Every Ute stopped what he was doing. They all gathered round the one Indian, who had just before been tying Madigan’s hands behind him. The Indian kept jumping up and down pointing to Madigan’s side where his right hand now hung. Several of the Indian’s comrades came closer for a better look at what he was pointing to. They too were soon jumping and shouting and pointing. Finally the Indian, who Madigan took to be the leader, came over and grabbed his right hand.
Madigan watched him closely. The brave first looked at Madigan, then his eyes swept downward to his hand, then back to his face. His cold, black eyes that a moment before had been filled with contempt now were filled with fear. Madigan was vaguely aware of the old Indian releasing his hand, and in a single move the brave and his band moved back into the brush that surrounded the opening.
In seconds they were gone. In his haste to be away, his guard had dropped the lance at Madigan’s feet. Bending over, he got hold of it and used it to cut himself loose.
Was this some kind of a trick? He hoped not, for he was not in the mood for jokes at the moment. What had it been that had scared them so?
He started to rub his left wrist where the rope made it raw, and in doing so, saw the ring on his right hand, the silver and gold band the women had given him after he rescued them. Was this what had frightened his capturers away? Indians are a superstitious lot, and if it was the ring, then it must mean big medicine to them. Ring or not, Madigan was glad to be free and wasted no time getting his gun back from where it had been dropped by the edge of the clearing.
Being a man who always finished what he started, he walked briskly to a spot where he could see the ground below and to the west. There far ahead were the two riders; no one else was to be seen. Madigan was more than a little nervous about sticking around after his meeting with the Utes, so he wasted no time in getting back to where the horses were tied. A dead Ute lay to the rear of the buckskin and it was obvious the big stallion wanted to be rid of this place as fast as he could.
It took a lot less time to descend the side of the mountain than it took to come up. Once back on the main trail Madigan took out his rifle and made sure it was loaded. Funny, it hadn’t felt so hot a few minutes ago!
Chapter 8
O’Neill was growing uneasy and his temper was starting to show. He had been waiting hours for LaRue and Shorty to appear. The sun overhead was merciless in its dance across the sky, baking those below that watched for the victims they hoped to sacrifice for the quest for gold.
“Hell, they ain’t coming!” Morales complained as he wiped his brow with a dirty sleeve. “They probably hightailed it back East where they’d be safe.”
O’Neill thought over what Morales said for a moment before making a decision. It was hot out all right, and this place had no water close by. O’Neill deliberately picked this spot to bushwhack LaRue and his friend, knowing they would be in a hurry to get through this wasteland.
There was nothing here but rock and brush with a few burned out snags to testify to a fire that almost certainly had devoured most of the other trees. Without a sufficient supply of water, the trees were having a tough time coming back. The brush, needing less moisture, was thriving, thus making a large meadow of little else. Further to the west a small hill, more of a knob really, rose to a height of thirty feet. O’Neill had the horses hidden behind this. Then he ordered his men to go out in the brush and wait.
“How long’s it been?” O’Neill asked to no one in particular.
“From the look of the sun, I’d make it out somewhere close to five hours or so.”
“Doesn’t any of you fools have a watch for crying out loud?” O’Neill asked in anger, the gash on the side of his face growing redder.
“Don’t you have one?” a sharp voice came back.
“He’s the boss! He doesn’t need one!” another voice piped in sarcastically. O’Neill knew enough to shut up while he was still in control.
The men were hot and thirsty. They’d been hiding in the brush under the burning sun and they’d be in no mood to take any guff from the likes of him. O’Neill let the insult go unanswered.
“Come on in!” O’Neill ordered. “I think maybe Morales is right. They’ve had enough and are heading back home with their tails tucked between their legs.” O’Neill let out a reassuring laugh that sounded hollow and empty.
One by one from various areas of the bush, a man would rise from his hiding place, each with a look on his face that said O’Neill had kept them out too long. He’d have to think of something fast or the game might be lost. And these were the type of men that killed the losing captain.
“Men,” he said when they were all back, “right now some of you aren’t too happy with me for keeping you out there all these hours. I knew Shorty and LaRue weren’t coming after the first hour. .”
“What the hell!” one of the men broke in.
“Just let me finish!” O’Neill said harshly. “As I was saying, I knew they’d turned back after the first hour. But trapping them wasn’t the only reason I sent you out there.” The men looked around at one another, each wondering what O’Neill was up to.
“I sent you out in the blazing sun to test each and every one of you. I needed to know who I could count on and who I couldn’t.”
“Count on us for what?” a rough looking cowboy asked. “How the hell can lying out in the heat let you know who you can count on and who you can’t?”
The question came from John Smith, hoping to trip O’Neill up and make himself look better in the eyes of the men. O’Neill let the question ride.
“Before us is a future of riches, if we are lucky, and you men do as you’re told. But one slip up, just one, and we might lose everything! I am glad to say that all of you passed the test and we are now ready to put my plan into action,” he said. “Over the next week we will be covering as much ground as possible. It is important that we get to our destination at the time of, or just before, the next full moon. That gives us a little less than a month to get ready.
“If we are one day late, we will have to wait another month, a month that will give LaRue enough time to get more men together. I for one don’t intend to fight him and the Injuns both. The Injuns will be bad enough. They’ve already been hit once and they won’t be as easy the next time!” O’Neill looked around at the men. All eyes were on him. The lure of gold again captured their imaginations and they’d follow O’Neill to the very depths of hell to get their share if need be.
Since the attack on the mountain, Madigan hadn’t seen hide nor hair of any living thing except an occasional ground squirrel scampering about in search of food or company. As he approached, they’d stand on their hind legs and let out a low whistling sound to warn of his presence.
From time to time, he’d pass the tracks of the riders ahead. To a scout as experienced as Madigan, it was evident a large body of horsemen had gone through the day before. There were also tracks of the two others just a few hours old.
Coming in sight of a low hill, he noticed the tracks of three horses leaving the trail. Madigan guessed the two riders became suspicious and decided to skirt the hill and a possible ambush. Riding on, it became all too clear that an ambush had indeed been planned. Had the two men been a day earlier or the killers waited a day longer, there would now be two corpses under dirt.
Madigan rode on and smiled to himself when the tracks of the two men came back on the trail. They had been caught off guard once and weren’t going to let it happen again. Still, they were taking an awful big chance by riding the same trail at all. They must be in a big hurry for something, he mused.
Madigan rode into Durango at sunset. Durango was a town with a wild reputation of free-flowing whiskey, hard men, and soft-but-wild women. It was hot in the summer and cold as the icy fingers of hell in the winter, and many a cowpoke or hard rock miner out for a good time wound up on Durango’s boot hill instead.