Though Charlie spoke in English, the chief looked as though he got the drift of the man’s words. He looked angry and said in rough Spanish: “We will have this man. More than the beefs and horses, we want this man.”
McAllister signed for them to sit and we all squatted down. McAllister said: “I will up the offer to one hundred cows, chief and four horses. Two bottles of whiskey. Such a present will make you very highly thought of in your tribe.”
The chief didn’t look as if the more generous offer pleased him at all.
“You do not know the mood of my people,” he said. “Nothing will cool their anger but the return of this man to us. He is ours. We took him captive. The right is on our side. He had done bad things and he must be punished. As a reasonable man you must see this.”
“I see it. The right is on your side, chief. But I cannot hand this man over. I will punish him, for he is wanted for punishment by my people also.”
Charlie said: “I can see you’re gettin’ around to handin’ me over, McAllister. I’ll shoot my way out before you do that.” McAllister turned on Charlie fiercely and said: “Get the hell out of here, Charlie.”
The chief said: “Give us this man.” Charlie looked hunted.
The young Indian leapt to his feet, pointed at Charlie and began shouting in his own language. There wasn’t any doubt that they wanted Charlie badly.
“A hundred cows, chief, could feed many people for a long time.”
I could see the man hesitate.
But the young Indian did not hesitate. In a flash, he had covered the distance between himself and Charlie. Before Charlie could draw his belt gun, the Indian had knocked him down with his war-club.
McAllister may not be the fastest man with a gun in the world, but he can sure aim straight. He pulled his Remington from leather and fired as Charlie heaved on the butt of his own gun. McAllister’s bullet caught him above the left eye and Drunk Charlie fell back dead.
I guess we all froze where we were for a second, all except the young Indian who started to hit Charlie’s dead body with his club. I went and took the club away from him. That seemed to bring him to his senses. When I gave him the club back, he walked back to his chief and sat down as if nothing had happened.
The chief looked more sorrowful than angry.
“This is not good,” he said. “It was too quick for carrion like him. He would have had more justice from my people.”
“A hundred cows, chief,” McAllister said, trying to get the man’s thoughts off Drunk Charlie. Happily it looked as if the chief dismissed him from his mind. The thought of a hundred cows pleased the Indian.
He nodded. “All right. One hundred cows, four horses and two bottles of whiskey. When we have these things, you may go on your way unmolested.”
So that was the way it went. An unexpected end to our running fight with the Comanches. We cut the cows out from the herd and I don’t have to tell you we did not choose the best. Any road, those Indians went pretty happily on their way. McAllister reckoned we’d hit them so hard that they would stick by their bargain.
As McAllister and I rode back to the wagon and dismounted, I said to him: “It’s a funny coincidence, but my Indians offered to let us go for a hundred cows.”
“Did you agree?” McAllister asked.
I looked dignified.
“I wasn’t going to agree to anything right off. I rejected their offer, just like I thought you would.”
He smiled and wagged his head sadly.
“Will you ever understand the way my brain works, Matthew?” he said. “I am the most reasonable of men. Talkin’s better’n fightin’ any day. We’ve lost too many men by far this trip. Naturally, I made a deal with the fellers that came here.”
I went quieter than quiet.
“While I was risking my neck back there, stepping out of character like a goddam hero, you had a deal with the Indians and were sitting back here laughing.”
“Not laughin’, Matthew.”
A not very original idea came into my head. It was no less satisfying because of its lack of originality.
I said: “When you fired that shot, Rem, did you intend to kill Charlie?”
He looked a little taken aback at this. “Why, no, Matt, I didn’t.”
“But it solved our problem didn’t it?” I said. “I mean it looked like you saved that young Indian’s life. Charlie would have shot him, wouldn’t he?”
“You can put it down to McAllister luck,” said McAllister.
“In what way—luck?”
“Wa-al,” said McAllister, looking ruefully at the toe of his right boot, “I didn’t aim at Charlie. I aimed at the Indian.”
I turned and walked away a few paces, then I turned and walked back to him again. McAllister must have been clairvoyant to know what I had in mind. But I thought I saw slight alarm on his face.
“Matthew,” he said, “you’re overwrought.” He appealed to the two cowhands who were dismounting nearby —“Boys, I shall have to ask you to restrain my partner. I think he’s goin’ a mite loco.” I said: “You can bet your sweet life I’m loco, McAllister. I’m going to beat your goddam head in. You men stay out of this.”
May said sweetly: “Coffee’s up, boys.” I guess that broke the spell. When had I tasted coffee last?
“Let’s have a cup of coffee first,” I said. McAllister laughed.
“You had me goin’ there right enough, old timer. I could of sworn you was going to take a swing at me.”
I said: “You’re right—I was.”
“Why for God’s sake?”
“Disillusionment mostly.”
“What about? Any road, that’s water under the bridge. You changed your mind.”
“I didn’t change my mind.”
“You didn’t?”
All my life off and on I’ve been trying to knock McAllister’s block off for him. But I never succeeded. Now my fist must have been sped on its way and my blow made accurate by the righteousness of my cause. My fist caught him neatly on the point of his jaw. It hurt my hand like hell. It must also have opened the arrow wound in my shoulder, but it was worth it. Just the look on his face made it worth it. As he hit the dirt on his back, I said: “You boys aim to restrain me any?”
They said “No, sir,” they didn’t have any ambitions in that direction. McAllister sat up, holding his jaw.
He grinned and said: “I always told you you could do it, Matt.”
Fifteen
THERE IS, OF course, a good deal more to tell you about that drive, but my aim was to tell you about how McAllister got us across the Staked Plain. Because whatever I may have written here, without him to hold us together we would never have made it. There is, however, some more I would like you to know before I call it a day and sign off.
After we crossed the Picket Wire, the drive was nice and easy. We drove to within about ten miles of Denver itself and there we had so many buyers we could have printed our own money. There was more gold than beef in that neck of the woods. Us handing over a hundred steers to the Indians made no difference. Just the same, that didn’t cut much ice with old Dice Roberts. His distress at hearing of the death of his son and seeing his remaining son badly hurt did not seem to have softened his flinty heart one iota. I never knew a man like it. There he was waiting for us at this little town of Horseshoe Flats looking like he didn’t have two dimes to rub together, his mouth as tight as it ever was. When he had sold the herd and his pockets were bulging with good US treasury notes, he didn’t so much as buy us a drink. Negotiations for our cut of the money took around three days and only came to a head when our patience ran out and the whole crew united in a threat to hang him from the nearest tree. That brought sweet reason to him with remarkable speed. Grudgingly he paid us out. It nearly broke his heart to watch us all, including his son Hopper, who was up and about now, head for the nearest saloon with all that lovely money.
“Well, boys,” McAllister said after a few drinks and our dust had
been cut, “who’s for ridin’ home to dear old Texas?”
You could have knocked me down with a dance-girl’s garter. Not one of them said he wanted to go home. Some wanted to have a good blow out right here in town. Some were for going to the diggings in an attempt to dig a fortune out of the ground. Others said they’d head for Wyoming and Montana and try their luck there, maybe setting up a cow spread of their own.
So it was that McAllister and I, two weeks later, our wages considerably depleted, headed back for Texas alone. It was quite like old times. Except that we were not totally broke. Old Dice had read us the riot act before we set out. He told us how we had behaved recklessly, that there had been no need to part with a hundred cows to a bunch of half-naked savages and if McAllister had known his trade better we would have gotten through the whole thing without trouble. McAllister was, without any doubt whatever, the lousiest trail boss he had ever come on. I agreed loudly with that. Then Dice asked us if we would take another herd to Colorado from the brasada next year. He couldn’t understand why we both laughed till we nearly fell down.
So there were McAllister and I riding home to Texas, keeping our eyes pretty sharp for Indians, but not worrying too much because we didn’t have any cows for them to steal this trip.
“By the way,” I said, in camp one night, when we were smoking our pipes after our chow, “I reckon you were pretty serious about that Janet girl, Rem. I had a notion even you were hankering to marry her.” McAllister looked cautious.
“You did?” he said, frowning a little to show that the question puzzled him. “Yep—I did.”
“It’s funny you should say that,” he said, “because I had the feelin’ deep down in my water that you was gettin’ real serious about the lady’s sister, May. Was I wrong?”
“No,” I had to admit, “I can’t say you were exactly wrong. So how about that Janet? You going to admit she gave you the brush-off?”
“Wa-al,” he said, “it wasn’t exactly what you would call a brush-off. No, sir.”
“She just told you she was going to marry somebody else,” I suggested.
He was more than surprised this time, he was amazed.
“How in hell did you know that?”
“Well, I popped the question to May. I mean, it seemed like a good idea. She could cook, she had a lot of sand—we’d been thrown together as you might say. But she upped and told me she was going to marry Hopper Roberts.”
“She did?”
“Did Janet tell you the same thing, Rem?”
“No, sir. She didn’t say no such thing.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She was goin’ to marry Wyatt Shafter.”
We killed the fire and hit our blankets, smoking our pipes empty with our heads on our saddles. Pretty soon we knocked out our pipes and shut our eyes. After a while, I heard McAllister say: “Matt, you awake?”
“Yep.”
“Ain’t it damned good to feel free?”
I laughed.
“McAllister,” I said, “you’ll never guess the real reason why May turned me down.”
“Why?”
“She said she took quite a shine to me,” I told him, “but she changed her mind at the last moment.”
“How come?”
“She thought I was a nice gentle hombre and she always wanted to marry someone like that. But she changed her mind when I hit you that time. That convinced her I was a mean vicious brute.”
McAllister laughed too, and said: “I reckon she’s about right, Matt old timer.” A moment later, I heard him snoring.
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