Strongheart (18 page)

Across the lake, Joshua saw two men with a small canvas tent in the background, and both were fly-fishing near the base of the peak. They had long bamboo poles, and one started pulling in a small cutthroat. Strongheart gave them a wave, and they waved heartily in return. Men had been fly-fishing for years, centuries actually. In fact, as early as the second century, Claudius Aelianus had written about fishermen from Macedonia making lures out of feathers and red wool and catching many fish. Back east, Strongheart knew they had even started fly-fishing clubs in the Catskill Mountains of New York. Of course they also had not had any America Indian attacks back east for years, he thought.

Joshua thought about stopping here for late lunch, but then decided that since it was now later in the afternoon, he would camp by the lake and leave the next morning for the Great Sand Dunes. He trotted around the lake to the south shore, where he found a very secluded cove, which gave him total privacy. In fact, he found a campsite where someone had already camped, made a nice fire pit, and like Joshua, left a good supply of firewood. He had his coffee going when one of the fishermen rode over to him bareback on a mule. He introduced himself as a rancher near Westcliffe and gave Joshua three fish for lunch. Strongheart thanked him and offered coffee, but the man wanted to get back to his fishing. He spoke about having just the right kind of fly at the right time of year to catch fish after fish.

Joshua made lunch, ate, and decided to explore a bit on foot, while he left Gabe to share the grassy meadow with numerous deer, elk, and bighorn that appeared and disappeared.

Running behind his camp was a stream that led to an area full of cascading waterfalls. Joshua could not believe how many beautiful wildflowers grew all around here, and the place reminded him of home.

The next morning at daybreak, Joshua looked back at Tiejas Peak, Music Peak, and Milwaukee Peak and truly understood why these mountains were called the Sangre de Cristos, the “blood of Christ,” when he saw the beautiful crimson hues on the snowfields.

The ride down the western slope of the Sangres was fairly uneventful except for rounding a bend in the trail and coming upon a large tom mountain lion feeding on a small doe he had apparently just killed right in the middle of the trail. The cat barely glanced at Joshua; he just disappeared into the trees without looking back. Most people living in lion country spent their entire lives without ever seeing one, but Joshua was in the wilds and in the saddle so much that he saw them from time to time.

Before noon, he rode into the Great Sand Dunes for the first time ever and was totally amazed. From a distance, in the San Luis Valley, he always thought the dunes were maybe fifty to one hundred feet in height, but that was because of the enormous size of the valley, the highest-altitude large valley in the world, with an average elevation about 7,500 feet, and it was large, 122 miles long and 74 miles wide.

So seeing the dunes at great distances, next to twelve-, thirteen-, and fourteen-thousand-foot peaks, it was not easy for Strongheart or anybody else to judge the immensity of the size, but now the warrior was riding into the sand dunes, which covered an area of more than thirty square miles, with sand dune after sand dune rising up into the sky. He was now looking up, not realizing that many of the sand dunes rose more than 750 feet into the sky. Joshua knew the Moss outlaws would not be here, but there was no way he would ride into this area without checking the dunes out.

Nobody was ever really sure exactly how or why these magnificent dunes had been formed and kept shifting shapes. But Joshua saw that Medano Creek ran around the dunes, going underground here and there and then reappearing in the sand as an easily waded shallow creek that meandered around the dunes, seeming to cut a new route each day. Many felt that the Rio Grande flowing through one end of the valley carried many sand deposits along its banks, which were carried as dust to the dunes. But in later years, contemporary geologists would conclude that much of the dust came from shallow lakes north of the dunes that would dry up and blow away, as well as Medano Creek and others, along with the accumulation of dust from a windy valley that was 122 by 74 miles in size, with a granite wall of large mountains blocking the dust's escape and downslope winds causing it to settle in the area of the Great Sand Dunes.

Joshua rode around the dunes, taking them all in. When spotted from the nearby Zebulon Pike in 1833, the dunes were said to look like a giant sea with ever-changing waves, except colored differently than ocean water.

Leaving the Great Sand Dunes behind him, the Pinkerton man now headed southwest, also leaving the Big Range to his rear and seeing the foothills of the San Juan Mountains across the massive valley ahead of him. He was headed toward Wolf Creek Pass, figuring that the Moss crooks had departed for the far-off bustling and busy mining area of Animas City or nearby Silverton.

Joshua had not even gone five miles when he came upon two cowboys. As they got closer, he saw that they were red, but they were obviously cowhands. Both put their hands up in greeting, and so did Strongheart.

“Howdy,” one said.

Joshua smiled and said, “Ute?”

The other said, “Yes, we work for a cattle rancher east of La Veta. You are the half-Lakota who has been tracking the McMahon gang?”

Joshua was amazed at the cowboy-Indian gossip network in the West.

He said, “Yes. Name is Strongheart. Heard anything?”

The first Ute said, “Yes. Gorilla Moss and Percival Moss are north of here at Villa Grove. Do you know where it is?”

Joshua said, “Yep, I do. Thank you. You know what they are doing there?”

The second Ute laughed, saying, “Trying to hide from you. Good hunting, brother.”

The two chuckled and rode on, giving him a wave. He nodded and smiled as they departed, then turned his horse toward the right front and now had the Big Range off to his right as he rode along the big valley, headed toward the distant whistle-stop turnaround Villa Grove.

The town of Villa Grove had only had that name for just over one year, having officially become Villa Grove on January 19, 1872. Prior to that, the town had been organized and named two years earlier, on June 13, 1870. At that time it had been given a very unusual name for a Western town, Garibaldi, after an Italian revolutionary named Giuseppe Garibaldi. It really was not much of a town, but it was built and established by the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad as the southernmost terminal of the tiny Rio Grande's narrow-gauge Poncha Pass line, which would only exist for seventeen more years. Ironically, the town's name would be changed to Villagrove on October 12, 1894, and then back to Villa Grove on July 1, 1950, long after Strongheart's time.

The burg possessed one of the most beautiful mountain views in the world, set in the northern bottleneck end of the San Luis Valley, fourteen miles south of Poncha Pass. Out in the valley but only two miles from the steep-sided Big Range to the east, the Sangre de Cristos stretched across the horizon from as far as one could see in the north to as far as one could see in the south. Shortly to the west of the town were the beginnings of the foothills for both the Collegiate range to the north and the San Juan Mountain range to the west. Many prospectors were coming into the area now and digging glory holes all over the treed foothills.

Strongheart rode until he was just a few miles out, and saw a couple small herds of buffalo and large herds of antelope along the way. Villa Grove was well within sight when he decided to ride off into the trees on the side of the Sangres and make camp for the night. He would enter the town in the morning after a night's sleep and food, and rest for his horse, as well.

It was shortly after daybreak when Strongheart rode forward with no plan. He would look for Gorilla, Percival, or Harlance and deal with whatever situation confronted him.

Gorilla and Percival had been keeping watch and staying in the one small hotel in the tiny little town that had only two restaurants, along with a smattering of houses and businesses. They slept in shifts and worked part-time by day doing odd jobs at the terminal for the Rio Grande's Poncha Pass line. They did not really like working the way most men did, but they wanted to keep an eye on the comings and goings into and out of the valley. Very few entered the San Luis Valley by crossing the Big Range. They almost always came in through Poncha Pass or a long distance to the south, over La Veta Pass.

Gorilla Moss had decided to take about the same attitude about Joshua that Joshua had taken about him and his son, and that was to play it by ear. He would see if Strongheart even came, from what direction, how, when, and figure out a strategy then. In the meantime, he had feelers out on the owlhoot trail. Honor among thieves. All the bushwhackers, highwaymen, and scoundrels around were keeping an eye peeled for the big, tough half Indian called Strongheart and trying to pass the information along. The idea was to get the intelligence reports about him, gossip, or rumors, into the hands of Harlance, Gorilla, or Percival. After all, this crazy man might come after them someday. The word was already out that he was pursuing the McMahon gang members, not for revenge, but to keep his word to somebody. These unprincipled, ne'er-do-wells just could not comprehend a man standing on a moral code he set for himself, as they had none.

When he looked out his hotel room window, however, in the early morning and spotted the magnificent red and white Overo pinto horse coming toward him in that unmistakable stiff-legged trot, Gorilla became a nervous wreck.

He banged on the wall with the heel of his hand and yelled, “Percival! He's coming!”

Seconds later, Percival burst through Gorilla's door, his prostitute behind him clutching a gaudy green dress around her. Gorilla nodded at the window, while putting his six-shooters on, a pair of .44s in cross-draw holsters.

He said to his own prostitute, “Git yer dress and fixin's on, little lady.”

Gorilla had a bald head and no neck. Both of the Mosses were tall, but Gorilla's son had a more slender build, though he still had Gorilla's features. He wore a Russian .44 also, with another tucked into his waist as a belly gun.

Gorilla's whore said, “I'm gonna stay here in bed, sweetheart.”

“The hell you say!” he growled and tossed her the bustle sitting by him. “Git yer clothes on now! Both of you!”

The angry glare in his eyes made them both move extremely fast, more so than the bellowing voice. They quickly got dressed, even donning feathered hats to match their dresses. Both men took them by the arms and escorted them down the hotel steps, then looked out the back door. Now they could clearly see that the rider was Strongheart and he was fast-approaching.

He spotted them as they walked out through the hotel door and toward him.

Well, here it is,
he thought.

He had wondered if they would try to ambush him, but to their credit, it appeared that they were going to face him straight on. Then Strongheart saw each man wrap an arm around the neck of one of the women and move forward in a gunfighter's crouch. He could not believe this.
What a gang,
he thought.

First, Long Legs wanted to assault Annabelle, and now these two were using two women for shields in a gunfight. There were so few women in the West, there had been actual cases of outlaws turning on other outlaws and hanging them for molesting women. It was not that these highwaymen were noble or moral. It was preservation of the species, in fact. There were so few women, and even fewer hardy ones, that men actually strove to conserve females.

It had been a move of self-preservation on Gorilla's part, as he knew what this man had done to the rest of his gang single-handed. His brazen frontal approach on the town was also unnerving. Gorilla did not realize how savvy Strongheart actually was. He had not camped due east of town and ridden in during the early morning for no reason. The sun had peeked over the Big Range and was shining directly in the eyes of Percival and Gorilla. It made them a more illuminated target while making it difficult for them to see what Joshua's hands were doing or his overall movement in general.

He knew he had to think quickly. He reached back into the scabbard under his right leg, pulled out his carbine, and cocked a round into the chamber.

The women were screaming now, even after Gorilla growled, “Shut up!”

They squirmed, but the two crooks were too strong. Now Strongheart was sizing the men up, and he understood them, or at least Gorilla. By his mannerisms, he could tell the dad was scared but also tough, and he was going down shooting if need be. Percival was acting too confident, and with his youth, Joshua knew it was false bravado. The father would be more dangerous. Percival had sweat pouring down his face and there was a twitch in his right cheek. He wanted to impress his dad, so he would back Gorilla's play. Gorilla was the one who would have to take the first bullet. He had been in shoot-outs before.

Percival now stuck his gun barrel up to his prostitute's head and laughed a loud, nervous chuckle.

In the meantime, Strongheart did a sliding stop on Gabe and stepped out of the stirrups without taking his eyes off the two. He moved his horse to the left, so he would not get hit by any stray bullets, and dropped the reins. Joshua then walked rapidly toward the two and had closed the distance to within yards before Percival stopped him with a scream.

“I'll kill her, you red nigger! I'll do it! Drop yer iron now!”

That is what Strongheart wanted. He tossed the carbine barrel-up to Percival, who subconsciously knew that it was cocked, could go off if it hit the ground, and a bullet could hit him. This was simply instant recognition of the danger. He moved the barrel away from the woman's head to grab the rifle launched toward him, and Strongheart's right hand whipped down, the Colt .45 slid up and out of the holster, and flame shot from the barrel, just as Gorilla glanced to see if Percival would catch the carbine. Strongheart's bullet caught Gorilla directly between the eyes and he died on his feet just like that.