Free McAllister Rides by Matt Chisholm

them.”
    The old man snapped: “Simmer down, you young fool. Stay out of it. What do you owe Newby? Did he stop you comin’ down here? Did he?”
    â€œNo,” McAllister was forced to admit. “But they’re our fellow countrymen.”
    â€œYou don’t have no fellow countrymen when you reach my age. I quit foolin’ around with that stuff years gone. I stay alive because the Indians trust me. I can’t afford to be seen hobnobbin’ with too many whites.”
    â€œGood God, man, they’ll be massacred.”
    â€œNot Newby. You know he has another party comin’ infrom the west? The captain holds some good cards. I’ll be patchin’ a good few Comanches up before too long. Now, set an’ talk. We have to think what to do about this Bourn woman.”
    But McAllister couldn’t concentrate on Mrs. Bourn. His mind was entirely tied up with the fate of the rangers. He could see them riding into an Indian ambush and being wiped out to a man. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he allowed that to happen.
    â€œWalt,” he said, “I have to warn Newby and you can’t stop me.”
    Islop smiled in his beard.
    â€œJust like your daddy. Plenty of mustard and no sense. You stay here with me and stay alive.”
    â€œIt’s no good,” McAllister said. “I’m going. I’ll leave my mule and gear here. If I don’t get back, it’s yours. Try and buy Mrs. Bourn free with it.” He turned on his heel and walked toward the corral. Behind him he heard the gun come to full cock. He stopped and faced Islop again. The old man sat with the big old Colt dragoon in his hand and the hand was steady. The dragoon was pointed at McAllister’s stomach.
    Islop’s voice was hard when he said: “Walk back this way, son. Hands high. Move hasty and I’ll blow you to Kingdom Come.” McAllister knew he meant it. He walked back to Islop, hands high.
    â€œYou old bastard,” he said through his teeth. “A lot of men’re going to die because of you.”
    â€œIndians’re men too in my book,” the old man said. “They wouldn’t be killin’ white men if the whites hadn’t come a-bustin’ into their land. Now, unbuckle that belt kinda easy and let it fall.” McAllister obeyed. He hated to see his good Remington fall into the dust. The old man raised his voice and the two Indian women came running. He spoke to them in their own tongue, the younger one picked up the belt gun and belt, the elder picked up McAllister’s rifle as it leaned against the wall of the shack. They took them inside. McAllister stood cursing silently to himself.
    â€œYou kin put your arms down now,” Islop told him. “An’ cool off. Nothin’s changed. Except I mebbe saved you from gettin’ your fool self killed dead.”
    â€œYou think you can keep me a prisoner? You think I won’t jump you the first chance I get?”
    â€œYou’re a guest. Not that I ain’t goin’ to bind you up for your own good.”
    â€œWhat?”
    The two women reappeared from the house with one of them carrying a rawhide lariat. Islop ordered him to lie on his face and he obeyed, seething. They tied him thoroughly so that all he could move was his head and propped him up against the house. They then disappeared inside.
    â€œNow,” said the old man, “we’re ready for our visitors.”
    â€œWhat visitors?”
    Islop pointed to the trees. McAllister saw a half-dozen horsemen ride into the open. They were Comanches and in their lead was none other than Eagle Man.

Seven
    They rode up and formed a line in front of the old man, raising their hands in salute. He answered the salute and spoke to them in their language. They dismounted and tied their horses along the corral rail. The
canelo
kicked up a fuss at their Indian smell and tried to nip some of them. An Indian