The Indian Ring (9 page)

Just then Joshua's beautiful mom walked in the door, smiling, and Dan snapped up out of his chair, and smiled broadly. She walked over and gave him a quick kiss.

“Finish talking to him, Joshua,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said. “So the Crows had ponies, and the trappers had riding stock and pack mules. The Blackfeet did not have any stock.”

“Blackfoots,” his mom interrupted with a smile.

Young Strongheart replied, “I thought the plural of
foot
is
feet
, Ma?”

As a teenager, he felt he had just counted coup on one of his elders and had a self-satisfied smirk.

She calmly replied, “That is true, son, but we are not discussing their feet. Their tribe is referred to as the Blackfoot, so the plural is Blackfoots. You would not say,
There were twenty Blackfeet warriors
. You would say,
There were twenty Blackfoot warriors
. Is that understandable, Joshua?”

Ego deflated, he grinned at himself and said, “Yes, ma'am.”

Dan said, “Honey, can I come to the store in just a little bit and speak with you? Joshua and I were about to have a man-to-man talk.”

She smiled and winked at the handsome, tall lawman and backed out of the door. Joshua, in the meantime, thought back to his whipping for using two bullets to bring down a deer. He wondered if he was in trouble again.

Dan surprised Joshua by pouring two cups of coffee, although the teen had never really drunk it before. He set one before Joshua and sat down himself, cup in hand, putting his worn boots up on the desk.

“Son,” he said, “You were very observant figuring quickly that the Blackfoot were probably after horses, and you counted how many were in each group. I bet you could also describe a number of the men and the colors of many of the horses.”

Proudly, Joshua said, “Yes, sir.”

Dan said, “You are old enough, you should start giving thought to what kind of career you want. Your observation shows me you would probably be well-suited to be a lawman or a scout, either one.”

Enthusiastically, Joshua said, “I've thought about both, Pa.”

Dan said, “The important lesson here though is twofold. One, I am a town marshal, not sheriff of the territory. My concern is protecting the citizens of this town and enforcing the laws. My job is to concentrate on that and not go off a half dozen miles to attend to any other problem somebody is having, unless a sheriff or deputy needs help. Lesson two is that you had a task and that was to hunt and kill an elk for the family. I am glad you care about others, but those trappers are big boys who know what kind of country they are riding in and should be aware of dangers they might
face. The Blackfoot and the Crows kill for a living, son. They are warriors. So are you, or at least a warrior in the making. Always finish the task you have been given. That is one of the measures of a man.”

Strongheart said softy, “Yes, sir.”

Suddenly Dan's face morphed into Belle's face, and she was smiling, and then she turned into a golden eagle and flew off toward the distant mountain range.

Strongheart sat up in the straw, blinking his eyes. He looked around the car and over at Eagle, who had been napping on his feet. Now, he lay down on a straw bed. Joshua stood and stretched, yawning.

He got into his saddlebags and got some oats for Eagle, some hardtack and antelope jerky for himself, and he ate like a wolf. After eating, Joshua gave the big pinto a good rubdown. Then he cleaned his saddle while he did a lot of thinking about the case.

Strongheart decided to stay with his horse for a while and not chance sitting by windows again. Hopefully, they may not even think he was back on the train. As the miles passed, he did a lot of thinking about his conversation with Lila. He had to truly let Belle go and stop blaming himself for her death. It did make him think a lifetime as his spouse would not be a good idea for most women he might fall in love with, but he would let his guard down more.

Strongheart was nearing Terre Haute, Indiana, when he heard the train slowing down and braking. It seemed awfully fast to him, and he wondered what the cause was. He immediately hoped and prayed there were no large herds of bison this far to the east awaiting further slaughter by blood-lusting rail passengers.

As the train stopped, Joshua slid the big side door open. He was shocked by what greeted him: a mob with badges.
The brakeman and fireman both came running up to the large posse. The prominent rider wore a sheriff's badge, and he handed a piece of paper to the brakeman who started reading it. The posse members all pointed rifles and pistols at Strongheart.

The sheriff said, “Joshua Strongheart?”

Strongheart replied, “Yes, what's going on, Sheriff?” He was puzzled.

“My name,” the lawman said, “is Jewels Herculette and I am the sheriff. I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of two men, Richard Landhart and Michael Reuben, just outside of Saint Louis.”

Strongheart said, “That is ridiculous, Sheriff. Those men shot and killed a man seated next to me on the train, aiming for me. I got my horse, pursued them, and had a gunfight with them. I won. Simple as that.”

The officer said, “You can explain all that to the judge. I have a warrant for your arrest for murder, period. Now, reach up and grab a chunk of cloud with both hands. Zeke, climb up in the car and grab his hogleg, rifle, knife, and any other weapons you see.”

Strongheart complied but said, “Sheriff, I am a Pinkerton agent and on an important case!”

“Tell it to the circuit judge,” the sheriff replied.

Joshua knew any further arguing would be fruitless. He would ask the sheriff to send an immediate telegram to Pinkerton headquarters in Chicago. Two men boarded the car and confiscated his weapons, then one saddled Eagle, while the other tied Strongheart's hands. The Pinkerton wondered why they did not use handcuffs, but he cooperated.

Twenty minutes later, with Joshua's hands firmly bound, he was mounted on Eagle and the posse rode away from the nearby town of Terra Haute. This also puzzled Joshua.

He said, “Sheriff, where we headed? Why we headed away from town?”

The posse member next to him said, “Shut up and ride.”

Strongheart said, “Hey, Sheriff!”

The man next to him hit him on the back of the head with a rifle butt. The Pinkerton saw stars and shook his head to clear the blinking lights. The sheriff stopped, rode back to the man next to him, and lashed him across the face with his quirt.

He said angrily, “You were all told not to touch him.”

He looked at Joshua and said, “You keep quiet. We will get to where we're going when we get there. Shorty, tie his hands to his saddle horn!”

A short, stocky man came over to Strongheart with some braided leather and lashed his wrists to his saddle horn. He remounted and the posse continued riding away from the city. Joshua was now totally suspicious of this sheriff and his posse. He had to start making escape plans, but how?

They rode for several hours and were riding through a wooded area when they arrived at a large farm complex. There were many outbuildings and several large barns. There was a very large farmhouse, a pond in front, and a large apple orchard behind the farmhouse surrounded by what appeared to be a large forest. Joshua Strongheart started cataloguing in his mind possible escape spots in case he did escape. He also had to make sure these men were not an actual sheriff and posse, as he could get fired from the Pinkerton Agency for not cooperating with a law enforcement investigation fully. He was certain, though, that his intuition was correct.

A very large man came out of the house dressed in coveralls like a farmer and pointed to the corrals behind the barn. The posse rode over there, following the sheriff. The farmer followed. Everybody dismounted and started stripping saddles, bridles, and other tack off of horses. Finally,
Josh was untied from the saddle horn and followed the sheriff and two posse members. Two more followed behind him. All but the farmer held their guns at the ready. The farmer led them to a large well. The sheriff looked over the edge and saw a deep dry well that went down about thirty feet or more. The sun was positioned so that he could see the bottom contained a few rocks and boards.

The sheriff stepped forward with his .45 stuck up under Joshua's chin, saying, “All right, half-breed, have a seat on the bucket and we'll lower ya down.”

Joshua said, “What kind of sheriff are you?”

“Sheriff.” The man laughed and replied, “I'm no sheriff, but my boss can sure get good printing done, huh?”

He chortled at his own joke.

Joshua was not laughing. He could see no escape, so he quickly looked around him and assessed the surroundings in case of future escape, which he now figured he would do.

“Who is your boss?” Strongheart asked.

“Get in the bucket now!” the man said.

Joshua knew there was no way out of this with all the guns pointed his way. He would have to go down in the dry well and then try escaping. He lifted his leg and placed it between the ropes and settled his buttocks on top of the wooden bucket.

Strongheart said, “I need my hands to hold the rope or I will fall off and then how are you going to explain a dead Pinkerton to your boss?”

The fake sheriff nodded and the coverall-clad farmer moved over to him and freed his hands. Joshua nodded, smiled, and grabbed the rope. They started lowering him down into the dry well. The rocks and dry boards he'd seen at the bottom earlier were heartening. That meant he would have tools and possible weapons. He also had his hideout
emergency pocket knife, which he carried in a pocket inside his right boot. Nobody had checked him for such a small weapon. In fact, Joshua decided that once he did indeed escape this and prevail, he would buy a small derringer to keep as a hideout gun for any future problems.

He was soon down at the bottom of the well, and he remained in the bucket. The fake sheriff yelled down to him to get out of the bucket, and Strongheart refused. Joshua counted on the sheriff being under orders not to shoot him, probably so that Robert Hartwell could come and execute him personally and gruesomely. He wanted the rope and hoped his plan might work if he could frustrate the sheriff the way he figured he could.

The sheriff pulled out his pistol and pointed it down at Joshua, saying, “Strongheart, you get the hell outta that bucket! Now, or I'll shoot you.”

Joshua had to take a risky but strong action. He yelled back up, “You have to be kidding, whoever you are! You sure aren't any sheriff! That bucket is the only way I am getting out of here, so I am staying on top of it until you hoist me back up!”

“The hell you say!” the angry man replied. “See how this sows yer bean crop!”

Joshua saw a flash in the man's hand, and he grinned. The large knife passed across the rope all the way up at the crank and sliced through it, letting the large rope fall down into the well. That was exactly what Strongheart wanted. Now he felt he could escape, and would be unbothered until the boss arrived, maybe a day later. His guess was that they had telegraphed Hartwell, and he wanted Joshua imprisoned until he could arrive and deal with him personally.

He only had minutes left of daylight to see what materials he had to work with in the dry well bottom. There were several boards, a large hard stick, a handful of fist-sized
rocks, an old pair of dirty trousers, and several pieces of twine. Joshua immediately gathered wood he would use to built a teepee-type fire, and used his little pocket knife to shave off wood to use as kindling. He cut a small section of the twine to use with the kindling to start the fire. He would wait until after dark before lighting it. In the meantime, he would sleep. Most of his activity would be at night. He correctly figured that, with the rope cut, they would assume he could not possibly escape and would just occasionally look down into the deep hole to ensure he had not miraculously figured out some way to do so. Not seeing or hearing any activity, they would probably not check as often and get more careless, simply assuming that he was safe down there until Hartwell showed up the next day.

Joshua lay at the bottom of the well the rest of the day, feigning sleep sometimes and sometimes getting up. He would wait until somebody checked on him, looking over the edge of the well, then he figured he had a little time to work. He took the pole and started whittling the end with his knife. He was able to sharpen the blade on one of the rocks, and he continued this throughout the day. After dark, someone would come up with a torch and look down, so he kept up the same ruse throughout the night.

It was two hours before daybreak and Joshua had just seen a lookout check on him. Now, he was ready to make his daring move. He had been preparing all night. He had carved the end of the large stick into a spear. Now, he held his first board with the end whittled to an edge, grasped the rock wrapped in his shirt, and pounded the board into the wall of the well about five feet up. He set the rock on the board close to the wall and pulled himself up and stood on the plank now sticking from the wall. He lifted the spear, and wedged it up well above the board between the walls, and now pounded a second board
into the wall of the dry well five feet up. He repeated the procedure and was now standing on a board ten feet above the bottom of the well. He had placed a third board on this second one, and he pounded that one into the wall, too.

He now stood fifteen feet up in the well and was ready to carry out the next part of his plan, but suddenly he heard spurs jangling and heading his way. Joshua thought quickly.

•   •   •

Bugger McDonald liked Robert Hartwell simply because both men were the same size—tiny—and Hartwell wielded tremendous power.

Bugger looked down into the hole with the lantern in his hand, simply trying to be cautious. He had heard the dull thudding sound of Joshua pounding the boards into the wall, and Bugger wanted to impress his bosses by doing his job thoroughly. He knew something was wrong before his lantern could shed its full light down into the deep hole. However, a spear came up out the shadows directly below him and hit him under his chin and went up through his throat and penetrated directly into his brain. He died instantly. His body slumped lifeless over the edge of the well, and the lantern slipped from his fingers. Reacting quickly, Joshua stuck his hand out and the bottom of the lantern struck it, halting its fall, and he withdrew it and immediately inserted his fingers into the handle, grabbing it before it could descend any farther.