R. Trembly - Madigan

Now Madigan was saddled with the added problem of trying to figure out what to do with two men that could be friend or foe and he had no way of tellin’ which. Of course, he could just shoot them on the spot and deal with his conscience later. Just thinking of it made Madigan realize that he must still be half out of his head. As it was, the decision was taken out of Madigan’s hands.

Standing there with his gun covering the two men, he suddenly became aware of a strange look on their faces. Then everything seemed to turn upside down as if he was being drawn down into a deep whirlpool from which there was no escape.

Around and around he went, deeper and deeper into the void, the faces of the men growing wider and wider until they stretched themselves into grotesque masks. Was he seeing the face of death? Then. . blackness. No sound, no pain, just total blackness. The blackest black Madigan had ever seen.

The first thing Madigan remembered was a flash of light, then blackness again. Next came a blast of sound as if the whole world was crashing in on him. Madigan’s hand tightened on the gun, but it wasn’t there. Slowly, ever so slowly, his senses crept back to him. The blackness turned to gray, then brown.

Noises kept entering his head to bounce back and forth in indiscernible patterns. At last a word filtered through, then another and another. “He’s coming to,” someone said.

A smell drifted by and Madigan’s stomach growled.

“He’ll be hungry when he wakes up,” another voice from some distant place said.

It seemed like hours, days, before his mind cleared enough to open his eyes. When he did, Madigan found himself lying back on the cot. What’s that smell, he wondered, not quite able to make out what it was yet.

Madigan felt a coolness on his forehead. A hand came into view and lifted a damp rag from him, and a drop of water fell into his eye. He blinked and his vision cleared some more, enabling him to see the big man sitting by his side on a chair that looked too small for the man.

“Well, you’re back to the land of the living, I see,” the big man said.

“Who are you?” Madigan asked weakly.

“You rest a while, then we’ll talk,” the big man said with a gentle smile. “When you feel up to it, we’ll fix you something to eat.”

Madigan must have dozed off, for when he awoke there was the smell of stew cooking. Seeing him awake, the two men came over and asked if he was strong enough to eat at the table. Madigan was, so they helped him to the table, where a bowl of hot stew and a cup of coffee waited. Over food they made friendly conversation.

Madigan found out the big man’s name was Pete LaRue and the other went by the name of Shorty. Both were well educated and seemed friendly enough, but deep down he’d the feeling they were hiding something.

“You both seem to be honest men,” Madigan said at long last, looking from one to the other, “but I feel there’s something you left out.”

The two men glanced at each other as if caught in an embarrassing situation, then seemed to reach an unspoken agreement.

“Speaking of honesty,” LaRue said, suddenly growing uneasy, “we were part of the bunch that tried to kill you a few weeks ago.” LaRue looked down at his hands nervously, beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. “In fact, I was the leader. For reasons that are now not even clear to me, I allowed those men to try to gun you down. Please believe me when I say there has not been a day gone by since that I have not regretted it.”

Coming to his feet, the big man came to Madigan’s side. “Shorty didn’t have anything to do with it. He’s just along for the ride, you might say. When you’re well again, if you want to have me pay for my actions, I’ll give you more than a fair chance at my hide. You deserve more, but that’s all I have at present.”

“Was it one of you that shot me?”

“Not us. We’re not ambushers. So, like I said, if you want a chance at my hide I won’t blame you.

“Thanks,” was about all Madigan could think to say, but he knew deep in his heart that the three of them would be friends. They were all too much alike not to be. Revenge would serve no purpose.

“How many of your boys did I get with the big bruiser?” Madigan asked.

“You mean that buffalo gun of yours? Madigan nodded his head. “Two out on the plains. But all told, you cost me five men, although two of them weren’t your doing.”

“What do you mean?” Madigan asked fully expecting the answer.

“Sent a couple after you with several horses to run you down.”

“Smart move on your part.”

“I thought so too. Only trouble was, they ran smack into a big old grizzly while it was feeding or wounded, I don’t know which. Guess he didn’t take too kindly to them intruding, so he made a meal of both of the men!

“Only thing I couldn’t figure out was why they got off their horses and went into the brush where the bear was, unless it scared the horses so bad they threw the riders. Could have happened so fast the grizzly killed them the second they hit the ground.

“Never really know how, but sure makes me have a lot of respect for those big bears. Be glad you didn’t have to see it. Those men were a mess. Believe me, it was gruesome.”

“I did see it!”

LaRue gave Madigan a startled look. “How?”

“I set it up so the men would take cover in the brush where the bear was. I chanced to see them coming right after I’d a run-in with the grizzly, so I worked my way around it, then waited for your men.” Madigan took in a deep breath as he remembered how he shook at the sight of the bear attack.

“When your men came hell-bent-for-leather around the corner, I was in the middle of the trail with my rifle pointed at them. Natural thing for a man to do is dismount and run for cover. That’s just what they did, only the bear was waiting for them.

“So you see, both of us will have to live with the regret of our actions for the rest of our lives. So unless you have a mind to, just forget about a showdown between us,” Madigan said sadly. “Now how about some more stew, and fill it up this time. That stuff makes a man’s belly cry out for more. By the way, if you don’t mind me askin’, what happened to the rest of your men?”

LaRue shot a glance at his partner and Madigan knew he’d hit a sore spot, but it was too late to take back the question.

“Renegade named O’Neill talked them into joining him.”

At O’Neill’s name, Madigan’s blood ran cold. So he was out there waiting and he had a gang with him now. Madigan thought of the attempt to kill him with the dynamite, and all of a sudden it dawned on him that it must have been O’Neill that shot him. Who else would have shot and left a man lying there without checking to see if he was dead? Then Madigan remembered the two women he’d saved and what O’Neill would do to them if he had gotten his hands on them. Somehow Madigan had to find a way to stop him, not just for what O’Neill did to him, but. . for her.

O’Neill quickly took charge of his men, many of whom were still stunned by what they’d just witnessed with the killing of Elegant. Looking from one man to the next, he seemed to be seeing into their very souls, and each man knew that there would be no turning back from this madman. You either followed him to the depths of hell or you died from his hand; there would be no other choice. Live or die, it was no longer their decision to make. Whatever reason they’d come along in the first place no longer mattered. They were completely under the will of this one man. From now on he would think for them and they would follow as of one mind. His control was absolute.

The day dawned cold and clear as though washed by a giant waterfall before being dried out by the first ragged multicolored rays of the sun. O’Neill had barked out his orders for the men to break camp before the last stars reluctantly faded from the morning sky. Now they were saddled and ready to ride.