Yanking back the twin hammers on the scatter-gun, Madigan fired both barrels into the air. If that didn’t wake somebody up they must already be dead, he thought. He had done all he was going to do to help the two strangers. They were now on their own, and Madigan hoped they could cut it.
Madigan dropped the ten-gauge, ran through the darkness, and didn’t stop running until he was safely above the trail and at the opening to his hideaway.
At the blast and sudden flash of light from the shotgun, Shorty was up and running for cover, LaRue hot on his heels. The two men quickly took cover under the branches of a big old fir.
“What the hell was that?” questioned LaRue.
Shorty was already checking his guns. “I don’t know. You hurt anywhere?”
“Yeah, I think I’ve been wounded in the foot. It hurts something dreadful and I can feel blood. It must be pretty bad. It feels all mushy.”
“Can’t do much about it now. You think you can hold on for a little longer?” Shorty asked.
LaRue felt his foot again and grimaced. “I haven’t got much choice, do I?”
Before them their empty camp shone in the light of their campfire, cooking utensils scattered about where the men had dropped them.
The men laid waiting for whatever was to come, but after several minutes no other sound was heard, and as far as they could tell, nothing had moved.
“I’m going out there and see what’s up. Better for me in the open facing someone than here where they can pick us off come daylight,” Shorty said.
He charged off into the darkness, his passage marked only by an occasional twig breaking. LaRue tried to cover him but soon realized it was useless to even try. In the moonlight, there was no way of knowing who was who until it was too late.
Before long, LaRue was aware of someone coming toward him from around the other side of camp. All he could do was wait.
“Pete! It’s me, Shorty,” came the low voice through the night. In a short time Shorty was again at LaRue’s side.
“Find anything out there?”
“Yeah, I found John over the other side of camp knocked out cold!”
“What was he doing over there?”
“Don’t know, never asked him, but his ten-gauge had been fired. That’s what we heard no doubt.”
“Then O’Neill can’t be far behind. Probably sent John ahead to finish us off while our backs were turned. How the hell did he get knocked out? Did he trip and fall you think?”
“Not hardly. I thought the same thing, but he’s on his back and his mouth is torn up some. Besides, no rocks within ten feet of him and his side arms are gone.”
“Might have got thrown from his horse and wandered in close to camp before passing out,” LaRue offered.
“Maybe, but he wouldn’t have been able to get his shotgun if he was thrown. More likely he was sneakin’ up on us and somethin’ or someone attacked him.”
The two men looked at each other, both wondering the same thing. Who had put Smith down and then left in the night? LaRue was the first to voice his thoughts.
“You don’t think Madigan is about, do you?”
Shorty nodded toward where John Smith lay. “I know it wasn’t Indians who did it. John’s still got his hair in one piece and his throat’s not cut. Whoever it was no doubt saved our lives, and now I suggest we clear camp before the rest of the boys come moseying around. They sure as heck heard the shot and will be sneaking in any time now.”
Pete agreed. It was a good idea to get out while the getting was good.
“Better kick some dirt on the fire. No use giving our location away if we don’t have to. How’s your foot doing?”
“Wasn’t as bad as I thought,” LaRue answered sheepishly. “In my hurry to take cover I must’ve burnt it when I stepped in the frying pan full of beans. That’s the last time I take my boots off before it’s time to turn in. You hungry? Still got some of those beans left.”
Shorty wanted to laugh but didn’t dare for fear of being heard.
By first light Shorty and LaRue had moved several miles down the trail and had their horses picketed in a high, hidden meadow overlooking their back trail.
“We better get some sleep while we can. I’ll stand first watch,” LaRue said. An hour later LaRue woke Shorty up from his nap.
“Look what’s coming up the trail,” LaRue said. He motioned to Shorty to keep hidden while he came to look. On the main trail O’Neill and his men were riding by. John Smith sat loose in his saddle rubbing his chin. The saddle boot where he kept his ten-gauge was empty. The shotgun now belonged to Shorty.
O’Neill wheeled his horse around and came up beside Smith. “You sure you don’t know who hit you?” he asked, a look of disgust on his face. Smith looked down at his saddle horn, afraid to look O’Neill straight in the eye.
“Like I said, I thought it was Ed and a couple of the boys. They were standing in the shadows with the moon behind them. The next thing I know someone grabs me from behind and holds me while the other hit me with the butt of a rifle. That’s all I remember until you found me. What more can I tell you? I didn’t have a chance against three of them laying in wait for me like that. They just didn’t play fair!”
“Three of them, huh? They’re not as dumb as I took them to be. Somehow they found themselves a friend,” O’Neill said. “Course, if they were smart they would have killed you when they had you.” And saved me the trouble later, O’Neill thought to himself.
Smith was glad when O’Neill rode on ahead, leaving him to nurse his chin. At the next town he figured to bug out and leave O’Neill and the others to whatever fate they had coming to them. After last night Smith just wasn’t in the mood for this kind of life anymore.
Shorty grinned at the sight of the haggard band of outlaws moving by. “I don’t know whether it’s better to be behind them or in front, but we best keep our eyes peeled from here on.
“Any ideas on how we can beat this thing? I don’t think O’Neill’s the kind of man to let things lay. And there’s the matter of whoever saved our bacon last night,” Shorty said. “I don’t suppose Smith will forget whoever it was that knocked him out last night either. He’ll be wantin’ another chance to even the score.”
“Right now we got a friend out there, and I for one don’t mean to make an enemy of him. If he was able to get Smith like he did, then there’s nothing stopping him from getting us any time he wants. I think our best bet is to stay right here for a day and rest up. By that time O’Neill’s bunch will more than likely move on and forget about us.” LaRue pursed his lips in thought. “What about tracks? They’ll be lookin’ for ‘em and when they don’t find any, they’ll know we gave them the slip. What then?” LaRue asked.
Shorty watched as the last rider rode out of view before speaking. “More ‘n likely, he’ll figure we went the other way. Not much chance of any of the men wanting to go back lookin’ for us. Not with all that gold on their minds O’Neill is suppose to know the whereabouts of.”
“See what you mean,” LaRue said. “Course, O’Neill won’t want to chance us doggin’ his back trail, so he’ll likely set an ambush just in case.”
Shorty smiled a rare smile. “That’s why we wait around for another day. When we don’t show in four or five hours, he’ll be convinced we gave up and headed back east.”
Madigan made his way back to his camp in the little canyon without incident. But before he called it a day he waited at the entrance until he heard the rest of the riders go by. Now that they had gone on, he had little fear his own camp would be disturbed in the night, and he hoped the two men below had used the chance he had provided to the best of their advantage. It had been close to half an hour before the others rode in, so they had more than enough time to clear camp and be on their way.