Strongheart (28 page)

Joshua fell beneath the horses and Harlance grinned, holstering his pistol and crawling out the door, up onto the roof, and into the box.

In the meantime, Joshua was underneath the center shaft walking his hands down one by one as he slid underneath the stage, his heels dragging in the dirt, his butt held off the ground. He walked his hands down the undercarriage of the stage, grabbed the leather thoroughbraces, and swung his legs up from the underside of the luggage boot in the back. He pulled down with his knees, grabbing the boot, and pulled himself up onto the back of the it.

Harlance saw him and slammed on the brake lever, while he pulled hard on the reins, yelling, “Whoa! Whoa! Settle down!”

He got the stage stopped and then he spun around with his pistol firing wildly at Strongheart. Inside the coach, Annabelle stopped crying. Joshua was alive! Now she could feel him moving behind her.

Strongheart reached for his gun, but it was gone. Harlance sensed the big man's hesitation and jumped up on the roof.

“Lost yer gun, dint ya, ya damned blanket nigger! Go haid and pop that little red face up again.”

Joshua popped up and back down as a bullet flashed right over his head. He leapt back up while Harlance cocked the pistol. Strongheart's upraised right arm whipped forward and his father's big knife flipped over once in the air before it buried itself in Harlance's hip. He screamed in pain, and Joshua knew this was his chance. He pulled himself up quickly onto the roof, and Harlance raised the pistol up, grinning evilly.

“Whoopsy daisy, huh, buck?” he said to taunt him. “Now yer gonna find out ya ain't so tough. Where ya want it, half-breed, in yer haid or yer gut?”

Joshua said, “How about in you?”

At that point he felt as if he were just trying to joke in the face of certain death, but suddenly something exploded through the roof of the stage and both men heard Harlance's rifle fire below them in the coach. A bright spot of crimson appeared on Harlance's stomach, and he looked down at it in horror. Then Annabelle could be heard cocking the repeater and firing again, and a second bullet exploded through the coach roof, smashing into Harlance's chest. He dropped his pistol and in sheer panic tore his shirt open, sticking his fingers in both bullet holes.

Strongheart said calmly, “The fingers won't help, McMahon. You are going to be dead shortly. Killed by a tiny, pretty woman who bested you. Take that to Hell with you.” Joshua laughed.

This realization hit Harlance, and his face turned from white to bright red in anger. He started to speak, but when he did, blood spewed from his mouth, and he only gurgled. His face again turned white, ghostly white, and his eyes rolled back in his head. His body went limp, and he folded like an accordion, and fell off the roof, headfirst onto the dirt stage road. He did not feel it. He was already dead.

The door of the stagecoach flew open, and tears streaming, Annabelle leapt out, smiling broadly. She looked under the stage and saw McMahon's lifeless body and dropped his rifle.

Joshua said, “You sure saved my bacon.”

She said, “Get down here, redskin!”

They both laughed, and he climbed down, and she threw herself into his arms. They kissed long and passionately and were in that embrace when the stage passengers came running around the corner. One was carrying Joshua's pistol, and another the shotgun, and they were all cheering. The couple stepped back and looked at them and then at each other, smiling.

One of the passengers boasted that he had been a barber and done some dentistry and was not without some healing skills. He poured whiskey on the bullet hole in Joshua's shoulder and bandaged it. The bullet had passed cleanly through the top of the trapezius muscle, but compared to the wounds Strongheart had recently survived, it was like a bee sting to him.

Within an hour, Joshua had retrieved the two horses, and the bodies of Harlance and the stage driver were loaded into the boot and covered by the leather cover. The luggage had all been transferred to the top of the coach and strapped down. Gabriel and Annabelle's gelding were tied to the back of the stage, and Strongheart sat in the front, grabbing the coach team's reins, with Annabelle next to him grabbing his massive right bicep.

Five hours later, the sheriff of Fremont County, Frank Bengley, found a note nailed to a tree next to Road Gulch Coach Road. It read, “Sheriff, McMahon dead, Annabelle safe, driver dead, took passengers, bodies, and stage to Cotopaxi. Wait for you there.”

That night, Bengley, Zachariah Banta, Annabelle Ebert, and Joshua Stongheart sat in the Cotopaxi hotel enjoying a nice brown trout dinner.

Banta said, “So what's on the horizon fer you two now?”

Before Joshua could answer and not wanting to pressure him, Annabelle answered, smiling broadly, “Right now, Joshua has another assignment, Mr. Banta. He has to get back to work. We can talk about the horizon later.”

Pointing to the bandage on Strongheart's shoulder, Zack said, “Reckon he oughta git back to work. Look what the heck happens ta you two when yer jest relaxin.”

Everybody in the place laughed heartily, then Strongheart looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, saying, “Zack, I suppose if somebody painted a picture of that horizon you mentioned, there would be lots and lots of children in the painting.”

Smiling softly, they looked deep into each other's eyes; the secrets hidden therein held the key to their future.

EPILOGUE

The descendants of Zachariah Banta all had a quick wit and a dry humor, and ran cattle all around the Cotopaxi area for many decades, finally moving the ranching operation to southwestern Texas in the early twenty-first century.

Frank Begley was in fact the sheriff of Fremont County, Colorado, in 1873, one of many in a long line of fine lawmen in southern Colorado.

Except for the fictional town name, Flower Valley, all the locations and local histories mentioned herein were actual places, and many still exist today. I have ridden my horse over almost every piece of land mentioned in this book and in my other westerns, so you will know it is real and not a Hollywood movie set. For example, the old settlement of Hardscrabble is visible by binoculars from the back porch of my ranch outside Florence, Colorado, and the spot of the night camp of Joshua Strongheart at the top of Five Points Gulch is exactly where I killed a large cinnamon- and blond-colored bear in 1985.

Please come along and join in sharing with me the rest of the tale about Pinkerton Agent Joshua Strongheart in his next adventure,
Half-Breed
, also from Berkley
.

Until then, partner, keep your powder dry and an eye on the horizon, take an occasional glance at your backtrail, and sit tall in the saddle. It does not matter if your saddle is a computer desk chair, La-Z-Boy, porch swing, or deck chair on a cruise ship. Many of us grew up with the spirit of the American cowboy or the pioneer woman. It is good to keep a door to our past open, so we know where our strength, courage, and tenacity came from. It is the legacy of honor forged from the steel characters blessed by God who created some of his mightiest warriors in the American West. It is indeed the backbone of America.

If you need me, I will be on my horse up in the high lonesome coming up with more stories for you. That is where I get my tales. They are up there above the timberline, written on the clouds, and I swear that handwriting looks
perfect
.

Don Bendell is the author of well over two dozen books with more than 2,000,000 copies in print worldwide, as well as a successful feature film. An action/adventure man, he is a disabled U.S. Army Special Forces (Green Beret) officer, Vietnam veteran, a grandmaster instructor in four martial arts, and he and his wife were the first couple in history to both be inducted into the International Karate and Kickboxing Hall of Fame.

Don describes himself as “a real cowboy with a real horse and a real ranch.” He and his wife own a beautiful ranch outside of Florence, Colorado, and he tries to ride his pinto National Show Horse, Eagle, over all the ground that he writes about.

Don and Shirley Bendell enjoy bow hunting, fishing, and camping with their horses in the Rocky Mountains. Don is the father of six grown children and has eight grand-children.