Gunsmoke for McAllister

by Matt Chisholm

  Rawley cursed insanely for a full minute. Pepe stood mutely, watching him. Finally, Rawley got a grip on himself and looked down below. The lead mules had nearly reached the top of the trail. He bawled down for the men to come on up.

  He walked back to his horse and mounted, cursing himself for not having had the foresight, after what happened last night, to put a guard at the head of the trail. He faced the possibilities squarely and quickly. He had never been one to hide from facts. The man who had gotten into the basin last night, was still on the rampage and his aim was not just to release prisoners. He was out to hurt him, Rawley. Well, Rawley would show him that two could play at that game. He would have the bastard’s guts and he would hang ’em out in the sun to dry.

  He yelled for the ’breed and when he came loping up, he told him to make sure there had been no more than one man doing the shooting. But the man couldn’t make anything out for the pack-train had walked over the spot and ruined the sign.

  ‘Circle,’ Rawley told him. ‘Find out all you can. He must have tied a horse up somewhere.’

  The man looked a little scared. He didn’t want to nose around in the hills too far from his fellows. There was real danger here, not only from the man who had done the shooting but from the Indians. But he was afraid of Rawley also and the sheriff was the nearer. He sloped off into the rocks looking for sign.

  When all the animals and men were up, Rawley spoke to the men. He took a good look at them, assessing the amount of scare they’d had. They looked wary and they kept their eyes on the surrounding rocks when he spoke to them, but they weren’t in a funk. That pleased him. He had picked them for their toughness and he was satisfied that they were tough enough for what lay ahead of them.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s twice we’ve been jumped. An’ maybe it’s my fault it happened. It’s showed me one thing – whoever done it will try it again. They’re after the gold. They’re out to hurt us. An’ they’ll try it again. Bank on it. My guess is, they’ll try tonight. Then we’ll have ’em. I promise you that.’

  They made no comment. They turned their hard cold eyes on him and seemed to be assessing him in their turn, testing his nerve and telling him also that they themselves were a danger through their very nature. As he turned away and mounted his horse, he saw clearly what he must do if he were to get through the mountains whole with his gold. First, he had to catch whoever was gunning for him. Second, he had to think of something to make a tough few of his men loyal to him against the others. Carlos and Pepe were his men. Rich was another matter. He had earned the man’s loyalty by bringing him along now, but he was hurt bad and, for some days at least, he would be useless if it ever came to a show down. Rawley sat his horse, watching the train go slowly by him, trying to think of every eventuality. Rich passed him without lifting his eyes, riding in pain, hunched over his saddlebow. Fifteen hard men rode by, three of them wounded. They were all a little shaken by the death of the man back there in the rocks, but when Rawley had caught the man who had done it, they would feel better. Rawley clattered after them.

  Chapter 10

  McAllister signalled for silence and they all stopped talking and listened. Nobody heard the faint sound that had been caught by McAllister’s sharp ears. Porfirio, the Mexican with the rifle, slipped into the rocks. After a little pause, the others followed suit. McAllister hefted his rifle and stalked forward to meet the oncoming horseman. Within a few minutes, he saw Sam riding toward him.

  When Sam stepped down from the saddle, they all gathered around him for his news. McAllister thought he looked overly tired. It was mostly his eyes, the grim line of his mouth and the way he carried his lean body. He had taken a lot of punishment from Rawley and his men and it would be some time before he was over it. But he had a grin for them and he slipped his arm around the girl’s waist.

  There were five of them. Sam, the girl, McAllister, Porfirio the Mexican with the rifle and a vaquero named Diaz who claimed he knew how to use the revolver which was his sole armament. The two Mexicans had suffered and they showed it, but McAllister estimated that they were men with some iron in them. How much would show later. But they had showed that they had sand by the way they had stayed. They could have gone off with the others, but they wanted what Rawley owed them – and that was blood not gold.

  ‘How’d it go?’ McAllister asked.

  Sam said: ‘All right. They’ve pulled out. I caught ’em on the narrow trail comin’ up. They couldn’t do a damn thing. I killed one of ’em. A couple of ’em cut around from the other side of the place and I high-tailed outa there. I could of cut ’em both down, but you said to play it safe and that’s what I did.’

  McAllister said: ‘It’s a good start.’

  ‘Yes,’ the Mexicans agreed it was a good start. They looked at Sam with some admiration and they grinned in a pleased sort of way when the girl kissed him.

  ‘That tracker of Rawley’s is sniffin’ around. I reckon we should pull back a few miles.’

  ‘All right,’ McAllister said. ‘We’ll leave ’em alone for a day or two. Tomorrow mornin’ we’ll go into the mine and see if they’ve left any supplies for us. If they’re headed for New Mexico, we ain’t too well placed to follow ’em.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Porfirio said, ‘one of us should go back into town and get some supplies.’

  ‘Could be it’ll come to that,’ McAllister said, ‘but we’ll see what we find in the mornin’.’

  They pulled out south, the two Mexicans walking and kept going until dark when they all thought they were far enough from Rawley and his crew to be safe. They even risked a fire in a concealed spot and cooked themselves a hot meal. The ex-prisoners were thankful for the food and McAllister saw their urgent need to lay in a plentiful supply. None of them except the girl were in any state to be going anywhere and now they had taken on the crazy task of separating Rawley and his men from their gold. Sometimes human beings just plain amazed McAllister and this was one of those times. He looked at the two Mexicans, stuffing food into their half-starved bodies and couldn’t help wondering at the miracle that made these defeated men come back fighting. They looked nothing more than mild men of the peon class – sure, one of them was a vaquero, but after all he was a peon who had learned to nurse cows. They weren’t fighting men, but they had made up their minds to fight. Rawley had done something to them that had made them want their revenge.

  McAllister took first watch, for he reckoned that of the men he least needed sleep. At midnight, in spite of the fact that Sam had insisted that he take his turn, McAllister woke the girl and she took over. She was fresh and strong and he knew she wouldn’t fail them. Sam was pretty mad when he woke with the dawn and found that he had slept clean through the night, but Carlita and McAllister didn’t take much notice of him. They ate briefly in the cold light of dawn and got on the move. There was not too much time to waste. They did not want Rawley too far ahead of them. Nor, McAllister decided, did they want Rawley’s men finding them. Even now, Rawley might take it into his mind to track down the men who had hit him so hard. So he mounted the two tired Mexicans on the canelo and told those mounted to go on ahead. He spent the next hour working on the tracks so that, even if a skilled tracker might come up with them later, at least he would be delayed. After he had done his work well, McAllister had to run to catch up. Running wasn’t easy, for he was still sore and stiff, but the running worked some of the stiffness out of him and he caught the little cavalcade just as it was approaching the basin. One of the Mexicans called out to him, asking him if he wanted now to ride the canelo, but he refused. He was feeling pretty good. They went on and dipped down into the basin.

  Already the place looked utterly derelict. McAllister’s eyes turned toward the graves on the east side, small mounds of sand that was the only sign that men had lived and died here. They at once headed for the cookhouse and dismounted. McAllister walked inside and inspected it. The place had been almost emptied, but there was some flour and beans that Rawley
and his men had thought surplus to their requirements. It was better than nothing, but not enough. They needed more supplies, two horses for the Mexicans and a horse to carry their supplies. It looked for a moment as if they would be forced to return to Euly. Sam raved a bit and said they’d never catch up with that sonovabitch Rawley.

  It was hot now. They sat around in what shade they could find, drinking the water they had found in a pitcher.

  One of the Mexicans said something sharply and pointed. They looked up at the west wall.

  A solitary horseman was a small silhouetted dot against the brazen sky.

  Sam said: ‘Apache.’

  They reached for their rifles and stood up. The Mexican with the revolver, Diaz, looked scared. He had good reason to, for he had had unpleasant experiences with Apaches. Several more horsemen joined the first. McAllister glanced around the basin and saw that there were more to the east.

  ‘They’ve got us boxed,’ he said.

  ‘Stay still,’ Sam said.

  McAllister gave a hard dry laugh.

  ‘But not for too long,’ he said. ‘You could be dead.’ The girl went close to Sam and held his arm.

  The Indians stayed still themselves for a while, watching the people below them, then one of them lifted an arm and made a sign. Slowly they started to file down the narrow trails from the east and the west.

  Sam said: ‘We’re not going to fight our way out of this one. Maybe it’s Gato. If it is, we have a chance. Gato always left me in peace.’

  McAllister said: ‘You was one white man. There’s five of us here.’ Once again he wished he’d stayed in E1 Paso where a man could only get himself shot to death.

  The minutes ticked by. The Indians didn’t hurry themselves, but rode slowly at a walk, reached the flat and slowly spread out across the flat floor of the basin so that they came at the little party in a line. There was a fellow in the center of the line McAllister reckoned must be the chief, Gato, and he made up his mind that his first shot was going to lift the red sonovabitch over the rump of his paint pony. That could sober the others up a mite.

  The dust rose in small wisps from the unshod hoofs of the ponies as they pattered across the hard ground. The cornered party looked along the line of savage faces, stayed still under the pitiless stare of the Indian eyes.

  Sam released his arm from Carlita’s hold, put his rifle in the crook of his arm and walked forward. McAllister reckoned old Sam had as much spunk as ever. He took note of a lump of rock off to his right and decided he’d jump for that when the shooting started.

  About ten yards from the center of the line, Sam stopped and started using his hands. The fellow McAllister had picked on as Gato, walked his horse forward and halted. The signs went on for a while, then he heard Sam talking. The Indian grunted back his replies.

  It seemed to go on for a long time, the Indian horsemen lolling at their ease in their crude saddles, their hair and the horses’ manes fluttering in the light breeze. Animals tossed their heads. McAllister took note of their armament. There were about fifteen warriors there and about seven of them had rifles of one sort or another. The rest were armed with bows and clubs. Here and there a revolver butt showed above the lines of their belts. They wore a motley assortment of clothing, some of it army uniform, the seat of the pants cut out, no doubt. But most of them wore the knee-high Apache moccasin, bright shirts that had been faded by the sun and sweat-cloths around their heads, holding their long ragged hair from their eyes. Here and there was a man wearing a white man’s hat. Maybe they looked odd, but they also looked formidable and McAllister, who knew Indians if he knew nothing else, had never seen a fiercer-looking crew. He hoped like hell Sam could talk them out of this one.

  Gato was down off his pony. He and Sam squatted, almost face to face. They were talking animatedly now. McAllister allowed himself to feel a little relieved, but he reckoned he wouldn’t relax until the last copper-colored son of them had disappeared over the hill.

  Some of the riders to the east of the line started to drift slowly forward as though to outflank the little white party. McAllister jacked a round into the breech of his rifle and gave a shout. Gato looked up, saw what was going on and raised his voice too. The braves stopped and looked like the cat that had been prevented from reaching the cream.

  Another fifteen minutes passed and finally Sam stood up. He and the Indian exchanged signs, then shook hands. They turned and walked back to their own people. McAllister took a hard look at Sam and reckoned he looked like a man should after he has been under hard strain. But he managed a little grin as he joined them.

  ‘Phew!’ he said. ‘I don’t ever want to live through that again.’

  ‘What was you palaverin’ about?’ McAllister demanded, not taking his eyes from the Indians and seeing that they had gathered around the chief and were being talked at.

  ‘That was Gato,’ Sam said, ‘as no doubt you guessed. Like you said, there’s too many of us here and he’d like to roast Diaz and Porfirio over a slow fire.’ The two Mexicans looked a little sick, as well they might. ‘I had to talk fast, but I won him over when I told him we’d all been Rawley’s prisoners. He didn’t believe it at first, but he finally swallowed it. Rawley has killed a good round half-dozen of his men and he’s fit to be tied. I told him we aimed to wipe out Rawley an’ his bunch. Again he didn’t swallow it right off, but I reckoned I talked him into it.’

  ‘Sam,’ McAllister said, ‘if you did that, you did pretty damn well.’

  ‘I did more’n that, Sam told him. ‘I talked him into lettin’ us have horses.’

  Diaz said with great astonishment: ‘This I have to see, por Dios.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘he’ll bring us all the horses we need. That suits us fine. Rawley’s moving slowly. We’ll catch him easy.’

  McAllister said: ‘What does he want in return?’

  Sam said: ‘Nothin’.’

  ‘Now I heard everythin’.’

  Porfirio clapped his hands together in surprised delight. ‘An Apache gives horses to a Christian. This is a miracle. Sam, you have a golden tongue.’

  ‘He ain’t just a pretty face after all,’ McAllister said. The Indians were riding around the basin now, dismounting to inspect odds and ends left behind by the late owners. Cries of pleasure came from them as they found something they valued. The iron and steel of the mills interested them greatly and they gathered around them like flies around a jam-pot. Several rode up to the cookhouse, ignoring the five nerve-wrecked people there and moments later came out triumphantly with pots and pans. These gave them enormous delight and suddenly instead of fearsome warriors they were innocent children. Carlita with her traditional Mexican fear of ‘the barbarians’, fled to Sam’s arms for protection. Porfirio and Diaz looked like men who would have to sell their lives dearly any second and McAllister himself kept his finger through the trigger-guard of his rifle. But beyond shouting at them a time or two, the Indians took no notice of them and swaggered to their ponies and rode away. Not long after they rode out of the basin, streaming away in single file up the western trail and disappearing in a small cloud of dust.

  Only now did the five people in the basin breathe more easily. Carlita looked as if she would collapse, such an effect did Apaches have on even a woman with guts as she had.

  McAllister said: ‘One of us up on the rimrock, just to be sure none of Rawley’s boys come back. Carlita, we’ll build a fire for you and you cook us the best meal we’ve ever eaten.’

  The release of their tension made everybody suddenly gay. The Mexicans were all smiles and Diaz told them how he had been prepared to sell his life dearly to los Indios salvajes. He admitted that the barbarians scared the living daylights out of him, but a Christian had of necessity to be valiant and brave before such barbarian animals. Porfirio volunteered to go up on the rim of the basin and watch. They thanked him and he set off on foot, telling them that if they came in force he would fire a shot, but if only one came, then he would
sign to them. There was a pile of firewood still outside the cook-shack and the men carried this inside for Carlita. McAllister and Diaz saw to the horses, throwing them into the corral and watering them. There was still some bait left around and the hungry animals fell on it with a will. When they returned to the cookhouse, they were welcomed by a delicious smell of cooking. Not long after, they were all eating bacon and beans and McAllister thought he had never tasted a finer meal in his life. They had to wash it down with nothing better than tepid water, but they were all well-satisfied. After the meal, Sam went off to relieve Porfirio and McAllister saddled the canelo to go and search out Rawley’s sign and decided exactly where he was heading. Diaz decided that he would like to go with him, for he knew the country pretty well and might be of some help.

  They rode east till noon and during that time, the Mexican showed McAllister that he not only knew the country well, but that he could interpret sign with the best. He was, he boasted modestly to McAllister, a true hombre del campo. His father before him had had great knowledge of the wild places and had taught all he knew to his son. The old man had at one time been a prisoner of the Apache. He had been with them for two-three years and in that time he had learned much. It had been many years ago and he had been little more than a boy, McAllister must understand, but he had learned many Indian tricks. The Apache liked to take Mexican children, boys in particular. Diaz never rightly understood that. The Indians, while being despised as savages by the Mexicans, also despised the Mexicans, yet they would steal their sons to make warriors of them. Some of their fiercest warriors, Diaz maintained, were either Mexicans or had Mexican blood in their veins. He crossed himself piously as he said he thought it a terrible thing that a Christian should lose his immortal soul by becoming an Indian.