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Allister (Part 2)
- -6--
The night was silent and cool. McCormick looked around. The moonlight gave the town an almost ghostly appearance, but at least he could see a little. The windowless jail had had no light at all. He stood still, just surveying his surroundings and then walked west toward the livery stable. He passed the general store, but didn't bother trying to look through the windows. They were all dark so no candles were burning. The livery stable was facing east so he walked straight inside, keeping the noise down as much as possible. There was one horse inside and it was the sheriff's.
He must be in town, McCormick thought.
He turned around and walked back outside into the street. He knew there wasn't anything of any interest inside the general store so instead of wasting his time checking it, he crossed the street and entered the saloon. It was empty as he had expected it would be. It was probably close to three o'clock in the morning, he figured. Some of the moonlight filtered through the windows and through the entrance so McCormick had no trouble finding the stairs that led up to the hotel. He ascended carefully, with his feet spread out so that he was only walking on the edges of each step where they had been nailed so that maybe they wouldn't squeak under his weight. They didn't and there weren't many steps anyway, so he was on the second floor within a few seconds. There was a long corridor before him with several green doors on either side. He didn't really know where to start. There wasn't as much light upstairs as there had been in the saloon below and he could only see the three doors closest to the stairs. He could always kick the doors in, but he didn't want to do that for fear of alerting the denizens therein.
He stood for a moment, pondering the few options he had. There were no candles burning in any of the rooms as far as he could tell. No light flickered beneath any of the doors. He stepped to the closest door and pressed his ear against it. Silence. He tried the door knob. It turned without resistance. McCormick figured it was also new. Everything in the town save for the buildings themselves seemed to be new. He pushed the door open and peered in, gun drawn. The room was empty. Moonlight shone through the room's window and in its pallid glow he could see a bed, neatly turned down, a night stand with a lantern on top, and a water basin. He went inside and closed the door behind him. It was a nice room. It would have certainly been outside of his price range. He looked underneath the bed and found nothing. Just as immaculate as the rest of the room. He focused his attention on the nightstand. It was expensive. Probably made of cherry or walnut. It was hard to tell in the dim light. He opened the top drawer and found a stack of bonds. He pocketed them. He couldn't read them in the dark so he decided to wait until daybreak. The second and final drawer was deeper than the first had been and was much more interesting. Bills had been stacked to the brim throughout. A lot of big bills with a few fives and ones, but there were hundreds and fifties, mostly. He took as much as he could fit in his pockets as a sort of compensation for being jailed for no good reason and then crawled out through the window and onto the roof. He made his way across the length of the building, peeping in windows. None of the rooms on the northern side of the hotel were occupied. He climbed around to the southern side and did exactly as he had done on the other side, creeping along and looking through the windows. The southern side was the same as the northern side: deserted. He put his pistol back in its holster and got down on his knees. He was about fifteen feet from the ground but he had survived higher falls. He was six feet six inches tall himself so he could expect to knock that much off the fall at least.
He found a grip on the edge of the roof and lowered himself down. He dangled there for a moment, finding his nerve, and then he dropped. The landing wasn't as graceful as he would have hoped for, but he only scratched himself a bit. He had had worse in his days. He clambered back to his feet and looked around to make sure no one saw him fall although he knew no one had. The town was dead. It occurred to him that Katherine Monroe might have seen him, but he doubted it. She seemed uptight and high strung so he figured that if she had have seen him on the roof of the hotel, she would have probably shot at him without hesitation. Even with the full moon, it was too dark to recognize anyone from a distance.
McCormick stood still, wiped the sweat from his brow. He was stumped. He wouldn't admit it to a soul, but it was the truth. Where had everyone gone?
And then a gunshot shattered the silence and McCormick felt a bullet graze his thigh. He gripped the wound with one hand and drew one of his pistols with the other. He didn't know where the shot had came from or who had fired it.
Monroe?
--7--
It wasn't Monroe. Another shot rang out, but missed him though only by a bit. McCormick hit the dirt and crawled beneath the saloon's back stoop. He knew where the shots were coming from now. Or at least he was aware of the general direction. Someone was shooting at him from the west somewhere. There were no buildings to hide behind in that direction, no cover. McCormick was confident that if he could just see the shooter, that he would be able to hit him despite the darkness.
And he got his wish. Up ahead from where McCormick was lying, about twenty yards west of the inn, McCormick saw a shadow moving around. He strained his eyes. He didn't want to shoot Monroe. She was probably just scared. But...
The night was silent and cool. McCormick looked around. The moonlight gave the town an almost ghostly appearance, but at least he could see a little. The windowless jail had had no light at all. He stood still, just surveying his surroundings and then walked west toward the livery stable. He passed the general store, but didn't bother trying to look through the windows. They were all dark so no candles were burning. The livery stable was facing east so he walked straight inside, keeping the noise down as much as possible. There was one horse inside and it was the sheriff's.
He must be in town, McCormick thought.
He turned around and walked back outside into the street. He knew there wasn't anything of any interest inside the general store so instead of wasting his time checking it, he crossed the street and entered the saloon. It was empty as he had expected it would be. It was probably close to three o'clock in the morning, he figured. Some of the moonlight filtered through the windows and through the entrance so McCormick had no trouble finding the stairs that led up to the hotel. He ascended carefully, with his feet spread out so that he was only walking on the edges of each step where they had been nailed so that maybe they wouldn't squeak under his weight. They didn't and there weren't many steps anyway, so he was on the second floor within a few seconds. There was a long corridor before him with several green doors on either side. He didn't really know where to start. There wasn't as much light upstairs as there had been in the saloon below and he could only see the three doors closest to the stairs. He could always kick the doors in, but he didn't want to do that for fear of alerting the denizens therein.
He stood for a moment, pondering the few options he had. There were no candles burning in any of the rooms as far as he could tell. No light flickered beneath any of the doors. He stepped to the closest door and pressed his ear against it. Silence. He tried the door knob. It turned without resistance. McCormick figured it was also new. Everything in the town save for the buildings themselves seemed to be new. He pushed the door open and peered in, gun drawn. The room was empty. Moonlight shone through the room's window and in its pallid glow he could see a bed, neatly turned down, a night stand with a lantern on top, and a water basin. He went inside and closed the door behind him. It was a nice room. It would have certainly been outside of his price range. He looked underneath the bed and found nothing. Just as immaculate as the rest of the room. He focused his attention on the nightstand. It was expensive. Probably made of cherry or walnut. It was hard to tell in the dim light. He opened the top drawer and found a stack of bonds. He pocketed them. He couldn't read them in the dark so he decided to wait until daybreak. The second and final drawer was deeper than the first had been and was much more interesting. Bills had been stacked to the brim throughout. A lot of big bills with a few fives and ones, but there were hundreds and fifties, mostly. He took as much as he could fit in his pockets as a sort of compensation for being jailed for no good reason and then crawled out through the window and onto the roof. He made his way across the length of the building, peeping in windows. None of the rooms on the northern side of the hotel were occupied. He climbed around to the southern side and did exactly as he had done on the other side, creeping along and looking through the windows. The southern side was the same as the northern side: deserted. He put his pistol back in its holster and got down on his knees. He was about fifteen feet from the ground but he had survived higher falls. He was six feet six inches tall himself so he could expect to knock that much off the fall at least.
He found a grip on the edge of the roof and lowered himself down. He dangled there for a moment, finding his nerve, and then he dropped. The landing wasn't as graceful as he would have hoped for, but he only scratched himself a bit. He had had worse in his days. He clambered back to his feet and looked around to make sure no one saw him fall although he knew no one had. The town was dead. It occurred to him that Katherine Monroe might have seen him, but he doubted it. She seemed uptight and high strung so he figured that if she had have seen him on the roof of the hotel, she would have probably shot at him without hesitation. Even with the full moon, it was too dark to recognize anyone from a distance.
McCormick stood still, wiped the sweat from his brow. He was stumped. He wouldn't admit it to a soul, but it was the truth. Where had everyone gone?
And then a gunshot shattered the silence and McCormick felt a bullet graze his thigh. He gripped the wound with one hand and drew one of his pistols with the other. He didn't know where the shot had came from or who had fired it.
Monroe?
--7--
It wasn't Monroe. Another shot rang out, but missed him though only by a bit. McCormick hit the dirt and crawled beneath the saloon's back stoop. He knew where the shots were coming from now. Or at least he was aware of the general direction. Someone was shooting at him from the west somewhere. There were no buildings to hide behind in that direction, no cover. McCormick was confident that if he could just see the shooter, that he would be able to hit him despite the darkness.
And he got his wish. Up ahead from where McCormick was lying, about twenty yards west of the inn, McCormick saw a shadow moving around. He strained his eyes. He didn't want to shoot Monroe. She was probably just scared. But...
