Madigan

by R. Howard Trembly

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why, laddie, you are his owner now! Way I see it, by giving him to you I’ll rid myself of two problems: I won’t have to train him, and he won’t be ‘round to stir up me mares any more.”

  Madigan started to protest, but Goldie stopped him with a wave of the hand.

  “Captain, I’ve not forgotten the time I was laying in that buffalo wallow with only one bullet left and Sioux all around ready to take me scalp.

  “I was just getting ready to put that bullet in me brain when you came a riding and shootin’ right through them Injuns. If you remember, you brought me a horse that day and I’ve never forgotten.”

  “You thick-skinned old Indian fighter! That was your own horse I brought you!” Madigan laughed.

  “If you remember, Captain, it belonged to those Sioux when you grabbed it, so I’m just returning the favor. I’ll not take no for an answer,” he added, rolling up his sleeves in a mock show of anger.

  Well, that buckskin was a mighty fine horse and Madigan wasn’t too fond of walking. And besides, it wasn’t going to be a picnic getting this horse to wear a saddle, let alone keeping himself in that saddle.

  “I guess you talked me into it,” he said shaking his head. “I reckon now it’s either me breakin’ him or him breakin’ me.”

  For the next two weeks Madigan worked with the buckskin in the evenings. During the day he’d ride out with Goldie or one of his men on one of the extra mares, cleaning out the water holes and doing whatever else needed tending.

  Gradually the stallion came around to Madigan’s way of thinking, but not until he’d thrown him a good number of times. After a while he came to realize Madigan wasn’t going to give up, and he let him climb into the saddle with just a little resistance. He even seemed to like Madigan’s presence around him. Before long they were riding out for miles at a time, the powerful stallion enjoying it as much as the man.

  Madigan spent so much time with the horse he almost forgot about O’Neill. At any rate, he wasn’t going off half-cocked for revenge anymore. Besides, Madigan knew that sooner or later O’Neill would come to him no matter where he was.

  Then one cool morning it was time for him to say good-bye to Goldie and his men. By nightfall, he was twenty miles out on his way to Cooper Springs where he camped by a little stream while the buckskin grazed nearby.

  He stayed for a few days at the little town of Cooper Springs, getting new supplies and a packhorse, then decided to get on with his life. A friend once offered him a job on his ranch in California. He’d never been to California but had heard many stories of riches to be gotten there for the taking. Madigan was willing to take his share as long as it didn’t belong to anyone who came first.

  The ranch down California way seemed like a blessing. He knew it would mean hard work, but he never ran from good, honest work in his life. Madigan even planned to bypass the gold fields on his way to the ranch. Course, a man on the move for weeks on end may get a little crossed up now and then, so no tellin’ where he might wander through in the days ahead.

  He was riding along lost in his thoughts when the buckskin shied, then perked his ears forward. The trail he was on didn’t show much use. Madigan liked it that way when he was a mind to get someplace. To his right, up a small slope, was a stand of pine along with a few boulders scattered here and there.

  He moved the buckskin and his packhorse into the trees and waited, for the stallion also sensed something ahead that might mean trouble. When you lived as Madigan did, you learned to take a good long look before you leaped. So he waited for whatever spooked the buckskin to either show itself or move away.

  There were grizzly in this part of the country, and the last thing he wanted to do was come upon a sow with her cubs in tow. If surprised, they might charge anything that looked like a threat to them.

  When a grizzly came at you, there wasn’t much chance for you to outrun her. For short distances, Madigan heard tell they could outrun a horse. Maybe so, maybe not, but he wasn’t in a hurry to find out.

  Wasn’t long before some dust showed down the trail. From the looks of it, he guessed two, maybe three riders were coming. Madigan slipped the thong off the hammer of his Colt, then checked to make sure it was loaded. It was, so he placed it back in its holster, but not as tight as it had been before. He also checked his Winchester. It never paid to get careless.

  If it was trouble coming he would be ready, at least as ready as a man could be, and Madigan didn’t have long to wait. Three riders were walking their horses along the trail below him. He hadn’t been seen yet, so he backed the buckskin further into the trees and waited.

  “What in the heck!” Madigan said disgustedly to himself when he saw that the riders trailed two women prisoners along with them. He bit his lip hard to keep back the anger when he saw that both the women were unclothed, hands tied together in front of them, their skin burned dark from the sun.

  The prisoners, both on one horse, were forced to ride between the two men in the lead, while the other man followed up behind. It was a dangerous situation and Madigan would have to act fast if he was going to do the women any good. It seemed like forever before they got within range, so all he could do was wait. And the longer Madigan waited, the more furious he got.

  Madigan let out a silent curse as he pulled his rifle out of its scabbard while he nudged the buckskin into plain view of the riders below.

  “Hold up down there!” he ordered as he took a bead on the hombre closest to him. The rider was an ugly beast of a man with a long scar across his forehead, a Mexican with dirty hair to match his clothes. When he turned toward Madigan he smiled with black teeth, a stub of a dead cigar protruding from between his lips. The riders stopped.

  “What you want up there? We do you no harm!”

  “Cut those women loose!” Madigan ordered as he levered a round into his rifle.

  Scar Face turned sideways in his saddle and nudged his horse forward out of line with the women. Wiping his arm across his forehead, he grinned back at Madigan.

  “You not understand! These our wives! They been unfaithful to us. We only teach them a lesson.” While he talked the second man eased up beside him, the third man staying behind.

  “We mean you no harm. Why you not come down so we can talk? Maybe you want women for yourself?”

  Both men laughed, and as they did the second rider casually eased his horse up behind the man with the scar. At the same instant one of the women pulled her hands to her mouth in fear. It was all the warning Madigan needed. He fired, then quickly levered another round into the chamber of his smoking Winchester.44–40. It was not needed, for the bullet hit true, knocking the scar-faced man out of his saddle and into the rider behind him. Both fell to the ground with a thud and lay still.

  What the hell did he get himself into this time, Madigan wondered as he assessed the situation, still keeping the rifle to his shoulder in case he needed to fire again.

  In the moment it took for the last man to realize what had happened, the two women spun their horse around and kicked it into action, running their gelding headlong into the Mexican’s mount, knocking the rider off balance. As he fell to the ground in a heap, the two women were on him in an instant. Before Madigan could stop them, the younger of the two females threw herself over the Mexican’s body, pinning him down while the other woman picked up a large rock and brought it crashing down on his skull with a sickening whack, killing him instantly.

  Two of the men were dead, of that there was no doubt. The man that was knocked off his horse when Madigan shot Scar Face was not moving either. Could be playing dead or have the wind knocked out of him, Madigan thought. He rode slowly down toward the man, keeping his rifle at the ready in case of a trick.

  Getting closer, he could see where the bullet entered Scar Face’s chest. The man laying under him still worried Madigan though. He turned his horse so that he came around behind the outlaw in case the man might try something. This way the ban
dit would have to move his dead friend from on top of him to get a clear shot. Madigan wasn’t about to take any more chances than he had to.

  All the worry was for nothing. As Madigan rode up behind the outlaw, he could see he was no threat to him or anyone else. The bullet that killed his friend had gone all the way through. As Madigan suspected, the second man was trying to pull one of the oldest tricks in the book-drawing his gun while unseen behind another. The Mexican’s gun was still gripped tightly in his lifeless hand.

  He had leaned down for more cover at the same time Madigan shot through the man in front of him. Madigan’s bullet hit him full in the mouth and had blown out the back of his neck. The sight made Madigan sick to his stomach and he gasped for air.

  The women were sitting by the man they had killed. As Madigan approached they eyed him suspiciously, but made no move and said nothing.

  “You’re safe now,” he said as he stepped down from his horse while keeping a safe distance, for he had witnessed what the women could do. Bending over while keeping an eye on the women, he withdrew a knife from one of the dead men’s belts and threw it to them.

  “Here, cut yourselves loose. I’ll get you something to wear.”

  The women grabbed the knife and cut each other’s bonds. Madigan tried not to look at their nakedness, while at the same time being aware of any threatening moves they made. After cutting themselves free, they just sat there, their eyes following his every move.

  To his surprise, the outlaws’ horses had stayed where the men dropped. He went over and took the bedrolls from two of them.

  “Here, see what you can do with these,” he said as he tossed the bedrolls to the women. They gathered the blankets up and with the knife soon fashioned a serape by cutting a hole in the center of each blanket, then pulled it over their heads, tying the sides closed with short strands of rope.

  While they were busy clothing themselves, Madigan took a short shovel from his pack to bury the bodies with. As he dug he still kept a watchful eye on the women who were now fully covered.

  For the first time since he saw them, he realized that they were not Mexicans or Anglos. Their features were different from any he’d seen. They could be Indians, but none that he knew of. Maybe they belonged to a tribe of desert dwellers. Madigan did not know and he didn’t plan on finding out; for he would bury the outlaws and be on his way.

  The outlaws’ horses would carry the women to wherever they wished to go. The horses! A sudden thought struck Madigan. Each horse carried saddlebags and each saddlebag was bulging. What were these men carrying? Did they rob a bank, or maybe a prospector that hit it big? He dropped the shovel and walked to a horse that was grazing beside the trail. The women still watched his every move.

  Opening the flap, he was shocked into disbelief. As the sunlight flooded the inside of the bag, he was momentarily blinded by the reflection of gold! Not gold ore or gold nuggets, but hundreds of small gold figurines and utensils!

  He quickly checked the other bag and found the same thing. He ran to the next horse, almost scaring it away. Madigan forced himself to stop. Moving slowly, he gained the animal’s confidence and was able to check the contents of its saddlebags as well. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as more gold was uncovered. It couldn’t be, but it was! He was breathing hard as the third pair of saddlebags revealed the same treasure. He had to stop to catch his breath. There must be hundreds of thousands of dollars here-all his! He was richer than he ever dreamed of being. The job in California had no meaning now. He could buy the biggest ranch in the state of Texas if he’d a mind to!

  Then, he remembered the women. They would know about the gold. Maybe it was theirs. Maybe he should kill them. Yes, he could kill and bury them. No one would know. He could melt the gold down and say he made a big strike and smeltered the ore himself. It was done sometimes. No one would care.

  His hand went to his gun. Just two quick shots and he would have it all. He would be rich! Rich enough to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The women seemed to sense what he had in mind. The fear showed in their eyes, yet they remained calm, unmoving.

  Then reality hit him. He would not only be rich, he would also be a murderer! The women stood a dozen yards away, and for the first time Madigan saw how beautiful they were. They both had silky black hair, the younger one’s grew halfway down her back, and the other’s was shoulder length. They were both slim, but well developed, with skin that seemed smooth and unblemished, from what Madigan could see under the dirt, unlike most Indians whose skin was burnt dry from the sun and wind.

  Then there were their eyes, those beautiful eyes. A man could lose himself in their eyes. And when he looked into the eyes of the younger one, a feeling came over him the likes of nothing he had ever felt before.

  He also saw knew they were not afraid anymore. Somehow they knew he was not a man to kill for the sake of gold. Madigan stood there a long while, his mind full of shame for even thinking such a horrible thought.

  Madigan instinctively knew the gold figurines belonged to the women, or the women’s people, and it meant far more to them than all the gold in the world could to him. He let his gun drop back into its holster. Then quickly, before changing his mind, he took a saddlebag from one of the Mexican’s horses and placed it over one of the other saddlebags. This way one horse carried two saddlebags and the other horse carried the third bag. He took the reins, and stooping, gathered up a canteen that fell when Scar Face was shot off his horse. He shook it; it was full. This he placed over the pommel of one of the saddles, then he handed the reins to the women.

  “Here,” he said with a self-conscious smile.

  I must be crazy, he thought. The younger one reached out and took the reins. For a moment their eyes met. This woman, like no other he’d ever known, stirred something within him and he knew he would never be the same again. The older woman said something to her that he could not understand, then turned to Madigan and in a kind of sign language asked him to wait for a moment while she took something from the saddlebag that had belonged to Scar Face.

  Many Indians speak both their native tongue as well as English but prefer to not let on that they understand what is being said. Madigan expected this was how it was with these women, but did not let it show. They had good reason to not trust anyone right now.

  What the older woman took from the saddlebag was a little figurine of what looked to him like a man. Unlike the others that he’d seen, it was made out of gold and silver. The figurine was masterfully made, the top half being gold, the bottom being of silver.

  She reached for the knife that he’d given her earlier. Madigan quickly stepped back a few paces, not knowing what she was about to do. Both women smiled at his caution. With the knife, the woman pried the little man in half. To his amazement the figurine came apart, not in two pieces, but in three. One part was all gold. The bottom piece was silver, but from the middle came a ring of both silver and gold.

  She held this out to him, indicating for Madigan to put it on his finger. He took the ring from her and tried it on. It fit perfectly. Both women placed their hands over his and slowly said what he took to be some kind of a prayer. Then the older of the two took from the top of the figurine a white powder. It came freely into her hand and she pinched some between her fingers and placed it on her tongue, then motioned for him to do the same. Madigan didn’t think it could hurt, so he followed suit. Then the women sat down on the ground, and he did the same.

  What were these strange women doing? Why had they been captured in the first place? Where’d all the gold come from and where would they take it? There were many questions he wanted to ask but knew not how. He was torn between his conscience and his need to know. And maybe a little greed.

  Madigan awoke from the cold many hours later. The women were gone, along with the gold, but to his surprise the horses were picketed by a small creek a few dozen yards away. He looked down and saw that the ring was still on his finger.

  “S
o it was not a dream,” he said aloud. Trying to stand up, he felt lightheaded. The powder, he thought.

  Judging by the moon overhead, Madigan surmised it must be around ten in the evening. He hadn’t eaten since morning and his stomach was growling something awful. Looking for a place to build a small fire, he was startled to find that wood was already piled within a small circle of stones. The wood was dry and all he would have to do was strike a match to start it ablaze. Whoever piled the wood had been careful to use wood that would not cause any smoke, although he wasn’t worried about anyone seeing it this late at night.

  He also noticed that he wasn’t in the place where he had been when he first saw the outlaws earlier. Somehow, he’d been moved into a little depression in the earth surrounded by trees. Madigan doubted whether anyone would be able to see the light from the fire either.

  He took a slab of bacon from his pack and sliced it into several long strips, then cooked it in his cast-iron skillet along with some beans he’d saved from another meal. He ate until he was full, then spread his blanket out for the night.

  In the morning he would try to find some of the answers to the many questions that raced through his mind. While he lay there trying to think, he felt the strangest sensation that he was being watched. Still feeling surprisingly tired for all the sleep he’d gotten, Madigan closed his eyes and drifted off to dreams of golden towns where there was so much gold that plain dirt was valued far more.

  He had always been an early riser, so at first light he was already drinking a hot cup of coffee. After finishing a second cup, he poured the remaining coffee over the fire, and walked down to the creek to rinse the pot out.

  Madigan still felt that he was being watched, but shrugged it off as his imagination. He was in a hurry to get on his way and if, in fact, someone were keeping an eye on him, they would have to move fast to keep up. He planned to make a lot of distance before sundown.