McAllister by Matt Chisholm Page B

every man watching them could feel the malignancy of their distant gaze.
    Clover said: “Gato ain’t nobody’s fool. He’ll make another try for us. We’ll knock maybe a couple of’em over and he’ll git back outa range for a think. After that he’ll settle down to jest followin’ us.”
    Rand said: “He’ll git us in the end most like.”
    Clover laughed as if that was very funny.
    â€œBoy, quit that. You think I’m fool enough to pick men that couldn’t shoot straight and didn’t have guts. You’re shook up now. But when them red devils start out after us, you’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
    He saw the hope come into Rand’s eyes and knew that he had not lost his magic.
    Clover jerked his head in the direction of the Indians, still motionless.
    â€œTrouble is,” he said, “most men can on’y see things with their own eyes. Now you use your ee-magination. Put yourself up there in them Injuns place. Maybe you think they’s sittin’ up there chewin’ over cool as you like what they’s goin’ to do to us’ns. They ain’t. They’s tryin’ to git up enough sand to come in here an’ git us.” Clover smiled benignly. “They won’t never do that. They’ll come just so far. When they see a few of their pals dyin’, the guts’ll run out on ’em.”
    He took his attention from the Indians, seemed to forget the men around him who watched him closely to see the depth of his courage and started checking on his ammunition and his guns. The Colt’s gun had some dust in it and he cleaned it off carefully before he put it away. Each man then remembered that his life depended on his weapons andlooked to them, glancing every now and again up at the ridge to see if the Apache were still there. Schneider drew and felt the edge of his knife.
    Suddenly Franchon said: “They’ve gone.”
    They all looked and saw that the ridge-top was bare.
    Men swallowed, tongues licked dry lips and eyes darted around the horizon in search of movement. The sun reflected painfully into their eyes and put fire behind their eyeballs. One or two shook their canteens to see how much water they had.
    Clover didn’t miss the movement.
    â€œAny man takes a drink before I tell him gits a bullet between the eyes.” He left it at that and they knew he meant it and they knew how important it was that they conserve their water. For the first time, they realised that there was a greater enemy out here than the Indians.
    Franchon was the exception. Even in that moment of danger, he saw fit to say: “I drink when I want.”
    Clover chuckled cheerfully.
    â€œBrother,” he said, “you best not want.”
    Suddenly Carmody’s driver shrieked: “Look!”
    They all swung to face the north.
    A thin cry like that of a wild bird on the wing, keened across the flat as a line of horseman came at a steady trot down a ridge. The whitemen could see nothing clearly in the heat, but here and there they caught a glimpse of bright cloth and the glisten of the sun on metal. They were still in line ahead when they hit the flat, but they scattered like deer when Rand, suddenly losing his nerve, sent a shot at them. He worked his lever for a second shot, but he did not trigger it off because Clover got to a knee and leaning forward cracked him hard on the side of his head with his clenched fist. Rand turned a raging and terrified face to him.
    â€œFire when I tell you, you goddam fool,” Clover told him. “Our shot might have to last us a week. Ever’ time you fire, you hit an Injun, hear? Schneider, you keep an eye on the south, case the bastards’re bein’ slippery.”
    â€œThey’re all there,” Carmody’s driver said.
    â€œMaybe.”
    Clover lifted his rifle.
    â€œNow,” he said, “I’m takin’ the boyo on the pinto. Rest