With the imminent danger behind him, Madigan relaxed a little. The flow of blood from his wound had slowed, but the pain was still tearing at him with a vengeance. He brought the buckskin to a halt and took the time to pack the wound with a piece of cloth cut from an extra shirt. He then soaked the cloth with whiskey from his saddlebag to sterilize it the best he could. It burned like hell fire when he pushed it into the bullet hole, and he yelled so loud he almost frightened the horses away.
The sky was growing darker by the minute and he could smell the pungent odor of electricity in the air. He was still on the flats, and with the lightning dancing around him, it was no place to be. As the devil’s light cracked at his back, Madigan hightailed it for a small canyon, where he hoped to find an overhand of rock to dry out in and rest from the ordeal of the day.
What he found, as he edged through a small opening in the rocks he’d seen only by chance, was more than a man could ever expect. Before him, a small canyon opened up with high stone walls on three sides, protecting an area of about two acres.
To one side, next to the canyon wall, almost hidden in the rocks, was a small cabin. It was easy to see that it was empty, at least for the time being. A thick layer of dust covered the porch with nothing having disturbed it for some time, save for a rabbit or two who in their scampering left their prints.
Along one side of the cabin was a corral into which Madigan led the horses. Behind the cabin was a small spring. The spring seeped through one corner of the corral, keeping the grass lush and green and providing plenty of drinking water for the horses.
Heavy shutters with gun slits were closed over the windows of the cabin. Dirt was carefully spread over the roof to prevent Indians from starting fires with fire arrows from on top of the shear cliffs that stood to the sides and back of the building. The roof hung over far enough so as to block arrows from reaching the walls of the little cabin from above. Whoever built it wanted a fort as much as a cabin.
The horses went right to work on the grass, and Madigan could see they would have plenty to eat and drink for the next few days, if he had to stay that long. Taking a careful look around and not realizing how weak he was, he staggered, more than walked, to the porch and up to the door. The latch string was out, so with a gentle tug he raised the inside latch and pushed on the door.
With a creak the door slowly opened to reveal the cabin’s dark, musty interior. A single table with a candle on it stood in the middle of the one room. A cot was pushed against the far wall and some mining tools were stacked in one corner.
On a shelf stood tins of food, and he noticed that many more cans were open and lay empty, indiscriminately thrown across the floor. What caught Madigan’s interest the most was the cot, and he quickly made his way to it and fell immediately asleep.
Sometime during the night he awoke to find himself drenched in sweat and the pain in his chest throbbing like he’d been kicked by a mule. With a sense of fear, Madigan realized he was in the grip of a fever, and given his location miles from any help, he would almost certainly die.
He chuckled at the irony of it. Here he was, all alone in the middle of nowhere, in some long forgotten cabin about to meet his Maker when so many men, Indians and white men alike, tried so hard and so long to put him under, and now a lousy fever was doing the job they so miserably failed at.
He’d little fear for the horses, for he knew that as the grass gave out they could easily jump the fence of the little corral to freedom. Taking everything into account, Madigan closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, at peace with himself and the world for the first time in his adult life.
Several hours later he was awakened by a noise and the feeling that something was being pushed deep within his chest. Surprisingly he felt little pain as the probing continued. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and his lips felt numb. He opened his eyes and found a beautiful girl bending over him while an older woman stood beside her holding a small bowel in her hands. From time to time she would place the bowel at his lips and trickle a little of the foul-tasting liquid into his mouth, forcing him to swallow it.
With a gentle pull, the girl withdrew something from his chest and held it up to the coal-oil lantern hung on a nail overhead.
“I’ve got the bullet out,” she said as she stroked Madigan’s forehead with her other hand. Then she smiled as their eyes met and held for an instant. “The drink will keep the pain away and you will sleep,” she said.
“Who are you?” Madigan asked, her face vaguely familiar, although in the delirium of the fever he probably couldn’t recognize his own face.
“I am Lewana and this is my friend Mila,” she said softly. “When you are better, you will remember us. For now you must sleep.”
Madigan’s eyes grew heavy as he fought in vain to stay awake. Something about the girl and her friend gnawed at the back of his mind, but before he could figure it out he was lost to the world.
Outside a coyote sang to the night gods, while on the rim high above the cabin, an Indian warrior sat cross-legged in silent vigil, the golden disk hanging from a silver chain around his neck reflecting the starlight of the inky-black sky overhead.
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.
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.