Gunsmoke for McAllister (12 page)

He fired.

His target, staggering backward, dropped his rifle and sat down.

McAllister didn't wait to see the result of his shot, but, in the instant that he triggered, hurled himself to the right just as the other two men slapped their rifle butts into their shoulders and started firing. The air about him was filled with flying lead, slugs hit rock and whined into the night sky. When the deafening noise of the shooting stopped, he was ten yards away from the spot they were shooting at and still going. The two riflemen, as though with a single thought, both ran forward and dropped into the cover of the rocks, their fear of the gun above them greater than their desire to kill the gunman. But that would last only a moment if they were worth their salt. If they were fighting men, they would quickly recover and start a search for their attacker. The shot man was yelling that he was killed and for God's sake wouldn't somebody come and stop him bleeding. Nobody went.

Twenty yards from the spot where he had made his shot, McAllister came to a stop. There were men on the rimrock above him now, shouting down to the men below to pinpoint their target for them. These two yelled back that they couldn't see the bastard. McAllister lay still. He stayed still until he heard the men above starting to beat down through the rocks, then he knew it was time he wasn't there. Once more, he started to crawl north.

After he had gone a good way, he looked up and saw that the men above him had strung out and were past him to the north. If he didn't think of something smart soon, he'd be corraled and that would be the end of him.

Just then, the craziest idea possible came to him. The one fact that was in his favor was that the light was very poor. Nobody could be recognized at anything further than a few yards. He started down slope again, working his way toward some giant boulders that were scattered in the general direction of the cabin. Crawling as fast and as flat as he knew how, he reached these and knowing that he would be lost against their massive blurred outline, he stood up and started walking. He went west along the line of the boulders, gun in hand, ready to shoot down anybody he came on. In this way he came within thirty yards of the cabin itself. Maybe he had worked himself ultimately into worse danger, but for the moment he was safer than he had been and, after all, his plan had been to get into the basin and play hell with Rawley
and his men. Now was his chance. But back there with Sam and Carlita, it had seemed a good idea. Now it seemed a particularly foolish one. He didn't feel heroic at all. He had only one wish and that was to be a thousand miles from here with a pretty girl by his side and a drink in front of him.

In for a cent, in for a dollar
, he thought. While he was acting crazy, he might as well go the whole hog. He strolled with as natural an air as possible around the north of the cabin, turned around the west side of it and came to the door. This was open and there was a lamp burning inside. Gun in hand, he entered. The only man there lay in a bunk, his eyes fixed on McAllister. When he saw who it was, he looked sick with fear.
And
, thought McAllister,
so he should.

‘What's wrong with you?' McAllister asked.

The man licked his dry lips and said: ‘The girl shot me in the back.'

‘Good girl, ain't she?' McAllister said conversationally. There wasn't much time, but he told himself he mustn't get flustered. ‘Got a gun?'

‘No,' came the reply.

McAllister searched in the blankets and found a Colt forty-four. He threw this across the cabin and said: ‘A short trip for you, friend.'

Rich protested, he almost screamed his complaint, but McAllister told him he'd bend the barrel of the Remington over his head if he made a sound and that quietened him. He put the gun away, whisked the blankets off the wounded man, hefted him and carried him outside. There was a man by the crusher who looked at him curiously, but McAllister knew that he couldn't see him clearly enough to recognize him. To his surprise, McAllister found that he was extraordinarily calm. He laid Rich on the ground and said: ‘You shout an' I'll blow your fool head off. Stay still and you can get outa this alive.'

He walked back into the cabin, blew the lamp out, emptied the coal oil in it over the furniture and set a match to it. It flared nicely. He set the blankets alight. A shout came from outside. He walked out of the cabin, shouting: ‘The cabin's on fire.' The man by the mill came running toward him. When he was near McAllister he yelled: ‘Go put that fire out, you Goddamn fool.' In that moment, he had his first doubt about McAllister's identity and stopped dead. McAllister drew the Remington and said: ‘Hold it right there.'

The man held it, frozen to immobility. McAllister walked around him and hit him with the barrel of the Remington. He didn't catch the man when he fell, for he felt no tenderness for men who worked men like slaves. Putting the Remington away, he lifted the man's rifle, took his bandolier of ammunition and slung it over a shoulder. That made him feel a little better. Now was the time to get to work in real earnest.

More men had spotted the fire. Feet pounded from the direction of the tunnel, a man ran from the east of the basin. McAllister looked around quickly, wondering what his best move should be. The feeling of calmness stayed with him. He knew there were some men working the mills, but he couldn't see them. They could be a danger to him. He jammed the rifle butt into his right shoulder and fired two shots at the man coming from the tunnel. The fellow threw himself down on the ground and returned the fire. The man coming from the east, flung himself down and fired also, so that the other man yelled out in alarm, afraid that he would be hit by a comrade's bullets. McAllister didn't think there was any profit in staying where he was, and ran into cover of the mills. The crush mill, behind which he now hid, was still pounding away.

A man came slowly into the starlight, not a dozen yards from him, stumbled and went down. McAllister ran toward him and, when he was close enough, saw that he was a prisoner in chains. He reached in his pocket and drew out the key. The man cowered away from him as he approached, as if expecting to be struck, but McAllister spoke to him reassuringly in English and Spanish.

‘Hold out your hands,' he told him. The man obeyed. In a second, the man's hands were free. The fellow stood there, rubbing his wrists and weeping. McAllister stooped and freed his ankles. The man started to mumble in incoherent Spanish. McAllister gripped him by the arm and pointed: ‘That way,' he said. ‘Go out that way. Head south. Sam Spur will pick you up.'

The man stood hovering, hardly able to believe what was happening to him. McAllister gave him another shove and told him to get going. The fellow started off in a stumbling run and one of the riflemen cut down on his shadowy figure. They didn't have any idea at whom they were shooting, which showed McAllister what state their nerves were in.

Men were shouting now, telling anybody who wanted to listen that the sonovabitch was down in the basin. The cabin was blazing merrily. McAllister didn't know what to do next. He
wasn't in the most enviable position. The crashing of the stamp mill gave him inspiration. He was aware that he knew next to nothing about machinery, but he reckoned he could strike a blow if he stopped the equipment. He ran to it and found it being attended by two men whom he could see only dimly. How they managed to work in the semi-darkness, he never knew. He hoped they were men he had worked with in the mine and that they knew him.

‘McAllister,' he shouted to them.

‘Chalk here,' one bellowed back. It was Chalk White, the cowhand he had been in the cage with in Euly.

‘Let me git them irons off'n you, boy,' McAllister told him and the man eagerly held out his hands. In a moment, his hands were free and he let out a wild Rebel yell. McAllister stooped, undoing the leg irons and saying: ‘Can you wreck this thing?'

‘You bet your life,' White told him and, as soon as he was free, he picked up a sledge hammer and got to work like a titan. As McAllister turned to the other prisoner, he heard a clang, a rending of metal, a complaining groan from the machine and it stopped. White was making wild and jubilant noises.

‘I done it,' he yelled, ‘I done it.'

McAllister caught hold of him and told him: ‘Head south. Go on, beat it. Sam's down thataway.' White didn't seem to take it in and McAllister had to yell at him: ‘For Christ's sake get outa here.' The other man started in harsh Spanish, but McAllister bawled at him to get the hell out of there. White dragged the man by the arm. Something struck the machinery with a clang and sang away into the night. There came a fierce stutter of rifle fire and the Mexican fell with a cry. White stopped and bent over him. McAllister shouted for him to go on and started firing at the muzzle-flame he saw uncomfortably close and dodged behind the machinery. White started to run. He made a dozen yards and then went down. McAllister started to crawl from one mill to the other. He hadn't gone far when a man loomed up in front of him. McAllister saw the pencil thin line of the rifle barrel and fired without thought.

As soon as the man was down, he rose to his feet and started running west toward the wall of the basin. Shots came after him. When he thought that darkness had swallowed him, he swerved to the right and headed for the tunnel. Near the tunnel, he dropped to the ground and lay still, watching and listening. The working mill came to a halt and there was a sudden and stunning
silence throughout the basin. Men's voices came from the mills. One was raised in a series of orders and McAllister thought he recognized Rawley's tones.

There were men standing in the mouth of the tunnel, talking. They were frightened. McAllister was tempted to start shooting into them, but he did not.

Several men were walking toward the tunnel from the mills. The man in the lead was shouting: ‘Search the whole place. I want that man. I'll roast the bastard over a slow fire. Get movin' now. I want that man, hear?'

The men in the tunnel mouth hefted their rifles and moved out. Both groups mingled and then scattered out. McAllister knew that he was now in acute danger. He crawled a little further west and got into some rocks and, under their cover, slowly started to work his way toward the tunnel. Once an armed man came within a dozen yards of him and he lay still till the fellow moved on. He didn't envy the searchers their job, expecting to be shot from the dark at any moment. It took him a long time to make it, but finally he reached the mouth of the tunnel and slipped inside. He was now in total darkness and almost at once barged into a tip-truck and winded himself. He worked his way cautiously down the tunnel, feeling his way with his left hand till he rounded the bend and saw the distant gleam of a light. Now his caution increased and, flat on his belly, he headed for the light.

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.