McAllister 2

by Matt Chisholm

  Cousin Salvador was a man whom McAllister had scarcely noticed till then. A man of few words, he was a withered fifty, with sunken cheeks and far-away eyes. One of those men who always seem to be on the point of collapse, but who are still going when healthier-looking men fall by the wayside. When McAllister told him that he was going forward afoot, he asked Salvador if he would keep up. The man merely nodded.

  McAllister walked through the long canyon and came out the far end seemingly almost at the foot of a wall of sheer rock that rose above them to a thousand feet. It made an impressive and forbidding sight, a great blank wall of stone on which nothing living could find a footing. Or so it seemed from down here, though McAllister knew differently. He turned right along this wall with Salvador tottering at his heels. Within a quarter-mile, McAllister found what he wanted: a trail of pure rock. It was as he remembered it. He followed this trail for a couple of hundred paces, seeing that light brush almost concealed it in places. When he came to the deep, rushing mountain torrent, he stopped and looked for the crossing. It was there still, as risky as ever, but a sure way to another trail on which they could conceal their passage. He looked at his companion to see that Salvador was watching him closely.

  The man shook his head slowly.

  “There is another way.”

  His voice was as faint as the rustle of dry leaves. Its sound was almost drowned by the sound of the water.

  “You know this country?” McAllister asked.

  Salvador nodded and considered the question, no doubt asking himself how wise it would be to tell McAllister anything. Finally, he decided and said: “Many years ago when I was a boy. I was a bad boy and very wild. Afraid of nothing. Only luck kept me alive or the good God did so that I could live to repent for my sins. Which, I may say, were many.”

  “You know another trail?”

  A glimmer of a proud smile. “Yes. It is there above us on the face of the cliff. It is not known, I think, to many men. It is invisible from above and below. I took it when I was hunted and then once when I was doing the hunting.”

  “It’s risky?”

  “Only if you have no head for heights.” McAllister said poker-faced: “You might lose a cousin or two.”

  The glimmer of a smile again and the man said: “Come, I will show you.” He led McAllister back the way they had come. When he halted, he turned to look back at the trail they had walked and said: “See—if the animals go that way, they will break the brush. They cannot avoid it. The sheriff will have a smart tracker, rest assured. But, now, watch me, I shall go to the trail above and I shall break no brush.”

  While McAllister stayed where he was, Salvador tottered away on his ever-failing legs and walked around a thicket. Inside a few seconds, he had disappeared. McAllister waited so long that he began to suspect that the man had played a trick on him. His uneasiness was increasing to alarm when he heard a crackle of laughter from above him. Looking up he saw Salvador’s frail figure apparently standing on air against the face of the cliff some thirty or forty feet above him.

  “I think it is a trick of light,” Salvador said. '“It is good, eh?”

  “Damn good,” said McAllister.

  Salvador turned away and seemed to walk into the face of the cliff. It was uncanny and McAllister felt himself shudder. Five minutes later, Salvador joined him, cackling and rubbing his thin hands together with satisfaction.

  “That little trick has fooled and astonished more men than you could guess,” he said. “You will use it?”

  “Why not?” said McAllister, and they walked together back to the canyon.

  Salvador told him: “That trail will take you clear past the rock face and into a strange canyon where the grass is always green.”

  “Do Charlie and Ignacio know this trail?” McAllister asked.

  “How should I know?” the man replied.

  “From the trail up there,” McAllister asked, “is it possible to see along our back-trail?”

  Salvador looked appreciative of the question. He nodded. “Yes. That was one of the reasons why we used it. From up there you can watch all the south-western approaches to the mountain.”

  McAllister was pretty well satisfied. With luck they would be able to breathe freely for a while. He had delayed Southern by now for at least one day. By using this new trail, he might be delayed until it was too late for him to stop Charlie and his outfit reaching their gold. After that there would be the problem of getting them down safely off the mountain. But that was another problem for another day. He would think on it as he rode. Now he must concentrate his mind on the Indians.

  If there was a real slice of McAllister luck coming his way, the Indians would find Southern and his crowd. That was a fate McAllister hesitated to wish on his worst enemy, but he knew it would solve a lot of problems.

  He and Salvador walked back to the others.

  One or two of the Mexicans had dozed off comfortably. Jack Clegg was talking to the girl. She was combing her hair. Jack was evidently appreciating the way her reaching up to her hair showed her figure off to full advantage. Her smile for McAllister as he passed showed that she was aware of the fact. Jack Clegg scowled.

  “Well,” said Charlie, a little testily McAllister thought, “did you find what you wanted?”

  “Sure did. Let’s get movin’.”

  They caught up their horses and lined out the burros and within ten minutes were on the trail again. Salvador led the way. Within a short while, McAllister watched the whole outfit disappearing from view behind the thicket. To him it made a pleasing sight. This was a bonus he had not counted on. He hoped that Salvador would prove as useful and helpful as this in the future. He could hear one or two of the riders objecting to the difficult climb. He heard Salvador calling for them to dismount and lead their mounts if they were nervous. Manuel apparently was talking every inch of the way. When the girl appeared above him, she was still mounted. She gave him a friendly wave of the hand. Five minutes later, McAllister brought up the rear, slowly leading his horse up the steep and narrow trail.

  He watched those ahead of him disappearing around a bend in the trail before he halted and took out his glass. Unhurriedly, he took a long, careful look along their backtrail. With some difficulty, because the view from above was so different from that below, he focused on the spot where he had taken his party into water and lost their sign. Then he started to work his way slowly forward, not expecting to see anything.

  Suddenly, he was so startled that he could not believe the evidence of his eyes.

  His eye was caught by the sun hitting the barrel of a rifle. For a moment, he could make out nothing else. He knew that he was searching for Apache. The lens caught an Indian’s face and he stopped. This was what startled him. He wasn’t looking at the face of an Apache, but almost into the eyes of Southern’s drunken tracker.

  What the hell has gone wrong? He thought.

  He lowered and covered the glass in case the sun should give his presence away by reflecting on the lens. Southern’s boy was smart but he wasn’t all that smart. He was a day ahead of where he should be.

  He used the glass again and slowly watched some familiar Crewsville faces pass in review before him. The last man he found was Southern himself. The man looked at ease, confident. Well he might, McAllister thought. He had come out here thinking he had an almost impossible task ahead of him and now it was proving child’s play.

  Why?

  He made up his mind to turn around and go back. He knew that he could not turn his horse on the narrow trail. There was a risk that he would put both himself and the animal over the edge. So he risked ground-hitching the horse and started back along the trail, hurrying.

  From here on, until he rejoined the others, he would have to hurry. He swore as he moved as fast as he could down the steep grade. It took him ten sweating minutes before he reached the flat and walked around the concealing thicket. Now he started to run.

  He had covered no more than twenty pace
s when he stopped abruptly to stand and stare at a small white object on the trail.

  The explanation of how Southern had managed to be so close behind was simple. McAllister stooped and picked up the small bean. Why didn’t he notice this before? He was so smug that he was so all-fired smart, and would out-fox that damned Mohave. And all the time some son-of-a-bitch among his own party had been leaving a trail of beans for the man to follow.

  He reckoned the beans would be few and far between. A man could not carry all the beans in the world and he could not drop them all the time or he would be spotted. A bean every one or two hundred paces would be enough for that Mohave to follow.

  McAllister walked back to the canyon without finding another bean. He studied the ground and realized that there was no need for beans here. The tracks were easy enough to follow. His brains must be slowing. He turned and walked back the way he had just come, past the spot where he had picked up the bean and on, studying the ground closely. He found the second bean at the turn around the thicket. Carefully, he cut himself some brush so that the cut mark would not be seen and wiped out the tracks that showed as the riders rode over some dust near the thicket. Then he headed for the start of the steep climb and found another bean. He knew there would not be any more until the party left this narrow trail.

  He hurried up the trail and by the time he reached the horse, he was pretty short of breath. The horse had not ventured to move. McAllister eased himself around the animal and led it on. He caught up the others ten minutes later. They were waiting for him on a shelf of rock about twenty feet deep and a hundred long.

  Charlie demanded: “What took you so tarnation long?”

  McAllister said: “No gentleman would ask a question like that in front of a lady.”

  Salvador was sitting apart, squatting down on his heels, watching McAllister. His eyes were knowing. But what, thought McAllister, did he know? He found himself looking around at the others, suspicious of all of them. Of one thing he was certain, it could not be the girl. She had joined them after he had lost their trail in water.

  They prepared to move on and Charlie Arbiter came to him and said: “It might be a good idea if you were up front, Rem. After all you are here to protect us.”

  “No,” said McAllister, “I’m expecting the danger to come from the rear. Jack Clegg can take point.” He asked Clegg to ride ahead. The man did not take to this too kindly, for he was starting to show a liking for Pilar’s company, but he consented to go. McAllister rode drag and tried to keep an eye on everybody ahead of him.

  ~*~

  That night, McAllister took them into camp an hour on from the water they found in a rocky tank. He hated to camp near moving water. There was a freshet flowing into the tank and it made enough noise for a man’s approach to be drowned. He picked up four more beans that day. Now that he knew where Southern’s party was, he permitted a fire. Manuel cooked them a passable meal and there was plenty of hot coffee so they were all comparatively satisfied. When they had eaten, McAllister dropped his little bombshell. He thought he might learn something from their reaction to it.

  He said: “Back there on the goat-track, I looked back over our backtrail.”

  Clegg asked: “Did you see anything?”

  “Yes, I did. I saw Southern and his posse no more than a day behind us. He’s overtaking us fast.”

  A bomb would not have had a more dramatic effect. Manuel dropped the coffee pot and nearly put out the fire. Ignacio leapt to his feet with a fine Spanish curse and demanded to know how this was.

  Charlie Arbiter, McAllister thought, looked as sour as a church spinster in a brothel. The old man crackled out: “What in hell’s gone wrong here, McAllister? My god, we hired you because you have a reputation for this kind of thing.”

  McAllister kept his face as emotionless as an Indian’s at a pow-wow.

  “I don’t know what’s gone wrong, Charlie. That’s a fact.”

  Then there was silence and he watched their suspicion growing. They sat thinking for a while, then they all slowly turned their heads and looked at him. If there was a traitor among them, it had to be him. He wasn’t hiding their trail well enough. If he knew his job (and they knew he did) then he must be betraying them.

  The girl asked: “Who is it following you?”

  Now they all looked at each other and realized they must not say too much in front of this stranger.

  The girl said: “Well, what’s the great mystery? Won’t somebody explain?”

  McAllister smiled his pleasant friend-to-all-mankind smile, and replied: “Waal, ma’am, Jack Clegg yonder an’ me, we’re what you might call outlaws. This fellow Southern back there is a sheriff and he has a posse with him to take the both of us back to Crewsville an’ hang us.”

  She clapped her hands together with delight. “My,” she cried, “how romantic!”

  “It may be romantic from where you’re sittin’, ma’am, but it ain’t so darned romantic from where we’re at.”

  Charlie was on his feet, stabbing the air in McAllister’s direction with a gnarled old forefinger—“You don’t have no damned right to tell the girl that, McAllister. You hush up your mouth now.”

  McAllister looked surprised. “Hell, Charlie, it’s no skin off your nose if Jack an’ me’re on the run.”

  Charlie jumped with rage—“It makes her think the rest of us is up to no good. What we’re doin’ is fine an’ legal. I ain’t done too many legal things in my life, but this is genuine one hunnerd percent legal.”

  The girl turned to him and asked: “Just what are you doing, Mr. Arbiter?”

  That brought old Charlie down like an inflated balloon. He looked around at his companions as if he had betrayed them. Ignacio was calm now.

  “Let us tell the young lady,” he said. “Where’s the harm? She is not going anywhere, is she? She must of necessity be with us until our task is completed. Truth cannot hurt. Not now. Besides, she will think that Southern and his rascals are on their lawful business. She will think us villains.”

  Salvador spoke—“The young lady knows why we are here.”

  Pilar looked startled. She gained control over herself quickly, but not before McAllister had seen just how momentarily scared she was. She said: “Why do you say that?”

  Salvador shrugged. “Is it not obvious? We are heading into Los Tres Soldados and we have with us all the gear of diggers. We have burros. Charlie there looks like an old prospector. We must be after gold.”

  McAllister said: “Tell her the whole truth.”

  Salvador went on: “The sheriff is following—it is true on the face of it— because two of us are outlaws. But that is not the real reason for the pursuit. It is because he wants the gold for himself.” Jack Clegg sat up and paid attention. “My God,” he cried, “is that a fact, Rem?”

  “I reckon so.”

  “You mean that sheriff is all set to drygulch this crowd?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “I’ve been robbed,” Clegg exclaimed. “I been hired under false pretenses. These sonsabitches didn’t tell me about this. I thought I was up here to fight off Apaches.”

  Ignacio smiled a very thin smile.

  “You are free to go if you wish, señor,” he said. “Nobody is keeping you here.”

  McAllister said: “If anybody wants to hear my two cents’ worth, it’s this—we’re all in this together now, so we might as well get along together. Pretty soon we’re going to be in a tight place and it’ll take all of us to get out of it.”

  Ignacio said: “This is true. Mr. Clegg, I assure you that you will not lose by staying with us. We are about to dig up a fortune. There is more than enough for everybody.”

  Charlie said sourly: “Offer a goddam share to the girl. I can see my share gettin’ smaller an’ smaller by the goddam minute.”

  Ignacio said softly: “Think, Charlie. If it was half what you originally thought it would be, you would still have more than any one man could need.�
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  “Christ almighty,” said Clegg, “this must be some claim you have.”

  “Some claim,” said Charlie, his ill humor leaving him as quickly as it had come. “Sonny, you didn’t hear the half of it.”

  ~*~

  That night when McAllister went on watch, he nearly challenged a softly-moving shadow. Then he found it was the girl.

  “You could get yourself shot, comin’ up on a man like that.”

  She laughed and said: “Speak in Spanish. In Spanish you sound educated.”

  That made him chuckle. He liked this girl. He didn’t care what the hell she was up to, he still liked her. She was an original. Maybe he was an original too, and that was the reason why they both knew they’d taken a shine to each other.

  She sat down on a rock near him, not too close and not too far away. She was a good judge of distances and character.

  She said: “Would you like to know who has been dropping the beans?”

  Twelve

  He looked at her carefully, trying to penetrate the mask of her face, but the moonlight was not bright enough for him to see her expression clearly. Her face was in profile to him, showing him the strong thrust of her nose, the firm chin and the large tender mouth which denied them both.

  “Yes,” he said, “I’d like to know that.”

  “I wanted to find out if you knew somebody was leaving a trail.”

  He asked: “Do you know who it is?”

  “No, I’ve watched, but I have caught nobody. Doesn’t it strike you, McAllister, that we are in a position of great danger?”

  “Certainly. But maybe you're not.”

  “Why not me?”

  “You know the answer to that better than I do.”

  That statement could have been taken by some women in her situation as a slap in the face, but not this girl. She smiled and said: “You have been truthful with me, I think, so I will be the same with you.”