Kill McAllister by Matt Chisholm

had found him.
    The next time he woke, it was dark and there was a light burning softly in the room. A slight and pleasant smell teased his nostrils. He opened his eyes and looked around him. Sitting in a chair no more than a few feet from him with some sewing on her lap was a woman. A girl. No more than a couple of years older than himself and a beauty – black hair and skin as pale as cream; eyes large and eloquent; a mouth soft, full and perfectly shaped. The body beneath was as perfect. Everything a man could desire.
    â€œSo,” she said, her eyes meeting his and that lovely mouth smiling, “you decided to come alive.” She had a funny foreign accent that was as clearcut as crystal. Her dress, he noticed, waslow-cut like an evening gown might be and he could see the start of the soft swell of her breasts, milk-white.
    He smiled back at her.
    â€œI thought I was in heaven for a moment,” he said.
    She turned her head away and darted him a look from the corner of her fine eyes.
    â€œCompliments already,” she said. “Macready warned me that I should not stay in here.”
    â€œAnd who is Macready?” he asked.
    â€œMy manager.”
    â€œWhat an occupation, managing somebody like you! And what might your name be, ma’am?”
    â€œI’m Nellie Stein.”
    The truth came to him. This was the famous Nellie Stein, the English opera star who was making a triumphant tour of America. She had received a tempestuous welcome throughout the whole of the West and was now concluding her tour along the railroad cowtowns of Kansas. It almost took his breath away that he could find himself lying in bed with so famous a beauty so near.
    â€œWhy, ma’am,” he said, “you’ve surely struck me all of a heap. Why, is this your bed?”
    She laughed and her laugh was pure music.
    â€œNo, my sacrifice has not been great. This is my maid’s room. She is a soft-hearted girl, Betty. She insisted we put you in here.”
    â€œHow’s she makin’ out?”
    â€œWe made up a bed in my room for her.”
    â€œI’m real sorry to put you to all this inconvenience.”
    â€œAll we want is for you to get well.”
    He thought about that, finding himself in a very weak and emotional condition.
    â€œI’m thankin’ you, ma’am,” he said. “I reckon you saved my life.”
    â€œPerhaps,” she said. “But Marshal Malloy was of the opinion that you are indestructible.”
    He smiled, rolled his head to one side and fell asleep again.
    When he awoke again, there were two men in the room and one of them was Art Malloy, puffing at his gigantic mustache. He carried a revolver on his right hip and he was chewing on an unlit cigar. He squinted at McAllister worriedly from under the broadbrim of his hat. It was still night and the lamp was burning softly. The other man was young and clean-shaven. He had spotless hands that looked as soft and sensitive as a woman’s. There wasa quiet confidence about him that impressed McAllister. This man smiled as McAllister’s gaze met his.
    â€œWell,” he said, “I guess you’re still alive, but I can’t say I know how.”
    McAllister grinned.
    â€œIt’s a family trick,” he said.
    Malloy came to the side of the bed and as he moved, McAllister saw that there was another person in the room. It was a girl and he saw that she wore a lace apron and cap such as he had seen in pictures, but never in real life. He reckoned she was Nellie Stein’s maid. Before he could get a good look at her, Malloy was in the way again and saying: “How’d you feel, boy?”
    â€œFine, just fine.”
    â€œThat’s plainly a durn lie.”
    â€œThere ain’t nothin’ wrong with me won’t heal,” McAllister said.
    â€œYou don’t know what’s wrong with you.”
    â€œI’m breathin’, ain’t I?” McAllister