Kill McAllister by Matt Chisholm Page A

half-snarled. “An’ I’m hungry as all get out.”
    â€œI’m afraid,” the young man said, “we can’t feed you solids yet awhile. Maybe some soup, huh, Millie?”
    The girl said: “I’ll get some right away, doctor.” McAllister noticed she talked in a funny way like Nellie Stein did.
    â€œMa’am,” McAllister said, suddenly peppery, “if’n you don’t aim to go rustle me up a man’s size steak don’t you bother to stir yourself none.”
    â€œAnd what does that mean in English?” the girl demanded pertly and McAllister made a mental note that he would have to do something about her. He got a good look at her and saw that she wasn’t much over eighteen; she was pretty with a fresh face, bright eyes and a round full figure. Just the way he liked to see a female parceled. There were compensations to being nearly beaten to death and he liked counting compensations of this kind.
    â€œIt means, miss,” Malloy said, “that if you don’t give the patient a steak he is going to have your scalp.” He said it very solemnly. The girl flushed up and looked mad.
    â€œI wouldn’t advise solids,” said the young doctor.
    McAllister fought pain and got up onto his elbows.
    â€œMcAllisters never take advice,” he said and was pleased that his voice was strong again. “If I don’t get somethin’ solid inside me I’m a-goin’ to climb outa this here bed and get me some.”
    â€œMr. McAllister,” the doctor said, a little flustered, “I wouldn’tadvise—”
    The girl pushed forward. “Didn’t you hear, doctor,” she said. “McAllisters never take advice. You should know by now that this kind of patient needs bullying. You lie down now, Mr. McAllister, and do as the doctor tells you. He knows best.” McAllister glared at her in fury and strove to get up. She gave a cry of impatience, took him by the shoulders and gently but firmly pushed him so that his head was back on the pillow again. Her touch and the smell of her was kind of nice. “Don’t you dare move, now. Why, you’ve three broken ribs and you’re all cut and torn something awful. I never saw—”
    â€œYou mean you’ve seen me?” McAllister demanded.
    â€œI found you, didn’t I?” she snapped.
    McAllister quietened.
    â€œSo, it was you found me.”
    â€œYes, it was.”
    â€œI reckon that gives you a kind of a right, then. Tell you what, doc. I’ll drink this durned soup if’n this ministering angel ministers it to me. How’s that?”
    The doctor grinned.
    â€œThat sounds like a good compromise,” he said.
    Malloy cleared his throat and stamped to the door.
    â€œI’m wastin’ my time here,” he said. “The boy’ll live. McAllister, you going to tell me who did this to you?”
    McAllister said: “I don’t have to. You know. And he needed an army to help him.”
    â€œI guess he would at that. But knowing who did it doesn’t help. He rode out of town last night.”
    â€œWhich way’d he go?”
    â€œSouth.”
    Malloy opened the door and McAllister said: “Wait, marshal. How’re the trail herds comin’ along?”
    Malloy told him: “Last one’s around twenty miles south of town right now.”
    â€œThat the Struthers’ outfit?”
    Malloy frowned.
    â€œNo. Nobody heard of the Struthers’ outfit.” He closed the door behind him. McAllister started worrying. What had happened to Sam? Had he given up the idea of heading for this town? Had he reckoned that there was too much risk and taken the herd further west? Or had the whole outfit been simply wiped out?
    The doctor picked up his bag, preparing to leave.
    â€œI leave you in good hands, Mr. McAllister,” he said. The girl looked as if she had been given a prize she didn’t