Gunsmoke for McAllister

by Matt Chisholm

  His voice sounded mushy and uncertain when he said: ‘I’m going to kill you, McAllister. I’m going to kill you slow and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.’

  Rawley gave orders. Some rawhide thong was brought and McAllister’s hands were tied behind his back. He found that he was lying right next to the gold and somehow that was ironic.

  They seemed to forget him after that and went to the cook-fire to get their food. They sat around eating their meal and ignoring him. They all looked pretty pleased with themselves. All except Rawley and he looked as if he were occupied with the pain he was suffering from his punched face.

  McAllister thought about Sam, the girl and Diaz and wondered if they had managed to get away, if they were alive. He hoped so. If Sam were alive he wouldn’t rest till he had done something about McAllister. But there was more to it than that. He wished Sam alive and riding away to some future life with the girl. McAllister could look after himself. Always had done so and would always do so. He would get out of this and kill Rawley. He would kill Rawley if it was the last thing he did.

  They didn’t give him any food and they didn’t offer him water. It was water he wanted. Desperately. His tongue felt as if it were filling his mouth. The way he felt then he would have traded all that gold that was so near for a single drink.

  He lay out in the sun for a couple of hours and all the time Rawley and the others gazed off into the north every few minutes anxiously. After that time, McAllister saw the reason for their anxiety. They were waiting for the rest of the horses. Three men riding bareback came in driving them. These men had to be told about the fight and they came and gazed at McAllister with great curiosity. One of them was Carlos who hadn’t forgotten that he owed McAllister a grudge. He kicked the prisoner in the leg and that seem to give him some satisfaction.

  There was some talk then about moving off for a few hours travel before dark, but Rawley apparently thought they would stay where they were till dawn. McAllister was relieved to hear it. The chances were that, if they were moving off now, they would kill him right away to save the trouble of taking a prisoner along with them. So he had a few hours in which to make his escape. He wondered just how he was going to do that. Whatever he did, he had to do pretty quickly or it would be too late. All he wanted really was a miracle.

  Rawley put a strong guard on the horses this time. He wasn’t taking any chances. He deployed his men carefully and McAllister heard him say that half of them would keep guard while half of them slept on their arms. They must be ready for another attack at any moment. He came and stood by McAllister, looking down at him with a little smile of pure pleasure.

  ‘We’re movin’ out of here at dawn, McAllister,’ he said, ‘an’ I’m leavin’ you here gut-shot. You’ll take a long time to die. I’m only sorry I won’t be here to watch it. So think about it through the night.’

  He walked away and McAllister didn’t doubt that he was right. There wasn’t much else he could do but think about his coming death. And how to avoid it. Rich came and sat with his back to the gold, facing McAllister, a rifle across his knees.

  ‘I’m sleepin’ here,’ he said. ‘One move outa you and I cut you down.’

  That depressed McAllister. Night came down and Rich’s form became a dark blur in the starlight. The cook fire died down. A solitary lobo came out in the hills and sang its doleful lullaby. McAllister shivered in the cold of the mountains after the intense heat of the day. The hours started to move by slowly, but McAllister knew that dawn would come all too quickly for him. He wondered what Sam was doing.

  Around midnight, he thought that Rich was asleep and tried to get softly to his feet, but the man’s voice came out of the dark –‘Lie down or I’ll blow your head off.’ He lay down.

  The hours passed. Nothing broke the hush of the night but the changing of the guards. Dawn was not far off, the stars started to wink out and the light touch of false dawn came into the sky. McAllister felt the cold touch of death on his shoulder.

  Sam, he thought, I hope you’re up to something real smart. But how even Sam was going to winkle him alive out of this small army he didn’t have any idea. He was starting to have a sneaking suspicion that Rawley was going to have his way and he was going to be left on the trail with a bullet in his belly.

  Just before dawn, Rawley went around waking the sleeping men.

  Not long now, McAllister told himself.

  The scene imprinted itself on his mind.

  The figures of men were starting to become clearer in the new cold light of dawn. There was a fellow walking by with his rifle at the trail. He wore the mule-ears of his boots flapping on the outside.

  The cook was blowing on the embers of the fire noisily. Rich was stretching and yawning. A man on the hillside was calling down to a man below.

  They all seemed frozen in one position as the flat slam of a rifle sounded. McAllister didn’t see who was hit or where the shot came from. All he knew was that something was happening and there might be a chance to make a break. He braced his legs in preparation to rising to his feet.

  Suddenly, the morning air was split by shrill cries and the thunder and rattle of hoofs. McAllister was on his feet. He could see a sudden rush of movement to the north between the high boulders.

  The cook had his mouth open wide and was screaming: ‘Indians! Indians!’

  Rich said: ‘My God.’ And a man above them in the rocks started firing his rifle. Rawley ran back down the narrow way, shouting. Behind him a great dark mass was on the move and McAllister knew that was the remuda. If he stayed where he was he would be trampled into the ground. Moving awkwardly with his hands tied behind his back, he ran for the rocks. Rich thought of the same thing at the same time. They ran neck and neck. Mean to the end, McAllister tripped him and felt a surge of satisfaction as the running man went down hard. Rich rolled over his face contorted with pain. He thrust forward his rifle as McAllister swung a moccasined foot for his face. The toe contacted with the man’s jaw and he slammed back against the dirt. McAllister ran on. He dove into the rocks and crawled to his feet.

  The mules and horses went by like thunder, scattering rocks to right and left, raising the dust in a choking cloud and behind them came fast riding demons with scarlet sweat-bands around their heads.

  Apache!

  They went streaming by on their shaggy ponies, yelling. Rifles banged at them from the rocks. McAllister ducked as an arrow whooshed past his head. Then, as fast as they had appeared, the Indians were gone. McAllister saw one of the warriors pitch from the back of his racing pony and hit dirt. There were a dozen bullets in him before he could rise.

  Rawley was shouting: ‘Center on the gold.’

  Men were running.

  A man came through the rocks, looked at McAllister and started to go on. But he gave the prisoner a second look and started to say: ‘You –’ McAllister went into him head first and caught him in the belly. They went down in a heap and the man was in a bad way, gasping and retching as he floundered around on the ground. McAllister got to his feet as fast as he could and jumped on the man’s belly with both feet. That settled him for a while. There was a knife in the man’s belt. McAllister got down on his knees, leaned back and drew the weapon. The man rolled over on his face, retching. McAllister got down behind the rocks and started to work the blade as best he could on the rawhide thong. This would take time. He was sweating and he was starting to panic. The man looked up and saw him. He made a wild strangling noise and reached down for his belt-gun. The thong gave even as the man drew the weapon from its holster and McAllister launched himself, right arm extended. The arm was a lance and the knife its head. The blade sank into the man’s chest. His eyes seemed to start from his head and he gave a choking cough. McAllister heaved on the knife, but it was stuck in the bone. He scooped up the pistol, thrust it into the top of his pants and reached for the fallen rifle.

  Men were running through the rocks. The firing was still going on and it sounded as if the
Indians were attacking from the north. McAllister decided to go south. On hands and knees he started through the rocks. He reckoned Rawley and his men wouldn’t be thinking about him too much at a time like this. God bless all Indians and the Apaches in particular. He covered about fifty yards and rested. He felt bushed and he was shaking from head to foot.

  After a while, he became aware that there were rifles being fired near him.

  He raised himself and took a look around.

  He didn’t stay looking for long. Within twenty yards of him were two Apache shooting in the direction of the camp. He hugged the ground tighter than a fellow hugs his girl. Apache weren’t going to tell one white man from another at a time like this. Now he knew real fear. He glanced up hill and saw another Indian above him. Godalmighty, he thought, there’s Indians all around me and Rawley and his men behind. Maybe he’d been better off back there with his hands bound.

  He didn’t know whether to try and crawl south or stay where he was and hope the Indians didn’t see him.

  Just then, the Indian above him gave a grunting cry and pitched down through the rocks. He bounced on a boulder above McAllister and came to rest within a yard of the escaping man. This, McAllister decided, was all he wanted. The other Indians would collect their dead and wounded as all good Indians did and they would be bound to find him. This warrior was as dead as last week’s mutton with half his head shot away. Not a pleasant sight.

  McAllister didn’t wait for a closer inspection, but started crawling. Ten yards and he stopped, hearing the guttural voices of Apaches immediately above him. Two men passed within twenty yards of him. He held his breath and prepared to shoot the pair of them. But they passed on and came to the dead man. McAllister went on as fast as he could.

  He covered another hundred yards and was out of sight of the camp when he came on the horses. They were gathered in a little rincon and there was one old warrior guarding them.

  McAllister cast a hasty look around and ascertained that there was not another soul in sight. He stepped out of the rocks and covered the Indian. The man looked for a moment as if he would lift his rifle and shoot. In that case, McAllister would have killed him, but he didn’t want a quarrel with the men who had supplied him and his friends with grub and mounts.

  He tried Spanish on the old man. The eyes gleamed with understanding.

  ‘I am with Spur,’ he said. ‘Spur is a friend of Gato.’

  ‘Spur,’ said the old man and nodded fiercely.

  ‘The white man held me prisoner.’

  The old man said in cow-pen Spanish: ‘Gato kill all white men.’

  There wasn’t time for this conversation, McAllister thought. Why didn’t he get mean always and kill the old fool like any other sensible fellow would have done?

  ‘I want a horse,’ McAllister said.

  ‘No horse,’ said the old man.

  McAllister groaned.

  ‘Get down,’ he said, ‘or I shall shoot you.’

  The old eyes glittered. McAllister wanted to look around to see if there were any other Indians near, but he dared not take his eyes off the old man. The Indian obeyed him and slipped from the horse’s back. McAllister took his rifle and threw it into the rocks. The old man looked as if he would like to kill him with his bare hands, With the rifle out of the way, he felt a little better. He spotted a big tough mule close at hand and vaulted onto its bareback. It kicked its heels a couple of times, McAllister kicked it in the belly and it took off as if it wanted to do nothing but run. He glanced back and saw the old man dive into the rocks after his rifle. A second or two later he heard the rifle go off and a ball sang high and harmless over his head. After that he put his mind to riding.

  Chapter 16

  Rawley was rattled. What was worse, he knew that his men were rattled too. But he knew also that there was nothing better than a good stiff fight to unite a body of men. Just so long as they won.

  The horses were gone, most of them, any road, and there seemed to be Indians all around them. Not only that, they seemed also to be among the rocks in which Rawley and his men were sheltering. But his men, good as they were with weapons of all kinds, were doing terrible damage to the savages. The Apache were fighting with the ferocity for which they were famous, often charging upon the heavily armed white men with nothing more in their hands than butchers’ knives. But the firepower of the white men told and slowly the Indians were driven out of the rocks and back along the narrow trail, until an hour after the attack began, those among the Indians who possessed firearms contented themselves by keeping a safe distance and lobbing shots into the camp.

  Rawley now rallied his men and charged into the rocks and slowly drove the Indians before them, cleaning them out of the rocks one by one, until at last the warriors slipped away to their horses and sped away through the hills.

  Rawley and his men went slowly back into camp and Rawley counted heads. The result was not a reassuring one. Five men had been killed, three more were wounded and added to this, the horses were gone. All except three, which Rawley had had the good sense to keep close at hand in camp. Among these was his own favorite saddler.

  Carlos was in a funk and one or two of the other men seemed to be in the same state, but most of them were elated and relieved that they had been able to repel the Indians. They were tired to a man with that peculiar exhaustion which is as much a part of the spirit as the body that comes after the killing of men. Rawley badly wanted to move camp, but without the horses that was plainly impossible, for he could not leave the gold. He was under the impression that the Indians had got clean away with the animals and was feeling close to despair when one of the men said that he heard a horse neigh.

  Rawley set out with a couple of men in the direction of the sound and found to his surprise that eight or nine horses and mules had been abandoned in a draw. This piece of luck at once lifted some of the depression and they drove the animals back into camp. Rawley now made his decision. He knew that he could not get out of this country without the help of the others, much as he would have liked to cut adrift and run for it with as much gold as he could carry. So he decided that as the gold could not under any circumstances be left, that he would use the animals for its transportation and that the men could walk. This news they received with groans. What, one of them asked, happened to the wounded? That was a nasty one for Rawley, for he wanted to leave the wounded. This he dare not do, though, or he would have had the men against him, for at any moment one of them could be hit and be in the same position as the wounded men. So he made a show of tender-heartedness and said that they could ride on the pack-animals. To himself he cursed the necessity of further burdening animals that would be already heavily laden. But that was the way it would have to be.

  So they started loading the animals. There were enough pack-saddles to go around and the animals were soon loaded, the wounded were heaved aboard and the train started slowly forward. The men walked and they hated it, for they were to a man of the conviction that only human garbage walked. A man’s place was in the saddle. But they had the gold in their minds and they were reconciled to the suffering they would put upon their feet. They paced awkwardly in their high-heeled cowmen’s boots and within an hour they were all pretty footsore and hating it. Rawley, as an example, was also forced to travel on his feet and he longed to lay his hands on the men responsible for such an indignity.

  McAllister’s escape was gnawing at him among other things. He had looked forward to satisfying his cruel humor by killing the man and now that pleasure had to be foregone. However, he thought now that he had only to contend with the Indians and that McAllister and Spur would light out of the country as fast as they could go, now wary of Rawley and afraid of the Indians. One thing he was determined on – he would get the gold into New Mexico if he had to sacrifice every man with him.

  He walked with his rifle in his hands, ready to shoot, his eyes forever searching the surrounding country, eating the dust of the animals, hating the experience
to the depth of his soul.

  Chapter 17

  McAllister stopped the mule and listened.

  No sound reached him but the soft sighing of the wind through the pines. He squinted his eyes and searched the hard landscape of rock and dust, knowing that his ears had caught some sound of which he was no more than half-aware. The mule’s ears were forward. The animal had also heard something.

  He rode to a ridge, knowing that he was exposing himself. He was taking the chance that a rare slice of luck might come his way and he would see Sam and the others. But he saw nothing and he rode into the east, his eyes everywhere, when not searching the ground for sign, scanning the surrounding country for danger. The animal he bestrode took it into its head to try and unseat his evil-smelling white rider every now and then and added to McAllister’s trials. He must have covered three or four miles before he stopped, feeling a kind of hopelessness come over him. Here he was out in this god-forsaken land without food or water, without the remotest idea which way to go and no idea what his objective was.

  The mule made up his mind for him. After a while it smelled water and headed for it, taking McAllister to a small and delicious mountain pool. It trotted up to it and sank its muzzle in the cool liquid. Holding the animal’s line firmly in his hand, McAllister knelt and drank Indian-fashion, taking the water to his mouth and not taking his eyes from the surrounding country. When he had filled his belly and refused the mule to take on too much water, he mounted and rode on. Pretty soon to his joy he came on the sign of shod horses. There were signs that there were unshod animals with them too and by the droppings he could tell that the animals had passed that way fairly recently. He stepped up the space a mite.

  He climbed and came to where the green ended abruptly and mighty crags of sandstone reared their heads. Suddenly, he was in another and barren land. And here he found the others. He was hailed from above and, looking up, saw Sam waving from a couple of hundred feet up. He had never felt more relieved in his life. He turned that way and forced to dismount by the steepness of the way and pretty soon he was with the others.