“Any ideas on how we can beat this thing? I don’t think O’Neill’s the kind of man to let things lay. And there’s the matter of whoever saved our bacon last night,” Shorty said. “I don’t suppose Smith will forget whoever it was that knocked him out last night either. He’ll be wantin’ another chance to even the score.”
“Right now we got a friend out there, and I for one don’t mean to make an enemy of him. If he was able to get Smith like he did, then there’s nothing stopping him from getting us any time he wants. I think our best bet is to stay right here for a day and rest up. By that time O’Neill’s bunch will more than likely move on and forget about us.” LaRue pursed his lips in thought. “What about tracks? They’ll be lookin’ for ‘em and when they don’t find any, they’ll know we gave them the slip. What then?” LaRue asked.
Shorty watched as the last rider rode out of view before speaking. “More ‘n likely, he’ll figure we went the other way. Not much chance of any of the men wanting to go back lookin’ for us. Not with all that gold on their minds O’Neill is suppose to know the whereabouts of.”
“See what you mean,” LaRue said. “Course, O’Neill won’t want to chance us doggin’ his back trail, so he’ll likely set an ambush just in case.”
Shorty smiled a rare smile. “That’s why we wait around for another day. When we don’t show in four or five hours, he’ll be convinced we gave up and headed back east.”
Madigan made his way back to his camp in the little canyon without incident. But before he called it a day he waited at the entrance until he heard the rest of the riders go by. Now that they had gone on, he had little fear his own camp would be disturbed in the night, and he hoped the two men below had used the chance he had provided to the best of their advantage. It had been close to half an hour before the others rode in, so they had more than enough time to clear camp and be on their way.
The buckskin grazed peacefully as Madigan pulled his blanket over himself for a much needed rest. When was he going to learn that one of these days doing good deeds like that was going to get him killed? Probably never, he thought.
The next morning he examined the packhorse’s hoof and was relieved to see it was healing nicely. He’d give it one more day to make sure it was all right, then continue on his way. A cool breeze blew all day and Madigan spent the time fishing in the little creek in the canyon. It produced some fine rainbows which he promptly ate.
After that he took a bath in the waterfall’s chilling water, nearly freezing his rear off. His clothes also got a good cleaning, something they more than needed. Leaving them to dry, Madigan laid his blanket down in the shade and took some shut eye.
The next morning dawned bright and clear and he was anxious to be on his way again. The crisp mountain air gave him an appetite for once, but before fixing breakfast he checked the packhorse’s sore hoof by walking her around camp with a light load on. There was no sign of a limp, so he set his mind to hurry and eat so that he might make some distance before the heat of the day.
An hour later he was packed and started on his way. It would be a long time before he found anything like this secluded shelter again, and there was a great hesitancy in his heart to leave this beautiful place that had hidden him so well from his enemies. But the time had come to push on, and though he did so unwillingly at first, he was soon lost in the excitement of the new sights and sounds of the ever-changing panorama before him.
Now Madigan was a man of caution, and when he traveled, he kept out of view as much as possible. This habit of his had kept him away from trouble more than once.
He was doing just that-keeping from sight-when up ahead and to his right he glimpsed two riders and a pack animal advancing toward the main trail. They were coming down through the pucker brush from behind an outcropping of rock. The two were moving along easy like, not stirring up any dust, while keeping a close watch on the trail in front of them. Madigan figured it must be the two he’d saved a few nights before.
There was plenty of cover around, so he just let them ride on ahead while he held back for a spell. At least they had sense enough to get off the trail for a day and let trouble leave the area. Now he’d do the same, just drift along nice and slow while they rode on ahead and put some miles between him and them. Been so long since he’d really talked with anyone that wasn’t trying to kill him that he was tempted to catch up and say howdy, but knew better.
Before long, he came to what looked like a game trail angling off to the north and up the side of the mountain. Madigan realized it might afford him a better look at what was up ahead while allowing him to stay hidden much of the time. He decided to follow it a ways, if nothing else it would help to put more miles between him and the two riders ahead. Dropping to the ground, he led the two horses along the narrow, twisting path between sparse stands of fir. Once he startled a big buck with a doe in tow and watched it go bounding off through the brush with a speed that never failed to amaze him.
After a short distance the path widened and he mounted up again. At times the going got rough, but the buckskin took it in stride, only stopping from time to time to wait for the packhorse to struggle over an obstacle that the buckskin was able to hurdle easily.
Before crossing a creek that flowed across his path, he allowed the animals to drink their fill of the sweet mountain water before mounting up again. Madigan thought that the trail would’ve allowed him a view of the lower ground before this, yet each time it looked as though it was about to come out on a vantage point, it turned away. At the very least, by doing so he was never in view of anyone below.
Realizing he’d have to go to the top before he’d have his look, he impatiently hurried the buckskin on with a slight kick to his ribs. Just a tap really, but the great horse got the picture and soon they were nearing the top of the trail where the ground flattened out into a kind of terrace that hung to the side of the mountain like some kind of perch for a giant bird.
Now, Madigan was no fool. So when he got within a hundred yards or so of the top, he picketed the horses and went the rest of the way on foot. If he figured the place for a good lookout, there was no reason someone else hadn’t done the same.
He slipped the thong from his Colt just in case and walked wearily out of the brush onto the flat clearing. If a view was what he wanted, then that was exactly what he got. Only it wasn’t of the valley floor below. Instead, as he stepped into the clearing, he was immediately confronted with the sight of twenty or more Utes with blood in their eyes. A chill ran down his spine. Madigan was trapped with no place to go! There wasn’t one of them Indians that didn’t have an arrow pointed right at him!
Behind him the buckskin snorted and shortly afterward Madigan heard a thud and figured the great horse had gotten himself a Ute that had approached too close. He only hoped they’d turn the horse loose and not kill him where he stood. It was a sure bet that he’d not be needing a horse any more. He felt a sharp prick in his back, then a hand lifted his gun from its holster. The same hand also found and took his knife. Now totally disarmed, Madigan felt his heart sink as never before.
He was taken to a large tree in the center of the opening where dry brush and dead wood were soon piled around the base, and Madigan didn’t have to be told what they had in mind for him. At different times in his travels he’d come across burned-out trees in the middle of clearings such as this, and had wondered why a single tree was destroyed and not others around it, as would be the case in a forest fire. Madigan had thought of the possibility of lightning but the tree would not be blown apart like a lightning strike does.
Now he realized those trees had been used to burn the hated whites that had dared challenge the Indians and lost. Madigan envisioned someone years from now riding through and wondering about this tree. Would he know that a man had died while tied to it as it burned? Whether he did or not made no matter to him.
A sharp blow knocked him off his feet and for a moment bright lights danced in his head. He felt himself falling
, then nothing.
Madigan didn’t know how long he was out but it couldn’t have been long. He’d been carried to the tree and was held to its trunk by a rawhide rope wrapped around it and himself. Only his hands were free, but he could do nothing with them to help himself.
Some of the Indians were dancing what he took to be some kind of a death dance, their painted bodies glistening in the sun. Others were using a fire bow trying to get a fire going and from time to time they’d look up at Madigan and laugh. The rest of the Indians just stood around or sat watching him with a look of amusement on their faces. To Madigan it was not amusing at all.
He questioned his hands being left untied, but the answer was soon coming when several Indians came toward him with another length of rope. As they came closer, one of them thrust the point of a lance under his chin-Madigan assumed it was to keep him from struggling-while they tied his hands behind him. The blade of the lance was held with such pressure that it cut flesh, and a small trickle of blood ran down his neck to be lost somewhere in his shirt.
Madigan struggled with the idea of forcing his body forward onto the razor-sharp blade of obsidian, thus ending his life quickly, giving the savages no satisfaction of their own. Yet something deep within kept him from it.
Madigan stood there unmoving as a loop of rope was placed about his left hand and jerked tight pulling his arm up behind him. He felt his right arm being lifted so that it too could be tied. All at once an unnerving shriek filled the air. The tension on his left hand suddenly released, allowing it to drop to his side along with the short piece of rope attached to it.
Every Ute stopped what he was doing. They all gathered round the one Indian, who had just before been tying Madigan’s hands behind him. The Indian kept jumping up and down pointing to Madigan’s side where his right hand now hung. Several of the Indian’s comrades came closer for a better look at what he was pointing to. They too were soon jumping and shouting and pointing. Finally the Indian, who Madigan took to be the leader, came over and grabbed his right hand.
Madigan watched him closely. The brave first looked at Madigan, then his eyes swept downward to his hand, then back to his face. His cold, black eyes that a moment before had been filled with contempt now were filled with fear. Madigan was vaguely aware of the old Indian releasing his hand, and in a single move the brave and his band moved back into the brush that surrounded the opening.
In seconds they were gone. In his haste to be away, his guard had dropped the lance at Madigan’s feet. Bending over, he got hold of it and used it to cut himself loose.
Was this some kind of a trick? He hoped not, for he was not in the mood for jokes at the moment. What had it been that had scared them so?
He started to rub his left wrist where the rope made it raw, and in doing so, saw the ring on his right hand, the silver and gold band the women had given him after he rescued them. Was this what had frightened his capturers away? Indians are a superstitious lot, and if it was the ring, then it must mean big medicine to them. Ring or not, Madigan was glad to be free and wasted no time getting his gun back from where it had been dropped by the edge of the clearing.
Being a man who always finished what he started, he walked briskly to a spot where he could see the ground below and to the west. There far ahead were the two riders; no one else was to be seen. Madigan was more than a little nervous about sticking around after his meeting with the Utes, so he wasted no time in getting back to where the horses were tied. A dead Ute lay to the rear of the buckskin and it was obvious the big stallion wanted to be rid of this place as fast as he could.
It took a lot less time to descend the side of the mountain than it took to come up. Once back on the main trail Madigan took out his rifle and made sure it was loaded. Funny, it hadn’t felt so hot a few minutes ago!
Chapter 8
O’Neill was growing uneasy and his temper was starting to show. He had been waiting hours for LaRue and Shorty to appear. The sun overhead was merciless in its dance across the sky, baking those below that watched for the victims they hoped to sacrifice for the quest for gold.
“Hell, they ain’t coming!” Morales complained as he wiped his brow with a dirty sleeve. “They probably hightailed it back East where they’d be safe.”
O’Neill thought over what Morales said for a moment before making a decision. It was hot out all right, and this place had no water close by. O’Neill deliberately picked this spot to bushwhack LaRue and his friend, knowing they would be in a hurry to get through this wasteland.
There was nothing here but rock and brush with a few burned out snags to testify to a fire that almost certainly had devoured most of the other trees. Without a sufficient supply of water, the trees were having a tough time coming back. The brush, needing less moisture, was thriving, thus making a large meadow of little else. Further to the west a small hill, more of a knob really, rose to a height of thirty feet. O’Neill had the horses hidden behind this. Then he ordered his men to go out in the brush and wait.
“How long’s it been?” O’Neill asked to no one in particular.
“From the look of the sun, I’d make it out somewhere close to five hours or so.”
“Doesn’t any of you fools have a watch for crying out loud?” O’Neill asked in anger, the gash on the side of his face growing redder.
“Don’t you have one?” a sharp voice came back.
“He’s the boss! He doesn’t need one!” another voice piped in sarcastically. O’Neill knew enough to shut up while he was still in control.
The men were hot and thirsty. They’d been hiding in the brush under the burning sun and they’d be in no mood to take any guff from the likes of him. O’Neill let the insult go unanswered.
“Come on in!” O’Neill ordered. “I think maybe Morales is right. They’ve had enough and are heading back home with their tails tucked between their legs.” O’Neill let out a reassuring laugh that sounded hollow and empty.
One by one from various areas of the bush, a man would rise from his hiding place, each with a look on his face that said O’Neill had kept them out too long. He’d have to think of something fast or the game might be lost. And these were the type of men that killed the losing captain.
“Men,” he said when they were all back, “right now some of you aren’t too happy with me for keeping you out there all these hours. I knew Shorty and LaRue weren’t coming after the first hour. .”
“What the hell!” one of the men broke in.
“Just let me finish!” O’Neill said harshly. “As I was saying, I knew they’d turned back after the first hour. But trapping them wasn’t the only reason I sent you out there.” The men looked around at one another, each wondering what O’Neill was up to.
“I sent you out in the blazing sun to test each and every one of you. I needed to know who I could count on and who I couldn’t.”
“Count on us for what?” a rough looking cowboy asked. “How the hell can lying out in the heat let you know who you can count on and who you can’t?”
The question came from John Smith, hoping to trip O’Neill up and make himself look better in the eyes of the men. O’Neill let the question ride.
“Before us is a future of riches, if we are lucky, and you men do as you’re told. But one slip up, just one, and we might lose everything! I am glad to say that all of you passed the test and we are now ready to put my plan into action,” he said. “Over the next week we will be covering as much ground as possible. It is important that we get to our destination at the time of, or just before, the next full moon. That gives us a little less than a month to get ready.
“If we are one day late, we will have to wait another month, a month that will give LaRue enough time to get more men together. I for one don’t intend to fight him and the Injuns both. The Injuns will be bad enough. They’ve already been hit once and they won’t be as easy the next time!” O’Neill looked around at the men. All eyes were on him. The lure of gold again captured their imagination
s and they’d follow O’Neill to the very depths of hell to get their share if need be.
Since the attack on the mountain, Madigan hadn’t seen hide nor hair of any living thing except an occasional ground squirrel scampering about in search of food or company. As he approached, they’d stand on their hind legs and let out a low whistling sound to warn of his presence.
From time to time, he’d pass the tracks of the riders ahead. To a scout as experienced as Madigan, it was evident a large body of horsemen had gone through the day before. There were also tracks of the two others just a few hours old.
Coming in sight of a low hill, he noticed the tracks of three horses leaving the trail. Madigan guessed the two riders became suspicious and decided to skirt the hill and a possible ambush. Riding on, it became all too clear that an ambush had indeed been planned. Had the two men been a day earlier or the killers waited a day longer, there would now be two corpses under dirt.
Madigan rode on and smiled to himself when the tracks of the two men came back on the trail. They had been caught off guard once and weren’t going to let it happen again. Still, they were taking an awful big chance by riding the same trail at all. They must be in a big hurry for something, he mused.
Madigan rode into Durango at sunset. Durango was a town with a wild reputation of free-flowing whiskey, hard men, and soft-but-wild women. It was hot in the summer and cold as the icy fingers of hell in the winter, and many a cowpoke or hard rock miner out for a good time wound up on Durango’s boot hill instead.
Rather than ride down Main Street, Madigan turned the buckskin down an alley and made his way around the back of the town. Coming to another alley he glanced down it and saw the front of the local saloon, the Durango Pleasure Palace.
The sun was down and Madigan had little fear of being spotted in the darkness between the buildings, so he moved closer to the Main Street for a better look while still remaining hidden from prying eyes from the saloon.
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