Gunsmoke for McAllister (20 page)

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.

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.

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.

All three of them looked like they had been through a lot, but
he didn't feel much sympathy for them. Sam looked pretty pleased to see him and kept pumping his hand.

‘I was plumb sure you were a goner,' he kept saying. ‘We were comin' in for you when Gato and his boys opened the ball. We thought everythin' was goin' to be all right, but I reckon the Indians didn't know one white man from another and we had to fight our way out of there and make a run for it. I reckon we're lucky to be alive.'

McAllister said: ‘Sure. I ain't et in a long time. How're the grub stakes.'

They found him some jerky and he had to content himself with that. He chewed and chewed ferociously while the others watched him.

Diaz asked: ‘What happened?'

‘Did the Indians kill them all?' the girl asked.

McAllister said: ‘I didn't wait around much, I reckon. I saw my chance an' I lit a shuck. But Rawley an' his boys sure had some fire-power. Gato ain't goin' to walk over that bunch.'

In disgust, Sam said: ‘You mean Rawley's goin' to ride out of there?'

McAllister grinned.

‘Wa-al, he ain't goin' to ride exactly. I reckon ole Gato run off his horses.'

Sam and Diaz showed pleasure.

‘This is our chance,' Diaz said. ‘The Indians will have killed a number of them. They will not be many now and they will be slow. We can ride rings around them.'

McAllister made a rude noise.

‘For Pete's sake,' he said, ‘don't you ever give up? Hell, can't we call it a day and just go home?'

Sam looked concerned.

‘Is that what you want to do, Rem? Porfirio died back there. Other men have died. That bastard Rawley owes us somethin'.'

‘I kind of thought,' McAllister said wistfully, ‘you'd be willin' to cut your losses and call it a day.'

Sam got mad.

‘All right,' he said, ‘you do that. You get on that Goddamn crowbait you rid in on and you ride out of here.'

McAllister remembered the canelo.

‘Where the horses?' he demanded.

Sam jerked his head.

‘Back in the rocks yonder.'

‘The canelo – did you hang onto him?'

‘Sure, we hung onto him.'

McAllister gave a sigh of relief. They'd come a long ways together, him and that little horse. He started to feel better.

‘I want sleep,' he said. ‘Maybe I'll feel more like a big tough fightin' man when I wake.'

Sam stood up.

‘You do that,' he said. ‘I'm going to scout Rawley.'

‘No,' Carlita said, ‘we must stay together.'

Sam shook her off and went to fetch his horse. McAllister found a shady spot in the rocks, tilted his hat over his eyes and within seconds was asleep.

When he woke, Sam was still out and Carlita was starting to fret. Diaz tried to comfort her in warm Spanish and she darted McAllister looks of pure hatred as if it ought to be him out scouting Rawley.

However, Sam came back and he brought news with him. He'd spoken with Gato. It had been touch and go whether the Apaches cut his throat or not, but he had managed to get to Gato and they had talked. The chief wasn't whipped, not entirely, but he had taken a mauling from the rifles of the white men. Some of his young men were a little out of hand and Gato didn't seem to know if he would resume the attack on the gold train or ride further afield for easier pickings. He certainly seemed reluctant to face Rawley's rifles again. Sam had told him to do what he wished. He had not finished with Rawley. The chief seemed to take heart when he heard this, but he still wouldn't commit himself. Sam had eaten with the Indians, then ridden in search of Rawley's sign. Once he picked it up, he had cut off corners and come on the gold-train from one side and taken a comfortable view of it from above. If the Indians had suffered at Rawley's hands, the gold-train had certainly sustained heavy losses at the hands of the Indians. Sam reckoned there were no more than eight men on their feet. The rest were wounded. He guessed that Rawley had lost some men dead and some deserted.

‘You're so Goddamn smart,' McAllister said, thinking of El Paso and a schooner of cold beer, ‘what do we do now?'

‘Whittle 'em a mite more,' said Sam.

McAllister groaned.

‘How many horses do they have?' he asked.

‘Enough to carry the gold and three men mounted. The wounded are ridin' with the gold.'

‘Goin' pretty slow, huh?'

‘Snails ain't in it.'

McAllister stood up and made up his mind. Get this damned business over with. Suddenly, he was all impatience.

‘Let's get on with it,' he said.

‘I know just where they're at,' Sam said. ‘We have a few hours good sleep, then we hit 'em at dawn.'

McAllister looked at him and he felt pretty sorry he had wanted to ride out on his friend. He said: ‘Sam, you and the others get some sleep. I'm all rested up. I want to go take a look at their camp.'

‘That's crazy,' said Sam. ‘The hills're swarmin' with Indians.'

‘The Indian ain't born 'at can catch me nappin'.'

‘There'll come a time when you'll brag yourself to death,' Sam told him, but he gave him the position of the camp and McAllister told them he would see them soon. Sam told him it would be dark soon and he would never find the camp in the dark, but McAllister laughed at him.

He rode north-east and around midnight he knew that Sam had been right. The country was strange to him and he would never find the place in the dark. The fact of being lost unnerved him a little, because there hadn't been many times in his life when he had not known exactly where he was. He thought he was pretty near the camp, but he couldn't be sure and he reckoned he would have done well to listen to Sam and stay put. He dismounted from the canelo, ground-hitched it and went off a ways, listening. But he heard nothing and the horse when he returned to it wasn't giving any sign that it had heard or smelled anything. McAllister then reckoned he had over-run the mark and he started to curse pretty fluently. He mounted and rode down a steep and narrow way between boulders, stopping every now and then to listen and after a while found himself in a narrow draw. He didn't like this one little bit and was about to turn back when he heard a rifle come to full cock above the shuffling sound of the horse's hoofs in the dust and not far off a man sang out: ‘Hold up and sign out.'