R. Trembly - Madigan

Throwback or not, Madigan trusted his instincts, and on more than one occasion doing so had saved his life. And he had good reason to be cautious now with all the gunmen in town. Madigan knew Durango would be no different than other towns he had passed through on his way to this time and place, so it might be better to leave while he could, before any trouble came his way.

It was too late! If Madigan had not been keyed up as much as he was, he might have missed the sound altogether. The sound was that of someone running behind him in the darkness. Madigan’s first thought was to step out onto Main Street where the light form the saloon would give away anyone following him. Then, as it had done countless times before, a flash of insight hit. Whoever was behind Madigan wanted him to do exactly that-move out into the light where he would make a clear target.

Madigan pulled himself close to the side of the building where he hoped his outline would not show. Slipping his Colt from its holster, Madigan waited. He didn’t have to wait long before the footsteps in the dark came closer. And whoever it was had the advantage on him, as there was no light behind the man to show his outline. Yet from where Madigan stood, he was between the man and Main Street. Any sudden move Madigan made would be revealed to him immediately. There was nothing for Madigan to do but keep still and see how the cards played out.

The footsteps stopped some fifteen feet from him. Had the man seen him? If he had, Madigan would have to act fast, for the advantage was still with the other man.

“What are you following me for?” Madigan asked while trying to judge the man’s exact location in the dark. No answer came forth, but from the sound of the man’s feet shifting around, he had not known where Madigan was until he spoke to him out of the darkness.

Then the answer to Madigan’s question came. A stab of flame followed by another. Madigan felt the two bullets strike the building close to his face splintering wood into his eyes, but his own gun was already spitting lead back through the night at the attacker. He shot six inches high, first to the right, then to the left of where he saw the flash from the other gun. The man must have been left-handed, for it was Madigan’s second shot that struck home, and he heard the man fall to the ground with a thud and little movement thereafter.

From his right he heard men yelling, then the swinging doors of the Pleasure Palace burst open and several tough-looking cowboys came running out. They appeared confused, probably trying to find where the shots had come from. Soon they were joined by three other men, and they all started toward the alley where Madigan was standing. They were still fifty yards away when Madigan slipped from the back of the alley and walked back to the livery stable.

“I told you there was trouble in town tonight! Did you get him?” Talley asked.

“What makes you think it was me who did the shooting, Roy?”

The old marshal spit some chew out before replying. “Cause I was on my way back to the other corral when I sees this fellow go into the alley behind you. I always go around back of the buildings so I won’t have to go by the saloon. Never know when some drunk might get to shooting and a stray bullet get me when I’m on my way home!” Roy exclaimed.

“I may yet die of a bullet, but it won’t be from the gun of a drunk if I can help it.” He spit out another stain of tobacco. It caught the wind and splashed on Madigan’s boots.

“Sorry about that,” Roy said with a sheepish grin. “Now like I was saying, this hombre follows you into the alley, but before he does, he pulls his gun out of its holster. Don’t take no durn fool to know what he’s up to.

“I ran for my shotgun and was just slipping into the alley when all hell broke loose. Seemed like a small army in there. Only took a moment to realize you didn’t need my help, and if you did it was too late by then anyhow. And I didn’t want to be around when the rest of them hombres came hunting trouble.”

As they stood talking, Roy was facing the alley from which Madigan had just come. The barn door was open and Madigan’s back was to it, shielding him from anyone in that direction. Roy was standing slightly out from the door and had a good view of the entrance to the alley.

“Speaking of hunting trouble, here it comes now. You better get into the barn before they get here,” Roy ordered.

“I can handle my share of trouble, if that’s what they want,” Madigan replied.

“Just do an old man a favor and get out of sight! I’m getting too damned old to be patching holes in my barn roof. And sure enough, if more shooting starts there’s bound to be one of them gunmen get hit right off. And while he’s falling, shoot two, three holes in my roof, or maybe me. So if you don’t mind, I’ll handle this so no one gets hurt, ‘specially me!”

Madigan liked this old man and decided to play it his way. So he moved into the shadows where he would be unseen but would still have a clear shot if need be when the group of men approached.

“Howdy, boys. What’s on your mind this evening?” the old marshal asked calmly.

A heavy set, gruff-voiced man stepped forward to act as spokesman for the rest. “Our friend’s been murdered and we’re hunting the bastard that did it! You see anything back here, old man?”

Roy Talley should have been an actor, Madigan thought as he watched the old marshal facing the gunmen.

“Not a thing, ‘cept Naci Yellow Hand. Don’t recall hearing no shots though. Course, I’m getting a little old and my mind sometimes wanders.”

“You say you saw a man named Yellow Hand. What kind’ve man would be called Yellow Hand?” the man demanded of Talley.

“Not a man, least not like you or me. .”

“Never mind, old man. Did he come out of the alley?”

“Yep,” Roy said absentmindedly.

“Well, man, what way did he go?”

“Who?”

“Yellow Hand!”

Roy’s eyes opened wide at the name. “Yellow Hand around here?” he said as he started for the barn.

“Old man, where ya goin’ so fast?” the gruff voice asked. “We’re not done with you yet!” the man shouted after Roy, a puzzled look on his face.

Roy turned back for an instant. “Got to lock up if that Apache is around. Never know where he might be hiding! Comes along from time to time to kill himself a white man, then disappears. Nobody can catch that one!” Talley said as he slammed the barn door shut behind him.

“An Apache!” someone in the group cried. “I’m not looking for no Apache. They can kill you without you ever seeing them. I’m getting back to the saloon!”

“Smith shouldn’t have been out here at this time of night anyway. Got what he deserved,” came another voice from the crowd. Soon all the men were headed back to the saloon, leaving Smith’s body to grow cold in the alley.

“Thanks, Roy,” Madigan said as they were again left by themselves, “but why the story about the Apache? It was self-defense and I could have handled the likes of them.”

Roy Talley took one last look through a crack in the door to make sure no one else was around. “If I hadn’t made up that fool story, then seems to me they wouldn’t be back at the saloon getting good and drunk. They would be right here trying to get someone else killed. And like I said, I don’t want to be the one to catch a stray bullet! Now how’s about you and me getting ourselves a bite of the best chow around these parts?”

“Sounds good to me,” Madigan agreed as he climbed up on the springboard for the ride out to Anny’s.

Anny’s boarding house was a two-story affair painted white with red shutters. A fence kept the livestock a short distance from the house while a swinging gate allowed the guests access to the walkway leading up to the large sun porch. Madigan immediately liked what he saw and looked forward to a hot meal and warm bed. And from the looks of this place, he was going to get both.