The Legend of Shamus McGinty's Gold

by I. J. Parnham

  “Sure, I just expected more from the son of a legend.”

  Randolph rose to his feet and turned around. Quinn and his men galloped behind them. Farther back, Vance mounted a horse that Morgan held still. Randolph flicked open his Colt and filled the empty chambers.

  He settled his stance and steadied his aim over the back of the rolling wagon. Within a minute, Quinn’s men drew alongside the wagon, their horses kicking up vast plumes of dust.

  Randolph expected them to flank the wagon and use their superior numbers to pick off himself and Fergal, but for the next few minutes, the horses stayed parallel to the back of the wagon. Randolph frowned, guessing they wanted Fergal alive and couldn’t risk a direct assault.

  The wagon reached the bottom of a hill and as it headed uphill, it slowed with each clatter of hoofs. Vance swung in to the wagon and, in a reckless move Randolph wouldn’t have attempted, he stood in the saddle and jumped onto the back of the wagon.

  He caught hold of one of the numerous projections and rolled onto the wagon roof. With his body bent double, he shuffled toward Randolph. Randolph aimed his Colt at Vance, but with the wagon trundling over rocks with every turn of the wheels, his aim veered widely.

  Without a choice, Randolph rolled on to the top of the wagon. Uncertainly, he pushed to his feet and staggered a few paces toward Vance. With his weight set forward, Randolph waited for Vance to make the first move, but then by his side, another clatter sounded as another man jumped onto the wagon.

  Randolph started to turn, but Vance lunged at his legs. His clawing grasp caught Randolph’s ankles and with his stance so uncertain, Randolph tumbled on to his back. Vance clawed up Randolph’s body to land on his chest.

  Then the wagon bounced over a rock and Randolph took advantage and threw Vance to his side, but Vance had a firm grip around Randolph’s midriff and pulled Randolph over with him.

  With surprising speed, they rolled along the top of the wagon toward the back. The lightening sky spun in Randolph’s vision. He threw out an arm and grasped a batten of wood. His arm pulled taut and they stopped their uncontrolled roll on the edge of the wagon.

  Above him, Vance lay on his chest, while the earth hurtling by Randolph, twelve feet down. Vance hammered his fist into Randolph’s biceps. Randolph winced, but kept his grip tight on the batten.

  “We both fall if I let go,” he said.

  Vance laughed and hammered both fists into the crook of Randolph’s elbow. With an involuntary spasm, Randolph released his grip. He threw out his other arm, trying to grab another handhold, but with another sudden lurch of the wagon, he tumbled over the wagon side.

  The earth appeared to hurtle toward him and, with a teeth-jarring thud, Randolph hit the ground. Randolph rolled and bounced, free of his assailant. When he halted, he lay on his back and shook his head.

  As he felt no sharp pains, he levered to a sitting position and then stood up. Ten yards away Vance lay, also shaking his head. More surprisingly, the wagon was stopping only a short distance up the hill.

  Fergal lay on the ground fifty yards ahead, another man lying close by. Fergal stood up shakily. He nodded to Randolph and broke into a stumbling run. Then, with his arms pumping, he sprinted toward him.

  The riders formed a group around the wagon as it halted. Randolph waited until Fergal drew alongside and without a word, they hurried away from Quinn’s men, but having abandoned the wagon, he and Fergal could only run from the hills back toward New Hope Town.

  As they hurried down the steep slope, gunfire blasted around them. Grit peppered Randolph’s ankles as the gunshots cannoned into the ground.

  “Fergal McGinty, what’s next?” Randolph said, pacing his words between strides. “You’re the expert on running away.”

  Fergal kept his head down as he ran. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before.”

  “Return!” Quinn shouted. “You’re making me angry.”

  Randolph didn’t intend to return, but as they hadn’t planned their dash from Quinn, they ran straight for the river. This high into the hills, it was an angry river. The churning water seemed to comprise only foam as it surged over jagged rocks.

  As they ran, Randolph searched for a crossing place. He couldn’t see a route across the river where the water wouldn’t sweep them to their deaths, so he angled away from the river to run alongside, Fergal lagging behind.

  After a few hundred yards, the river swung toward them in a long loop, cutting off their escape route. Randolph halted. While he waited for Fergal to catch up with him, he judged whether they could get past this loop before Quinn cut them off.

  The pursuing Quinn wasn’t visible so he kept hold of his faint hope, but within seconds, Quinn and his men crested the hill in a line and scurried down the slope toward them. Randolph noted the churning water, wondering which death might be less painful, but with a shake of his head, he dismissed such defeatist thoughts.

  “It’s a pity you don’t wear a gun,” he said to Fergal when he reached him. “I could do with help.”

  “I can’t use a gun, and anyhow, why should I need one when I have you to defend me?” Fergal said between gasps. He sighed as the riders approached. “I’ve enjoyed my time with you, Randolph. It’s been fun.”

  Randolph smiled at this compliment, albeit a late one.

  ‘As have I,” he said routinely, but to his surprise, he meant the words.

  “Four years ago, we made a deal and you’ve protected me with some style. As of this moment, you’re free of the remainder of that obligation.”

  Randolph nodded. “Thank you kindly, and I’m sorry I said before that you started the fire in our barn four years ago. I know that’s not important – or true. You still acted when it mattered.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  Randolph leaned forward and smiled. “I still don’t know why you saved my brother. It wasn’t typical of you.”

  Fergal returned the smile. “Let’s say it helped to repay another old debt and yours is repaid, too, now. You’re free.”

  “It looks like that freedom has an expected duration of less than a minute.”

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  Randolph shrugged and turned to the approaching Quinn.

  “I do. Only I can say when I’ve repaid my debts.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE RIDERS SLOWED TO a canter and spread out across the slope, Morgan keeping back and Quinn pushing to the front. Randolph stood before Fergal and faced Quinn.

  “Turn around and head back to New Hope Town,” Randolph said to take the lead. “You won’t get what you want here.”

  “That’s tough talk, Randolph, for one man facing five men, but stand aside. We have business with Fergal McGinty.”

  “Fergal O’Brien hasn’t got any business with you,” Fergal said.

  “I’ve waited forty years for this moment,” Morgan said as he drew alongside Quinn. “I’m giving you one last chance to tell me everything before Quinn makes your life painful. Where is the gold hidden?”

  “You know the legend,” Fergal said. His voice was low but commanding, despite the sound of the surging river. “There’s enough gold to make you think you can live forever, but Shamus McGinty has hidden the gold where nobody can ever find it. The only way to find the gold is to stop searching, but when you have found it, you won’t know that you have.”

  “Those were meaningless words from your pa. I don’t want to hear them from you, too.”

  “My pa taught me everything I know and the words aren’t meaningless, except your sort will never understand them.”

  “I don’t need to understand. Your pa will have told you where he hid the gold.” Morgan waved his arm in a wide arc, signifying the hills and the river. “These are the hills where Shamus went missing. Somewhere out here, there is gold, and you’ll tell me where it is, or you’ll tell Quinn. Except if you tell Quinn, what’s left of you won’t be enjoying life.”

  “The old-timer has the right idea,”
Quinn said. “Your choice, Fergal McGinty – what’s it to be?”

  Randolph coughed and shrugged back his shoulders.

  “You’re forgetting about me,” he said. “Nobody threatens Fergal.”

  “Get this obstacle out of the way.” Quinn pointed at Vance “I’ve waited too long to get my hands on this gold and I don’t want distractions.”

  Vance rose up in the saddle. Keeping his movement slow, he swung a leg over his horse and lowered to the ground. Quinn’s other two men followed his actions and strode a few paces forward to stand in front of Randolph.

  The men stood arrogantly. Their arms dangled by their sides. Their backs were straight. Behind the men, the sun was rising, the first sliver of the red orb poking above the distant hills and outlining the men in the red glow.

  To avoid facing the sun, Randolph thought about moving, but the light highlighted the muscles of each man in sharp relief. With his arms relaxed, Randolph hunched forward and waited for one of the men to make the first move.

  Vance blew on his right hand. The other two men matched his action. Then the man who stood on the right twitched his arm, so with practiced grace, Randolph drew his gun. He fired at Vance and then splayed two further bullets to the right.

  As gunsmoke swirled and eddied in the rays of the rising sun, Randolph waited for a returning shot, but the three men were beyond retaliation. The men keeled over backward, small red blots spreading on their chests. As soon as the men hit the ground, Randolph threw his gun barrel open and reloaded.

  “You’re quick,” Quinn said. “I should have done the job myself.”

  “That was your mistake.”

  “Except I suppose I should thank you. Now there’ll be more gold for me.”

  “You’re not getting any gold,” Randolph said. He nodded toward the fallen men. “If you want to, you can walk away while you still can.”

  Quinn sneered as he dismounted, swinging his leg out in an exaggerated style. Randolph shrugged his shoulders and hunched forward, as Quinn swung around his horse to face him, but then Vance twitched.

  In an act of self-preservation, Randolph dropped to the ground as the injured Vance aimed his gun at him. Bullets whistled by Randolph as he fell, one clipping his hat from his head.

  On the ground, Randolph rolled away from Quinn, more bullets peppering around him. Without time to chide himself for not checking he’d killed all his assailants, he rolled to his feet and turned to Vance.

  Vance kneeled, a red-stained hand held across his chest, but with his gun drawn. Standing a few feet away, Quinn also had his gun drawn, so Randolph lowered his gun.

  “You have the advantage,” he said. “What’s your plan?”

  Quinn shrugged. “I kill you and then find out where Shamus McGinty hid the gold.”

  “You won’t find any gold,” Fergal said and then hurried forward.

  In a few paces, he stood between Quinn and Randolph and held his arms wide apart, displaying his green vest.

  “Move, McGinty.”

  “There isn’t nothing you can do to move me.” Fergal smiled. “If you kill me, you won’t discover the location of the gold.”

  “So there is gold for us to find.” Quinn grinned, and nodded to Vance. “Get Fergal out of the way.”

  Fergal turned to Vance as he strode toward him. When he was two yards away, Fergal swooped at Vance’s knees, pushing him to the ground. With the sudden act, Randolph dropped to the ground as a bullet clipped his arm.

  He leaped to the side to roll over his shoulder and land on one knee with his body turned to Quinn. With a whirl of his arm, he raised his Colt and fired a single shot. Quinn twitched, a hand rising to clutch his chest while in his other hand he held his gun at arm’s length, his head cocked to one side.

  “That’s unfortunate,” he gasped.

  Quinn’s gun slackened in his hand and revolved on a finger. Then he collapsed to his side and landed face down in the dirt. Randolph confirmed the bullet had only grazed him. Then he turned to Fergal.

  Fergal was hitting Vance with the slow, ineffectual thumps that Randolph expected from him. Vance ignored the blows and, with a solid slug, clumped Fergal to the ground. With Vance free of Fergal, Randolph fired into Vance’s side, dropping him. Then in sudden distaste, he turned away from Vance’s body and walked toward Fergal.

  On the ground, Fergal rubbed his chin. “I shouldn’t get involved in fighting.”

  “Yeah, you’re not cut out for it.”

  Randolph offered his hand and pulled Fergal to his feet. Bodies were all around them, and although he didn’t expect to receive another surprise, he rolled each body over with the toe of his boot. As none of the men were breathing, he turned to Morgan, who sat with his head slumped over his horse’s head.

  “You’ve got nothing to fear from me, Morgan,” Randolph said. “I’ve never shot a man who didn’t try to kill me first.”

  “My argument isn’t with you, Randolph,” Morgan said. “My argument is with Fergal McGinty.”

  Fergal batted the dust from his jacket. “That’s not so, Morgan. Your argument was with my pa and you won’t resolve that today.”

  “The argument is easy to resolve. Let me have the gold that Shamus kept from me. You owe me that. I saved your pa’s life and he didn’t repay me.”

  With a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Fergal shook his head.

  “I’m sorry about whatever wrongs you believe my pa did to you, but I’m right – you have no hope of understanding the legend of Shamus McGinty’s gold.”

  Morgan slammed the flat of his hand against his thigh.

  “This isn’t over. I’ll never stop looking. I’ve searched for forty years, and I’ll search for forty more years if necessary.”

  “That’s why you won’t ever find the gold. The only way is to stop searching.”

  Toothlessly, Morgan frowned. “I won’t find the gold, then, because I won’t stop searching and it doesn’t seem as if you’ll tell me where your pa hid it.”

  “You’re right at that.”

  Morgan nodded at the fallen bodies. “One prediction came true. Quinn said I’d outlive them all.”

  Randolph examined Quinn’s body, as this man might have a price on his head. Despite their trouble, they’d received little compensation, but then he remembered the five hundred dollars Quinn had paid them.

  Smiling, he turned away from the body. Morgan had drawn a gun on Fergal. Randolph gritted his teeth after allowing Morgan’s chatter to distract him.

  “Put that away,” he said.

  Morgan shook his head. “I’ve no intention of shooting you, Randolph. My argument is with Shamus McGinty, but as he’s not here, Fergal will have to do. Either Fergal talks about gold, or I kill him.”

  “Morgan, you saw what I did to Quinn and his men. Quinn was a fast draw, except I’m faster.”

  Morgan widened his toothless grin. “I like to think I was dangerous in my youth.”

  “That was a long time ago, but you’ve got fewer teeth, a little less hair and I guess a little less speed with a gun. I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you force me to.”

  “That’s no problem, Randolph. I’ve got nothing to live for.” Morgan straightened his arm more. “So, tell me, Fergal McGinty, where is your pa’s gold?”

  Fergal lowered his head, but something moved at the edge of Randolph’s vision. Perched on the crest of the hill, a rider stood, outlined against the sky. The rider set his horse to the side, and although he was some distance away, the thick beard and the rifle that he’d lain across his other arm were clearly visible.

  “Who’s he?” Randolph said.

  Fergal raised his head and smiled, but Morgan shook his head.

  “I’ve been around for years,” Morgan said. “That old trick won’t fool me. Either tell me or kill me, but either way, don’t take me for a fool.”

  With a short scream, Morgan threw his hand in the air and his gun spun away from him. A rifle shot echoed dow
n the hill a moment later. Morgan wrung his hand, but his gun lay yards away.

  Randolph hurried to the gun. He picked it up as Morgan turned around, but the rider had gone.

  “This isn’t your day,” Randolph said. “You won’t find the gold today.”

  With a rueful sigh, Morgan nodded. “You’re right at that, except I’d settle for finding it tomorrow, or next year, or any time.”

  Fergal joined Randolph and sighed. “If it’ll give you peace, shall I tell you the truth about Shamus McGinty’s gold?”

  “You won’t.” Morgan shrugged. “But go on. Tell me.”

  “The gold you’re looking for doesn’t exist.” Fergal’s expression was as serious as Randolph had ever seen it. “Except you were selfless when you saved my pa’s life. If you stop searching, you will find it.”

  “Like I said, you won’t tell me.”

  “I just did, but as the legend tells us, you didn’t believe me.”

  Morgan sighed. “What should I do, Fergal McGinty?”

  “Stop searching. That’s what my pa would have wanted you to do.”

  Morgan’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I’m not getting any younger, so perhaps I should stop. This is a fine country; who knows what I might find.”

  “You do that, and who knows, you might outlive us all.” Fergal pointed to the wagon farther up the hill. “Quinn paid me five hundred dollars for bottles of my universal remedy. It seemed to help you, so you can have them.”

  “I’ll do that. It doesn’t look like I’ll get anything else out of this.” Morgan raised a hand. “Goodbye, Fergal O’Brien.”

  Morgan paced his horse back up the hill. While Fergal stood over the bodies, Randolph dashed after Morgan. He drew alongside when Morgan had crested the hill and returned to their wagon.

  “Tell me one thing, Morgan,” Randolph said as Morgan dismounted and picked up the saddlebag containing the universal remedy. “Did you pretend to be ill to lure Fergal?”

  “I pretended to be ill after I’d had the second bottle of universal remedy so I could lure Fergal out here, but before, I really was ill.” Morgan patted the saddlebag and leaped back on his horse. “Then I drank this universal remedy and everything changed.”