R. Trembly - Madigan

Lewana quickly scanned the ledge over the giant boulder blocking O’Neill’s retreat. Those ten men perched up there would last no more than a few days, as there was neither food nor water with them.

That boulder! She would give anything to remove it and hopefully give O’Neill and his men a chance to pull back. At the time it had seemed like a good idea to block the tunnel, not realizing that once the boulder was in place it would be the same as locking yourself in a room with a hungry lion.

Her thoughts went back to the time on the other side of the mountains when the tall man with the quick gun saved her and her friend Mila, and how she had ordered her warriors to find him and protect him from danger if at all possible. She remembered how she hurried to him when one of her warriors returned with the news of his being shot and dying in the old prospector’s cabin not far from the hidden valley. She did what she could for him that night with the help of Mila, and when she was called away, he was resting easily.

The next day, when she and Mila returned, they found two more horses in the corral. Fearing for Madigan’s life, she sent Mila back to the hidden valley to get help. If Madigan was in danger, she would have her people do what they could.

As night had fallen, Lewana and a warrior crept silently over to the cabin and peered through the window. What they saw gave Lewana much relief, for the two newcomers were obviously friends of the tall man who sat at the table eating with them. She stayed only long enough to make sure he was safe, then left as quietly as she had come, not even giving her presence away to the great horse in the corral. Yet her heart ached, for she might never see him again. That was several days ago.

The sound of gunshots brought Lewana suddenly back to the present. One of the trapped Indians from above the entrance lay sprawled in the dirt at the base of the giant boulder. This brought the number to twenty-seven dead, and there was no end in sight. Something desperately needed to be done.

“Bring me a white flag,” Lewana commanded the man next to her. “I must speak to these men before we lose any more of our people.

“But you cannot,” the Indian said. “You are our leader. Let one of us go and speak with the evil ones. Your life is too much to risk.”

“As your leader, I am the only one who can speak for the people. Is my life worth more than your children’s? If I do not find a way to stop this senseless killing, these evil men will not stop until we are all dead.”

“But there must be another way,” the man protested. “They are many and their food will soon be gone. They will then have to come in close to our village where our arrows will take them in their tracks.”

Lewana drew in a deep breath. “And what of our men on the ledge? They have no food or water. They will die soon if we do not get them out of there. No, I see no other way but to talk with them and hope they will take gold and leave.”

“And if they will not?” The question came from Mila, who stood slightly behind Lewana. Lewana turned to face her friend. “Then it will be up to you. Come and I will tell you what I want done.”

An hour later Lewana was walking toward O’Neill’s stronghold with the white flag above her head. She was frightened but hid her fear behind a mask of grim determination, for to show fear to these men would bring shame on herself and her people. It might also give O’Neill the confidence to attack the village and Lewana wanted no more of her people to die.

As she moved closer to the fountain, one of O’Neill’s men raised a rifle and aimed it in her direction. She braced herself for the bullet only to see the man lower the weapon quickly as O’Neill stepped beside him.

So, O’Neill was interested in hearing her out, she told herself. Then a chilling thought came to her. Did he want to talk. . or did he want her? She knew in her heart that if he tried to take her, she would find a way to kill him or herself, although she must live long enough for help to arrive, if it was coming. She dared not, could not, believe the tall man would not come if he was able.

Once before, when she was his captive beyond the mountains, she had feared being taken against her will by O’Neill. The only thing preventing it then was the other men he rode with. That they all wanted her and Mila, she knew. The only thing that prevented her and her friend being ravished then were the saddlebags full of gold and the men’s fear of being closely pursued by her people.

Still, O’Neill made it very plain what he had in store for her and Mila when they were safely away from the mountains. Luckily, the man called Madigan intervened.

Funny how the air smelled so fresh today, and she couldn’t remember when the sky looked so blue or the clouds so white. Was this the day she was to die? Everything depended on Mila now. And on the man with the fast gun.

It was four days since LaRue and Shorty showed up at the cabin. Madigan’s wound was healing fast, and most of his strength had returned. All his life Madigan had worked hard and it kept him in top physical condition. Now it was paying off.

This morning Madigan was up early cutting wood for the cook stove from a pile of logs the old prospector must have dragged in for just such a purpose. The night before LaRue had told Madigan of the old man and the arrow with the golden tip that killed him.

Madigan still had trouble breathing deeply, but with time that would come. It felt good to do some hard work for a change, with being laid up and all. He picked up a bundle of kindling, and took it inside, where he was greeted by the smell of breakfast and hot coffee brewing. Cuttin’ wood can make a man mighty hungry, and that bacon sizzling in the skillet made his mouth water. He was startin’ to like the idea of eating breakfast.

They just finished eating when the buckskin snorted a low warning. In an instant the three men grabbed their guns, ready for any threat that might come. What they saw when they looked out the window was an Indian woman accompanied by two warriors.

“Looks like we may be in for an Indian attack,” LaRue said as he checked his gun.

“I’m not so sure,” Madigan said. “Something about the woman looks familiar. Give me a minute and it’ll come to me.” Yes, there was something about her, something clawing at the back of his mind. He just couldn’t seem to bring it up where he could get a hold on it yet. Must not be in as good a shape as he thought. Ever since he was shot, things were a little confused in his mind.

Madigan’s guess was the woman was in her early thirties. She looked to be Indian but with features different than any tribe he’d seen before. That she was a pretty woman, no one could deny. She was tall for an Indian, maybe goin’ five-feet-nine or a little taller.

Her skin was dark as an Indian’s, yet it was more like white skin tanned from the sun than the reddish skin of the North American Indian, and her hair was more a dark brown than black.

Suddenly it hit Madigan like a poke in the face. She was one of the women he had saved weeks before on the east side of the Rockies. He hadn’t recognized her right away because at the time he saved her from the Mexicans, she was dirty, battered, and he thought, shamefully, naked.

Now, she was one of the prettiest women he ever did see, and she was just standing out there waiting. Waiting for what, Madigan did not know.

Lewana stepped to the top of the wall without hesitating, then down to the inner circle where O’Neill stood waiting, waiting like a hungry cat for a mouse.

“Well, look who we got here. Couldn’t stand to be away from me any longer, huh?” he sneered.

“I have come to talk.”

“Talk? Talk! We can talk any time. What I got in mind for you won’t take any words. Yes, sir, no words at all,” he grinned, lust showing in his eyes. “Soon as the men get the tent up in the morning, you and me are gonna have us a little roll in the sack. among other things,” O’Neill said. He would have preferred to vent his lust within the hour, but with the ever present threat of attack, he’d just have to wait till morning.