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Authors: Matt Chisholm
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aroused the particular dislike of the sheriff.
So they went back to working again and the minutes dragged into hours. One of the workers dropped unconscious and, as kicking would not revive him, he was dragged out into the night and left there. When around dawn the prisoners were marched away from the face down the tunnel, the man was still lying there at the mouth of the cave. McAllister thought he looked dead.
Sam at his side said: âAnother chore for us. Digginâ his grave.â
They were marched into the center of the basin and halted. Each man lay down on the ground. McAllister dropped where he was. His sweat-soaked body shivered in the cold dawn air. He didnât care. He didnât speak, but in seconds had dropped into a deep sleep, the only cure, as he knew that would be offered to his battered body.
He awoke to find the sun high overhead. His tongue seemed tofill his mouth and his head ached unbearably. When he moved he found that his body was terribly stiff, but the stiffness was nothing beside the pain of his injuries. He looked around him. Some half-dozen men were scattered about on the hard and dusty ground, all asleep, some of them stirring restlessly and groaning. Sam lay on his back with his mouth open. He was snoring noisily. McAllister realised that none of them were going to be offered any shelter from the sun. He would have given a hundred dollars for a single drink of water.
He looked beyond the men and saw the guard in the shade of the cabin roof, sitting at his ease, smoking.
Each sleeping man had a canteen slung over his shoulder. For a while, McAllister toyed with the idea of asking Sam for a drink, but he couldnât bring himself to wake the man. Instead, he set about making an inventory of his injuries.
The flesh on his right temple had been split open by a bootâtoe; the sheriffâs quirt had split his lip and torn one cheek. The blood was dry on his skin. His right arm was badly bruised where he had been kicked and seemed to have turned black from shoulder to wrist. All his ribs felt as if they had been caved in, but when he carefully examined them he found, much to his surprise, that none of them were broken. That was something of a relief. His left knee which had received several kicks was badly swollen. His pants were torn on his right thigh and beneath the tear the flesh showed that it had been lacerated. He reckoned heâd live, though for some time living was going to be a painful experience.
This wasnât the time, he told himself, to dwell on the things that were against him. He had to find the things that were for him. He had to find a way out of here. Getting away was going to be the most difficult thing he had ever faced. There were the chains to start with. The steel collars around his legs and ankles had already worked some unpleasant looking sores where they had rubbed on the flesh. Before they had fastened his ankles, the guards had removed his boots. A man couldnât get far without boots in this country.
But he and Sam would get away, of that he was sure. But how?
He ranged his eyes around the basin, noting once again the high steep walls. High on one of them, he could see a guard with a rifle. He didnât doubt that the man was not only watching the prisoners, but was keeping an eye peeled for Indians. That might be one of the reasons why the sheriff used prisoners to work the gold in this country. He would need all the men who he could muster to fightIndians. The sheriff had it all worked out. While the Indian scare was on, white men in large numbers would not be coming into this country. The mere presence of the armed men in this place would keep the Indians on tenterhooks.
Sam woke.
He looked at McAllister as if he were surprised to see him. There was a sort of dazed look in his eyes.
âRem.â
âCan you spare a man a drink.â Without a word, Sam unslung the canteen and handed it to McAllister. âHow long does
So they went back to working again and the minutes dragged into hours. One of the workers dropped unconscious and, as kicking would not revive him, he was dragged out into the night and left there. When around dawn the prisoners were marched away from the face down the tunnel, the man was still lying there at the mouth of the cave. McAllister thought he looked dead.
Sam at his side said: âAnother chore for us. Digginâ his grave.â
They were marched into the center of the basin and halted. Each man lay down on the ground. McAllister dropped where he was. His sweat-soaked body shivered in the cold dawn air. He didnât care. He didnât speak, but in seconds had dropped into a deep sleep, the only cure, as he knew that would be offered to his battered body.
He awoke to find the sun high overhead. His tongue seemed tofill his mouth and his head ached unbearably. When he moved he found that his body was terribly stiff, but the stiffness was nothing beside the pain of his injuries. He looked around him. Some half-dozen men were scattered about on the hard and dusty ground, all asleep, some of them stirring restlessly and groaning. Sam lay on his back with his mouth open. He was snoring noisily. McAllister realised that none of them were going to be offered any shelter from the sun. He would have given a hundred dollars for a single drink of water.
He looked beyond the men and saw the guard in the shade of the cabin roof, sitting at his ease, smoking.
Each sleeping man had a canteen slung over his shoulder. For a while, McAllister toyed with the idea of asking Sam for a drink, but he couldnât bring himself to wake the man. Instead, he set about making an inventory of his injuries.
The flesh on his right temple had been split open by a bootâtoe; the sheriffâs quirt had split his lip and torn one cheek. The blood was dry on his skin. His right arm was badly bruised where he had been kicked and seemed to have turned black from shoulder to wrist. All his ribs felt as if they had been caved in, but when he carefully examined them he found, much to his surprise, that none of them were broken. That was something of a relief. His left knee which had received several kicks was badly swollen. His pants were torn on his right thigh and beneath the tear the flesh showed that it had been lacerated. He reckoned heâd live, though for some time living was going to be a painful experience.
This wasnât the time, he told himself, to dwell on the things that were against him. He had to find the things that were for him. He had to find a way out of here. Getting away was going to be the most difficult thing he had ever faced. There were the chains to start with. The steel collars around his legs and ankles had already worked some unpleasant looking sores where they had rubbed on the flesh. Before they had fastened his ankles, the guards had removed his boots. A man couldnât get far without boots in this country.
But he and Sam would get away, of that he was sure. But how?
He ranged his eyes around the basin, noting once again the high steep walls. High on one of them, he could see a guard with a rifle. He didnât doubt that the man was not only watching the prisoners, but was keeping an eye peeled for Indians. That might be one of the reasons why the sheriff used prisoners to work the gold in this country. He would need all the men who he could muster to fightIndians. The sheriff had it all worked out. While the Indian scare was on, white men in large numbers would not be coming into this country. The mere presence of the armed men in this place would keep the Indians on tenterhooks.
Sam woke.
He looked at McAllister as if he were surprised to see him. There was a sort of dazed look in his eyes.
âRem.â
âCan you spare a man a drink.â Without a word, Sam unslung the canteen and handed it to McAllister. âHow long does
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