Very soon he could see the prisoners huddled to one side of the side tunnel that ran like the top of a T across the line of the tunnel. They were huddled together against the wall, the lamp near them so that its rays shone upward on their tense faces, hollowing out their eyes. For a moment, he could not locate the guard and had to crawl a little closer. Then he found him, to the left, back against the wall and rifle in his hands. Straight away he was aware of the acuteness of the tension in the place shared by both guard and prisoners.
McAllister was puzzled at first for what his next move must be. Certainly, he could not creep up on the guard without being seen. He dared not risk a shot or the men in the basin would be warned and they could all be caught like animals in a trap. He decided to use the same method that he and Sam had used when they had made their break. Laying the rifle down by his side, he searched around for a chunk of ore, found one and hefted it in his right hand. If one of the prisoners saw him, none gave any sign.
He sighted carefully, hurled the piece of ore with all the strength of his right arm and went after it. It was not a good throw and the ore no more than glanced off the back of the man’s head. It knocked him forward, but it did not put him down and he retained his rifle in his hands. The weapon was coming into line as McAllister went into the man with the force of a driving train, swiping the barrel of the gun aside. Both men went down, but only McAllister rose, for a prisoner leapt to his feet and struck the guard with the flat of a shovel. Suddenly, every man there was a blood-thirsty savage. McAllister knew that had he not been there, they would have torn the man they hated limb from limb. No doubt, the fellow deserved to die and McAllister was never sure why he stopped them, but he did. He got himself between them and their victim and shouted at them. His anger made them pause long enough for him to get them moving. He gave the guard’s rifle to one man, his revolver to another and his knife to a third.
‘We have to get out of here,’ he said, ‘and fast.’ He said this in Spanish for most of them were Mexicans. ‘Go down the tunnel quietly and wait. Rawley and his men are all over the basin. Be careful.’
They obeyed him, slipping away into the tunnel. McAllister examined the fallen guard and reckoned that he would be out for a few minutes. He wanted no longer than that. He hurried off after the others. They gathered in the mouth of the tunnel, crouching down, overjoyed that they were free, but scared by what they had done.
McAllister looked out into the basin and saw the shadowy figures of men searching for him here and there. They seemed to be most places, but there were none near the tunnel, for which he was duly thankful. He could hear them calling to each other.
McAllister turned to the men behind him and said: ‘When you leave here, go straight up the wall near this tunnel. The men with the weapons remain with me. We shall cover you. When you’re out of the basin, go due south. Sam Spur’s that way. If you miss him, go on, go into town, go home, go anyplace away from here.’ He could almost smell their fear and he didn’t reckon he was feeling any too brave himself.
The two armed men came to him. By what he could see of them, they seemed resolute enough.
He signed for the first man to get going. He hesitated for a moment, crossed himself with a mumbled prayer and slipped out of the tunnel. Turning right, he was quickly lost to sight. Another man came forward, hesitated in much the same way, crossed himself and was gone. A dozen went the same way, till McAllister and the two men were left. McAllister held his breath. It didn’t seem possible that the guards had not spotted them.
The man with the rifle whispered: ‘They must see them.’
McAllister said: ‘Let’s go.’
He led the way out of the tunnel and heard the two men moving quietly on their naked feet behind him. Almost at once, they started to climb. Still they heard nothing from the searching guards. But it was too good to last, this silence, for they had not been out of the tunnel a minute and were climbing with panting breath when a shout came from below them.
‘Who’s up there? Sing out.’
There was doubt in the man’s mind. He thought he might have sighted another guard.
McAllister stopped and turned. He heard one of the Mexicans ahead of him cry out in alarm. The sound of a rifle being levered below came to him clearly. A man shouted a question from the direction of the mills. McAllister found the dim form of the nearer man with difficulty, rammed the butt of the rifle into his shoulder and fired. At once the silent flight of the prisoners became a wild noisy scramble as men hastened to get out of the basin and the death they could meet there. Two rifles opened up from below. McAllister fired back at their muzzle flashes. The Mexican with the rifle joined him. He doubted if their shooting was doing much harm, for the light was too poor for that. But equally the men below didn’t have much to shoot at.
After he had emptied his rifle, McAllister told the Mexican: ‘Run for it.’
The man wanted no second bidding and turned away, scrambling up the steep slope as fast as he could go, banging the butt of the rifle on the rocks. McAllister followed his example and soon caught up with him. It seemed that lead howled all around them as they went, but at last they reached the rimrock and stood for a moment panting there. The Mexican thanked God for his deliverance, but McAllister told him he wasn’t out of the wood yet. They started running south, running side by side and gulping breath into their tortured lungs. The shooting from below petered out; only the shouting of the guards reached them. They ran on, not able to believe they had come through it alive. They came on others and several of them ran together until men’s wind started to give out and their starved bodies were no longer strong enough to obey their fear.
As they walked, McAllister saw that there were six of them including himself. There was no sound now but the soft fall of their naked feet and their heavy breathing. He led them slightly south-east now until there came a soft challenge out of the darkness and there were Sam and the girl. There were greetings in Spanish, embraces, joy expressed that was near to hysteria. Sam said go ahead and wait, he was going to check their back-trail. They went on till they reached the horses and there the girl gave the half-starved men what food they could spare, a drink from the canteens. They sat around or lay on the ground trying to recoup the little strength they had had till Sam came back and told them that nobody had come out of the basin.
McAllister said: ‘They won’t come. Not if they have any sense. They’ll light out with the gold they have.’
Sam said: ‘That brings me to the point I’ve been thinkin’ about, Rem.’
McAllister couldn’t see much of him in the poor light. He was little more than a blur. The girl’s blouse made a light patch at his side as she held his arm.
‘Sam,’ McAllister said in American, ‘if you have any more bright ideas, forget ’em. I’ve had my belly full, believe me.’
Sam said: ‘You’ve done your bit. You went back in there and you got these men out. Now it’s my turn.’
McAllister stood up.
‘Spill it, boy,’ he said. ‘What’s this point of yours?’
Sam chuckled.
‘It’s all that gold. Rem, I can’t stop thinkin’ about all that gold and how much Rawley owes us. Me, you, all these boys. We sure dug a whole lot for him. Why, there’s a fortune right there for the takin’.’
‘No,’ said McAllister, getting mad. ‘Forget it. I’ve done enough crazy things in my time, but nothin’ that crazy. We have a few rifles and belt-guns and a couple of hundred rounds of ammunition and you’re goin’ to take on that crew. They’re fightin’ men, Sam.’
Sam spoke in his most patient voice.
‘Now, be reasonable, Rem. Rawley owes it to us. You think like I do that he’ll pack that gold out of there. He has the mules and the horses to do it. He’s goin’ over the hump into New Mexico and lead the life of Riley there. You want that pig’s bastard to live it up for the rest of his life? You want these fellers shouldn’t have a single cent for what they went through?’
Smooth as silk, Sam said: ‘No call to get mad, Rem. Like I said, you done your bit. Nobody’s blamin’ you for wantin’ to pull out. You get on that horse of yours an’ ride. Nobody’ll think the worse of you for it.’
McAllister ground his teeth together.
‘I oughta break your Goddamn jaw,’ he snarled. He hefted his rifle and strode away into the dark.
A Mexican said softly: ‘The big man is afraid. After what he did, he is afraid. Life is very strange.’
Sam laughed.
Chapter 9
Rawley watched the dawn come up and he felt a little sick. He was badly shaken and it wasn’t a thing that had happened to him often. Too much that he couldn’t swallow had happened in the last few hours. Now the story of his mine would be out all over the country. Even taking his gold into New Mexico could now be dangerous, but that was what he intended to do. But his plans were awry, apparently through the work of one man, for he was convinced that there had been no more than one here during the night. He was shaken with almost uncontrollable fury, but he knew that he must get a grip on himself. He must think clearly, but to do that, he needed a drink and his store had gone up in flames when his cabin burned.
So here he was stuck out in the open, sitting by the crushing mill, the useless crushing mill that madman had put out of action the night before, watching his men preparing for the trail. He watched them closely and with suspicion, knowing that the night’s events had affected them. He hadn’t trusted any of them at the start and he did so even less now. The kind of work he had needed them for demanded that they should be what they undoubtedly were, the scourings of the saloons and the back-trails.
There were a half-dozen prisoners left, still in their chains, helping the guards in their preparations. They would be dead before the sun set. In the fight in the dark last night several of them had died or had been wounded and put out of their misery. The men had showed their caliber in doing the job. Hardly one of them had shown distaste at the killings. Rawley had needed such men here and he would need them through the mountains to get past the Apache and maybe the renegades in the New Mexico hills. But after that they would only be in the way, they would merely make his share of the loot smaller. He would have to watch for his chances. So much blood had been spilled so far, there was no sense in holding back from another death or two. He liked thoroughness.
He had planned carefully for this move and the night raid had only made the plans more difficult to carry out, not impossible. He had stored ammunition for the trip through the mountains and much of it had gone up in the fire last night. But he reckoned he had enough to see him through the hills. His own wounded worried him. Three men had been hurt badly and they would prove encumbrances. Sure, they could be killed, but the men who would kill prisoners without compunction would feel differently about killing their own kind. Each man would think that if it could happen to another man it could happen to him. And Rawley couldn’t afford for doubt about his reliability to set in. These men had faith in him because from the start he had looked after them. It had been a sound investment.
He turned his head and looked at Rich, lying in the shade of the crushing mill. He lay awkwardly on one side because the wound was in his back. The girl had done that and there was a source of anguish for Rawley. He had scarcely known Carlita, but she had made a deep impression on him. He would have been willing to take her to New Mexico with him. There would be other women, as many as he wanted now that he was a wealthy man, but she had somehow gotten into his blood. He brooded over her angrily as he watched his men and the prisoners preparing the packs. The sun rose rapidly and the morning grew hot. He drank from his canteen and felt himself slowly start to sweat. He wondered how long it would be before the country was up in arms against him. McAllister and that Sam Spur were both men who wouldn’t take this kind of thing sitting down. They would warn the authorities. If word got to the territorial governor, he would take action at once. Maybe even the army would move in. He had to be out of here fast to disappear into the sierras. Maybe he would hole up there for a while until this blew over. Maybe he’d think about that. For the first time the true enormity of what he had done came home to him. Maybe it would be wiser to head for old Mexico and stay south of the Border for a year or two. But that would mean coming out onto the open plain and he could be spotted there. No, these hills were the ones for him – but Gato was here and he had a healthy fear of the Apache.
An idea came to him. He rose to his feet and walked across to a small Mexican guarding the prisoners. He was dirty, unshaven and carried an arsenal of weapons.
‘Pepe.’
‘Si, jefe.’
In his cow-pen Spanish, Rawley told him: ‘You will go quickly to the town and find out what the people there have learned about us. You will be careful that no escaped prisoners see you. You will come back to me here as fast as you can. If you do not, we shall be gone. You understand?’
The man touched the wide brim of his sombrero with a hand. ‘I understand.’ He walked away to the corral at the far side of the basin and saddled his horse. A short while after he rode out, slowly climbing the steep and narrow trail.
Rawley paced here and there, checking the loads. The preparations went on till noon. Rawley assigned the packs to certain animals, reserved some of the mules for ammunition and supplies generally. He didn’t want any animal overladen. If he was going to get across the sierra and to his destination, he had to look after the stock. He ordered the water-containers filled, checked that each man carried sufficient ammunition and was well-armed. Some rifles had been lost in the fire, but there were enough to go around. Rawley was satisfied. Some of his anger had gone as he busied himself. He could have done with a stiff drink, but he reckoned he’d have to get by without it. What he would like before he left was to get his hands on the man who had hit the camp last night. But that would be a luxury, not an essential. All he was really concerned with was getting the gold out.
‘We’ll go now,’ he told Carlos.
The man protested – ‘You mean you’ll travel in the dark.’
‘We have a few hours of daylight left. We’ll use them. I know a good spot to camp in for the night. Get the prisoners into the tunnel. You know what to do. Then blow the tunnel in.’
The man nodded and walked shouting toward the prisoners. The guards started to herd them toward the tunnel. If they knew what was to happen to them, they gave no sign. Rawley built a cigaret and stood listening. After a while he heard several rifle shots sounding dull and distant in the tunnel. Then the guards walked out into the sunlight. They stood around smoking, waiting for somebody in the tunnel to set the charges. A half-hour later, a man walked out and shouted so that the guards scattered. After a short interval there came the boom-boom of the explosion. Dust wafted out into the basin and the blast almost took Rawley from his feet. The dust started to settle and he shouted for the men to load up. They grumbled because they hadn’t thought to make the prisoners do it before they killed them.
Pretty soon, the animals were loaded and the men were mounting up. A warm glow of satisfaction went through Rawley. All he had to do now was to get through the mountains. With the small well-armed little force he had under his command that shouldn’t be too difficult. He sat his fine sorrel horse in the center of the basin and watched the long line of laden mules and horses and their flanking riders go past him headed for the narrow trail that would lead them to a new life in the east.
He heard a clatter of stones to the south and, turning his head, saw a horseman on the southern rim of the basin. It was Pepe who waved. Rawley waved back and the Mexican rode along the edge of the basin to the western path. The first rider of the pack-train dismounted at the foot of the eastern path and slowly started to lead his h
orse up. Pepe started down the western slope. In a few minutes he was beside Rawley.
‘What did you learn?’
‘None of the escaped men have reached town yet.’
‘Good.’
‘But I passed some on their way. They were on foot. I did not harm them in any way, though I was tempted.’
Rawley nodded. He would have a fair start. He began to feel quite cheerful, almost gay. He raised his eyes to the train going slowly up the narrow trail. There went his future and his fortune. Pepe moved off in the direction of the moving animals.
When he thought about this moment later, Rawley remembered that there was a curious pause in time. No doubt this was a trick of his mind, but that was the way it seemed. There was a puff of smoke on the rimrock immediately above the trail. Moments later, it seemed, there came the crack of a rifle.
As the sound reached him, Rawley saw the foremost of his men lunge out from the trail into mid-air, all arms and legs. His horse, unnerved, fought to hold its footing, then it too went over the edge of the narrow path and plunged onto the rocks below. He heard both hit with a sound that was sickening.
For what seemed a long time, neither men nor beasts on the trail knew what to do. Every man’s instinct was to try and turn back, but there was no way of turning on the narrow way. The leading mules went ahead, slowly climbing.
There came another shot from above and another. Several of his men were scrambling down from the trail to hide among the rocks. A few got to work with their rifles and were firing at the marksman at the head of the trail.
Rawley was shouting now, yelling for Pepe. The man whirled his horse and came galloping back to him.
‘Cut around from the north and get that feller off the head of the trail. Pronto. Move yourself, man.’
Pepe didn’t need any second bidding. He spurred away and hit the western trail, going up it at a reckless pace. Rawley considered for a moment and thought he could do no good down here in the basin and spurred after the Mexican. He went up the trail fast as though unafraid of his horse missing its footing, hit the rimrock and turned north, racing along the rim of the basin as fast as he could quirt and spur the game horse. Within moments, he had caught up with Pepe and they pounded without thought of danger for the spot where the rifleman was hidden. But as they came up, all was silence. They dropped out of the saddle on the run and rushed the head of the trail with their rifles held ready, but when they reached there all they found was some empty cartridge cases.
Gunsmoke for McAllister Page 10