by Don Bendell
Strongheart laid the rifle across the shirt on the stump and aimed at a spot in the road. He was conflicted, because everything in him wanted to challenge the man to a gunfight and shoot it out with him no matter how many shootists accompanied him. Then he thought back to his shootout in Florence, Colorado, and how close to death he was, how many bullets were in him.
He decided back then in the hospital to be much smarter in the future and not let his emotions influence his decisions. He knew that Robert Hartwell was an enemy of the United States, and enemy of the American Indian nations, an enemy who manipulated the system for personal gain and cheated Americans out of their taxes and the red man out of lands and promised compensation that was part of various peace treaties. One of the biggest problems affected Joshua’s people. Gold had been discovered in the Black Hills of South Dakota territory, very sacred lands to the Lakota. Hartwell kept his crew very busy. He paid them very well, which bought much loyalty, and he was building a very financially successful power base nationwide.
Joshua knew he had to stop him for the sake of the country and his father’s people, so fair play was out the window. He would easily take the henchman out with the sniper shot he planned. Robert Hartwell would soon be in the killing zone of the ambush.
No sooner had the Pinkerton agent thought this than a group of four riders came running down the road from his left and rode straight up to Hartwell, who halted. Joshua knew the conversation going on. They had just told him about Strongheart’s escape and that there were two posses out trying to find and catch him, maybe more than two posses out now. He could not hear the words, but he saw that Hartwell was angry. Then, the ruthless killer nodded at two of his henchmen, and they drew, shooting the man out of the saddle who had just warned him. Hartwell spoke to the assembled gang, and they turned and galloped away. Joshua almost came close to cursing he was so frustrated. The other three dismounted and loaded the dead man on his horse and headed back toward Joshua’s prison compound.
He saddled up and took off after Robert Hartwell and his crew. Joshua would plan as he rode, keeping out of sight behind them, but something happened he did not count on. One of the three riders who rode back with the dead body of the fourth had to return and catch up with Robert Hartwell to give him a message. He was galloping hard behind Strongheart, and within a few miles he came running around a bend and spotted Joshua Strongheart far ahead following Hartwell’s trail. The Pinkerton did not see him, even though he frequently checked his backtrail. The man immediately slid to a stop, turned his horse, and put the spurs to him. He did not have to be hit over the head to know what was going on. He would return and tell the rest of the group that he had spotted Strongheart following Hartwell and his gang. They would want to pursue Joshua from the rear.
Hartwell had ridden hard for several miles when he stopped and appointed two men, who were good rifle shots, to lie in wait along the road to ambush Strongheart if he might be coming along behind them, tracking them, or just coincidentally going down that road, his only way back to the railroad. Feeling more secure knowing the two men were covering their rear, Hartwell had his men slow to a walk, which he would alternate with slow trotting, As bad as he was as a man, he did take good care of his big Thoroughbred. That, however, was quite common among outlaws, because they were frequently pursued by posses, legal ones. Outlaws quite often had the best horses around and usually treated them well.
Both men were named Shorty. One was Shorty Medina and the other was named Shorty Atha. Shorty Atha was nicknamed that humorously because he actually was tall and lanky, at about six foot four. The other was five foot two and very stocky. Medina took cover right next to the road where he could not possibly miss. There were some thick bushes around the base of a large oak tree. He crawled under them on his belly with part of the oak hiding most of his body.
Shorty Atha, in the meantime, climbed up and lay down on a flat-topped short grassy hillock about thirty feet beyond Medina’s position. They waited patiently for fifteen minutes, and suddenly a chill crept up Shorty Medina’s spine. He felt like someone was staring at him and he rolled over, and sat up looking up the short ridge behind them that skirted the roadway. He gulped as he stared at the grinning face of Joshua Strongheart, who was up the hill and aiming an arrow directly at him. He saw the Pinkerton wink at him, then release the arrow, which whooshed through the air and buried itself in his chest right through the heart. His head slumped forward on his chest, and his lifeless eyes stared at the ground.
Joshua nocked another arrow, and his moccasins made no sounds as he padded along the low ridge to his right, until he was behind Shorty Atha. He gave a whistle and Atha whirled, pistol drawn and in his right hand, but the arrow penetrated his forehead immediately passing out the back of his skull. He died before his hand dropped the gun.
Joshua ran forward and checked both men for .45-caliber bullets, which would fit his gun. Medina’s body had them and Joshua took the dead man’s pistol as well, tucking it into the back of his waistband.
Strongheart knew that Hartwell had not survived this long by being stupid, so he would probably set up an ambush on his backtrail. He had simply kept under cover on the high ground, and saw the two bushwhackers when he slowly came to the part of the ridgeline and stopped to scour the area with his telescope, as was his custom. He had indeed learned his lesson about just wading into an entire gang of bad men gun ablazing. However, the tall half-breed had no idea he now had ten men in front of him and would soon have twenty more behind him, all wanting to tear him to shreds.
He knew one thing and was very single-minded about it. Strongheart had to fight or think his way past all the gun hands and kill Robert Hartwell, for the sake of his country. To that end, and not wading into a gun fight, he decided very firmly if he had to lose his life to accomplish that goal, so be it. He definitely would.
Joshua decided to risk it and go back into the road and speed along for a while at a mile-eating fast trot. He rode for miles and the tracks of the gang were still there. He saw where they had stopped twice, apparently to give their horses a breather. Then he saw where they took a side road south.
Thinking they might again set up an ambush or might be stopping to set up a camp, he went off the road and worked his way through the trees paralleling the road. His hunch was a wise one, as they did indeed set up a camp in a clearing bordering the side road, or trail, actually. He circled around to some wooded high ground south of them and saw he could keep an eye on their camp, the road, and make his own campsite on the opposite side of the small ridge he was on.
Four hours passed, and it was well after dark when five riders, as well as Johnny the tracker, rode into the camp carrying a couple large torches. Joshua watched as they spoke with Robert Hartwell.
“Darn it all!” Joshua said, as he saw Hartwell call his men together and then make their fire smaller, and sent several as lookouts on their backtrail.
By Hartwell’s immediate reaction, Strongheart knew immediately that he had been spotted by someone, and they knew he was trailing them. The henchman would not be putting guards up on his backtrail if that were not the case.
Joshua said, “Shakespeare said, ‘Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.’ Forget the amount of men you must face, Joshua, just use your brain before you use your guns.”
He glassed around with his telescope, so he could understand the land before him once again. He would enter the enemy camp this night and give them some food for thought. Instead of waiting to see what Hartwell would do, he decided to take the fight to the enemy. He wondered if he could sneak in and do harm to Hartwell himself, but Strongheart thought better of it, knowing that the professional shootists that the killer boss surrounded himself with would not fall asleep on watch, like others would be likely to. He figured, though, that he could indeed do damage to their sense of well-being and maybe cause some sleepless nights, as w
ell as potentially eliminate a few of the enemy.
Using his telescope again, Strongheart surveyed the area around Hartwell’s camp and figured approaches and hiding places. He changed into his moccasins, darkened his face with charcoal from his small fire, and retrieved his bow and quiver full of arrows from his bedroll. Leaving Eagle, he went downhill through the trees.
In an hour, he was outside the killer’s camp in the dark shadows of the surrounding forest. His plan was simple. He would avoid the part of the camp where Hartwell and his bodyguards slept as he scouted the perimeter. He had already noted where the outer guards were. He had plans for them, too.
Twenty minutes later, he was on his belly crawling through the undergrowth toward the southern part of the perimeter around the camp fire. He saw several guards near Hartwell carefully watching mainly the northerly part of the campsite area. The obvious guard here was propped against a log by the fire, in deep slumber. Joshua low-crawled to the first man and saw he had removed his double-draw holster. Strongheart buckled it and slipped it over his neck and under one arm, grabbed the man’s Henry carbine, and crawled into the darkness. He stowed the weapons there and crawled back into the circle just outside of the flickering light of the campfire. He took this man’s holster and gun, buffalo gun, and Henry carbine, as well as a very fancy beaded sheath holding a large bone-handled and engraved Bowie knife.
Then, he thought about the dramatic effect he could really bring with a very bold move. He returned to the man, thought again how this was war and what he did could prevent an even greater catastrophe in the United States. The welfare of the Indian nations and the country was at stake. He pulled out the Bowie knife and felt the blade, which was as sharp as his own knife. Joshua froze as a man sat up suddenly, then just as quickly lay back down and was snoring in less than a minute. Strongheart hated to kill this way, but again thought about the greater good, and he placed his hand firmly over the outlaw’s mouth and nose and sliced his throat. He held the kicking man until he no longer moved. Then, he raised the knife and brought it straight down into the saddle that the man had been using for a pillow. He crawled to the next man, stole his guns, and crawled away into the darkness.
At his cache of weapons, Strongheart got on his feet, slinging various holsters around his shoulders. He carried everything off toward his camp. He was upset with himself for slitting a man’s throat while the man slept, but he knew it was something he needed to do to gain an edge. Joshua knew when the man’s body was discovered, it would really unnerve many of the members of Hartwell’s gang. He put .45 rounds in with his own cache of bullets, and figured out how many of the weapons he could use. He knew he would be in some running gun battles, so he would bundle rifles together behind his saddlebags and bedroll and use them when necessary, discarding the long guns if need be.
Now Joshua was ready to return to take on a bigger challenge. Johnny the Shawnee tracker was one of the sentries that Hartwell had sent out to watch their backtrail. He was hunkered down between several small leafy trees overlooking the main trail back to the farm where Joshua had been held. He had a good clear field of vision on the road, but unfortunately could not see much behind him because the foliage was so thick. It also blocked out a lot of moonlight.
The Shawnee tracker was disciplined, as he had been taught as a child, and sat very still. Joshua had to sit above him in the trees and watch with his telescope for twenty minutes before Johnny moved slightly, slowly to look behind and beside him. However, his movement occurred exactly when the Pinkerton was holding the spyglass in his direction. Telescopes and binoculars help one see much better at night, as they capture available moonlight, starlight, and any other light to help one see objects more clearly in what seems like virtual darkness.
With a fellow red warrior, Joshua had to use much more stealth this time. He moved slowly down the ridge, bow in hand. He would have to take Johnny from more of a distance, but it was very important to the detective to kill Hartwell’s tracker, as it would have a tremendous psychological impact on the gang. He was still bothered about slitting the man’s throat, and decided he at least had to have this Shawnee looking at him when he killed him. He would, however, definitely kill him.
Joshua moved down until he was close enough to easily shoot him with an arrow. The whole way down the ridge, Strongheart stared to the right and left of the Shawnee, as many warriors have a highly developed sixth sense, a sense of knowing. He knew if he stared at the Shawnee, even his back, the man would sense it. Quite often, this starts with a shiver running down the spine or similar phenomenon. This happens with animals who are often prey, such as deer, so Strongheart when stalking deer or elk for meat would never look directly at the animal, but usually a few feet behind it.
At one point, Joshua froze as Johnny looked around to his sides and directly behind him, but failed to see the motionless Pinkerton in the shadows. Strongheart was in place now, and stood facing the unwitting tracker’s back. He would not launch an arrow into it though, but at least let him see what was coming. He nocked an arrow and slipped his index, middle, and ring finger on the bowstring ready to draw, while his left hand gripped the bow. The nock of the arrow was firmly against the bowstring and nestled between the first two fingers.
Joshua drew the arrow, held at his anchor point at the back of his right cheek, and softly said, “Shawnee.”
He saw Johnny’s shoulders jump up with a start, and then the tracker whirled, trying to draw a pistol. Strongheart released the arrow, and it passed cleanly through Johnny’s left lung, nicking the heart. He looked down and clutched at the hole, and reached back toward the exit hole in his back. Blood streamed from both wounds, and he quickly felt the life draining out of him. He slid down the trunk of the tree with his back against its rough bark, but Johnny never felt that. He looked at Strongheart and gave him a little smile and slight nod. His eyes closed, and his breathing stopped.
Joshua had to move quickly to get back to his campsite before dawn. He had to get a little sleep, some nourishment, and then move on to his next challenge. Within minutes of returning, he was fast asleep and not concerned about being discovered. His hideout was far enough away that he would not be discovered except by some fluke.
• • •
Joshua’s mother sat on the edge of his bed and smiled at him when he opened his eyes.
“Where am I, Ma? What happened?” he said.
Smiling softly, she said, “You are in bed, Joshua. You have had a very bad experience, but the doctor said you will be fine with rest. Do you remember what happened?”
The fourteen-year-old boy looked down at his body under the goose-down quilt. He was naked, and he could see four straight lines going down his right rib cage on an angle and crossing over onto his belly under his navel.
He thought for a minute and remembered he and Dan had been out hunting for an elk or mule deer for the family coffers. They had split up and decided to work both wooded sides of a large draw. The ridges were steep, and they walked along the draw keeping fairly abreast of each other’s location by using bird whistles occasionally.
Dan was following a set of tracks of what appeared to be a large buck, which he knew probably was bedded down somewhere above the head of the draw. This was something old bucks frequently did, so they had a broad sweeping view of anything approaching up the draw and it carried strong breezes. They also could get over either ridge in case of trouble. He also knew that big bucks did this instinctively and could not actually reason such things out.
Joshua was following a narrow game trail through the trees and went around a bend silently and slowly and froze. There before him, not twenty feet away, was a large tom mountain lion on top of a fresh deer carcass. The doe’s neck was broken and twisted in an odd way. The big cat had just about finished eating the entrails. Strongheart knew that was the first part of a deer that cougars ate after making a kill. The lion looked at Joshua, laid his ears
back, and bared his fangs, hissing. A low growl began in the big cat’s chest, his ears were back, and then Joshua saw the big tail start swishing back and forth. He knew from his hunts with Dan and hunts with Lakota in the villages that swishing the tail back and forth like that was what mountain lions did right before making a charge. They normally shied away from humans, but he had come upon this one eating a fresh kill, which the cat would protect. Joshua slowly raised his rifle and aimed at the lion’s forehead. It was too close to aim at his chest and take a chance on wounding him. A cougar like that could cover over twenty feet in one leap. The animal’s muscles tensed, and Joshua took a deep breath and let it out halfway. The cat sprang, took two big strides and leapt at his face. The shot rang out and the lion hit the ground after crashing into Joshua, his left front paw scratching him where the marks were now. They bled some but were bad scratches and not deep cuts like his father Claw Marks had from the grizzly. The cat crashing into him was two hundred pounds of dead weight and, landing on top of him, knocked the wind out of him, plus his head snapped back and slapped into a log. The sky spun around in circles as he panicked and fought to regain his breath. Then everything went black. Dan found him with the dead mountain lion on top of him.
