshal,” said Millie.
“He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t go,” Nellie Stein said.
“He won’t live long if he tries riding like he is,” Malloy offered.
“You 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.”
“Like – 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 Tousting 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.
“Look kinda like you was kicked by a mule,” was his comment which was received by McAllister with a baleful glare.
“Well,” McAllister said, “thanks for your help, marshal.”
“If those ribs don’t kill you,” Malloy said, “Forster and his men will.”
“Wanta bet?” McAllister demanded.
“Aw, shucks. You have that kind of fool’s luck, you’ll get away with it.”
McAllister smiled.
“That’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.
“There 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 more he forced himself through the wall of pain and sat shaking and sweating in the saddle. He shook the lines and swung south-west.