“Here,” he said with a self-conscious smile.
I must be crazy, he thought. The younger one reached out and took the reins. For a moment their eyes met. This woman, like no other he’d ever known, stirred something within him and he knew he would never be the same again. The older woman said something to her that he could not understand, then turned to Madigan and in a kind of sign language asked him to wait for a moment while she took something from the saddlebag that had belonged to Scar Face.
Many Indians speak both their native tongue as well as English but prefer to not let on that they understand what is being said. Madigan expected this was how it was with these women, but did not let it show. They had good reason to not trust anyone right now.
What the older woman took from the saddlebag was a little figurine of what looked to him like a man. Unlike the others that he’d seen, it was made out of gold and silver. The figurine was masterfully made, the top half being gold, the bottom being of silver.
She reached for the knife that he’d given her earlier. Madigan quickly stepped back a few paces, not knowing what she was about to do. Both women smiled at his caution. With the knife, the woman pried the little man in half. To his amazement the figurine came apart, not in two pieces, but in three. One part was all gold. The bottom piece was silver, but from the middle came a ring of both silver and gold.
She held this out to him, indicating for Madigan to put it on his finger. He took the ring from her and tried it on. It fit perfectly. Both women placed their hands over his and slowly said what he took to be some kind of a prayer. Then the older of the two took from the top of the figurine a white powder. It came freely into her hand and she pinched some between her fingers and placed it on her tongue, then motioned for him to do the same. Madigan didn’t think it could hurt, so he followed suit. Then the women sat down on the ground, and he did the same.
What were these strange women doing? Why had they been captured in the first place? Where’d all the gold come from and where would they take it? There were many questions he wanted to ask but knew not how. He was torn between his conscience and his need to know. And maybe a little greed.
Madigan awoke from the cold many hours later. The women were gone, along with the gold, but to his surprise the horses were picketed by a small creek a few dozen yards away. He looked down and saw that the ring was still on his finger.
“So it was not a dream,” he said aloud. Trying to stand up, he felt lightheaded. The powder, he thought.
Judging by the moon overhead, Madigan surmised it must be around ten in the evening. He hadn’t eaten since morning and his stomach was growling something awful. Looking for a place to build a small fire, he was startled to find that wood was already piled within a small circle of stones. The wood was dry and all he would have to do was strike a match to start it ablaze. Whoever piled the wood had been careful to use wood that would not cause any smoke, although he wasn’t worried about anyone seeing it this late at night.
He also noticed that he wasn’t in the place where he had been when he first saw the outlaws earlier. Somehow, he’d been moved into a little depression in the earth surrounded by trees. Madigan doubted whether anyone would be able to see the light from the fire either.
He took a slab of bacon from his pack and sliced it into several long strips, then cooked it in his cast-iron skillet along with some beans he’d saved from another meal. He ate until he was full, then spread his blanket out for the night.
In the morning he would try to find some of the answers to the many questions that raced through his mind. While he lay there trying to think, he felt the strangest sensation that he was being watched. Still feeling surprisingly tired for all the sleep he’d gotten, Madigan closed his eyes and drifted off to dreams of golden towns where there was so much gold that plain dirt was valued far more.
He had always been an early riser, so at first light he was already drinking a hot cup of coffee. After finishing a second cup, he poured the remaining coffee over the fire, and walked down to the creek to rinse the pot out.
Madigan still felt that he was being watched, but shrugged it off as his imagination. He was in a hurry to get on his way and if, in fact, someone were keeping an eye on him, they would have to move fast to keep up. He planned to make a lot of distance before sundown.
Madigan had just finished saddling up when he heard voices not far away. He lay down in the dirt and inched his way forward through the low bushes until he could see where the sound was coming from. Down on the trail, not a hundred yards below him, were a dozen or more riders. None of them looked friendly, so he stayed hidden as best he could. All but two of the men were on horseback. The two on foot were bent over as they walked, looking for sign. Every few steps they would wave the riders forward. Madigan held his breath as they approached the place where he had buried the three men.
Instinctively, he slipped the thong from the hammer of his Colt, wishing that he’d also brought his rifle with him. To his surprise, the two men walked right over the grave as if it wasn’t even there!
Why didn’t they see the grave, he wondered. He’d made no attempt to hide it. Just dug a single hole for the bodies, rolled them in, then covered it up with dirt and piled rocks on top to keep the animals out. You could hardly miss it on horseback, let alone on foot.
Behind him the buckskin was growing restless and stomped his foot on the hard-packed ground. To Madigan it sounded like cannon fire and he hoped the men below didn’t hear it. He lay very still, waiting and watching while the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, every fiber of his being alive. Then the packhorse snorted!
At the sound of the noise, one of the trackers below looked up. He gave a sign for the other men to do the same. Those on horseback turned to see where the man was looking, and he was looking straight at Madigan! Several men drew their rifles, getting ready for any trouble that might come their way.
Madigan held his breath for what seemed like hours. He dared not move even an eyelid for fear of being seen. Silently he prayed the horses would be still. Then off to his side he caught movement. He could not risk moving, for to do so would surely give himself away to those below. Again Madigan caught movement off to his right, and a little behind him. Had a rider been sent ahead to scout the sides of the trail?
Madigan knew that he must have a plan; his life depended on it. He thought long and hard and decided if the time came, he’d roll to his left while drawing his gun. A quick shot and he would be on his feet and running, then up on the buckskin and he’d ride for the hills. He was bothered by the fact that he might have to leave some of his belongings behind, but better to be alive without them than dead with them.
The movement to his right was getting closer. Madigan tensed, ready for action. More of the men below had drawn their guns. On the count of five he would roll and fire, hoping to surprise whoever it was. He started to count to steady his nerves.
Three, four, he silently counted. . five. The Colt came easily into his hand and he thumbed the hammer back as he rolled. In one smooth motion he brought the gun up to bear on the target.
The man was crouched down, rifle in hand, trying to find where he was. His back was toward Madigan, but it was evident what his intentions were. Madigan half-smiled as he watched the man, but he knew that time was running out. If any of the men below got curious, they might ride up to see what was happening. Madigan could not afford to take that chance.