McAllister Rides by Matt Chisholm Read Free Book Online Page A

that his crazy stubbornness would drivehim on to the bitter end. Why, he asked himself, as he found himself some cover on the rimrock, couldn’t he settle down and marry, have kids, like any other sensible fellow. Then he wouldn’t go around studying how to get butterflies in his belly at regular intervals this way.
    He looked over this first canyon and reckoned that it ran roughly east-west. He couldn’t see clearly from where he was but thought that he could make out where it ran into another to the west running north-south. That would be the great canyon where the Comanches liked to gather when they came south for the big hunt The buffalo were out there on the plain so it stood to reason that the big canyon was pretty full of Indians. So – steer clear of there for as long as you can, McAllister. Stay alive as long as you can.
    From where he was, it looked pretty fair country down there. Some of the canyon looked pretty sun-blasted, but there was water down there and he could see some good green patches and even some timber. The thought of the shade and the cool tempted him, but he reckoned he wouldn’t be going down there till he had to. He had heard that the great canyon was green from end to end and a treat for sun-sore eyes. There was grass there for a thousand ponies.
    Now, he thought, seeing what he thought was the plan of the canyons in his head, Islop ought to be somewhere to the west, unless he was somewhere in the very canyon beneath him. There was always the chance of that.
    One thing he was certain of, for the next day or two, while he made his search, he was going to go quieter than a cat. The last thing he wanted was trouble with a small ranging party of young bucks out for scalps. One dead Indian could ruin everything. He had to convince Iron Hand that he wasn’t out for trouble. Maybe he had to show them that he could be big trouble if crossed, but he didn’t want a fight till he got the woman out of there. The chances of a fight
after
he got her out were high enough as it was. Even if he managed to buy her from Iron Hand that didn’t mean some scalp-happy buck wouldn’t come after them.
    He started chewing on hard tack, not daring to light a fire. Suddenly, there was something in his mouth beside hard tack. It was his heart.
    He heard metal chink on stone.
    The
canelo
whinnied from a few yards away where it was tied. The mule started to bray.
    McAllister cursed, scooped up the Henry and popped his head out of cover for a look. The sight that met his eyes almost brought them out of his head.
    Not a halfmile away, coming toward him at a steady walk along the edge of the canyon, was a party of riders. He didn’t need the glass to tell him that they were white men. That was an iron shoe he had heard hit rock and they were well-armed with rifles that he could see glittering in the sun. He couldn’t see too clearly, but he guessed there were more than a dozen men there with pack animals on their lines.
    He groaned.
    There could be little doubt who they were. The only armed men who would venture into this kind of Indian country in any force were either buffalo-hunters or Texas Rangers. There weren’t any wagons present, so that meant they were Rangers. And they would be hunting Indians or had been hunting Indians. Either way, Iron Hand wouldn’t be in the mood for negotiating the release of a white captive. Anyroad, if Iron Hand was attacked either the captives would be spirited away or they’d be killed. If ever McAllister had hated the Rangers, it was then.
    Another sound, in the opposite direction, brought his head around. Two riders were walking their horses toward him from the north. He started to duck for cover, but it was plain they had seen him.
    He walked out to meet them.
    One was a whiteman and the other was an Indian. A Delaware at a guess. They looked like they had been in the saddle a long time and had come a long way. Their horses were ganted