Strongheart (19 page)

Percival caught the rifle and felt something slam into his stomach and then another. He saw smoke coming out of Strongheart's gun, and he tried to draw, but then realized that his arm holding the stock of the carbine had been struck. The bullet had passed through it into his stomach, and then a second bullet had hit him close to the first hole. The two women ran screaming as people poured out of buildings. Strongheart walked up to the dazed Percival, who was losing color and staring at the growing crimson stain on his stomach. Still in shock, he looked at his father, whose eyes had disappeared into his head, toward the gaping hole where the bridge of his nose used to be. His body was unmoving.

Joshua said, “Do you or your pa have the antique wedding ring taken from the widow on the stage?”

Percival said, “Harlance has it. It's true, ain't it? You kilt us all over a pledge?”

Strongheart said, “Yes.”

Percival fell to his knees and was now weaving.

He said weakly, “Will ya gimme your word, you'll see we get a good funeral?”

Strongheart said, “No. You don't deserve it after what you tried with those two women. Buzzards have to eat, too.”

Percival's eyes opened wide, like a deer's at night when a light is suddenly shined in his eyes. Then the eyes went lifeless, and Percival fell forward on his face like a limp rag doll. His left leg twitched spasmodically for a half a minute, then all was still. Strongheart could smell gunpowder.

Citizens came running up, some carrying assorted weapons. They did not know him or the others.

Strongheart said, “These two were bandits and held up the stage on Copper Gulch Coach Road a few months ago. They just tried to use two women as shields in a gunfight.”

A man in the crowd said, “I saw it, Injun. That was a righteous shooting and quick thinking on your part.”

People seemed to relax then, and they set their guns down at their sides.

Strongheart said, “I am emptying their pockets. They held up the stage and robbed everyone, including me.”

An important-looking man in a business suit came forward. When he spoke, everyone seemed riveted on each word.

He said, “You are named, Steel, no, Strongheart. Heard about you. Half-white, half-Sioux. Those men in the holdup shot you to a rag doll, but you survived, and have hunted them all down, save one. Is it true you gave your word to a girl that you would get her music box back and that is why you hunted them down?”

Joshua was feeling weak in the knees and shaky from adrenaline letdown, but he would not show it.

He smiled. “No, sir, somebody got the facts a little twisted. I
am
half-Sioux. But it was a widow on the stage, she had lost her husband in a fire, and all that she had left was an antique wedding ring. I said I would get it back for her.”

Another man said, “Yeah, but you have killed a whole gang to get that ring.”

Strongheart chuckled. “Well, mister, all those boys seemed to be pretty attached to it. None of them have wanted to talk. Just fight.”

Another said, “Seems like you have awful short conversations if people disagree with you, Mr. Strongheart.”

Everybody including Joshua laughed heartily.

Still another shouted out, “I see what them jaspers done to save their sorry hides when ya rode up. I ain't gonna bury 'em or waste wood on a casket after what they done. I'll fork my horse and toss a rope on them carcasses and haul 'em out somewhar so the coyotes and buzzards kin eat.”

Another said, “Good idea, Slim.”

A woman with a British accent said, “I would say so. Be gone with them, I say.”

The rest of the crowd nodded and mumbled in agreement. Joshua thought to himself, “Civilized white society, and they call my father's people savages.”

He checked the fallen men's pockets and retrieved money and a gold watch. He also removed their gun belts and guns and handed them to a volunteer. The man nodded and bit off a big plug of tobacco.

Joshua then asked for directions for the shortest way to Cotopaxi and was directed to cross over the Big Range at Hayden Creek Pass. This was easy. The telegrapher pointed at Hayden Baldy Mountain and Nipple Mountain, which was named for its appearance, and showed him the short drop between peaks.

He said, “Ride that way, Mr. Strongheart. You'll find the crossover trail and follow it. Several nice harems of elk in the dark timber near the top of the pass. You will come out west of Cotopaxi by maybe five to eight miles, I'll guess. Follow the river down to it.”

Strongheart spoke with folks for a few minutes and then headed northeast from the tiny town, ready for another adventure in his quest to fulfill a pledge to a sad, beautiful young widow. The ride back over the Big Range was much, much longer than it seemed looking at it from out in the valley. It gave Joshua a long time to plan, to think, to deal with the fact that he had killed two more men. He saw a lot of wildlife heading up the trail that crossed over the pass, and hardly any on the other side. He camped at the bottom of the trail, along Hayden Creek, and took off the next morning for Cotopaxi, which was becoming his stomping ground now.

Strongheart really had no grandparents growing up, and he thoroughly enjoyed parlaying with the old white-haired Zachariah Banta. Joshua felt that the thing he liked most was the ever-present twinkle in the elder's eye. He also had a lot of common-sense wisdom, which was blanketed and camouflaged under several layers of dry humor.

It was still early morning when Joshua walked in through the door of Banta's store and waited to see what kind of reception he would get that day. Each time it was different. Zack did not even acknowledge him.

He walked over and stacked a pile of seven blankets on Strongheart's arms and said, “Here, take these over ta the hotel yonder.”

Joshua just laughed and walked out the door carrying the blankets. He delivered the blankets and went back to the store. Banta was now sitting down drinking coffee, with a second cup poured for Joshua.

Strongheart grabbed the steaming cup and lifted it in Zack's direction as a thank-you before he sat down.

Zack said, “You always goin' around and shootin' gents fer jest wantin' to dance with some ladies?”

Strongheart had coffee come out his nose he burst out laughing so hard, and it burned like the dickens. He could not stop laughing, though, despite the pain.

“Now, Zack, I left there after the shooting, crossed over the Sangres at Hayden Creek Pass, camped, and lit out of there this morning at first light,” Strongheart exclaimed. “How in the world did you find out about the shooting so fast?”

Zack replied, “Wal, I reckon it was acause a old Robin.”

“Robin?” Joshua said, “Robin who?”

Zack said, “Robin, my friend. Tells me a lot a things afore others find out. Robin Redbreast.”

He walked outside while Joshua just shook his head. A few minutes later, Zack walked back into the store. The old man hooked his finger at Strongheart and summoned him out the door. Joshua was puzzled.

He walked outside and spotted Zack standing by the barn and corral, where Gabe was eating hay and enjoying the morning sun. Joshua was once again puzzled by the old man. He walked over to him.

Zack pointed toward Joshua's knife and said, “Don't reckon ya ever learnt how ta use thet thing, did ya?”

Joshua chuckled, saying, “Yes, sir. Why?”

Zack pointed at a target he had just nailed to a pole about twenty feet away, near the front of the barn.

“Kin ya throw from here and stick the target?”

Zachariah was very amazed, but would never let on, as the warrior's arm extended and the knife suddenly seemed to fly from his side and sail quickly through the air, spinning twice and sticking right into the bull's-eye.

Zack said, “Wal, reckon ya kin. I'm gittin' me some more coffee. You kin stand out here whittling if ya want.”

He walked quickly back to the store. Joshua again shook his head, laughing, and walked over to pull the knife out of the target. He looked up at the pole above him and noticed the telegraph wire. This was a telegraph pole. Then it hit him. He had asked Zack how he had learned so quickly about his gunfight in Villa Grove. Strongheart was embarrassed and thought about how much he had to learn as a detective. He laughed heartily at himself and at Banta's antics.

Returning to the store, Joshua poured himself a fresh cup and sat down. “Who knows how to use a key here, Zack?”

Zack took a spoon and tapped two slower hits and one fast one, then said, “Dah, dah. Dit.”

“What's that spell?” Strongheart said.

“Me.”

They both chuckled and finished their coffee.

Banta got serious, saying, “Heared twicet now thet McMahon put hisself together a ganga young Injun bucks what was slaves with Mexican rancher families down south near New Mexico Territory. These boys banded together and started stealin', robbin', and sech as thet. Think they are holed up in Hardscrabble, down southa Florence a few miles, up against the range.”

“You think he put them together to fight me?”

Banta laughed.

Zack said, “Sonny Boy, ole Harlance shore don't bring no Gatlin' gun when he comes ta visit mah store, 'cause a fearin' me. Ya have kilt every one a his gang, which does include his brother. I guarantee ya, they're aimin' ta dry-gulch ya.”

“Well, sir,” Joshua said, heading toward the door, “thanks for the coffee, but if they want to dance, I better go and open up the ball.”

Zack's shouting stopped him. “Son!”

Joshua turned and Zack said, “Reckon ya better keep a good eye ta yer back trail.”

Strongheart winked and went out the door. He brushed Gabriel, saddled up, and headed toward Westcliffe.

A few hours later, Strongheart was having coffee and a sandwich with his new friend Jerome Guy.

“Zachariah Banta is probably the best and most accurate source of information in this whole area, and he was correct,” Jerome said. “Harlance was in here buying drinks for his young gunfighters. I speak Spanish and could overhear what they were saying, yet they had no idea I could understand them. I also heard him say things which I combined with their words. He definitely was taking them to Hardscrabble to train them and prepare them for a big fight with you. I know he bought a lot of ammunition, so they were going to be doing a lot of shooting, presumably to practice. You need to get with the Fremont County sheriff, Frank Bengley, and maybe form a posse. He is a good man.”

Strongheart said, “The sheriff has to have evidence to justify forming a posse. Although you and a few others are credible, he is not going to do anything.”

Guy replied, “Good point. Nonetheless, he needs to know what is going on anyway. That covers you if there is a shooting. My wife Jan is good friends with the sheriff's wife. She is going to Canon City today, and I will have her carry him a message.”

“Thanks,” Joshua said. “Now I need to know all you can tell me about Hardscrabble, Florence, and the whole area.”

From Jerome Guy, Strongheart learned that when Hardscrabble was originally settled as a trading post by traders from Pueblo in 1844, it was not called Hardscabble. It was originally named San Buenaventura de los Tres Arrollos, which meant “St. Bonaventure of the three windings.” Jerome figured that was because of the winding rocky canyon that Joshua would be riding down toward Hardscrabble, which the locals referred to as Hardscrabble Canyon. The whole area had been inhabited by Kiowa, Cheyenne, and Utes, as well as many French traders, Americans trappers, mountain men, settlers, and Mexican farmers and their families. The local farmers said they changed the name because of all the “hard scrabbling to get in a crop” in the very rocky soil.

Later, after oil was discovered in Florence, and it was such a big find, many oil people came to the town and the surrounding area, including prospectors who figured there might be yellow gold there, too, and not just liquid “black gold.” Since the oil field turned into the second largest and most productive in the United States, the word quickly spread, which brought more people into the area. But Hardscrabble remained pretty much of a shambles of a ghost town.

Joshua wondered if Florence was named for Florence, Italy, as several residents had told him. He found out from Jerome, though, that the little berg, just downstream on the Arkansas River from Canon City, was actually named for the daughter of a local pioneer, James McCandless.

With the information Jerome Guy had given him, Joshua set off east toward distant Pueblo and traveled down the high-cliffed, winding Hardscabble Canyon. Armed with his new facts about the Hardscrabble area, first he would go onto the high ground protected by trees and locate and reconnoiter the gang's hideout area. Then, he would formulate a plan. He was thinking that maybe, with the sheriff having read the letter Jerome sent with his wife, he might be able to present the lawman with some evidence that would at least get him to thoroughly investigate Harlance and his gang. Joshua was a warrior, and mighty in a stand-up brawl, with a knife, bow, pistol, and long gun, but the last thing he wanted to do was tangle with a gang of seven in a gunfight.

As he rode through the beautiful foothill country east of Westcliffe, the Sangre de Cristos falling away behind him, Joshua wondered what lay before him and what was happening with the beautiful young widow he had made his promise to.

9

The Widow

Annabelle Ebert had been keeping herself busy. Every single day she was hearing about the latest exploits of the tall, handsome half-Sioux, half-white hero who had been championing the cause of finding and returning her ring. When she visualized him riding up and handing her the ring, she would picture being swept into his powerful arms and them kissing. It took her breath away, but she wondered if she was wrong thinking about such a thing.