McAllister 4

by Matt Chisholm

  He led them the following day through the gateway of the fort and there gave its commanding officer brevet Colonel Robert Whitehouse the poser of his career. Makeshift quarters were found for the men and the cooks worked overtime to dish up some good hot food. Whitehouse wrung his hands, despairing of continuing to feed so many men.

  ‘My God,’ he said, ‘I’ve scarcely enough supplies for the garrison. How the hell do you think I can feed a whole goddam army?’ He made some fairly wild talk about the incompetence of amateur volunteers and stated that nothing of this kind could have happened if there had been a professional officer in charge.

  The scene took place in his office. It was here that Brigg informed him that he had placed his own colonel under arrest. It should have been comparatively simple thereon, but Whitehouse chose to make it something else.

  Present there were Whitehouse, Brigg, Lieutenant James Lawrence now acting as second-in-command to Brigg with the volunteers, Steiner the Indian agent and McAllister. The last was present because Steiner had requested him to be there and because of the friendship and understanding which had grown up during the march between McAllister and Captain Brigg. Colonel Brevington still sulked and was sitting in his borrowed quarters dividing his time between praying and drinking. Major Newton was still a sick man and was confined to quarters on the doctor’s orders.

  When Whitehouse demanded to know why Captain Brigg had arrested his colonel, the captain replied that his superior had behaved irrationally.

  ‘Irrationally,’ said Whitehouse, ‘in what way?’

  Brigg replied: ‘His behavior was irrational. These gentlemen will agree with me, I’m sure.’

  Whitehouse snapped: ‘Ten men may agree with you, Captain, but that does not make it so.’ Any captain who could arrest so august a rank as a colonel was suspect in the major’s book. He was, after all, himself a self-appointed colonel. Tell me just how irrational.’

  ‘He insisted on attacking an Indian village without first ascertaining if it was hostile.’

  Whitehouse sat up sharply with interest.

  ‘Where was this village located?’ he demanded.

  ‘On Dead Horse Creek.’

  ‘Dead Horse, did you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I and the second-in-command, Major Newton—’

  ‘Is that the officer under arrest for mutiny?’

  The captain said: ‘The officer lying sick …’

  The fort commander said: ‘This is beginning to sound very like a conspiracy to me.’

  ‘If you’d allow me to finish, sir.’ Whitehouse gestured for him to continue. ‘We both begged him to reconsider and to check the village before we attacked. For all we knew there were only old men, women and children there.’

  ‘Were you aware, Captain,’ the man behind the desk asked icily, ‘that we were at war with the Indians?’

  ‘I was aware, sir, that we were at war with the Sioux and Cheyenne and then only with certain of their bands. We had no way of knowing what tribe these people belonged to.’

  Whitehouse said: ‘It might interest you to know that, with the climate and mood of the nation as it is now, I would have done the same as Colonel Brevington. Our orders are to attack and destroy the Indians wherever they may be found.’

  ‘I am sure that can’t mean that we have to make war on women and children. I’m sure our men did not volunteer for that kind of service.’

  ‘Don’t you be too damned sure.’

  ‘And there is one more thing, sir.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Indian camp was flying the Stars and Stripes.’

  Whitehouse barked off a laugh. ‘Any villain can shelter under a flag. You’re gullible, Captain.’

  Captain Brigg was getting mad. He got to his feet and he raised his voice a little. ‘I’ll have you know, sir, that flag was given to the Indians by Captain Steiner on the sincere understanding that the Indians would be safe under it.’

  ‘Steiner!’ Whitehouse snorted. ‘We all know he’s soft on Indians, don’t we?’

  Steiner said: ‘It may also interest you to know, Colonel, that I was in that camp when it was attacked. I am a witness to all that went on that day.’

  ‘What?’

  Whitehouse was shaken now. For one moment, he was at a total loss for words.

  ‘I had not understood

  Steiner said: ‘If you’ll listen for a while, Colonel, you’ll understand considerably. I was in that camp and Sammy Samson was with me. Sammy would also be a witness, but he was killed by army bullets. The trader, Reynolds, was also in camp. The soldiers shot him as he tried to run towards them telling them not to shoot. Now Sammy and Reynolds were both well-known figures on the frontier. You’re not going to write those two off with a careless laugh. Brevington’s going to answer for this. You’re not going to settle this here and now nor are you going to brush it under the carpet. Newton, Brigg and I are army men to our bones and we have the good name of the service at heart. We’re not going to be stopped by anybody.’

  Now Whitehouse turned hard.

  ‘I’m not at all sure that your accusations are valid, Captain,’ he said. ‘So far as I have understood matters both Newton and yourself have been deprived of rank.’

  ‘Added to which the colonel is under arrest,’ said Brigg. McAllister said: ‘You’re forgetting me, Colonel. Remember, I came to you and asked for protection for White Bull’s camp? There’s your refusal to answer for. And there’s something else.’

  ‘Such as?’ Some of the snap had gone out of Whitehouse’s voice.

  ‘The fact that I am laying charges of false arrest and murder against Brevington.’

  Now the colonel wanted to be rid of them all. He washed his hands of the whole affair, he said.

  ‘I want you all out my fort,’ he said. ‘I do not have the rations here. It’s always the same with these volunteer regiments. They always bite off more than they can chew. More trouble than they’re damn well worth.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Outside the office on the edge of the parade ground, a bitter wind blew from the north. Captain Brigg and McAllister stood with their backs to it. Brigg had to cup his hand near McAllister’s ear to prevent the wind from carrying away his words.

  ‘Can I rely on you to come back to the capital with us, McAllister?’ he asked.

  ‘You couldn’t stop me,’ was the reply. ‘Brevington will be making charges against me and I shall be making charges against him.’

  The captain slapped McAllister on the back and they parted company. McAllister crossed the parade ground in the direction of the barrack room which he shared with fifty or so soldiers. When he reached the doorway of the barracks, there was a man leaning there, smoking a cigarette. As he came close, he saw that it was Dom Lawson. He stopped and eyed the man. Lawson smiled, showing his wolf teeth.

  ‘Feeling safe now, Rem?’ he asked.

  ‘I never feel safe when my back’s turned to you, Dom.’

  ‘Nor you should, old friend. Nor you should.’ He pushed himself upright, as if he was ready to go on his way now that he had seen McAllister. ‘I was just checking up on where you were sleeping. I like to know where you’re at all the time, Mack.’

  McAllister said: ‘You’re going to hang around me just one minute too long one day, Dom. Then you’ll look up and see there’s a rope around your neck.’

  Lawson laughed genuinely, his eyes dancing with an unholy delight.

  ‘There’s always the old-fashioned solution before we get to the rope stage.’

  ‘What’s that? A bullet in the back?’

  ‘Right first time. Which gives me a distinct advantage, don’t it? I mean you wouldn’t ever do that to a man, Rem old-timer. You’re too goddam fancy for that.’

  ‘A shot from the front is always a possibility, Dom,’ McAllister reminded him. ‘Don’t forget that.’

  Lawson said: ‘I don’t have no scares about that. I could al
ways out draw you, Rem. You’re good with a gun, but you’re slow.’

  McAllister stood silent for a moment, then he said with an almost whispered menace: ‘You’re tempting me, Dom. If I can’t win with a gun, it might be a laugh to break your neck right here and now.’

  Lawson’s eyes became uneasy.

  ‘Not here,’ he said. ‘Not on a military post.’

  ‘What have I got to lose?’ said McAllister. He stepped back a half-pace for a blow and saw the uneasiness in the man’s eyes become fear.

  ‘Jesus,’ Lawson said, ‘you touch me and I’ll kill you.’

  McAllister said: ‘You’re going to kill me any road, remember?’

  Maybe McAllister never intended to strike him. Certainly Lawson’s next move prompted instinctive action. As the man tried to duck away, his hand darted quick as a striking snake’s head into his open buffalo coat.

  McAllister caught at the tail of the coat and swung the man with all his strength, which was still not considerable. Lawson was almost torn from his feet. He turned like a clumsy dancer and his face seemed to bounce off the log wall behind him. As he came away McAllister laid the flat of his hand across the man’s face and knocked him from his feet. Just the same the gun came out. It appeared just as McAllister stamped down with a boot heel into the man’s belly. Lawson went a sickly green color and started to retch. McAllister took the gun from his hand and hurled it over the building.

  Very slowly, Lawson came to his feet. His eyes were venomous.

  He went to say something, but McAllister’s words cut his off – ‘If you’re going to kill me, Lawson, you’d best do it soon, because I’m going to nail your hide to the barn door. You stole your last horse for a while. I’ve not forgotten Greg Talbot.’

  ‘Who the hell’s Greg Talbot?’

  ‘He’s the old man you killed and threw out into the snow like a piece of garbage. He was a friend of mine.’

  McAllister turned and walked into the barrack room. He felt good. He had not felt so good in a long time. He walked down the long barrack room to the far end and found a large and powerful man sitting on his bunk. It was Rogers, the blacksmith. McAllister halted and two eyed each other. The blacksmith’s eyes were mocking. They challenged McAllister to do something about him.

  McAllister took a short inventory of his own emotions and found that he still felt good.

  ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that you’ve come for the whipping I promised you.’

  The man nodded.

  ‘That’s about the size of it,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to fight,’ McAllister said. ‘It might make things look bad for me. I mean – there’s the investigation and the court-martial coming up. I have to be a little careful. Maybe we should postpone it. If it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘It ain’t all the same to me,’ said the blacksmith. ‘I promised myself I’d beat your head in and I have a notion to do it and right this minute.’

  There was a good deal of interest on the part of the soldiers. They stopped whatever they were doing and edged nearer for a ringside seat.

  McAllister said: ‘You boys’re going to be disappointed. I don’t have any reason to fight this man.’

  A corporal said: ‘He told me you was yellow, McAllister.’

  ‘He did?’ said McAllister with an intelligent show of interest.

  ‘He sure did,’ said the man. ‘He said you had a yellow streak a foot wide clean down your back. He saw it when you was running away from them Indians.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’ said McAllister. ‘Maybe you’d like to creep into the fight now. You look the kind of sneaky son-of-a-bitch who gets in after the fight starts and you know who’s going to win.’

  The corporal said: ‘Why, you …’

  McAllister’s left hand shot out quicker than the eye could follow, catching the corporal in the throat. The man would have fallen backwards on the nearest bunk, but he was prevented by McAllister’s hand, which caught his clothing and whirled him off his feet. It seemed that, when he was in mid-air, McAllister hit him again. The man then changed his direction and landed on the chest of the blacksmith, just as that worthy was rising to his feet to hurl himself on McAllister.

  As Rogers lay pressed against the bunk by the weight of the corporal on top of him, he felt his ankles seized and, as he threw the corporal from him, he was whisked off the bunk and dumped bodily on the floor. His dismay was utter when he heard his own breath sigh helplessly out of him. If there was any scrap of it left, that was further forced from his lungs by McAllister ramming his boot down on his solar plexus, precisely as he had done with Lawson. Why employ a new tactic when the old ones still work?

  By this time, a third soldier had already declared himself in support of his two comrades and was charging down on McAllister. The big man turned just in time to duck under a thrown fist and then dodge a kick for the groin. Without thinking his right hand caught at the ankle and yanked the man from his feet. This put him on top of the blacksmith who was struggling, not very successfully, to rise. The result was satisfyingly chaotic. The corporal, climbing off the bunk, trod on Rogers’ face – which was no laughing matter when you remember that the corporal had not yet removed his heavy cavalry boots in preparation for bed. The blacksmith swore rather obscenely and the corporal took his foot from Rogers’ face and placed it on his sore belly. Rogers struck out blindly and knocked the corporal’s legs from under him. As he went down, his head struck first the side of the bunk and then the floor. So far as he was concerned, the fight was over. As for the blacksmith, he came up on to all fours and from that position launched an attack which was as slow as a drunken buffalo’s. All McAllister had to do to finish him was ball his fist and slam him behind the ear. Rogers subsided peacefully on the floor.

  The other soldier, who had so quixotically but foolishly entered the fight, leaned weakly against the side of the bunk and said: ‘Jesus – you’re a goddam Indian.’

  McAllister said: ‘Ain’t I just.’

  He was saved any further embarrassment socially after the fight by a breathless runner who came to tell McAllister that Colonel Brevington wanted to see him immediately.

  As the corporal and the blacksmith rose groggily to their feet and looked about them unbelievingly, McAllister said: ‘I shan’t report this cowardly attack on a defenseless civilian, men. I shall put it down to delayed battle shock. Tidy my bunk and we’ll say no more about it.’ They watched him turn and walk down the barrack room.

  ~*~

  If Colonel Brevington had any reason to be embarrassed to face McAllister, he showed it not. He employed the same abrasive and abrupt manner that he had shown all along. McAllister found him in a small storeroom which had been cleared for him to use as his quarters while in the fort. A truckle bed had been provided but little else. The colonel sat on the bed and, not wishing to sit beside the colonel, McAllister chose to stand.

  Brevington lit a large cigar, gaining a lot of smoke and not much pleasure from it.

  ‘Well, McAllister,’ he said, ‘you’ve gotten yourself into one hell of a fix, man, and no mistake.’ When McAllister said nothing, the colonel shifted his feet and tried again. ‘You should not have refused to guide me to the Indians, you know. That was real foolish of you. Do you not agree?’ He cocked his head on one side and looked at McAllister almost coquettishly.

  McAllister said: ‘Get to it, Colonel.’

  ‘I am willing to let bygones be bygones,’ Brevington said. ‘By that I mean I have obtained the victory which the army so badly needed. The Indians were utterly routed. Defeated. We cut them down in their scores.’

  McAllister said: ‘I was there, Colonel. I saw how many went down. And there was plenty got away. You also lost a whole lot of men yourself, Colonel. Too many for the army to give you a pat on the head.’

  The colonel pointed at McAllister. So far he had managed to remain comparatively calm. ‘Now you see here, McAllister … be still and hear me. For your own good. I’m
not a man who bears a grudge. I am not a malicious man. I’m a soldier and a man of God. Possible to be both, you know. I fight and I pray hard. As a real two-fisted, red-blooded man should. Agreed? Right. So how do we stand?’

  ‘I charge you with murder and wrongful arrest, said McAllister.

  ‘I don’t think you heard me,’ said the colonel.

  ‘Every goddam sickening word I heard,’ said McAllister.

  ‘Now let’s talk about this sensibly like men,’ said the colonel.

  ‘How about Steiner and Newton and Brigg – have you talked to them sensibly like men?’

  ‘They’re soldiers,’ said the colonel with incredible confidence. ‘They lost their heads in the heat of battle. Green hands get like that under fire. Went through that kind of thing myself years back. They’ll come around and show themselves amenable to discipline. I know. There’s just you, McAllister. You’re the only bad apple in the basket, as you might say. I’m trying to save you a whole lot of grief, man, can’t you see it? I carry a hell of a lot of weight in the capital. The governor’s a personal friend of mine, the commanding general is a cousin of mine. I’m a power in the community. What hope do you think you have, boy? You don’t have a prayer. I tell you that for nothing.’

  ‘The charge is still murder, Brevington. You shot Sammy Samson and you shot Indians who were sheltering under a flag you should show some respect for.’

  The colonel was on his feet in a second, face enflamed and eyes wild.

  ‘Now you have gone too far, sir. I will have not one foul word said against my relationship with the flag. The emblem of our nation which I hold sacred.

  McAllister felt like throwing up.

  He said: ‘Murder, Brevington.’

  The colonel quietened suddenly.

  ‘What does a man have to do,’ he said softly through his clenched teeth, ‘to get to you, McAllister?’

  ‘You could try admitting you’re a murderous bladder of lard.’