As Pete rode along he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Maybe the little gold figurine was the only one of its kind and there was no other Aztec gold to be found. Too late now, he thought. He had cast his destiny and entrusted his future to the low-life that was trailing along with him.
Even if there is gold and they find it, it would not be an easy task to keep it out of the hands of the men. Men like these would not be content for only a share, no matter how large it might be. These are greedy men of no proper upbringing, and honor of one’s word means nothing to them.
At the next widening of the trail, Shorty rode up beside Pete. “From that look on your face I’d say you were thinking mighty hard about something. Anything you can talk about?”
“Just thinking,” LaRue started, “just thinking that if I had it to do over again I would have kept the figurine and been satisfied.”
“I was wondering if that might be it. You don’t have to worry about me. Find gold or not, I have what I want, freedom to go where I please, when I please.” Shorty lowered his voice so as not be overheard by the others. “Another thing that you should know. When and if the time comes that you need someone to stand beside you against these fellows back here, I’ll be there. You can count on it!”
Pete looked over at his friend and nodded his head. “Thanks,” he replied.
About four o’clock, as they were riding over a ridge, one of the men came forward and pointed toward the sky ahead.
“Looks like something’s dead or dying up ahead. Them buzzards don’t circle like that unless they’re getting ready for a meal.”
“How far off you make it?” LaRue asked.
“Three, maybe four miles at the most. Want me and some of the men to ride on up ahead and check it out? Maybe our men got that bastard and now the birds are waiting for them to leave so they can get to eatin’.”
“Go on up if you want, but don’t stray further than you have to. And keep an eye out for a good place to make camp. Be getting dark in a few hours.”
Several of the men rode on ahead and were soon lost from sight over the next ridge. LaRue and the rest rode at an easy pace. They were in no hurry to stir up any more dust than necessary. It wasn’t long before they came upon one of their riders sitting along the trail.
“Where’s the others that rode up with you?” LaRue asked.
The man said nothing, just flicked his thumb in the direction of the trail ahead. In a minute LaRue dismounted alongside the other men who’d gone on ahead to see what the buzzards were about.
“Over there,” one of the men said waving towards some thick brush. Pete walked a dozen feet before he was greeted with a sight that made his stomach crawl. The partly-eaten bodies of the two riders he sent on ahead were laying together where they’d been dragged by the bear.
“That bear might still be around close, so keep your eyes open. Not likely he’ll leave his dinner this soon. Must’ve scare him off when you came riding up,” LaRue said. The men looked nervously around, not wanting to meet the same fate as their friends.
“Get them buried and let’s get out of here before it comes back for a try at the rest of us,” LaRue said as he walked back to his horse. “The rest of you men that aren’t digging the graves, get your rifles and stand guard. Anybody seen the horses?”
“They weren’t here when we found the bodies. The bear must have scared them clean into the next territory! Be lucky if we ever see them again.”
The bear watched from cover high on the hill above the men. He was content to just watch. His belly was full.
Chapter 4
The events of the morning had unsettled Madigan. He wanted no more of this game that he had been drawn into through no fault of his own. When he planned the destruction of the two riders that were following him, it almost seemed as a joke in his mind. Now after witnessing the brutality of the bear’s attack, it was as if a terrible sickness had overcome him.
Madigan felt a guilt that transcended his very soul. To say he was remorseful would be to understate the way he felt by tenfold. But it was over and done and his hope was that he was also done with the men trying to kill him. For being a survivor first, Madigan knew that he could and most probably would kill again to protect himself from being killed.
The buckskin beneath Madigan carried him strong and sure along the narrow trail as it ran along, first through forest of majestic pine and fir, then dropping here and there to a cool meadow of high mountain grass where he would stop to let the animals graze and gather their strength for the never-ending climb ahead.
On the occasions when he stopped to let the horses rest, it was always at the far side of the meadow, right at the tree line so as to be able to duck out of sight at the first sign of trouble. He only picked the meadows large enough to afford him a long-range shot but would be too great a distance for anyone except another man with a Sharps. Madigan had very little fear of falling prey to any of the men that dogged his back trail, for had they been in possession of a long-range rifle, they would have turned it on him while he was still on the high plain.
He even dozed while the horses munched on the sweet, green grass around him, for the big buckskin was always vigilant and would warn him long before any danger got close. He also thought of the girl with the long, black hair and when he did so, he’d get a stirring within him that made him very uncomfortable.
So it went for the next few days. By the time he reached Poncha Pass on the morning of the third day, he had almost put the outlaws out of his mind, but having been a scout and Indian fighter, Madigan never really allowed himself to forget completely. To forget would be to bring almost certain death upon himself.
Still the days were bright and the air was clear and cool, quite a contrast to the valleys and plains far below, and he enjoyed just riding along daydreaming of the dark-haired girl and the ranch he hoped to someday own.
Madigan was riding along enjoying the scenery when something, a hunch or impulse if you will, caused him to turn around in his saddle. At first he was not sure if he had seen the flash on the mountain above him or had just imagined it. He watched for a while longer, but to no avail, so he dismissed it from his mind. Sometimes in the clear mountain air the sun will catch the wings of an eagle in flight, and although one cannot see the bird, the reflection can be, and is, quite bright. Yet, his instincts told him to check again to make sure.
He crossed Poncha Pass early in the morning and would cross the San Luis River sometime the next day if he was lucky, but Madigan wasn’t in much of a hurry. He enjoyed being alone in the wilderness and wasn’t looking forward to getting back to civilization any sooner than he needed to.
When he reached the San Luis, he planned to camp a day or two and get a belly full of fish. He no longer feared the men that had been following him as he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them since the bear attack. There might be a few Indians around, but most of them were plains Indians and didn’t get into the mountains much except to hunt once in a while. Just the same, he’d keep an eye out for any trouble headed his way, but Madigan was sure that for the next few nights he would get some pretty good sleeping done.
Several times he lingered along a stream or grassy meadow, breathing in the vastness between the Rockies and the Great Divide. So when night fell he was not as far as he had planned to be and made camp along a fast running stream whose noise drowned out all other sounds around him. If not for being so tired as he was, he would not have picked this spot, but would have moved to quieter ground where he might have been warned of approaching danger.
Madigan must have been more tired than he thought, for he made other mistakes that he would not ordinarily make. One was to leave his Colt hanging on a branch a few feet away instead of under his blanket as he normally did. He also didn’t bother to remove the Sharps from the scabbard by the saddle. Neither gun was far away, just out of reach if he needed them in a hurry.
Yet living as Madigan did, even in his fatigue, he still took some prec
autions. So it was as he drifted off to deep slumber, a slumber that he might not wake up from.
As far as he could tell it must have been around two in the morning when he awoke with a start. There in the light of the moon stood two forms. One held the Sharps. And it was pointed straight at Madigan’s head!
“So the sleepy one is awake. What will he do now, this man called Madigan?”
Madigan took a deep breath and let his vision clear so that he could see the outline of the man who was talking to him.
“You know me?” he asked, trying to peer into the darkness to see if there were others hidden in the shadows. He could see no one else.
“Yes, I know you. I wasn’t sure till I found the Sharps, but now I’m sure. You’re the bastard Captain Sam Madigan from the U.S. Cavalry.”
“What do you want?” Madigan asked while keeping an eye on the other man.
“Nothing special. I’m just gonna kill you and leave your bones to rot. I always wanted a Sharps and now it seems as if I have found one for my own.” The man opened the breech and found the rifle unloaded.
“Where do you keep the bullets for this cannon?” he asked irritably. There was something familiar about the intruder’s voice. Then it hit Madigan like a bomb! It was Harry O’Neill! It took all Madigan had to control his anger.
“Over in the pack, in a little tin box, but you’ll never get to use them,” he said. “It takes a man to shoot a Sharps. All I see is a big-mouthed rat!” Madigan was hoping for more time to figure his plan of action. O’Neill stared at him for a moment, then turned to his companion and smiled.
“You keep an eye on him while I get the bullets for this here gun.” He raised the rifle for emphasis. “I want to find out how big a hole it will make in this bastard’s head!”
Madigan needed to act fast. He waited for O’Neill to go over to where his pack lay, then when O’Neill was busy digging around for the ammunition, Madigan made his play. In one motion he kicked the blanket off and levered a round into the Winchester he had hidden beside him. At the same instant, the guard, realizing what Madigan was up to, went for his side arm. Madigan was a split second faster, and his bullet hit home while the man’s gun had barely cleared leather.
Even as the man fell backward Madigan was off and running, firing a shot in the direction of O’Neill. Madigan expected O’Neill to fire back, but to his surprise O’Neill dropped the Sharps and bolted for the shadows. Madigan fired a couple more rounds after O’Neill as he ran through the trees. But not being able to see in the dark of the forest, Madigan stumbled headlong into a tree, giving his rifle a good whack in the process. It jammed before he could get off another shot. He apparently had missed O’Neill anyway, and was not surprised to hear him ride out on a dead run. Madigan quickly gathered up his Colt and then checked to see that the Sharps was all right. It had fallen on the pack and wasn’t hurt.
The man he had shot lay on the ground where he had fallen, groaning softly. Madigan kicked the man’s gun away, then put the barrel of his Colt to the man’s head. The man’s eyes opened slowly and Madigan could see the man was no threat, as it was plain to see that he would soon die.
“Who are you?” Madigan asked. The man looked up with a hatred in his eye that Madigan had seen in but few men.
“My name is Rodino and you have killed me.”
“You could have kept on riding. Nobody said you had to come into my camp,” Madigan said. “I was defending my life, so I have no remorse in killing you,” he added.
The man lay quiet for a moment as though thinking something over, then half-smiled, and coughed up a little blood. “You are the man called Madigan, the hunter of men, aren’t you?”
“That’s what they call me,” Madigan affirmed. “Why were you wanting to attack me? Have I done anything to you or your kin to cause you to want to kill me?”
The dying man tried to sit up but did not have the strength, so Madigan helped him, pulling his saddle behind the man’s back for support while they talked.
“Thanks,” the dying man said and Madigan noticed the hatred had left the man’s eyes, replaced with sadness. “You have done nothing to me or my kin.”
The young cowboy then said, “I am dying. Before I go, I will try to tell you some things that might save you from the same fate.”
“Why would you want to do that? I have shot you, so why help me now?” Madigan asked. The man held out his hand motioning Madigan to take it.
“Because you are everything that I wanted to be and am not. I give you my hand and my word so that you will know that which I tell you is true.”
Madigan took the cowboy’s hand in his, and at that moment wished that he had known this man under different circumstances. “What is it you want to tell me?” he asked. The cowboy drew in a deep breath, then began his story.
“The man you just ran off is no friend of mine. I was only tagging along for what I hoped would be enough money to buy a small ranch somewhere.” He coughed and a little blood ran down his chin. Madigan took his kerchief and wiped it off.
“Thanks,” the cowboy said with a look of sorrow. “I guess I came into it about three days ago down in Maysville. I’d been doing some prospecting and had come to the end of my grub, had no money to buy any more.”
“I’ve been there myself a few times,” Madigan admitted.
The cowboy managed a knowing little laugh, then began again, his voice sometimes barely a whisper. “Like I said, I was out of money and I was hungry, so I went to Maysville to try to get a grub stake when I ran into this hombre named O’Neill. He offered me a drink, so I took him up on it. One drink led to another, and before you know it, he was tellin’ me a story about saddlebags full of little gold statues and how if I helped him we’d both be rich.” Another cough, more blood. Madigan gave him a little water from the canteen and adjusted the cowboy’s head so he could be more comfortable.
“Sounds funny, don’t it? A full-grown man like me, fallin’ for a fool story like that. But I did-hook, line, and sinker.”
“Doesn’t sound so silly to me,” Madigan said, thinking of the saddlebags of gold, his curiosity suddenly aroused.
“Anyway, this O’Neill says that he and five others were runnin’ from the law and headed into the mountains northeast of Durango when they chanced to come upon some Indians having themselves a ceremony of some kind.”
“Did he say what kind of Indians they were?” Madigan asked.
“Didn’t know what they were. Just said they were different from any redskins he ever saw before.”
“What were they doing?”
“O’Neill said they were about seventy-five in number, maybe fifty of them were what he took to be warriors. The rest, and this is the funny part, were women, all dancing around this huge fire, and none of them had any clothes on. Kind of stupid to believe such a story, wasn’t it?” the cowboy said, emotion filling his voice. “I guess it was more stupid to die for something like that, but that’s what I’m doing.”
“Maybe there was more truth to the story than you think.”
“Well, if you’re Sam Madigan, I guess you’d know better than me about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“O’Neill said that these women were a dancing all around, beautiful women too, or so he said. Then one of his men spotted a small mound to the side of the fire. Do you know what was on the mound?”
“Let me guess. Piles of gold?”
“Close. On the mound was a large statue in gold and all around its base was thousands of smaller ones also in gold. O’Neill told me that he and his men decided right then and there to take the gold for themselves. Their plan was a simple one. Ride in with their guns a blazin’, grab the gold, and run for it.
“By the time they got set to attack, all the warriors were so busy watchin’ the women that O’Neill and his men were able to walk their horses right up to them before they were even seen.”
“Didn’t the Indians try to stop them?” Madigan asked.
/> “They tried, but against six-guns and with surprise on O’Neill’s side, it was all over in a minute. While the Indians were trying to take cover, a couple of the men had enough time to fill some saddlebags with the small gold statues and ride out again. The Indians, after regrouping, killed a couple of men that got greedy and tried for some more gold. Anyway, that’s the story O’Neill told me. One other thing, he also said they grabbed two of the women and planned to make them tell where the gold had come from,” the cowboy said in a failing voice.
By now it was plain to see the young cowboy was just about gone, his breathing was shallow and he coughed every few words. But he forced himself to go on and Madigan listened.
“Where did he say he had all this gold that he and his men stole from those Indians?” The man looked up, a look of amusement on his face.
“He said you have it!”
“Me?! Why would he think that?” Madigan tried to look astonished at his statement, remembering full well the two naked women and the saddlebags full of gold.
“O’Neill said he and the rest of his men were bringing the gold to Denver to change it for money. They planned to melt it down so it looked like it had been smeltered, then sell it to the Denver mint.
“Why would they bring it all the way to Denver through the mountains when there were other places much closer to where they started?”
They didn’t have much choice. They were wanted men, so they couldn’t go west without taking a chance of being arrested,” the cowboy answered.
“How did I get involved in this story of his?” Madigan asked, curious at the answer.
“O’Neill said they had crossed over the Rockies and were just through crossing a high plain with the women in tow, still naked he said, but who would believe that, when he had to make water while the others rode on ahead. Just as he was catching up to them, he heard firing and saw two men fall. He took to cover and said he saw you ride out and even though the last man had his hands in the air, said you shot him too!”
Madigan Page 6
