McAllister 2

by Matt Chisholm

  Five minutes more, and when he had nearly become accustomed to crouching in a slow walk through the dark, guided only by his left hand against the rock and the sound of shuffling steps ahead of him, he felt the soft touch of fresh air on his cheek and heard a noisy sigh of relief issue from Clegg. A few minutes later, he stepped out into the sunshine, utterly surprised.

  Blinking in the bright sunlight, hearing his horse rumble with pleasure, he looked around him in astonishment. It was as though he had walked through some kind of anteroom to hell only to find himself in paradise.

  Everywhere he looked, except on the high walls of the canyon, was green—grass, trees, thickets and even moss where the water fell with a cheerful tumbling noise. With a kind of reassurance, he heard water splashing noisily from a great height on to rock. He saw the swift creek racing and the horses wanted to get to it.

  Now, evidently, Charlie Arbiter was very much in charge. The old man seemed to have been turned young, to have swelled with a new confidence. He used Spanish as he walked down the line of men and animals and gave his orders.

  “Unsaddle and water the horses. We camp here. One of you block that tunnel so no animal strays.”

  Men obeyed him. It was as if the place had cast a spell on all of them. Even McAllister felt himself affected by the atmosphere. Maybe it was the moisture in the air, which seemed magical after the skin-cracking dryness of the world outside.

  He unsaddled and removed the bridle from his mount. The animal nickered with joy and rolled in ecstasy. Then it headed fast for the water. Charlie was giving orders for a fire to be built and for a meal to be prepared.

  The girl, Pilar, ate her food with McAllister. Jack Clegg ate his apart, watching the others carefully. McAllister’s feelings about the man became stronger.

  During the meal, Pilar said to him: “McAllister, do you believe the gold is here?”

  “It has to be somewhere, if it’s anywhere, and here’s as good as anywhere,” he replied. He looked at her. Her eyes were bright with excitement. Was there a hard glitter in them? Gold affected most people. Why should she be any different from anybody else?

  She leaned close. “How do you mean to get it out of these hills?”

  “I’m only the hired man,” he said, “I wouldn’t know a thing like that.”

  She looked as if she had been repulsed. “You know as well as I do that’s why you’ve been brought along. We haven’t seen the last of the Indians and that sheriff will stop us if he can.”

  McAllister grinned and said: “He sure can. I have a notion just to hold tight and see what happens. There ain’t nothin’ else I can do. Or can you think of somethin’?”

  She imitated his tone when she replied, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement: “I’m only a helpless woman. How would I be able to do a thing like that?”

  He said, suddenly dead serious: “You keep your eye on our friends here, especially Jack Clegg. If anythin’s goin’ to happen, it’ll happen hereabouts and pretty soon. Here comes Charlie. I reckon I’ll tag along.”

  As the old man went to walk past them down-canyon, McAllister was quickly on his feet and fell in beside him. Charlie looked a little startled.

  “I’ll go along with you, Charlie,” McAllister said.

  Charlie stopped. He wasn’t mad yet, but he was damned uncomfortable. He looked like he wished McAllister was a thousand miles away.

  “Not now, Rem,” Charlie said, trying to sound friendly and not doing too well at it. “You stick around here and keep an eye on things.”

  “I’ll mosey along with you, if it’s all the same, Charlie, an’ keep an eye on things.”

  The old man’s voice went as hard as he could make it—“McAllister, I hired you to be a help. Now, stay right here like I say, an’ … help.”

  McAllister said: “Charlie, we didn’t get rid of the Indians forever. An’ it ain’t goin’ to be too long before that goddam sheriff gets his nerve back and starts in after us. I have to think out somethin’ for our return trip. First, I want to know for sure the gold’s here. Second, I want to know how much there is. I have to see it.”

  Charlie looked all burned up with suspicion.

  Abruptly, he made up his mind.

  “All right,” he said. “Follow along. Keep your eyes skinned we ain’t follered.”

  They set off down canyon. When they had covered a hundred yards he looked back to find their view of the camp was cut off by high brush, then parted the brush with his hands and watched their back-trail for several minutes. Finally, he declared: “Ain’t been follered as I can see. So, come on.”

  They started off again. Within five minutes, they came to the high blank wall that was the end of the canyon. He swung right, waded into the shallows of the creek and started across. McAllister stayed with him. They crossed some almost smooth grass on the far side, short as a suburban lawn, found their way through a few large boulders and were faced by a platform of bare rock about five feet from the ground.

  “Give me a leg up,” Charlie demanded. McAllister made a cup of his hands and boosted the old man up. He was very light. Then McAllister caught the edge of the platform with both hands and started to heave himself up. He had one foot over the edge when he felt something hard pressed against his temple. He heard Charlie say: “Stay right there, son. Don’t move an eyelid till I tell you. Now—reach back real slow and pull your iron, using two fingers only. I know you’re a goddam gun-hawk, so I’m kind of jumpy.”

  Sprawled on the edge of the rock, half on and half off, McAllister was helpless. He cursed the old man for a double-dealing old son-of-a-bitch, he cursed himself for being a plain damn fool and he cursed the luck that had brought him a situation only a sucker could find himself in. Old Arbiter said: “My, you have a nasty tongue, Rem. Let’s have the gun now.”

  McAllister got a grip on himself, reached up his gun exactly as he was told and felt the weight leave his hand. He heard Charlie step back. He lay still. He wasn’t going to do a single thing Charlie didn’t tell him. He had that much respect for a gun pointed at him. Charlie said: “You can get up now.”

  McAllister rolled and came to his feet, facing the old man. Charlie blinked at him myopically and gave a small nervous grin.

  “No hard feelin’s, Rem,” he said, “but a man with a fortune on his hands can’t afford to trust a livin’ soul. You’ll get your gun back when I’m good and ready.”

  “How about your partner, Ignacio,” said McAllister, “do you trust him?” Charlie looked startled.

  “Ignacio—why, hell … sure I trust him. You know any reason why I shouldn’t? Me an’ ole Ignace, we found this gold.”

  “All right,” said McAllister, getting just the least bit impatient. “How about showin’ me the gold now?”

  The old man pondered a moment, then made up his mind.

  “All right, come ahead. Keep clear of me if you don’t want grief—hear?”

  McAllister walked carefully around the prospector whose gun followed him every inch of the way. Charlie told him to keep going and began to direct him carefully.

  “Straight ahead about twenty paces, then halt and you’ll find a flat rock about six feet long off to your right.” McAllister saw it. He had to walk directly towards it.

  “Keep going.” The wall of the canyon rose sheer above him. Suddenly, he was in deep shadow. He reckoned there had to be a cave around here someplace. You always found gold in a cave. He stepped over the flat rock and Charlie said: “Halt.” He halted. He didn’t see any sign of a cave. A flat wall of rock met his gaze whichever way he looked. He looked over his shoulder at Charlie and grinned as he said: “You’re puttin’ me on, Charlie. There ain’t no gold. You just brought us all up here for the sun and the thirst.”

  “Turn around and turn that rock over,” Charlie said. He was looking tense now.

  McAllister turned and looked at the flat rock. He reckoned it would take two strong men to lift it. Two very strong men. “You can’t be serious
,” he said.

  Charlie looked serious, all right. He said: “Boy, if you don’t turn over that rock, you don’t see no gold.”

  “How about gettin’ some of your Mexican friends to give me a hand?”

  “No,” Charlie said hastily. “You do it. Now.”

  “Now, see here, Charlie—”

  “No, sir,” yelped Charlie, “you see here. I got to check the gold right this minute.” He was sweating and he was scared. Scared of somebody coming? Or scared the gold was not still here?

  McAllister said: “I suppose there’s a secret stairway underneath the rock and it leads down a narrow passageway to a secret underground chamber. Is it one of those yarns, Charlie?”

  “You’ve been here,” cried Charlie. “How else did you know about the stairs an’ all?”

  “Spanish gold is always found at the bottom of a secret underground stairway.”

  “Cut out the hot air and get movin’, for God’s sake.” The old man was in distress now.

  McAllister bent down and got a grip on either edge of the rock. He pulled on it and it did not budge a fraction.

  “Come on—you ain’t tryin’,” the old man said, his voice shaking with impatience and exasperation.

  “I need some leverage,” McAllister told him.

  “Christ, you’re young an’ strong, ain’t you? When I was your age I’d of thought nothin’ of liftin’ that clean off the ground.”

  “You must of shrunk an awful lot, Charlie.”

  McAllister gave it another try. This time he leaned over the rock and gripped it with both hands on the same side, throwing his weight back as a counter. This time it shifted slightly.

  Charlie said: “There, didn’t I tell you you could do it? Now, for Pete’s sake, get a move on, man.”

  “I think Ignacio ought to be here, Charlie. After all, he is your partner.”

  “Use your head,” Charlie snapped. “He’s watchin’ the others. He knows damn well what I’m at.”

  It was (or rather, had been) McAllister’s opinion that a man could do a great many things generally considered impossible if he knew how to use his willpower. So he spat on his hands, walked around to the side of the rock where he had gripped the rock previously and this time squatted down and scraped away the dirt with his pocket-knife. When he had made space enough to insert the fingers of both hands, he put the knife away and took a grip. Now he used his back and his legs. He knew that he was tired and there weren’t many more tries in him. So he had best succeed the first time.

  The sweat started out on him. He heard Charlie calling encouragement. He gritted his teeth and heard a muscle in his back crack. He willed his legs to straighten and his grip to hold.

  He thought: If Charlie’s telling the truth and there’s a hole under here, the weight of this thing could drop me in it. I might break my goddam neck and never even pick up my wages this trip.

  Dimly and far off, he heard Charlie say: “Take it easy now or you could fall in there an’ break your goddam neck.”

  McAllister looked down and saw the dark, gaping hole beneath the rock. The weight of the stone seemed to be bearing down on him intolerably. His back and his arms had to fail now. He began to feel that his arms were slowly but surely coming out of their sockets.

  Charlie was screaming: “Keep goin’, goddam you.”

  McAllister promised himself that, when he had moved this rock, he would drop Charlie down the deep hole and then jump on him with both feet.

  Just as he felt that he must give up or pass out, McAllister felt himself pass the point of greatest effort. He hurled himself forward as his strength began to run out. As the flat rock hit the dirt on the far side of the hole, McAllister knew he would pitch down the hole beneath. He managed to get one arm out. In the same instant his boot heel jarred on something hard and he was brought up so sharply that the shock of his arrest jarred him to the base of his skull. Looking down, his surprised eyes saw a flight of stone steps disappearing down into darkness. He looked up at Charlie and the old man gobbled: “I told you, didn’t I?”

  McAllister sat down on the edge of the hole. He took off his bandanna and mopped his face and neck. Charlie made a variety of noises to signify his impatience and displeasure.

  McAllister said: “Shall I tell you somethin’ for nothin’, old timer?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve met some tenth-rate ass-holes in my benighted life, but, by God, I never met one like you. If your gold ain’t there, I’m going to leave you down this hole an’ I’m goin’ to put that rock back in place. Then I’m goin’ to walk away an’ leave you to rot.”

  Charlie said: “Don’t forget who’s holdin’ the gun.” He looked positively ferocious.

  McAllister said: “If you was holdin’ a cannon, you wouldn’t stop me.”

  Charlie went to say something cutting, but McAllister reached out his hand and clamped it over the revolving chamber of the gun. Charlie yelped and tried to pull the trigger, but he could not while the chamber was held immobile. First he struggled to free the weapon from McAllister’s grasp, then, failing to do that, tried to pull McAllister’s gun from where he had thrust it into the top of his pants. He found that McAllister’s left hand was quicker than his and that the big man had already regained the Remington.

  Charlie let go his own gun and started to stamp his feet in impotent rage. McAllister stood up and said: “Cool down, you old fool. We’re back where we were. Show me the gold and stop wastin’ time. Get it into your head that I have to find a way out of this place yet. We can't go back the way we came.”

  That stopped Charlie. Suddenly, he was a very still and scared old man.

  “I trusted you, Rem,” he said. “I always trusted you, you know that.”

  “Save your breath. Get down in that hole and let me see if this gold of yours ain’t a dream.”

  Charlie dithered for a moment, then he got a hold on himself. He hooked a thumb into his old vest and hooked out a candle end. When he had scratched a lucifer on the seat of his pants and lit the flame, he started down the steps. McAllister counted thirty steps. The amount surprised him. Halfway down, the old man stopped, looked back at McAllister and said: “Remember, I trust you, Rem.”

  “Sure,” said McAllister. “We have that settled now.”

  He could not see too well by the flickering light of the candle, but he could see enough to realize that this place had been carefully and skillfully constructed. The stone steps might have been laid yesterday. The walls were strong and firm and looked as if they, too, had been lined with stone. Whoever had built the passageway in which they now found themselves must have had labor to spare. If it was the Spanish, why should they build themselves such a place?

  Surprises were not done with yet. The passageway grew narrower and lower. McAllister was forced to stoop. Charlie stayed upright. They must have walked over a hundred paces before the old man halted and held the candle stub high.

  McAllister saw that they were at the junction of three similar passageways.

  He said: “What is this place, Charlie?”

  “Search me. From here on in, we keep to the right all the time. That’s the only way you can be sure of not getting lost.”

  The old man started off again. After a short while, McAllister heard a faint and eerie sound and asked what it was. “Water,” Charlie told him.

  Thirty paces and Charlie stopped, took a look around and revealed the fact that once again they had a choice, this time of two tunnels. He took the right. They were climbing very slightly. Another fairly long walk and the prospector stopped again. This time he held the candle near the floor. McAllister saw the small mouth of an even lower tunnel.

  “This bit ain’t so nice,” Charlie said. “It’s hands and knees in the dark. For you, any road. I’ll block the candlelight from you.”

  “How far?” McAllister was starting to feel uneasy. Who liked being in the dark in a small hole anyway?

  “Twenty, thirty feet.”
<
br />   “How far then?”

  “We’re there.”

  McAllister felt a shade happier.

  The old man got down on his hands and knees and disappeared into the hole. Total darkness enshrouded McAllister. He got down on his hands and knees and saw a tiny flicker of light from the candle. He felt his way to the hole and crawled in. There wasn’t much air and Charlie was kicking dust in his face. He stopped to allow Charlie to get a little further ahead, but that didn’t help much.

  Suddenly, the flicker of light ahead disappeared. Charlie cursed.

  “What happened?” McAllister asked.

  The old man snapped back: “What in hell do you think happened? The candle went out.”

  There was a pause while the candle was relit. McAllister saw Charlie’s boots and realized he was standing upright. A moment later, McAllister joined him.

  He stood up and looked around.

  No matter how high Charlie held the candle, he could not see the roof of the roughly square chamber. The ground plan of the place was about twenty feet by twenty.

  “It’s here,” said Charlie as if he were standing on hallowed ground.

  He moved to the right, and piled against the wall McAllister saw a number of rawhide parfleches, some gunny sacks and a strong box. He had to admit that excitement was rising in him now. Charlie was trembling when he ripped open a parfleche and upturned it.

  Candlelight softly caressed more gold than McAllister had ever seen in his life. It lay at his feet, a great untidy jumble that equaled the riches of kings.

  He dropped to one knee, peering closely at one object after another, demanding for Charlie to hold the light closer. Finally he stood up.

  Charlie asked eagerly: “Well, what do you think of it? Am I still an old liar?”