Strongheart (22 page)

He was slowly moving up when one of the outlaws came toward him. Strongheart rolled slightly to his left and lay still under some piñon branches. Half his body was exposed. His hand closed around the handle of his Colt, as the footsteps crunched menacingly upward. Then, he slowly moved the hand to his knife, thinking it would be better to be silent if he had to kill this man. Closer and closer the steps came, and now the man's shadow fell across him, but he climbed right by Joshua. Strongheart looked, and the man went another fifteen feet, then crawled into the lookout position over the hideout, rifle in hand. The back of his left side was toward Joshua, who remained motionless.

Now he would need to use the stealth of his red forefathers to get himself out of danger. He was surprised the man had come so quickly to the lookout perch; he must have had another unsaddle his horse. Joshua slowly reached down with one hand and pulled each leg up, one at a time. Strongheart slowly, carefully removed his large-roweled Mexican spurs. There was a little metal bell on each that tinkled against the rowel as it spun. He carefully held the spurs still, put them together, and tucked them in his shirt. Next, he removed his boots and socks. Then he replaced his boots with no socks on under them. Now, knowing he still had many rocks to climb over, he placed a sock on each boot and pulled it up tight. This would help cover his footsteps, although much of his movement upward would be on hands and knees.

Now low-crawling on his belly, arms, and knees, he inched his way up the ridge past the lookout, being careful to move only when nobody below was looking his way. He was amazed that this lookout did not spot him, but the man apparently just was not very aware. It took Joshua two hours to crawl about one hundred yards up the ridge, where he could start moving crouched over from rock pile to tree to bush or cactus. An hour later, he was back up on top and his arms and legs were visibly shaking from overexertion.

He rejoined Gabe, who nuzzled him as if he sensed that Joshua had been through an ordeal. He saddled up and moved deeper back up the ridge, looking for a night location to operate from. The next day he would ride into Florence and then Canon City and try to give the information he had on the stolen property to the sheriff, and maybe see Annabelle briefly. If Joshua could get some of these men arrested for having that property, his job might be easier getting the ring back from Harlance. His pledge would be fulfilled.

Joshua rode until he found a jumble of boulders that would provide all he wanted in a camp, except water. Then he decided he would go ahead and move farther along the ridgeline and get closer to Florence, where he was headed the next day, plus he needed water for his horse. That could prove to be a fatal mistake, but he had no way of knowing it beforehand.

He headed along the ridge and finally decided to drop down into a deep wooded gulch that had a fast-flowing small stream in it. He would simply stay well upstream, where he was sure the outlaws would not venture, and make a good camp. There were many large rock piles in the gulch, and it was surrounded by high, rocky cliffs on both sides. He would simply have to be careful to make his camp a little higher than the stream, in case of flash flood. Strongheart knew how often dudes died in the mountains simply because they had no idea about the suddenness and extreme power of flash floods.

A man might make camp in a gulch or canyon in the mountains, unaware that a major rainstorm was occurring thousands of feet higher, at the head of the gulch. Suddenly, a wall of water, boulders, logs, and debris, sometimes twenty or thirty feet in height, would come roaring down the gulch with no warning and drop at close to the speed of gravitational pulls because of the gulch's steepness. Like a giant avalanche of water instead of snow, such flash floods sometimes washed away whole parties of travelers, who were unaware until the wall of water was upon them, striking with such force it often killed them instantly.

Strongheart found a good spot among many large boulders, well up above the stream, but with water easily accessible for his horse to drink. There were many thick trees around to filter smoke and plenty of lush grass for Gabriel. The problem was he was now out of earshot and eyesight of the outlaws, assuming they would bed down in camp for the night.

They started to, until someone noticed that his box of .45s was missing. He accused another one of the Indian lads, and soon the knife fight was raging. Harlance intervened with a bullet in the air and a stern lecture about needing to cooperate or perish. He made the two shake hands, and he figured they had all been practicing hard and getting stir crazy in the hideout. They would go into Florence, visit the saloon, and find a brothel. His men, he decided, needed to let their hair down this night, so they rode toward Florence right after sunset.

The men certainly were starved for wild times, and they all drank heavily well into the night, and three of them spent the night in a bawdy house just off the main street.

The next day found Joshua Strongheart feeling well rested and ready to go. His main reason for heading into town was to take the information to the sheriff, but he could not get Annabelle out of his mind.

After a hearty and leisurely breakfast, he broke camp a little later than usual and started out for Florence well after sunrise. It was a sunny day and the white on distant Pikes Peak glistened as he rode toward it southern slopes. As with many mountain sites in the West, riding there actually took a couple of days, but it looked not that far away.

At the same time, Harlance, knowing daylight was the enemy of the outlaw, was trudging around Florence on his horse trying to locate and round up his young charges. Having finally gathered up his gang, he took them to a small café on the main street to buy them breakfast. He figured that after the previous night, and his treating them to breakfast, they might not fight among themselves again. He knew he needed this force to keep him alive. He had no idea whether or not he was buying any last meals. The men were young and cocky and sure of their abilities, never doubting for a moment that they could all take Joshua Strongheart, even in a stand-up gunfight.

The seven ordered a large breakfast and Harlance told the cafe owner to keep the hot coffee coming. They were all halfway through the meal and starting to feel almost awake when the door opened up and a tall man walked in, wearing a new black round-topped, wide-brimmed hat. He had long, shiny black hair and was obviously half-white and half-red. It was Joshua Strongheart.

Harlance's eyes opened wide, and his hand flashed down for his six-shooter, but he heard a click and saw the cocked Colt Peacemaker in Strongheart's hand, while a second cocking sound came from the fancy Winchester he held in his other hand. That gun Joshua slowly moved back and forth, covering the gang of men, who foolishly all bunched up too close together.

He said, “All of you, both hands, palms down, on the table.”

He heard two translating to others in Spanish, and they all complied.

Even though he held the guns in his hands, Strongheart was facing seven armed men, and he knew he had to be extremely careful about how he handled this. Bold would be best and most intimidating, he figured.

Joshua said, “On the stage, you boys stole an antique wedding ring from the pretty widow. You have it, McMahon?”

Harlance did not want to take water in front of his young gang, and he tried his normal approach, talking tough and not backing down.

“Ya kin go ta hell, Strongheart!” he snarled.

Boom!

The explosion split the air, and simultaneously Harlance's left hand flew backwards and immediately started burning like there was a branding iron being held to it. The café owner screamed and ran out the back door along with the one other patron, a gray-haired old oil engineer. Harlance looked at his hand, and the little finger and ring finger of his left hand were missing. He quickly yanked off his scarf and wrapped it tightly around his hand. Tough as horseshoe nails, he would not let on how much pain he was in.

Strongheart had meant to shoot him in the hand, but he considered it fortuitous that he'd shot off two fingers. He now could use that as leverage.

Joshua said, “Harlance, I have followed everybody in your gang and killed them all, keeping my word to that widow, so now I will just start removing your fingers one or two at a time, until you hand that ring over.”

Harlance pulled his stolen watch fob out and removed the ring from it as quickly as he could.

“Bring it over,” Joshua said, “and stick it into my pocket of my Levi's.”

“What's a Levi?” Harlance snarled.

“These trousers I am wearing,” Joshua said, realizing that most people had never even heard about the rugged new trousers, much less seen them.

Joshua moved the end of his Peacemaker as Harlance gingerly placed the ring into the front pocket of the pants. The outlaw then backed up slowly, just waiting for a chance to draw, a diversion. Then it hit him.

“Ya have got ta be jesting, half-breed!” Harlance said. “You don't mean ta tell me ya have been chasing me and hunting mah boys down one-by-one ta keep a promise ta some woman?”

Strongheart said, “Man gives his word, he keeps it.”

Harlance shook his head and just could not believe this.

Joshua said, “Okay, one at a time starting with you, McMahon. Use your left hand only and drop your gun belts.

They removed their gun belts, except for two who carried belly guns and had no holsters. Then Joshua backed out the door. That was all he could think of at the moment, and by the time he got down the main street a short distance, he knew it was a bad idea—when he felt a bullet clip his left calf, heard a series of gunshots, and saw wood splinter on walls nearby.

He spun around and the six gang members were outside the café shooting with their newly acquired skills. Joshua tucked his .45 into the holster and brought the Winchester up. There was one thing that Dan had taught him, and that was that a man who kept his head in a gunfight would fare far better than anybody who simply tried fast draw. That kind of action was for pulp books. Joshua brought the rifle up and shot one young man through the heart. He simply folded up like an accordion.

Joshua also felt something rising up in him, maybe anger, or maybe righteous indignation: Here were six men firing six-shooters wildly at him. That was also when he noticed that Harlance had dashed back into the café. Joshua walked forward slowly, shooting a second man through the shoulder. He cocked the rifle and felt something slam into his stomach. He fired again at the man and caught him full in the chest. These two men down were the two he'd identified as the most careful shooters. He had not even realized he was operating in the way he had already programmed his mind to work. Another bullet slammed into his thigh just as he shot again, missing horribly as he was spun halfway around. His leg did not feel like it would hold him up.

The warrior quickly cocked and fired at another outlaw; he caught him in the middle of the forehead and half the man's head disappeared. His body remained upright for a split second, then he fell forward on what used to be his face.

The outlaws were still firing wildly and reloading as fast as they could. Dogs were barking, and Joshua could hear women screaming and a child crying somewhere. Another bullet slammed into the left side of his abdomen, and Strongheart knew he was dying, but these men were all going with him, and in the aftermath, they would find Annabelle's ring in his pocket. He felt weak and dizzy now, but he started laughing thinking about the look on Harlance's face when he realized why Strongheart had been pursuing him.

He fired once more with the rifle and saw another hopeful young gunfighter fall. Joshua's leg was broken, but he was still moving forward, intoxicated now by battle lust. He dropped his Winchester and drew his six-shooter and fanned shots at the remaining two men. He saw one get hit twice in the chest, and the other as flame spat from the young man's gun.

Strongheart literally saw a red flash coming at his right eye and felt something slam into his right temple, and suddenly the world went black. The sounds and echoes of gunfire quickly faded, and he heard that same dog barking, and he heard his own laughter, then nothing. He fell into a deep, dark pool of blackness.

The outlaw and highwayman, the cold killer Harlance McMahon heard the shots of the gun battle die down a half mile behind him as he galloped his horse toward his hideout to grab his gear and get the heck out of there. He could not believe that crazy fool had gone through all that Strongheart had done simply to keep a promise. Harlance just could not conceive of that kind of honor or principle in anybody. When the fight started, and he saw Strongheart turn and start firing instead of rushing for a building, he remembered what had happened at the stage holdup when they thought this same man was dead. He had no clue the warrior was lying motionless on the main street of Florence right now, filled with bullet holes. He just knew that the shooting had stopped, and he was certain he had no gang left. He was right. They were all dead. Killed in a gunfight by the one man they had trained and practiced to kill.

Harlance rode his horse hard, although he knew better. He wondered if Strongheart knew where his hideout was. He wondered if Joshua was wounded and maybe slowed down. He would put plenty of miles between himself and Florence before he would even stop to eat or rest.

McMahon thought about heading south toward Hardscrabble Junction, or Wetmore, then east and maybe make it to Bent's Fort or Pueblo and try to get lost easier by heading toward more civilization.

An hour later, he could not help himself. Harlance and Jeeter had been raised in the mountains and the mountains were what they knew. He turned right, or west, and headed back toward Westcliffe. Twice he rode up on ridges to glass the country back toward Florence and see if Strongheart was in pursuit.