Madigan saw that the horse’s hind legs were hobbled and said as much. Knowing Goldie to be a gentle man, except in battle, he was puzzled as to why. The answer came shortly.
“When we first tried to catch him, we used a brush corral and chased him into it along with some of his mares,” Goldie explained. “He jumped the fence like he had wings. Later that night he sneaked back and chewed through the rope that held the mares, turning them all loose and ruining two months’ work for us. So when we finally got a rope on him we put the hobbles on-put ‘em on his back legs so he wouldn’t chew through them. You can bet it was a fight getting them on without getting our heads kicked in. Since then he’s been pretty quiet as long as we keep our distance.
“Just no other way to keep him from taking off again. Hated to do it to such a fine animal but there was no other way,” he said nodding toward the hobbles. “Anyway, he’s not my problem any more,” Goldie said with a laugh.
“What do you mean?”
“Why, laddie, you are his owner now! Way I see it, by giving him to you I’ll rid myself of two problems: I won’t have to train him, and he won’t be ‘round to stir up me mares any more.”
Madigan started to protest, but Goldie stopped him with a wave of the hand.
“Captain, I’ve not forgotten the time I was laying in that buffalo wallow with only one bullet left and Sioux all around ready to take me scalp.
“I was just getting ready to put that bullet in me brain when you came a riding and shootin’ right through them Injuns. If you remember, you brought me a horse that day and I’ve never forgotten.”
“You thick-skinned old Indian fighter! That was your own horse I brought you!” Madigan laughed.
“If you remember, Captain, it belonged to those Sioux when you grabbed it, so I’m just returning the favor. I’ll not take no for an answer,” he added, rolling up his sleeves in a mock show of anger.
Well, that buckskin was a mighty fine horse and Madigan wasn’t too fond of walking. And besides, it wasn’t going to be a picnic getting this horse to wear a saddle, let alone keeping himself in that saddle.
“I guess you talked me into it,” he said shaking his head. “I reckon now it’s either me breakin’ him or him breakin’ me.”
For the next two weeks Madigan worked with the buckskin in the evenings. During the day he’d ride out with Goldie or one of his men on one of the extra mares, cleaning out the water holes and doing whatever else needed tending.
Gradually the stallion came around to Madigan’s way of thinking, but not until he’d thrown him a good number of times. After a while he came to realize Madigan wasn’t going to give up, and he let him climb into the saddle with just a little resistance. He even seemed to like Madigan’s presence around him. Before long they were riding out for miles at a time, the powerful stallion enjoying it as much as the man.
Madigan spent so much time with the horse he almost forgot about O’Neill. At any rate, he wasn’t going off half-cocked for revenge anymore. Besides, Madigan knew that sooner or later O’Neill would come to him no matter where he was.
Then one cool morning it was time for him to say good-bye to Goldie and his men. By nightfall, he was twenty miles out on his way to Cooper Springs where he camped by a little stream while the buckskin grazed nearby.
He stayed for a few days at the little town of Cooper Springs, getting new supplies and a packhorse, then decided to get on with his life. A friend once offered him a job on his ranch in California. He’d never been to California but had heard many stories of riches to be gotten there for the taking. Madigan was willing to take his share as long as it didn’t belong to anyone who came first.
The ranch down California way seemed like a blessing. He knew it would mean hard work, but he never ran from good, honest work in his life. Madigan even planned to bypass the gold fields on his way to the ranch. Course, a man on the move for weeks on end may get a little crossed up now and then, so no tellin’ where he might wander through in the days ahead.
He was riding along lost in his thoughts when the buckskin shied, then perked his ears forward. The trail he was on didn’t show much use. Madigan liked it that way when he was a mind to get someplace. To his right, up a small slope, was a stand of pine along with a few boulders scattered here and there.
He moved the buckskin and his packhorse into the trees and waited, for the stallion also sensed something ahead that might mean trouble. When you lived as Madigan did, you learned to take a good long look before you leaped. So he waited for whatever spooked the buckskin to either show itself or move away.
There were grizzly in this part of the country, and the last thing he wanted to do was come upon a sow with her cubs in tow. If surprised, they might charge anything that looked like a threat to them.
When a grizzly came at you, there wasn’t much chance for you to outrun her. For short distances, Madigan heard tell they could outrun a horse. Maybe so, maybe not, but he wasn’t in a hurry to find out.
Wasn’t long before some dust showed down the trail. From the looks of it, he guessed two, maybe three riders were coming. Madigan slipped the thong off the hammer of his Colt, then checked to make sure it was loaded. It was, so he placed it back in its holster, but not as tight as it had been before. He also checked his Winchester. It never paid to get careless.
If it was trouble coming he would be ready, at least as ready as a man could be, and Madigan didn’t have long to wait. Three riders were walking their horses along the trail below him. He hadn’t been seen yet, so he backed the buckskin further into the trees and waited.
“What in the heck!” Madigan said disgustedly to himself when he saw that the riders trailed two women prisoners along with them. He bit his lip hard to keep back the anger when he saw that both the women were unclothed, hands tied together in front of them, their skin burned dark from the sun.
The prisoners, both on one horse, were forced to ride between the two men in the lead, while the other man followed up behind. It was a dangerous situation and Madigan would have to act fast if he was going to do the women any good. It seemed like forever before they got within range, so all he could do was wait. And the longer Madigan waited, the more furious he got.
Madigan let out a silent curse as he pulled his rifle out of its scabbard while he nudged the buckskin into plain view of the riders below.
“Hold up down there!” he ordered as he took a bead on the hombre closest to him. The rider was an ugly beast of a man with a long scar across his forehead, a Mexican with dirty hair to match his clothes. When he turned toward Madigan he smiled with black teeth, a stub of a dead cigar protruding from between his lips. The riders stopped.
“What you want up there? We do you no harm!”
“Cut those women loose!” Madigan ordered as he levered a round into his rifle.
Scar Face turned sideways in his saddle and nudged his horse forward out of line with the women. Wiping his arm across his forehead, he grinned back at Madigan.
“You not understand! These our wives! They been unfaithful to us. We only teach them a lesson.” While he talked the second man eased up beside him, the third man staying behind.
“We mean you no harm. Why you not come down so we can talk? Maybe you want women for yourself?”
Both men laughed, and as they did the second rider casually eased his horse up behind the man with the scar. At the same instant one of the women pulled her hands to her mouth in fear. It was all the warning Madigan needed. He fired, then quickly levered another round into the chamber of his smoking Winchester.44–40. It was not needed, for the bullet hit true, knocking the scar-faced man out of his saddle and into the rider behind him. Both fell to the ground with a thud and lay still.
What the hell did he get himself into this time, Madigan wondered as he assessed the situation, still keeping the rifle to his shoulder in case he needed to fire again.
In the moment it took for the last man to realize what had happened, the two women spun their horse around and kicked it into action, running their gelding headlong into the Mexican’s mount, knocking the rider off balance. As he fell to the ground in a heap, the two women were on him in an instant. Before Madigan could stop them, the younger of the two females threw herself over the Mexican’s body, pinning him down while the other woman picked up a large rock and brought it crashing down on his skull with a sickening whack, killing him instantly.
Two of the men were dead, of that there was no doubt. The man that was knocked off his horse when Madigan shot Scar Face was not moving either. Could be playing dead or have the wind knocked out of him, Madigan thought. He rode slowly down toward the man, keeping his rifle at the ready in case of a trick.
