When the subject of Dom Lawson came up, McAllister had the feeling that he should have been devious, but he was not feeling devious. He was still feeling enraged by his situation.
It was Newton, the sick major, who came to tell McAllister about the wild ravings of the man who had been found wandering the snow, temporarily bereft of his sight.
The major looked troubled and ill when he told McAllister: This fellow has a story of being jumped by horse thieves a few dawns back. They shot his two companions and stole his horses. His place is down near the first break. He says he dare not go back there, because the rustlers may still be there and gunning for him.’
That was when McAllister should have kept his mouth shut, maybe. Or gone ahead very cautiously. But he did not feel cautious. He felt like hitting out and hurting somebody
‘He’s a goddam liar,’ he said. ‘I know him. He’s been a thief and a killer from way back. I’ve carried warrants with his name on them in my time. He came north here to steal my best stud horse. Hickok and I caught him at Greg Talbot’s place and laid into him. Sure, we killed one of his men and wounded the other. You saw the wounded man when we met you on Black Horse. The real reason for Lawson coming into this country was for the simple reason of killing me. Hickok rode in to warn me.’
‘Why should he want to kill you, McAllister?’
‘Because he owes me a killing. Now he owes me another. It’s a kind of pride with men like him to keep the score even. It may not mean anything to men like you and me, major, but to him it makes sense.’
‘Well,’ said Newton, ‘he’s told his story to the colonel and the colonel believes him.’
‘I can believe that.’
‘There’s more. This man says that he knows where the Indians are located.’ He paused to let that sink in. It sank in all right, deep. McAllister sat quietly there and contemplated what this could mean. It did not take much contemplation for him to realize that he was on the edge of a massacre.
He said: ‘You know just what this means, Major?’
Newton coughed for a while and then said: ‘Yes, I know what it means. But I know of no way of stopping it. Yes, yes, I know, I could arrest Brevington, but it’s very doubtful if I’d get away with it. If I were sure of the men, it would be different. As it is, they’ve heard that the Indians are somewhere near and they’re already talking of a great victory. They’re thinking of their return home, the triumphant entry, every damn one of them a hero.’
McAllister had a simple idea. Not much of an idea, but the only one he could come up with. It did not stand much of a chance, but there was nothing else.
‘Major,’ he said softly, so that the others did not hear, ‘you have to get me loose. These Indians have to be warned, so they can move.’
The major had an objection to that.
‘I can’t do it, McAllister,’ he said. ‘As much as I want to prevent a massacre, I can’t prepare the Indians so they can cut down on these soldiers. I cannot be responsible for the death of a single whiteman.’
‘You’re going to be responsible for the death of a hundred Indians.’
‘When it comes down to it, a man’s loyalties are to his own kind.’
‘Your loyalties should be to humanity.’
‘Not when it comes down to it.’
McAllister tried again.
‘I could give you my word,’ he said, ‘that the Indians won’t fight. I can persuade them to cut and run.’
The major waved a hand at the elements—‘Nobody can cut and run in this. We both know it. The Indians will have to stand and fight. That means soldiers being shot.’
‘For God’s sake, man’ McAllister said. His voice was rising. The sergeant and the blacksmith were listening intently. ‘You can’t sit by and see men, women and children slaughtered like cattle.’
‘Don’t think it’s an easy choice.’
‘It ain’t so goddam easy for me, neither,’ McAllister said. ‘I was raised with these folk. They’re all human beings to me.’
‘That’s where we differ. They’re not to me. I know every soldier here. They’re more than names to me. I know their parents, their wives and their sweethearts. I couldn’t face their folks knowing that I’d sent them to their deaths.’
‘Aw, shit,’ said McAllister. ‘So this horse thief comes in here, leads the soldiers to slaughter a bunch of Indians and ends off his little victory by putting a bullet through my head.’
‘That’s impossible,’ the major declared. ‘He wouldn’t dare, not with you under military guard.’
‘Don’t try and fool yourself,’ McAllister told him. ‘This bastard could kill me if there were guards ten deep around me. He’ll ride off, laughing.’
There was nothing more to be said. The major coughed some more and wandered wretchedly away, despairing and indecisive.
The blacksmith said: ‘You goddam Indian-lover.’ He pondered a while and added: ‘I hope that horse thief plants a slug in your noddle and no mistake.’
McAllister said, calming down a little: ‘Be assured, my friend, before he gets a chance to do that, I shall beat your dumb head in.’
The blacksmith came forward to do something about that, but the sergeant drove him back with a few well-chosen obscenities.
There was just one bonus that day. The sergeant relented and freed McAllister’s hands long enough for him to eat a fill of hot stew. That helped him to feel a little better. He searched through the crowd of soldiers, but he could not see Lawson. The sergeant said that he was in the colonel’s tent with bandages over his eyes. The command’s doctor thought that it would not be too long before the man could see again.
‘That’s too damned soon for me,’ McAllister said.