Read Online McAllister Rides by Matt Chisholm - Free Book Online Page A

Sighing with satisfaction, he put the jug beside him.
    â€œAn old man needs that,” he said. “Three things an old man needs: good food, strong liquor and a strong woman. I don’t ask nothin’ else of life now.”
    There was a short silence during which both the old man and McAllister loaded and fired their pipes. Then McAllister said: “Took me a good few days to find you, Mr. Islop.”
    â€œReckon it would. Don’t have too many visitors these days.” He chuckled a little. The sound was like the cackling of a hearty hen. “Guess my neighbours keep ’em away.”
    McAllister smiled.
    â€œCould be. Name’s Remington McAllister.”
    The old man cocked his head.
    â€œMemory ain’t so good now, but I recollect a feller by that name. Tall dark feller, a regular hellion. I disremember his given name.”
    â€œChadwick?”
    â€œChad. That was it.”
    â€œMy daddy.”
    Islop leaned forward, squinting at McAllister.
    â€œLook a lot like him, but darker. Yep, there was an Indian wench dropped a pup to him. Could that be …?”
    â€œIt could.”
    â€œCheyenne, wasn’t she?”
    â€œI reckon.”
    â€œSo you’re Chad’s boy. Kinda brings back memories. Have another drink.” They both drank again. McAllister felt his head swim a little. He was starting to feel carefree. “There’ll be chow soon. My women cook real dandy. I taught ’em white style and they learned real good.” McAllister’s mouth watered. He hadn’t had a good meal in days.
    The old man went on: “Chad an’ me wintered two years with the Cheyenne. We had us a hell of a time.” His mind wandered off as he searched through his memories. “I recollect we rid down Sante Fé way. We sure whirled that town around a piece and let her fly. There was a gentle-born Mex gal there old Chad sure cottoned to. She sure was a beauty. Reckon there was a son. Say, you could be…”
    McAllister nodded.
    â€œI could be.”
    â€œDidn’t you know your mother, son?”
    â€œNo, I never did.”
    â€œToo bad.”
    â€œI got by.”
    The old man shot him a piercing glance. “You come lookin’ for me because I was ole Chad’s sidekick?”
    â€œNo, sir. I heard about you from the Comancheros.”
    That brought the old fellow wide awake. He put the trap down and took another long drink from the jug.
    â€œWhich ones? You get the
jefe’s
name?”
    â€œNo. But he was a fat fellow I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw a cow. Eagle Man was with him when I rid in.”
    â€œI know the one. What you doin’ visitin’ the Comancheros?”
    â€œLooking for somebody.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œA woman.”
    â€œName?”
    â€œMrs. Bourn. Young with dark hair and blue eyes.”
    â€œSo the
jefe
sent you to me?”
    â€œHe wanted me off’n his back.”
    A woman came out of the shack and spoke to the old man who rose and beckoned McAllister inside. When he had gotten used to the gloom McAllister found that the interior was neat and trim. All the furniture was hand-made from the table and chairs to the bunk that stood against one wall. The stove and oven had been made of clay and stone. There were animal skins in plenty and the walls were hung with bright Navajo blankets. There was an air of primitive luxury about the place that pleased McAllister. The old man may have gone to the Indians, but he had kept up his standards. They sat at the table and the two Indian women hovered to offer them food. One was in her prime, the one McAllister had seen driving the horses, and was almost as wide as she was tall. This was the one detailed for the heavy work, he guessed. The other was younger, barely out of her teens and comely. She looked as though she had Mexican blood. They didn’t smile or speak and when Islop waved them away they sat with their