From his high perch he was able to see down into the hideaway. There far below him, were the two horses grazing, and behind them the creek cascaded down the mountainside ending in a crystal clear pool of blue-green water. Madigan was pleased to see that his campsite was not visible until he moved around to the other side of the canyon rim. As Madigan got close to the far rim, he was greeted with the frenzied flight of dozens of pigeons fluttering through the air in a madcap dash to be free from his intrusion. A better alarm he could not hope for.
It was getting hot, so Madigan made a quick check around and started back down. He had just dropped onto the ledge when he caught sight of movement far down the trail from which he had come the day before.
From his vantage point, he had a sweeping view of more than three miles on either side of him. Straining to see into the light, he made out two riders and a packhorse. They were in no hurry and as he watched they would look over their shoulders from time to time. Looked like they figured to be followed. Why else would they be keeping such close track of their back trail, Madigan thought.
Madigan kept to the shadows and watched, not wanting to be seen coming down from the ledge. He only had his Colt with him. He had left the Sharps in camp, so if the riders saw him and were unfriendly, they had the advantage and could pick him off with their long guns. Finding a place to sit down out of the sun, Madigan settled in his lofty perch for however long it took for the riders to get out of sight.
Just up the trail from the opening to his canyon there was a small creek with a clear pool of cold mountain water. When the two men got to the stream they dismounted and started to make camp. This in itself didn’t bother him as they were far enough away so that the opening to Madigan’s canyon was not visible to them. As long as they didn’t get curious and start looking around, he had nothing to fear. Like most travelers in this country, they’d likely be on their way at first light.
Madigan waited for them to busy themselves before he slid to the base of the cliff and entered the canyon. The buckskin’s ears perked up as Madigan approached. Only after recognizing his master did he start grazing again.
The moon was just coming over the rim of the canyon and the night chill was already in the air when Madigan rolled out his bedroll for the night. He was tired, more from the lack of doing anything all day than from anything else. He was about to take off his boots when the buckskin looked up toward the narrow canyon entrance and blew a rush of air from his nostrils. Madigan quickly changed his boots for the moccasins he always kept with him.
Something out there had caught the great horse’s attention and he figured he’d better check it out. As he crept out into the open, the moonlight was casting eerie shadows around him and he had the feeling that he was no longer alone.
Chapter 7
Edging his way through the narrow corridor from his hideaway, Madigan crept silently toward some rocks that would shield him from searching eyes. In the moonlight he could see the long ribbon of trail below. To his left a small campfire was burning where the two men had camped. Although he could see it from his vantage point, he doubted whether anyone on the trail below could.
To the east a horse whinnied. Madigan peered into the direction of the sound. It took some time before his vision adjusted to the changing light. Milling around about a quarter mile away, he was just able to make out a party of riders. Even in the bright moonlight he was only able to see their movements. All else was lost at this range.
Before long a form broke off from the rest and moved slowly to the west. Waiting, Madigan was soon able to see the silhouette of a single rider as the man passed less than a hundred yards from him. It didn’t take much to figure the drifter didn’t want his presence known.
The absence of hoofbeats on the hard rock told him that the rider had tied pieces of leather or the like around his horse’s hooves so they would make little noise as he rode along. It was a trick Madigan had used once to sneak away from some Indians that had it in mind to collect his scalp. Whoever the rider was, he hadn’t been born yesterday. Watching him ride past, Madigan wondered what he was up to. Then he remembered the two men camped ahead.
It didn’t take him long to realize the man had a mind of getting the drop on the camp in the dark, while the two men wouldn’t be expecting trouble to come their way.
After the rider went by, Madigan followed on foot at a safe distance, so as not to make his presence known to the bushwhacker. A short distance from the camp, the rider dismounted taking a double-barreled shotgun from his saddle boot. Keeping to cover, he advanced on the camp carefully, the shotgun kept at the ready. Now it was plain to see what he was up to. This hombre had murder on his mind! And the two gents at camp were in for a nasty surprise.
Madigan closed in, keeping as much as he was able to the shadows. He was but five feet from the bushwhacker when the man unexpectedly turned around. Madigan froze, sure the man had seen him. For a long while they stood facing each other, sweat running off Madigan’s forehead as though it were a hundred degrees in the shade. He didn’t dare so much as breathe. Madigan swore he could see all the way down the shotgun’s two barrels. All that was left was for the bushwhacker to pull the trigger. Madigan didn’t have a hope in the world of beating him to the draw.
There in the moonlight the man’s face was like a mask of doom. Every line, every pore, was clear to Madigan, from the man’s narrow set eyes to his cruel mouth. Was this the face of death, Madigan wondered.
The dryness in his mouth was like a desert wind. But what was most startling was that he was not afraid. It was as if there were no longer any need to fear. Madigan was going to die and there was nothing more to be done. Fact was fact. The bushwhacker had him, nothing more, nothing less.
Madigan braced himself for the shock of the explosion. As he did, the man’s cruel mouth slowly changed to a smile.
“Is that you, Ed?” the mouth whispered.
Not being one to pass up an opportunity to live, Madigan quickly replied in a whisper. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Stay put while I blast these guys,” the mouth returned.
“Right!”
The cutthroat lowered his gun and took a half-step around, then stopped. For a brief moment he seemed to be thinking. Without warning he swiveled around and came toward Madigan, the shotgun still lowered. A couple feet from Madigan the killer looked like he was about to say something, but it was too late.
Madigan unleashed a right to the man’s jaw that sent him to the ground. Another was not needed, the man was knocked cold. Madigan kicked the shotgun away from the man, reached down, and took the man’s handgun and knife. Why hadn’t he realized Madigan wasn’t his friend before he got so close? Turning, Madigan realized the full moon had been just over his shoulder. Its light was enough to make Madigan only a silhouette from where the man had been standing. Madigan once heard the saying that moonlight was for lovers-to him it was for life.
Now Madigan had another problem. The bushwhacker’s friends were back there waiting for him to do his bastardly deed before they came in, and it was a sure thing Madigan didn’t want to be here when they arrived. He not only had to be gone from this place himself, but he had to warn the two men in camp without giving himself away.
The man on the ground had planned to kill them as they slept by firing both barrels from the ten-gauge Greener into them at close range. The killer’s friends down the trail were waiting to hear the blast before they continued on in, and even then they’d drift in slowly just in case things didn’t go as planned. So far, nothing had disturbed the men in camp, but Madigan would change that shortly.
Taking up the shotgun, Madigan checked around to make sure of his exit, since finding a quick way out of here was essential to his survival. Satisfied with an escape route back to his camp that provided plenty of cover, he quickly walked back to the man on the ground. The killer was still unconscious, much to Madigan’s satisfaction.