R. Trembly - Madigan

“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 imaginations 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.

Beside the Pleasure Palace was a makeshift corral, while a loafing shed stood to one side. Inside the corral were six horses with various brands. Some of the brands he recognized as being from large Texas spreads known for their rough ways and tough men-men that didn’t think twice about leaving with one of the ranch’s cow ponies.

Madigan had no doubt that these were the horses of the hombres that had followed the two men several nights back. An uneasy feeling crept through Madigan as he realized the potential for disaster if he got careless for even a minute.

Madigan took a last look along the street while he patted the buckskin on the neck. “Hope there’s more than one livery in town,” he told the big horse, “or we might be in a little trouble.”

Reining the big horse around, he started out of the alley when a noise caught his attention; it came from somewhere above. He froze, a reaction borne of years as an army scout. Two stories above, a window was raised and he could hear voices and laughter coming from inside. Suddenly a basin of water was thrown out the open window, followed shortly by a woman’s face peering down. The water spattered on the ground a few feet away from Madigan. The woman’s face was quickly withdrawn and Madigan wondered why people threw things first, then looked to see if anyone was below.

Another sound caught his attention, and he looked up again just in time to see the face of a man retreat out of sight at the same window. He only got a look at it for an instant before the face vanished back into the room. But it was enough for him to know that it was the same man he had clobbered in the moonlight several nights back.

Not being able to see the front of the building, Madigan surmised it must be another saloon or cheap boarding house. Most men on the move didn’t have much money to spend on room and board, and most of them liked to wash the trail dust out of their throats after a long ride, so there were always cheap rooms to be had close to one or more of the saloons in town. Sometimes the rooms were right in the saloon itself and many had girls available for the price of a few drinks. Madigan made a mental note to stay clear of this end of town.

Riding down the back street, his packhorse in tow, he soon came to the back side of a livery stable. There was a small corral in back and into this Madigan unsaddled and put the horses. He had just closed the gate when an old man with snowy white hair appeared from nowhere carrying a sawed-off twelve-gauge.

“Can I get them some corn, stranger?” he asked. The man had come on him like a cat stalks a mouse, taking Madigan totally unaware. In a flash too quick for the eye to follow, he palmed his Colt.