McAllister 4 by Matt Chisholm

Author:Matt Chisholm [Chisholm, Matt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wild bill hickok, winchester rifle, colt 45, peter watts, matt chisholm, western fiction ebook, rem mcallister, peter watts writing as matt chisholm, piccaddily publishing
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Halfway along Black Horse Valley, McAllister reined in his horse.

‘Look’ee here,’ he said. The army.’

Hickok squinted his poor eyes and said: ‘I can’t see a damn thing but snow.’

McAllister said: ‘A whole goddam regiment of cavalry.’ Then he said several impolite words and added: ‘And they have Lige along with ’em. I’ll have his balls for bed knobs leaving the horses.’

Hickok said: ‘If it’s the army, maybe he didn’t have too much choice.’

McAllister sat his saddle and watched the army’s slow and laborious approach. The men were leading their horses. A couple of officers in the van were still mounted. One of them was a stout gentleman with eye-glasses and a large buffalo coat. McAllister described him to Hickok and the gunfighter said: ‘That has to be Arnie Brevington. Now we’re in for an earful of wind. He’ll bore the ass off you, that one. He has a whole goddam spiel about manifest destiny and the contamination of the savage Indian.’

‘One of those, huh?’

As soon as they were near, Lige hurried forward and started to say: ‘Boss, I didn’t have no choice. These here soldier-boys, they—’

But he did not get any further, for Colonel Brevington had spurred his horse forward and shouted: ‘Hold your tongue, boy, and give way to your betters. You McAllister?’

Wild Bill said: ‘No, sir, my name’s Hickok.’

‘I wasn’t addressing you, sir. I was addressing your companion.’

McAllister said: ‘I’m McAllister. Who’re you?’ There was something about the man that aroused his ire right off.

‘I am Colonel Brevington, commanding the First Volunteers. I understand from your boy here that you are acquainted with the neighborhood and too well acquainted with the Indians for decency.’ When McAllister remained silent, the man went on: ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

The colonel bridled.

‘Are you or aren’t you?’

‘I know this area, sure.’

‘Then you will guide us to the encampment of the Indians.’

McAllister said: ‘Like hell I will.’

‘What?’ The colonel rose in his stirrups and screamed.

‘I said: “You can go to hell.’”

The colonel said: ‘Hickok, I advise you to advise your friend to be a little more co-operative for his own good.’

Hickok said: ‘That sure sounds like a threat to me, Colonel. If I could offer a little advice, colonel, I’d say my friend McAllister ain’t easily persuaded – not by threats. I would employ a little tack. Yessir, tack.’

The colonel turned in the saddle and bellowed: ‘Major Newton, place this man under arrest.’

Now, I do not doubt that in a western novel, the hero would have drawn his gun and defied his enemies, but I do assure you that only a man a little too big for his breeches or a little loose in the head would have drawn a gun in the teeth of two hundred and fifty volunteer cavalrymen. Even Hickok, doughty gunfighter though he might be, sat very still and watched events with some nervousness as the major came forward, plodding through the snow with a half-dozen soldiers behind him.

McAllister, it must be said, did not take his being disarmed by the soldiers in good part.

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