Free Gunsmoke for McAllister by Matt Chisholm Page A

hand. McAllister looked at his friend and knew this was the greatest sacrifice a man could make. He thrust it back.
    â€˜I ain’t hungry,’ he said. ‘I’m sick to my stomach.’
    â€˜Go ahead,’ Sam said, eyeing the meat.
    â€˜Naw. Christ, it’d be a waste. I wouldn’t keep it down.’ He offered it again. Sam snatched it and wolfed it down in one. McAllister turned away. The sight made him want to weep.
    Next, they went and collected the dead man in the center of the basin and carried him to a spot on the east side of the place. The guard shouted for a comrade and another armed man came and escorted four of the prisoners to the corpse that lay at the tunnel. Sam and McAllister were among these. They toiled in the broiling sun, carrying the dead man by his arms and legs across the cauldron of the basin. They would have rested several times, but the guard wouldn’t allow that, but drove them on with blows and curses. When they reached what McAllister could see was a graveyard, they joined the others with pick and shovel. While they wielded these tools, the armed guard stood well back from them. The man had probably learned the lesson the hard way.
    By the time the two graves were dug, the dead men tumbledunceremoniously into them and the holes filled in, every man there was in a state of exhaustion. Most of them lay down on the ground, but the guard threatened them and one or two staggered to their feet. When the rest didn’t obey him, he fired a couple of shots into the dust near them and they slowly stood up. He marched them back to the cabin with the tools. Every step they took was a misery as the leg-irons rubbed on their sores. One or two of the men bent double while they walked to hold up the chains and minimize the agony of the chafing. McAllister’s feet were tender and the hot dust burned their soles.
    A shout came from across the basin. Men were filing out of the tunnel, slowly and wearily. As he watched, McAllister saw a man go down and get kicked to his feet by the guards.
    Tonight
, he thought.
Tonight I have to get out of here and Sam comes with me
.
    He looked at his friend ahead of him in the column, lurching like a drunken man, Sam who had walked straight and ridden tall in the saddle.
    They reached the tunnel-mouth and went sun-blinded into the gloom. Twice McAllister stumbled into the wall on bends, once he stumbled over Sam in front of him and they both went down. The guard behind them shouted at them and slammed a rifle butt into McAllister’s back.
    Then they were at the gold face and picking up their tools. They toiled like old sick men for an hour, two guards demanding they increase their speed, until Rawley appeared with Rich. McAllister leaned weakly against the face and looked at the man, well-fed and plump, bright–eyed and alert and he never knew when he had hated a man more.
    The sheriff inspected the face and declared that it was time for blasting. He detailed McAllister to use the sledge-hammer and Sam to hold the drill, then showed them where he wanted the drill holes. As McAllister picked up the sledge, the man stepped back out of reach.
    It was hell knocking those holes in the granite-hard wall. McAllister thought he would never last out, but he did. He was surprised to find that he had worked out much of the stiffness of his body. It was still sore, but he was moving with greater ease. When the holes were to Rawley’s liking, a man came with the explosive and the holes were plugged. The prisoners were driven out into the open. Clear of the tunnel mouth, several men at once slumped to the ground and fell asleep. When the explosive blew,Rawley and Rich went in to look at the result. The sheriff seemed satisfied when he came out and gave the guards orders to get the men to work. He shouted for his horse. A Mexican came running and the sheriff stepped into the saddle. McAllister then saw several other mounted men. The sheriff’s