R. Trembly - Madigan

LaRue and Shorty cautiously rode out the next morning. It was hard to know whether they were being watched or not. The air smelled washed and clean as they made their way along the canyon bottom, heading ever westward while keeping an eye out for anything that looked of trouble. Nothing stirred except for an occasional jackrabbit.

Neither man spoke of the visitors in the night, but each knew that it was the foremost thing on each of their minds. Whoever it had been was in a bug hurry to get somewhere or they would not have been riding in the middle of the night. At any rate, LaRue and his friend hadn’t seen hide nor hair of anyone since daybreak, and both were glad of that fact.

About midmorning, the two men rode out from between two vertical walls of rock to be presented with a wide valley that stretched vastly out below them. Partway across was a stream reflecting sunlight from the torrents of water overflowing its banks from the rain of the night before.

“That stream was dry when I crossed it last. May be a while before we can get over, with the water so high,” LaRue said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Maybe by the time we get there, it’ll be low enough to ford. I figure we’re still a half-day’s ride away.”

Shorty nodded in agreement, saying nothing, his mind still on the events of the night.

A short time later as they topped a small knoll, they spotted a cloud of dust to the north of them.

“Looks like nine, maybe ten riders. Maybe we ought to get out of sight,” LaRue said. “Probably O’Neill and his bunch.” Reining their horses around, they ducked into a small arroyo.

“I don’t think they saw us,” LaRue said when they were well hidden.

“Now we know who our visitors were last night.”

“Most likely, the way they were going hell-bent-for-leather. Where do you suppose they’re heading in such an all-fired hurry?” Shorty asked.

“Beats me. Just as long as they keep going away from us is all I care about,” LaRue answered gravely.

“By the way, just where are we heading?” Shorty wanted to know. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, but there just didn’t seem to be the right time till now.”

“We are going to the cabin I told you about, the prospector’s cabin where I stayed for a while. When we reach it we’ll get our bearings and start looking from there.”

“How are we going to find it again? Mighty big territory out here and you said it was well hidden.”

“It is, but when I left, I marked a trail in such a way so I’d be able to follow it, but no one else could. All we have to do is keep our eyes out for a tall rock chimney. Should be able to see it for miles. The trail starts at the base of it.”

Several hours later they spotted the chimney in the distance and rode for its base, only stopping long enough to allow the water to drain further before chancing to cross the swollen creek. Hours later, just after dark, they arrived at the cleft in the rock that marked the entrance to the hidden cabin. Not wanting to take any chances, they picketed their horses out of sight and walked the short distance to where they could scout the cabin without being seen.

LaRue was the first to suspect they weren’t alone. “Look over toward the corral,” he said, pointing to a spot beside the cabin. “There’s movement, maybe a horse.”

“Or maybe a deer. You did tell me this cabin wasn’t known by anyone but you and the old prospector, and he’s dead,” Shorty reminded LaRue.

The buckskin, having picked up the two men’s scent, let out a low warning.

“I guess somebody else knows about it now,” said LaRue nervously. “Let’s hope he’s friendly.

Madigan awoke with a start that made his head hurt. Waiting for his eyes to clear, he choked back the urge to sit up until he was sure of his surroundings. Was it his imagination or did he hear the buckskin give a warning? First thing Madigan noticed was the women were gone and the lantern was out, leaving only the light of the moon filtering in through a crack in the shutters to see by.

Swinging his feet to the floor, Madigan tested his strength before trying to stand. Reaching down, he felt for his gun belt and buckled it around his waist, then checked to be sure it was loaded. It was, except for the empty chamber he, like all cowboys, usually kept under the hammer. Slipping a cartridge from his belt, he dropped it into the empty hole and closed the loading gate.

Madigan wasn’t looking for any more trouble, but if it came his way he would be as ready as he could under the circumstances.

The way the cabin was built sitting back of the little canyon, there was only one way that any riders could come from. He peered through the crack between the shutters but could see no movement-not unusual, given the limited view from his position.

Somewhere in the darkness a horse snickered, answered by Madigan’s own buckskin. So, there was somebody out there after all. Overhead a cloud drifted across the moon, the land grew dark without the moonlight, making it impossible for Madigan to see if anyone approached the cabin.

He was in a dangerous situation and he knew it. His only chance was to take whoever was out there by surprise.

Moving slowly from the weakness, Madigan made his way to the small back window and crawled out without making a sound. As long as the moon stayed hidden he would be just as hard to see as they were to him.

He slowly inched his way to the corner of the cabin, listening for any sound out of place in the night. He was just easing up to the front corner when the moon slid out from behind the cloud, bathing everything in greenish light. Madigan froze, knowing that any movement on his part would give him away for sure.

Madigan wasn’t the only one caught off guard. There in front of him facing the porch was a big man holding a gun. Beside him was a boy, or at least Madigan thought it was a boy from his size. They hadn’t seen him yet.

“How about layin’ those guns on the ground,” Madigan ordered.

Neither of them moved for what seemed like minutes, and feeling the way he was, Madigan wasn’t sure he could make much of a fight if they chose to go that way.

“Anything you say, partner,” the big man said as they slowly bent over and laid their guns carefully on the ground. “Didn’t mean you any harm,” the big man said. “Last time I was here the place was deserted. Man can’t be too careful out here.”

Madigan covered them as he moved around the corner in full view. “Seems to me you took an awful chance coming up to the cabin the way you did. You left yourself open for someone to get the drop on you.”

“We weren’t hunting any trouble,” the big man replied.

“Then why’d you sneak up to the cabin without hailing it first?”

The boy turned toward Madigan and for the first time, Madigan realized he was not a boy at all, but a very small man.

“We ran into trouble back on the trail and weren’t sure who we might meet up with. You can see our point for being cautious. We just wanted to make sure it wasn’t any of the bunch that’s been trailing us, that’s all,” the little man said.

Well, maybe they were tellin’ the truth and maybe they weren’t. The main thing was that Madigan had gotten himself into a fix he couldn’t see an easy way out of. If he’d not been wounded, he would have the time to hear them out and get a feeling for if they were telling the truth. But even as Madigan stood there he could feel his legs start to weaken and was having a hard time keeping the gun up.

Why, Madigan thought to himself, did everything have to happen to him? He’d started for California not bothering anyone and not wanting to be bothered by anyone. Just a peaceful ride, seeing the country, doing a little fishing along the way, mayhap a bit of huntin’. But life has a way of changing the best-laid plans. Usually, it only threw you a few problems along the way to make things interesting, or annoying at most, although Madigan could honestly say this was not one of those times. In the space of a few weeks he’d almost been blown up, chased from here to hell and back, and finally shot, not to mention the men he had to kill.