by Don Bendell
Strongheart was very impressed with this flashy new horse. He was not only beautiful, he was a dream to ride. The seat was so smooth atop his back, and the gelding seemed to love trotting, which would eat up the miles. The gulch slowly climbed, with high, rock-strewn, tree-covered ridges on both sides. Every once in a while, he would pass by a pile of large boulders obviously carried there by the latest flash flood.
After several more miles, the canyon suddenly opened up and gave way to rolling small hills with piñons and stunted cedars, as well as mountain gamma grasses. Gabriel trotted up over a couple of those hills, and suddenly a high mountain valley opened up, and Strongheart looked at the snowcapped Sangre de Cristo mountain range, which ran from the left to the right, with peak after peak stretching up into the clear blue sky. The more he saw the mountains, ten miles distant, the more fascinated he became with them. These thirteen- and fourteen-thousand-footers were the most majestic Joshua had ever seen, and he had seen plenty already.
He kept riding, and within another mile, he saw where Road Gulch Road ran off to his right, crossing the high valley for a couple miles, before dropping down into the trees. The road, which kept winding its way toward the big range, fell behind him as he moved across the flat, high mountain valley. This was like prairie now, with no trees except all along the fringes of the valley. To his right, a small tree-covered ridge rose up maybe five hundred feet, a mile away. Off to his left, only a half mile away, another ridge cut halfway across the valley. It stood maybe four hundred feet above the valley floor. Near the base of the ridge to his right was a small herd of pronghorn antelope, and at the base of the ridge to his left Strongheart spotted a small herd of mule deer grazing. After two miles, the Road Gulch Stage Road started dropping down into a tree-sided gulch. This gulch dropped down to Texas Creek for the next six miles, and from there Texas Creek dropped down in a northward direction and poured into the Arkansas River. Strongheart, however, kept heading west and crossed the creek and a surrounding meadow, which held a harem of more than one hundred elk and several large herds of deer. He rode a few more miles, then the stage road veered right and started a faster descent toward a place along the Arkansas River that was called “Cotopaxi” by locals.
There were a few miners’ cabins in the area and a few other buildings. Joshua decided he would find out if he could get a line on any of the gang. He had watched their tracks and seen two split off, but the rest had headed to this location.
That is when Joshua ran into a good source of information.
About five years or so earlier, George Henry Thomas had settled in the area where Strongheart now was, and he nicknamed one of the mountains Cotopaxi for an active volcano he had seen in Equador. George became known locally by the nickname Gold Tom, because of some money he made in the area doing placer mining. Gold Tom had traveled a lot in South America, and the hard rock ridges around Cototpaxi really reminded him of that place, and he shared that information with everybody. Cotopaxi would eventually become the official name for the small settlement where these gulches came together on the fast-flowing Arkansas River.
E. H. Saltiel was a bigwig, and he had been visiting Cotopaxi a good bit and already made offers to buy Gold Tom’s mine. He eventually would, but had not by the time Strongheart arrived. In fact, Gold Tom had just founded the mine earlier in that year, but already people who passed through the area knew who he was, as he was one of those salty characters that seemed to permeate the West. Unfortunately, seven years after Joshua Strongheart passed through Cotopaxi, Gold Tom would be shot and killed in a ridiculous argument over a dog.
There were only a few buildings in Cotopaxi in the early 1870s. Harry Hart and his wife, their two sons, Harry Jr. and Myer, and their two daughters, Addie and Phoebe, had moved to Cotopaxi and felt its location might be a good spot to build for the future. They built a general store and a hotel right there a stone’s throw from the churning, bubbling Arkansas River and adjacent to the large wagon bridge across the river, connecting to the north bank.
The general store was run by another character, Zachariah Banta, who had a twinkle in his powder blue eyes, a head like an ostrich, and a mischievous half smile ever present on his wrinkled countenance. He would become for Joshua the source of information that might put him on the track of the killers.
“Wal,” Banta said, “I reckon you don’t live around here. You may wanna ask me how I reckon such?”
Joshua grinned. “How did you figure that out, sir?”
Zachariah Banta picked up a small wooden barrel of potatoes and moved them to a different part of one of the shelves.
He turned and grinned, saying, “Wal, that was purty easy to deduce. Ya see, in Cotopaxi—that’s what we call this area—wal, there ain’t much to see in a place so small, but what ya hear makes up fer it.”
Strongheart chuckled while Banta continued on. “Now, mind ya. I personally ain’t a gossip. But I am informative.”
Joshua laughed aloud.
Banta continued. “So since I ain’t ever seen ya before, and I heered no gossip about ya, I reckon ya must be new ta Cotopax. Possible jest passin’ through.”
Strongheart said, “Actually, maybe you can help me.”
Banta chuckled. “All a them bullet holes and bandages on ya, somebody sure as hell needs ta help ya.”
Grinning, Joshua said, “My name is Joshua Strongheart, sir. I got shot up during a stage holdup on Copper Gulch Road.”
“Hell,” Banta growled. “Any folks kilt?”
“Yes, several,” Joshua said.
Zachariah poured him coffee, and Joshua told him about the holdup and described the gunmen.
“Thet is the McMahon boys,” the oldster said. “Jeeter and Harlance are brothers and rattlesnake mean. Sounds like ya kilt Long Legs Westbrook. Thet’s his horse yer ridin.’ Thet’s why I was probin’.”
Joshua said, “He gave Gabriel to me before he died. Made me promise to take good care of him.”
“Wal, he shore did take care a Gabe. Only good thing about Long Legs,” Zachariah said, “he took durned good care of thet purty painted up critter. Never bought me a horse fer color, but thet is about the best horse I ever seen, and I have seen plenty a horses thet have crunched lotsa gravel under their hooves.”
“I have to catch up with those killers fast,” Joshua said.
Banta said, “Alone?”
Strongheart said firmly, “Yes.”
“Wal, I reckon ya better have ya a good education on how to put that hogleg inta action,” the white-haired old man mused, “but studyin’ ya, ya have thet look. Ya have seen the elephant, ain’t ya, boy?”
Joshua grinned. He had heard that Civil War phrase from Dan. Boys in the Civil War who had that faraway look of battle fatigue in their eyes were said to have seen the elephant.
Smiling, Joshua said, “Sir, I have traveled the ridgelines a few times.”
Zack said, “So are ya injun or half-breed?”
“My mother was white,” Joshua replied matter-of-factly, “and my father was Lakota, a Sioux the white men call them.”
“So when your mama decide ta sail on the sea a matrimony,” Zack said, “she decided ta use a canoe?”
Zack and Joshua both laughed heartily at Zachariah’s joke. Strongheart finally replied, “I guess so, sir.”
“Don’t go sirring me, son,” Banta said, “makes me feel old. Call me Zack. Wal, one good thing is they split up, so ya kin tangle with ’em one or two at a time,” the old man continued. “I heerd ’em talking about it.”
“Do you know where they headed?”
“Wal, lessee,” Zack responded, “as I recall, big old Gorilla Moss and his kid, Percival, headed south down past Westcliffe. I think Ruddy Cheeks Carroll said he was gonna ride with ’em as fur as Westcliffe. They asked me how ta get to Music Pass. Ya know where all them places are?”
“Yes,” Joshua said. “We were talking about Westcliffe and the Colfax Colony on the stage.”
Zack replied
, “Now, mind ya, Colfax Colony sprang up southwesta Westcliffe. Music Pass is beyond that and runs ya over the Sangre de Cristos and smack into the Great Sand Dunes. Make sure ya got a good kerchief when ya travel over there.”
Joshua was feeling weak in his knees from blood loss, and Zachariah took notice. The old man did not miss much.
“Were I you,” Zach said, “I’d git me a bed fer the night in the hotel yonder and rest. Eat some now and eat good of the mornin’. Then ya kin proper track and kill them rascals as needed.”
Joshua said, “Thanks, but I’ll be all right, Zack.”
Zack chuckled. “You are a man what keeps his oath if ever I seed one. I know they took yer money, son. I’ll go fer ya on the hotel and the vittles. It won’t do ya no good in a shoot-out to be passin’ out from blood loss. Ya kin pay me back someday.”
Joshua grinned and said, “I am very grateful, Zack.”
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast including ham, poached eggs, coffee, and peach pie, Joshua headed off south to locate three of the holdup men. He had gotten more information the night before and had his wounds cleaned up and bandaged again. He felt much more refreshed and a little stronger, although he was sore from head to toe.
The magnificent horse climbed the long, winding road up to the center of the Wet Mountain Valley. Up above, Joshua looked at the awesome snowcapped peaks looming above him to his right, as the horse’s smooth, fast trot ate up the miles.
It was still morning when he rode into the small town, and he headed for a squat building that had the simple word “Saloon” neatly painted on a long wooden sign above its door. Joshua had vowed never to drink again, and he would not, but he knew this would be the best place to get information. Saloons were in every town in the West. In fact, when new towns sprang up, the saloon was one of the first businesses, if not the first business, to open up, no matter where. The saloon was where all the men in each town met to pass and learn the latest gossip, socialize, and discuss everything from beef prices to politics. It was for exactly that reason that Strongheart entered the place of drink.
He walked up to the bar and a very tall, very slender man with a long handlebar mustache walked up to him.
Joshua said, “Can I have a glass of milk, please?”
The bartender pointed above the bar at a sign, which read “We do not serve Utes.”
Joshua said, “Do you have fresh milk?”
The bartender said, “Forgot, you can’t read. We don’t serve Utes.”
Joshua replied, “Good, because I did not order one. Now do you have milk or not?”
The bartender said, “Look, we don’t serve any blanket niggers here.”
Joshua’s hand shot out before he even thought about it, and he meant to pull the tall skinny man forward, but he actually dragged him all the way across the bar.
Strongheart said, “You want to repeat that statement?”
The bartender said, “No.”
Strongheart replied, “No what?”
“No, sir.”
The warrior smiled and said, “Who is in charge?”
The bartender said, “I am.”
Strongheart slapped him across both cheeks rapidly, and blood started dripping from the man’s lower lip.
Joshua said, “Wrong answer. Who is in charge?”
The six foot, ten inch beanpole said, “You are, sir.”
Joshua stood him up straight and let go of his neck, saying, “Good, now go get me a glass of milk and tell me the price.”
“On the house, sir,” the bartender said, scrambling back behind the bar.
He opened the ice chest, pulled out a container of milk, and poured it into a beer mug.
Joshua said, “Here. I don’t want anything free from you, mister.”
He tossed some coins on the bar and, taking his mug of milk, walked to the far corner and sat down facing the door. It was then that he noticed the man sitting at the table in the front corner of the room. He had really blond hair and very ruddy cheeks. It was Ruddy Cheeks Carroll. His head hung drunkenly, and then he suddenly recognized the face of the half-breed from the stage, and he came wide awake, hangover be damned.
Joshua was on his feet first and had his gun drawn already. He walked sideways to the bar, while still looking at Carroll. He turned his gun toward the bartender and stuck out his left hand.
Still watching Ruddy Cheeks, he said to the barkeep, “Hand me the scattergun you got.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man reached under the bar and pulled out the express twelve-gauge sawed-off double-barreled shotgun stored there. He set it gingerly in Strongheart’s left hand. Still looking at Carroll, Joshua unloaded the shotgun and tossed the shells across the room, then set the gun on a table.
He glanced briefly at the bartender, explaining, “I don’t need any buckshot in my back while I handle this problem.”
He turned his full attention now to Ruddy Cheeks Carroll, saying, “Mister, where is my money belt? Where is the wedding ring of the young lady on the stage?”
The outlaw had drunk late into the night and slept on the table. He had to relieve his bladder, his stomach felt like a pair of badgers were inside it, and he had a horrible pounding headache. He wanted to be anywhere but there facing the angry big half-breed. His mind raced.
“Don’t know.”
Joshua said, “Wrong answer,” and the gun boomed.
The man screamed as he grabbed his left earlobe, but it was not there. His hand came away covered in blood.
“Injun,” Carroll said, “Jeeter McMahon has your gun and rig, your money belt. I don’t know who taken that ring. I swear. All I have is my cut.”
Strongheart said, “Hand it to me.”
The man reached into the back of his trousers and pulled out a roll of bills. He thought he might challenge Joshua to put the gun away and fight him like a man, but one look at Strongheart’s size and musculature changed his mind. He only had one last chance to save himself from a rope. He had practiced quick draw a lot and was pretty accurate. It was worth a try, he figured.
Carroll held the roll and said, “Redskin, you shore act tough with that iron in your fist.”
Joshua said, “Not a problem.”
He spun the pistol backwards into his holster.
He had a half grin on his face that frightened Carroll even more, but the crook was determined not to hang. Besides, he knew he could outdraw most men. His hand flashed down as practiced, but there was no gun there. He looked up and saw the barrel of Strongheart’s six-shooter. His heart skipped a beat as he looked up above the gun and saw the deadly grin on Strongheart’s face.
“Barkeep!” Joshua said not looking. “You have law in this town?”
“No, sir, none,” the bartender replied.
Joshua held his gun on Carroll, saying, “Where do I find Jeeter McMahon?”
“Lookout Mountain. You can see it as you ride down the valley north,” Ruddy Cheeks said, now very nervous hearing there was no law around and knowing Joshua would want to get going.
He was certain Joshua would plug him.
Joshua said, “When you drive down Road Gulch Stage Road, is it that rocky outcropping sticking off on the north side of the road?”
“Yes, sir,” Carroll said. “They got a hideout somewhere on the backside, but I don’t know where. His brother was going with him, but they talked about splitting up then.”
Strongheart said, “Pick up your gun and holster it.”
Carefully, very gingerly, Carroll did so.
Joshua spun his pistol back into his holster and said, “You sure you want to do this?”
Ruddy Cheeks chuckled and said, “Partner, I never found nobody yet who can beat me.”
Strongheart smiled and said softly, “Yes, you have. You might beat me, but you will have to put all six shots in me, reload, and shoot some more before I’ll go down.”
He was simply posturing to unnerve his opponent, and it worked. His words sent a chill
down the outlaw’s spine, and he drew too early, clawing for his pistol in panic. It was out, cocked, and coming up, when he felt something slam into his chest and his eyes came up automatically to see the flame from Joshua’s muzzle blast, as he felt the second bullet slam into his chest, tear through, and take away half of his right shoulder before it passed out his back. He tasted blood and started feeling weak, but did not understand the reason. It felt like the building had been picked up and spun around in fast circles, but he did not know why. Suddenly, his knees felt like they could not hold his legs up anymore, and he sat down in place. He tasted more blood and realized it was pouring out of his mouth, and then it dawned on him that he was dying. He panicked and wanted to scream, but nothing would come out; he was drowning in his own blood, and it made him gag. He died that way, sitting down, his back against the wall and arms hanging down at his side.
Joshua started for the door, and the bartender said, “Hey, who’s gonna take care of him?”
Joshua glared at him. “You are. And if I hear of you speaking that way about any of my red brothers again, I will come back and finish what I started. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the man said. “What is your name, mister?”
“Joshua Strongheart.”
The tall half-breed strolled out the door and went directly to his horse, mounted up and headed back the way he had just come. Now, though, when he was just a few miles out of town, he headed right up a pine-lined gulch called Reed Gulch. He rode several miles seeing many harems of elk, flocks of wild turkeys, and herds of mule deer. There seemed to be ample graze, cover, and water in this gulch. He almost came out eventually on Copper Gulch Stage Road, well west of where he had originally turned off on Road Gulch Road. Joshua could have turned right on Copper Gulch Stage Road a few miles earlier, but he was looking for a cross-country shortcut to Lookout Mountain, and he found it right before actually arriving at the stage road. He would angle to his left front and pass to the left of the long ridge before him. He was actually on the reverse side of the tree-covered ridge he had seen in the giant flat meadow when he first turned onto Road Gulch Road, when there had been lots of deer at its base. The locals actually called it Deer Mountain.
