Read Online Gunsmoke for McAllister by Matt Chisholm - Free Book Online

He rolled onto his back and looked up at them, trying tofocus and not doing too well.
    The sheriff kicked him.
    â€˜On your feet.’
    McAllister thought that if they kicked him much more, he would die. So he fought to get to his feet. After a fight, he got onto all fours. The girl’s feet came within sight and he raised his eyes to hers. Did he see pity there? He tried to rise completely and fell to his knees in front of her. She said something harshly in Spanish and spat in his face. That got another laugh. He wiped the spittle from his face with the back of his hand and heaved air into his tortured lungs. Then he started the fight to get up again. When he finally made it and stood there swaying, the sheriff said: ‘Get him to work.’
    Rich laughed and said: ‘We won’t get much work from him tonight.’
    â€˜Give him a taste of the whip,’ the sheriff ordered. ‘Nothing like that to bring a man around.’
    Somebody pushed him toward the door, he took one pace and started to go down. He grasped the jamb of the door, his grip failed and he went down again. The sheriff laid the quirt across him and he struggled to rise again.
    I’ll kill him
, McAllister promised himself.
Before I’m done, I’ll put a bullet between his eyes.
    He crawled outside and made the fight to his feet again. The cool night air hit him and it was as sweet as wine. There were men all around him, a hand or a gun nudged him forward; he walked on legs that threatened to fold at any minute toward the dim light at the mouth of the mine-shaft. He fell twice on the way and twice they kicked him to his feet again.
    As they approached the mine shaft a group of men in chains were bringing out another truck-load of ore. Their dim pale faces were turned toward him in dull curiosity. He tried to give them a nonchalant wave and a grin, but his face was frozen and his arm hung like lead at his side.
    They entered the tunnel and started along it. He tripped on the track, reeled blindly against the side of the tunnel, the whip bit at him, he felt it cut the flesh of his face. Hate and pain were mixed in a kind of crazy fury within him. Then the light was bright and hurting his eyes. They halted and he heard the sheriff say: ‘Here’s a friend of yours come to join you, Spur.’
    He heard an exclamation, chains clinked and a man stood before him.
    â€˜My God, Rem.’
    That was old Sam, all right. Through mashed lips, he said: ‘Howdy, Sam.’
    Sam seemed to be trying to say something he couldn’t get out.
    The sheriff said: ‘Get some irons on this man and get him to work. An’ see he Goddamn works. Sweat him.’
    An armed guard came and caught Sam by the arm, whirling him away and telling him to get on with his work. Sam went without a curse or a backward glance.
    McAllister thought:
They knocked the sand out of Sam. When I knew him he’d of kicked that sonovabitch’s teeth in.
    They brought some rattling chains and fastened them to McAllister’s wrists and ankles. He fought them feebly and to no purpose. He was knocked down and kicked to his feet again. Numbed, he moved to obey the orders they gave him. He joined Sam, a shovel in his hands and as he heaved a load of ore into a waiting truck, his ribs felt as if they were driving through his lungs. He wondered then if he was going to die.
    He didn’t know how long he worked there beside a Sam who was silent except for some soft curses and a groan or two, but after a while he must have passed out. The ground came up and hit him and he came to with Sam forcing some tepid water between his lips. The sheriff was no longer there, but the guards were and they didn’t allow any coddling. Sam was whipped away from McAllister and the big man was kicked to his feet again. Sam said something about if he went on like this he’d die, but the guards laughed. Who cared? There were plenty more where he came from and he had