Free Gunsmoke for McAllister by Matt Chisholm

the things he had seen Sam do, it didn’t seem possible. Well, he thought, he must get out of here before they did the same thing to him. If they could do it to a man like Sam they could do it to him. He had always rated Sam as his superior. He could ride, fight, drink and womanize like no man he had everknown. And now he was reduced to this – a shadow.
    A man shouted. McAllister turned his head. The guard to the south was on his feet, shouting and gesticulating.
    Sam said: ‘Waterin’ time. They water us like hosses, then they give us what they laughin’ly call bait.’
    He called to the others. Some raised their heads and McAllister thought he had never seen men more hopeless. None of their eyes showed the slightest hope. Slowly, they heaved themselves to their feet. All except one man. He was a puny-looking Anglo, his flesh burned and purple from the sun.
    Sam went and shook him.
    â€˜Billy, rise an’ shine, boy.’
    The man didn’t move.
    Sam lifted an eyelid with a thumb and turned to the others.
    â€˜Another hole to dig,’ he said. The other men received the information without emotion. They started to straggle across the basin, their chains clinking. McAllister brought up the rear of the ragged and bent-backed column. The guard was bellowing for them to hurry it up.
    McAllister never learned where the water came from. It was there in the shade of the hut in large Mexican pitchers. The idea was for the prisoners to fill their canteens and fill themselves with as much water as they could hold. This might have to last them for some time, as Sam explained. A man never knew when he would get it next. The trouble was, when a man filled himself to capacity with water, he was too full to eat the slop that was offered him afterward. The guards liked this. It saved food. McAllister reasoned that a man should do his best. And he didn’t possess a canteen; he had left his on his horse. So he was going to fill up and then eat as much as he could. He had to get strong and he had to do it quickly.
    The men lifted the pitchers, carefully pouring water into their canteens under the watchful eye of the guard, who cursed them every now and then for spilling it. When it came to McAllister’s turn at a pitcher, it was all he could do to lift it while he drank. He drank his fill, pouring water into him until he thought it would run out of his ears. He drank till he was ready to vomit water. Then, exhausted by his efforts, he lowered the great pitcher to the ground.
    A Mexican, with chains only on his ankles, came out of the cabin carrying a bowl of food. As soon as it was placed on the ground, the prisoners fell on it like ravenous wolves. McAllister didn’t know the rules of the place and arrived at the bowl too late.By what he could see the food was old goat meat that had swum in cold and fatty liquid.
    He turned to the guard.
    â€˜How about me?’ he asked.
    â€˜You unlucky?’ the guard threw back his head and laughed. The Mexican who had brought the food out, grinned. McAllister picked up the bowl and threw it at the Mexican. He would have liked to throw it at the guard, but he had a feeling he would have been shot if he did. The Mexican screamed and jumped around in fury. The guard laughed again. The other prisoners turned on McAllister. Even Sam was mad.
    â€˜You shouldn’t of done that, Rem,’ he said. He was shaking. He looked at the damp ground where the remainder of the meal was and looked like he could have wept. McAllister felt a little ashamed of himself. He reckoned he’d have to alter his character while he was here.
    He turned to the guard, a brutal-looking man that Rawley must have scraped up drunk from some saloon.
    â€˜If I don’t eat, I can’t work,’ he said.
    â€˜Don’t you fool yourse’f,’ the man growled. ‘We’ll make you work.’
    Sam came and shoved a piece of goat meat into McAllister’s