Blood on Mcallister
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This was one gunfight it looked like nobody was going to win...
Rem McAllister had been in plenty of tough corners in the course of his violent career. But this was one of the toughest. He stood facing the town's local gun-wizard and his pals, revolver in hand. He reckoned he could take him on and win - hell, he'd licked better men in his time. But what made this particular shoot-out so special was the fact that an assassin was waiting to put a bullet through McAllister and his opponent. And McAllister knew it-knew, too, that he was going to need all his courage, speed and skill to get out of this situation alive...
Matt Chisholm, master of authentic Western excitement, has written a real McAllister adventure that's a non-stop breathtaking crazy saga of violence and mayhem from beginning to end!
this grass while there were still buffalo around. They’d given him a hell of a lot of trouble, his cows had got caught up with the buffalo and had drifted off. Other things. He’d had Indian scares till he never slept without a hand on a rifle. But they’d survived. The country was opening up now. Settlers were moving in, but he’d foreseen that. It was bound to come. The natural way of things. He’d home-steaded himself, got his riders to do the same so they checkered the water-rights. Many of the
decoration,’ the sheriff said. McAllister told him: ‘You ain’t goin’ to fire on ‘em an’ you know it, Mart.’ ‘I can bluff to the last minute.’ ‘Then they hang me. No, sir, I don’t fancy that. Open that door and save yourself buyin’ a new one.’ The usually taciturn sheriff looked distraught. ‘Hell, I can’t do this to you, boy,’ he said. ‘You ain’t doin’ nothin’ to me, Mart. Open that door an’ quit foolin’ around.’ The noise from the crowd was deafening now. Mart gave McAllister a long look
him. ‘Gag ‘em,’ McAllister said. ‘The longer they’re here, the better.’ Billy obeyed him. Shultz’s eyes looked at them with murder in them. McAllister knew he should kill the pair of them, but he didn’t have the stomach for that kind of thing. If he didn’t do that, he should hand them over to Mart Krantz. But there wasn’t time for that. He wanted to be in the saddle and getting things moving against Brenell. He holstered the Remington and saddled the canelo which whinnied with pleasure as he
small, but it could kill a man. McAllister respected it. ‘Stay right there. Don’t move a hand,’ Shultz said. He walked backward to the door behind him and spoke to Moose over his shoulder. McAllister tried to see the girl, but he could not. Then Shultz slammed the door and beckoned him to go ahead. McAllister walked out of the room and Shultz followed. They went down the rear stairs, along the corridor and reached the storeroom door. McAllister glanced around at Shultz. The man was watching him
McAllister bought them a drink, the whole world was a comrade. McAllister spared a thought for Gage and his virtuous teetotal life, felt pity and faded the picture out with another drink. The night roistered on and finally Frank decided he’d best go see if the town was behaving itself while he could still stand. McAllister thought that bed wouldn’t be a bad idea. Frank said he’d find him the best hotel in town, nothing was too good for his old friend Remington McAllister, but first he must hand