“Who are you?” Madigan asked. The man looked up with a hatred in his eye that Madigan had seen in but few men.
“My name is Rodino and you have killed me.”
“You could have kept on riding. Nobody said you had to come into my camp,” Madigan said. “I was defending my life, so I have no remorse in killing you,” he added.
The man lay quiet for a moment as though thinking something over, then half-smiled, and coughed up a little blood. “You are the man called Madigan, the hunter of men, aren’t you?”
“That’s what they call me,” Madigan affirmed. “Why were you wanting to attack me? Have I done anything to you or your kin to cause you to want to kill me?”
The dying man tried to sit up but did not have the strength, so Madigan helped him, pulling his saddle behind the man’s back for support while they talked.
“Thanks,” the dying man said and Madigan noticed the hatred had left the man’s eyes, replaced with sadness. “You have done nothing to me or my kin.”
The young cowboy then said, “I am dying. Before I go, I will try to tell you some things that might save you from the same fate.”
“Why would you want to do that? I have shot you, so why help me now?” Madigan asked. The man held out his hand motioning Madigan to take it.
“Because you are everything that I wanted to be and am not. I give you my hand and my word so that you will know that which I tell you is true.”
Madigan took the cowboy’s hand in his, and at that moment wished that he had known this man under different circumstances. “What is it you want to tell me?” he asked. The cowboy drew in a deep breath, then began his story.
“The man you just ran off is no friend of mine. I was only tagging along for what I hoped would be enough money to buy a small ranch somewhere.” He coughed and a little blood ran down his chin. Madigan took his kerchief and wiped it off.
“Thanks,” the cowboy said with a look of sorrow. “I guess I came into it about three days ago down in Maysville. I’d been doing some prospecting and had come to the end of my grub, had no money to buy any more.”
“I’ve been there myself a few times,” Madigan admitted.
The cowboy managed a knowing little laugh, then began again, his voice sometimes barely a whisper. “Like I said, I was out of money and I was hungry, so I went to Maysville to try to get a grub stake when I ran into this hombre named O’Neill. He offered me a drink, so I took him up on it. One drink led to another, and before you know it, he was tellin’ me a story about saddlebags full of little gold statues and how if I helped him we’d both be rich.” Another cough, more blood. Madigan gave him a little water from the canteen and adjusted the cowboy’s head so he could be more comfortable.
“Sounds funny, don’t it? A full-grown man like me, fallin’ for a fool story like that. But I did-hook, line, and sinker.”
“Doesn’t sound so silly to me,” Madigan said, thinking of the saddlebags of gold, his curiosity suddenly aroused.
“Anyway, this O’Neill says that he and five others were runnin’ from the law and headed into the mountains northeast of Durango when they chanced to come upon some Indians having themselves a ceremony of some kind.”
“Did he say what kind of Indians they were?” Madigan asked.
“Didn’t know what they were. Just said they were different from any redskins he ever saw before.”
“What were they doing?”
“O’Neill said they were about seventy-five in number, maybe fifty of them were what he took to be warriors. The rest, and this is the funny part, were women, all dancing around this huge fire, and none of them had any clothes on. Kind of stupid to believe such a story, wasn’t it?” the cowboy said, emotion filling his voice. “I guess it was more stupid to die for something like that, but that’s what I’m doing.”
“Maybe there was more truth to the story than you think.”
“Well, if you’re Sam Madigan, I guess you’d know better than me about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“O’Neill said that these women were a dancing all around, beautiful women too, or so he said. Then one of his men spotted a small mound to the side of the fire. Do you know what was on the mound?”
“Let me guess. Piles of gold?”
“Close. On the mound was a large statue in gold and all around its base was thousands of smaller ones also in gold. O’Neill told me that he and his men decided right then and there to take the gold for themselves. Their plan was a simple one. Ride in with their guns a blazin’, grab the gold, and run for it.
“By the time they got set to attack, all the warriors were so busy watchin’ the women that O’Neill and his men were able to walk their horses right up to them before they were even seen.”
“Didn’t the Indians try to stop them?” Madigan asked.
“They tried, but against six-guns and with surprise on O’Neill’s side, it was all over in a minute. While the Indians were trying to take cover, a couple of the men had enough time to fill some saddlebags with the small gold statues and ride out again. The Indians, after regrouping, killed a couple of men that got greedy and tried for some more gold. Anyway, that’s the story O’Neill told me. One other thing, he also said they grabbed two of the women and planned to make them tell where the gold had come from,” the cowboy said in a failing voice.
By now it was plain to see the young cowboy was just about gone, his breathing was shallow and he coughed every few words. But he forced himself to go on and Madigan listened.
“Where did he say he had all this gold that he and his men stole from those Indians?” The man looked up, a look of amusement on his face.
“He said you have it!”
“Me?! Why would he think that?” Madigan tried to look astonished at his statement, remembering full well the two naked women and the saddlebags full of gold.
“O’Neill said he and the rest of his men were bringing the gold to Denver to change it for money. They planned to melt it down so it looked like it had been smeltered, then sell it to the Denver mint.
“Why would they bring it all the way to Denver through the mountains when there were other places much closer to where they started?”
They didn’t have much choice. They were wanted men, so they couldn’t go west without taking a chance of being arrested,” the cowboy answered.
“How did I get involved in this story of his?” Madigan asked, curious at the answer.
“O’Neill said they had crossed over the Rockies and were just through crossing a high plain with the women in tow, still naked he said, but who would believe that, when he had to make water while the others rode on ahead. Just as he was catching up to them, he heard firing and saw two men fall. He took to cover and said he saw you ride out and even though the last man had his hands in the air, said you shot him too!”
“Sounds like something O’Neill would concoct up,” Madigan said. “Then what was I supposed to do?” Madigan asked with tightened jaws.
“He said you raped the women and then shot them and left the bodies there to the wolves while you rode off with the gold. He said it took him close to four hours to bury everybody or he would have come after you right away. By then it was too late and he lost your trail, so he headed back to get help.” Madigan looked at the man in silence for a while, wondering why he bothered to tell him all this.
“And you believed him? I mean, that I killed all of them and took the gold?”
“At first I might have, then he told me he knew who you were. After he told me you were Sam Madigan, the scout, the one they call the man hunter, I began to doubt him. Figured he had another reason to blame you.”
“With a far-fetched story like that, how did you believe any of it in the first place?” Madigan questioned, irritation showing in his voice.
The cowboy slowly reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a small gold figurine. “Because of this! He had half a saddlebag full of these. When you’ve been hungry for a few weeks your mind does funny things, and at the time I would have followed him to hell and back.” He moved his right hand to the wound in his chest. “I guess you might say I did follow him to hell, but it doesn’t look like I’m coming back, does it?”