R. Trembly - Madigan

To his shock the lever came off in his hand! He dropped the rifle and grabbed for his Colt but found only an empty holster. His side arm had been thrown clear as he rolled to avoid the puma’s attack. He retrieved the rifle and grasped it by the barrel to use as a club.

The cat was now in plain view from the light of the fire, saliva frothed from its mouth. It was crouched, ready to leap, when to Madigan’s utter astonishment, the buckskin whirled around and with a bone-crushing kick, sent the mountain lion sailing through the air.

Madigan wasted no time in looking for his Colt. Finding it by the fire, he swooped it up and fired a quick shot in the direction of the cat in hopes of scaring it off. He spent the rest of the night watching and waiting for the cougar’s return.

First light revealed one very large and very dead mountain lion less than twenty feet into the trees. The buckskin’s kick had caved in its ribs and it had probably been dead before it hit the ground.

It took some time to bury the animal and it was hard work in this rocky soil, but he finished the job after about an hour.

“Don’t want any more critters feeding off the carcass and getting sick too,” he muttered to himself. One mad mountain lion was enough to last Madigan a lifetime!

The tar was helping to heal the packhorse’s hoof and he figured in another day they’d be on their way again. And he could use some rest see’n how he didn’t sleep much last night, but there was something that bothered him about being so close to that dead cougar, even though he had buried it deep. Never knew when its mate might come ‘round, if it had a mate. The trouble was, if it did she’d sure as hell have the sickness too.

Madigan made plans just in case. First thing he did was to find some dry wood that would burn brightly. To this he added some dried branches covered with pitch from the fir trees. He made two piles of this dried wood, one at each side of camp. Now if any more trouble came his way, he could fire the wood and have plenty of light to see by for a good shot. Madigan was hoping he didn’t have anything to worry about. With the stream running through the canyon, he had no worries about water and the grass was enough for the two horses for a week or more.

About noon the next day, he decided to take a look at the trail. Never hurt to do a little scouting when you were held up for a few days. The sun was high and the shadows were short; Madigan liked it that way. A short shadow was much harder to see and right now Madigan didn’t want to be seen by anyone.

Just inside the entrance to the canyon there were some large boulders and past them a rock ledge went up the side of the cliff. Above the ledge there was an overhang, putting most of the ledge in shadow. Madigan took a good look around, then ascended to the ledge, keeping well back in the shadows so to be out of sight of anyone below.

Keeping a lookout for snakes, he was able to climb almost to the top of the cliff. By standing, he could just barely get a handhold and was able to pull himself over the top. From here it was a beautiful sight all around, and he lingered for a long while. No one was in sight below, so he moved back away from the edge and had a look at his surroundings.

From his high perch he was able to see down into the hideaway. There far below him, were the two horses grazing, and behind them the creek cascaded down the mountainside ending in a crystal clear pool of blue-green water. Madigan was pleased to see that his campsite was not visible until he moved around to the other side of the canyon rim. As Madigan got close to the far rim, he was greeted with the frenzied flight of dozens of pigeons fluttering through the air in a madcap dash to be free from his intrusion. A better alarm he could not hope for.

It was getting hot, so Madigan made a quick check around and started back down. He had just dropped onto the ledge when he caught sight of movement far down the trail from which he had come the day before.

From his vantage point, he had a sweeping view of more than three miles on either side of him. Straining to see into the light, he made out two riders and a packhorse. They were in no hurry and as he watched they would look over their shoulders from time to time. Looked like they figured to be followed. Why else would they be keeping such close track of their back trail, Madigan thought.

Madigan kept to the shadows and watched, not wanting to be seen coming down from the ledge. He only had his Colt with him. He had left the Sharps in camp, so if the riders saw him and were unfriendly, they had the advantage and could pick him off with their long guns. Finding a place to sit down out of the sun, Madigan settled in his lofty perch for however long it took for the riders to get out of sight.

Just up the trail from the opening to his canyon there was a small creek with a clear pool of cold mountain water. When the two men got to the stream they dismounted and started to make camp. This in itself didn’t bother him as they were far enough away so that the opening to Madigan’s canyon was not visible to them. As long as they didn’t get curious and start looking around, he had nothing to fear. Like most travelers in this country, they’d likely be on their way at first light.

Madigan waited for them to busy themselves before he slid to the base of the cliff and entered the canyon. The buckskin’s ears perked up as Madigan approached. Only after recognizing his master did he start grazing again.

The moon was just coming over the rim of the canyon and the night chill was already in the air when Madigan rolled out his bedroll for the night. He was tired, more from the lack of doing anything all day than from anything else. He was about to take off his boots when the buckskin looked up toward the narrow canyon entrance and blew a rush of air from his nostrils. Madigan quickly changed his boots for the moccasins he always kept with him.

Something out there had caught the great horse’s attention and he figured he’d better check it out. As he crept out into the open, the moonlight was casting eerie shadows around him and he had the feeling that he was no longer alone.

Edging his way through the narrow corridor from his hideaway, Madigan crept silently toward some rocks that would shield him from searching eyes. In the moonlight he could see the long ribbon of trail below. To his left a small campfire was burning where the two men had camped. Although he could see it from his vantage point, he doubted whether anyone on the trail below could.

To the east a horse whinnied. Madigan peered into the direction of the sound. It took some time before his vision adjusted to the changing light. Milling around about a quarter mile away, he was just able to make out a party of riders. Even in the bright moonlight he was only able to see their movements. All else was lost at this range.

Before long a form broke off from the rest and moved slowly to the west. Waiting, Madigan was soon able to see the silhouette of a single rider as the man passed less than a hundred yards from him. It didn’t take much to figure the drifter didn’t want his presence known.

The absence of hoofbeats on the hard rock told him that the rider had tied pieces of leather or the like around his horse’s hooves so they would make little noise as he rode along. It was a trick Madigan had used once to sneak away from some Indians that had it in mind to collect his scalp. Whoever the rider was, he hadn’t been born yesterday. Watching him ride past, Madigan wondered what he was up to. Then he remembered the two men camped ahead.

It didn’t take him long to realize the man had a mind of getting the drop on the camp in the dark, while the two men wouldn’t be expecting trouble to come their way.