McAllister (18 page)

A shot whistled past McAllister's head. Glancing right, he saw an Apache buck with his carbine poised. A shot from behind showed that the rider from the wagons was close. The movement of hoofs near at hand, drew McAllister's attention back to Gato. With blood streaming from his chest and his eyes wild, the chief was jumping his mount towards him, that murderous club swinging for the final blow. As it descended, Mcallister went over the far side of the pinto, hit ground and dived forward. One of the little horse's hoofs grazed his head as the animal jumped forward in its fright, then Mcallister was on his feet, tearing Gato from the saddle.

The man was wounded, but fight was still in him. Too much for McAllister. Having got him off the horse, he found he had a handful he couldn't hold. An elbow in the face broke his hold and before he could roll, he felt the club nearly break his left shoulder. He groaned and fell back, helpless, looked up and saw that club aimed for his head. He tried rolling again, but he couldn't move.

Very close a gun went off.

The club fell across McAllister's legs. Gato was knocked sideways as if he weighed no more than a piece of paper and seemed to fade into the dust of the desert. Mcallister turned his head and saw van Tannenberg firing at the Indian with the carbine. Mcallister started to get to his feet and found himself fainting.

“Getting to be a damned habit,” he said and fainted.

He came to as they threw water into his face.

The first person he saw was Sam Pritchard. The little man looked worried. Turning his head, he saw Jack and George Rawlins. They looked worried too. Then he saw the widow
and it seemed to him that she looked most worried of all. Which was a pretty good thing, he thought.

“Well,” he said, “here we are.”

The lieutenant pushed his way through the others and stood looking down at him.

“Come, my friend,” he said. “We will get you to a wagon. You need a doctor. Will you go back to town or on to the fort.”

Mcallister grinned.

“Going to be a long time before I get back to Mesquite, I reckon. I killed a couple of marshals there.”

That shook them.

“How many men has this gold cost?” the soldier said.

Mcallister looked around for José. He didn't see him.

“The Navajo,” he said. “Did he—?”

“He's dead. Too many men have died. This has been a bad business.”

“Ain't it? But it has its compensations.” When he looked at the widow, she was smiling and he knew he was right. “Get me up, fellers, and dump me in a wagon. Maybe, you'd come along, ma'am, and take a look at this wound of mine. My, I'm going to need a whole lot of nursing.”

The two brothers Rawlins picked him up and George grinned as he said: “I guess he'll live.”

This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader

Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP

Copyright © Matt Chisholm

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ISBN: 9781448203970
eISBN: 9781448203383

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