R. Trembly - Madigan

By first light Shorty and LaRue had moved several miles down the trail and had their horses picketed in a high, hidden meadow overlooking their back trail.

“We better get some sleep while we can. I’ll stand first watch,” LaRue said. An hour later LaRue woke Shorty up from his nap.

“Look what’s coming up the trail,” LaRue said. He motioned to Shorty to keep hidden while he came to look. On the main trail O’Neill and his men were riding by. John Smith sat loose in his saddle rubbing his chin. The saddle boot where he kept his ten-gauge was empty. The shotgun now belonged to Shorty.

O’Neill wheeled his horse around and came up beside Smith. “You sure you don’t know who hit you?” he asked, a look of disgust on his face. Smith looked down at his saddle horn, afraid to look O’Neill straight in the eye.

“Like I said, I thought it was Ed and a couple of the boys. They were standing in the shadows with the moon behind them. The next thing I know someone grabs me from behind and holds me while the other hit me with the butt of a rifle. That’s all I remember until you found me. What more can I tell you? I didn’t have a chance against three of them laying in wait for me like that. They just didn’t play fair!”

“Three of them, huh? They’re not as dumb as I took them to be. Somehow they found themselves a friend,” O’Neill said. “Course, if they were smart they would have killed you when they had you.” And saved me the trouble later, O’Neill thought to himself.

Smith was glad when O’Neill rode on ahead, leaving him to nurse his chin. At the next town he figured to bug out and leave O’Neill and the others to whatever fate they had coming to them. After last night Smith just wasn’t in the mood for this kind of life anymore.

Shorty grinned at the sight of the haggard band of outlaws moving by. “I don’t know whether it’s better to be behind them or in front, but we best keep our eyes peeled from here on.

“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.