The Indian Ring

by Don Bendell

  Little did Joshua know that his enemy had started the shooting of this massive herd days before, and this herd of carcasses would be the first of several such scenes of carnage Strongheart would be witnessing along the way. His heart broke a little bit with each skull, with each pile of bleached bones he saw.

  He looked at the salesman and said, “You know the buffalo sustained my father’s people and so many are being slaughtered. It will end up killing many Indians.”

  The drummer said, “No offense, but I would guess that many right now would not mind that, after the heroic fall of General Custer.”

  Joshua did not raise an eyebrow and just said, “I heard about that. It is a shame the red men and the white men cannot simply live in peace.”

  “Well,” Vosen said, “I agree. Live and let live, I always say. I read all about Custer’s Last Stand. What a hero. He stood there with so many savages, no offense, charging down on him, a pistol in each hand, and he was the last one of his men to be cut down.”

  “How do you know he was the last to fall?” Joshua asked innocently.

  “Well, I read the account in the newspapers,” the salesman replied. “They thoroughly research stories like that before they put them in print, you know.”

  Strongheart just smiled politely and nodded his head. He thought to himself If he only knew.

  “The Indian Ring!” Vosen said suddenly.

  “What?” Joshua anwered.

  “The Indian Ring!” Vosen answered. “Ever hear of it? I would wager a stout bet that it was behind Custer’s Last Stand.”

  Strongheart acted innocent, saying, “The Indian Ring?”

  The drummer replied, “Yes, I travel back and forth between the West and the East all the time. I have seen some of their people. They get money from the government to buy blankets and nice things for the Indians on reservations, but instead, they buy cheap rotgut whiskey and trinkets and things, then pocket the money.”

  Joshua acted shocked and simply said, “Do tell.”

  They talked a little longer, then both men fell asleep in their seats, while the train kept puffing across the golden-green seas of prairie grass. It was after breakfast and both men sipped coffee as the train pulled through Saint Louis. On the eastern side, they did not stop at one station but slowly passed through. There were two flashes and the window exploded by Joshua’s head. A piece of glass cut him along the cheekbone, and he had his Peacemaker out and peered out the window. Two men were atop a water tower and were now scrambling down. He saw two distinctive horses tied below, a snowflake Appaloosa and a strawberry roan with four white stockings.

  It was then Strongheart noticed the twitching leg kicking his foot. Lawrence Vosen had been shot through the head, dying instantly. Both bullets had just missed Joshua. Two women screamed in the car, but Joshua was too busy scrambling back out the car toward the stock car where Eagle was traveling.

  He quickly saddled Eagle, opened the door, and as the train slowly went through the outskirts of Saint Louis, Joshua saddled up, watched for the best spot, squeezed Eagle hard in the ribs, and leapt out onto the berm the train was passing. The mighty paint hit the ground running and Strongheart raced back toward the big city to the water tower, which was still in sight.

  Strongheart tore along the tracks toward the water tower. Nearby he saw where the two men fled away from the railroad bed. Instead of cantering, Joshua eased Eagle into a mile-eating fast trot, realizing he was in for a long race to catch up.

  Eagle trotted along the trail following his nose and did not require neck reining or leg aids to indicate what to do. He sensed that he was to overtake the two unusually colored horses, who he could clearly smell with his giant nostrils.

  In an hour, Strongheart spotted the two horses, both lathered up, because the killers were pushing them too hard. Instead of using a mile-eating trot like Joshua had done with Eagle, they had galloped until they had to stop, let each horse catch his breath, then start again. Both horses were already in danger of binding up, with their muscles cramping and causing the horses to stop.

  As he trotted along, the Pinkerton pulled his Winchester carbine from the scabbard and held it across the swells of his saddle. After several minutes, one of the shooters looked back and saw Joshua. He drew his .44 and fired back toward Strongheart only to be ripped out of the saddle by a rifle bullet and a second following the first almost immediately. He spilled from his saddle as if he had been poleaxed and tumbled along the ground lifeless.

  The second, on the roan, dropped his head down and put the spurs to his horse. Joshua did the same and Eagle leapt out in a mile-eating stride. As he quickly got closer the Pinkerton could see the other horse was very lathered. The man was large but very frightened and did not even think about shooting until Eagle was a few steps away and closing fast. He twisted in the saddle, a Navy .36 Colt in his hand, and Joshua just switched to his left side from the right rear, and the man tried to twist to shoot that way. It was too late, Strongheart was alongside and dove sideways onto the man and both bodies flew off to the right of the horses and crashed and rolled on the ground with hard thuds.

  Joshua was staggering to his knees when a meat hook–sized fist crashed into his left temple, and he saw stars. He shook his head and faced the large man who had a broken bloody nose from the fall.

  Strongheart grinned and said, “Is that the hardest punch you’ve got?”

  His ego bruised, the behemoth roared and charged forward, which is exactly what the Pinkerton agent wanted. He grabbed the outstretched wrists, skipped back on one foot, and placed the other firmly in the brute’s stomach. He skipped back a step, sat down, and straightened his right leg out, sending the killer flying upside down through the air, and landing on his back with a loud thud. Joshua could hear the wind leave the man in a rush.

  Strongheart grabbed the gasping sniper by the hair, forcing him to his feet, and he punched him hard three times in a row, in the stomach. The man fell to the ground, face contorted in panic as he tried to catch his breath. Strongheart pulled the man’s gun out and tossed it on the other side of Eagle, who had walked up.

  Strongheart drew his Colt Peacemaker and sat down on a trailside log.

  He said, “Stand up.”

  The man complied, holding his stomach.

  Joshua went on, “Mister, that train is stopping at the next town and is taking on wood and water. I plan on catching it, so I have no time for games. Who hired you to try to shoot me?”

  The large man snarled, “Go to hell, half-breeed!”

  Boom! Flames shot off the barrel of Colt’s .45 and the man grabbed his right ear screaming. Half of it was gone and it bled profusely.

  “Wrong answer,” Strongheart said. “Hurry with the right one. You’re running out of ears and other body parts.”

  He started talking, “I was hired by Robert Hartwell.”

  “Where is he?” Strongheart said.

  He saw an almost imperceptible flicker in the man’s eyes, which put him on guard immediately. The eye flicker turned to a deer-in-the-torchlight look, and he knew trouble was coming. The man’s hand came up with a large-bore .45-caliber derringer apparently hidden in his pocket. Strongheart’s gun boomed and the man’s head almost exploded. Joshua looked at the man lying flat on his back unmoving, eyes wide open staring up at the sky, but actually seeing nothing. He shook his head.

  “Wonderful. Good shooting, Joshua,” he said to himself sarcastically. “Kill the man before he can give you any information.”

  Strongheart went through the man’s pockets and then mounted Eagle on the run. He knew the train would be watering and taking on fuel at the next stop, so he hoped he could catch up. Eagle was still as strong as could be. He reined him into a mile-eating fast trot and paralleled the tracks.

  An hour passed, and Strongheart saw the next town ahead where the train was stopped. He pushed forward,
finally allowing Eagle to slow to a walk. They had made it. He had to cool the horse down before putting him back on the train, so he walked him back and forth on the loading platform before putting him back on the train. Meanwhile, he spoke with the brakeman and told him what happened. In the car, he gave the horse a good long rubdown. He decided to ride in the car with him awhile to make sure he was fine physically, and once again Eagle amazed him with his stamina.

  As the train started up, Strongheart started feeling the strain on his muscles from the chases, fight, and adrenaline-pumping experience he had once again survived. Lying back on the golden straw, he closed his eyes and he drifted off to sleep. He dreamed about his youth in Montana.

  Joshua’s stepfather, Dan Trooper, was demanding but had to be to bring this young boy into manhood befitting the high expectations his mother had for him. She saw to it that Joshua had his nose in books in school, and she made him study Shakespeare and other great writers. She told him that as much as he was learning to shoot guns as well as bows and arrows, he also needed to learn how to communicate effectively if he wanted to get anywhere in life.

  One time, Dan told young Joshua to take the old grade mare out and harvest a young bull or cow elk for the family for meat. The last time Joshua did that, he was told to shoot a deer, and did so but had been given only two bullets and took two to shoot the doe. He got a switching from his stepdad out behind the woodshed. Dan instilled in his young brain to only use one bullet to kill anything, to always shoot clean, so the animal would not suffer, and not to waste expensive bullets. He rode far out heading toward the darkest timber he could see, feeling that would be where he would surely find a large harem of elk bedded down.

  The teenaged Strongheart entered the trees and skirted north through them, seeing some signs but nothing fresh. He heard shooting and yelling and made his way along the foothills toward the noise. Dismounting and creeping forward through the trees, he saw a small but fierce battle going on. Two large bearded mountain men who had apparently joined forces with about seven Crow warriors were fighting against a force of about twenty Blackfoot warriors who were all on foot. The mountain men and Crow all had horses, plus the mountain men had two pack mules as well. The goal of the Blackfoot war party was quite obvious to the young man.

  This was less than six miles away from the town where his father was marshal and his young mother owned a popular general merchandise store. He felt that warning his pa was more important than taking an elk right now. He hopped on the mare, wove through the trees south, and when he was around the ridgeline out of sight, he pushed the small mare into a gallop toward the distant mountain valley town. When he arrived, he rode straight to the marshal’s office and city jail and jumped off his lathered horse and ran into the building.

  “Pa, Pa,” he said excitedly, “I was out west scouting for elk and there were two trappers, joined up with seven Crows, and they were being attacked by about twenty Blackfeet.”

  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.