by Don Bendell
Banta said, “Wal, yer gainfully employed. They don’t like workin’. Yer a nice young feller. They ride the owlhoot trail. You might bring purty young gals around I kin look at. Them two attract vermin. Ain’t no big reckonin’ on my part.”
The two spent the next half hour with Zachariah telling Joshua all about the terrain, and Joshua especially wanted to know what the two parallel gulches were like.
Strongheart set out for Maverick Gulch while it was still early morning. He started out up the gulch to get a feel for it, but Harlance’s remark about spotting and signaling Big Scars told him that he was up high and commanded a good view. That remark also told Joshua that the outlaw was very secure about his hiding place. Zack Banta had told him that there were several rock outcroppings up high on the northern side of the ridge bordering the gulch, and Joshua felt that it was more than likely Harlance’s hiding place would be closer to Long Gulch.
It was a simple trick, used by many tribes.
Harlance had paid a bottle of whiskey and ten dollars to Charlie the Ute, a kind of worthless Ute Indian who had emigrated all the way from the Towaoc area in what would become the Four Corners and never fit in with his own people or whites. Charlie looked twenty years older than he actually was and spent most of his time trying to earn free drinks or drinking money.
Charlie the Ute made himself a camp atop the high red cliff overlooking Cotopaxi and waited for two days. When Joshua Strongheart rode down the road toward the new settlement, Charlie set light to the piñon fire he had built inside a box made of flat rocks. When the fire was going well, he placed several branches of cedar greens on it and smoke started pouring out. He placed a blanket over it and let the smoke build up, then released a large cloud, then did it again, and a third time. His directions were to do it again in three segments of two puffs if and when Joshua left Cotopaxi and headed north, in the direction of the head of Maverick Gulch. If he rode any other direction, Charlie the Ute was to send up single puffs.
It was morning when Harlance took a sip of coffee and looked to the southwest, seeing three sets of two smokes coming from Charlie’s ridgeline.
He sat down on a log across from Cullen, saying, “Thet Strongheart is on his way mebbe this direction.”
“How do you know that?” Big Scars asked.
Harlance pointed at the smoke signals and chuckled.
Big Scars said, “You have your own tribe of redskins now?”
Harlance laughed. “Naw, jest need ya one blanket niggah to send ya a smoke. Done let me know thet breed showed up yesterday. He set out north from the store jest a little bit ago. He turns inta Maverick, we’ll see a long column a smoke. He comes this way, we’ll see ’im, and he cain’t escape, no way. He’s dead.”
Joshua headed into Maverick Gulch with a long column of smoke reaching up into the morning sky far above and behind him. Charlie the Ute was amazed at how much this half-breed had stopped to fix his stirrups the past two days. He wondered if the man could even ride bareback like most red brothers. He was not sure of his tribe, but knew this warrior was not Ute. He thought he could be Cheyenne. Charlie did not realize that Strongheart, though half-white, had spent plenty of days in the villages of his father’s people, and spotting Charlie’s first signals had been nothing. Joshua would get off his horse, tighten the cinch strap, and try to figure out the simple message. When he saw the first smoke, he knew someone was signaling that he was arriving. He reasoned another would tell when he left and maybe more would indicate direction. So Joshua knew that Harlance was aware he was headed into Maverick Gulch. That was also part of Strongheart’s plan. His eyes searched the left side of the gulch for the long crease and rocks he needed. The farther he went down the gulch, the greater his chance of being spotted by Harlance and Big Scars.
An hour passed and Harlance had his horse saddled.
Big Scars said, “What are you doing, Harley?”
Harlance said, “When he comes up the gulch, we’re gonna fill ’im full of holes. Then I am gonna charge down and put six more in his durn haid. He’s one tough hombre, an’ we gotta be careful.”
Big Scars said fairly calmly, “There he is.”
Harlance looked and grabbed his carbine. Cullen grabbed his Sharps buffalo gun, which probably was why he was so calm. With that, even shooting right then was a simple shot and could blow Joshua out of the saddle. Strongarm’s eyes were on the ground, apparently sweeping the ground in front of him, his rifle across the swell behind the saddle horn and resting on his upper thighs, as Gabriel walked slowly down the trail at the bottom of the gulch.
Big Scars put his sights on the front brim of the hat, knowing his shot would take the back of Strongheart’s head off. Harlance aimed at the center of his chest.
He whispered, “When his paint gets even with that dead tree, blow him outta thet saddle.”
Cullen replied, “The side of the horse or the front of him?”
Harlance said, “The front. Soon as he’s even, start the ball.”
The horse kept approaching and was now just a few feet away. Two more steps. One more.
They both fired and hit Joshua simultaneously in the middle of the head and center mass. His lifeless body flew backwards out of the saddle and beyond the horse. Harlance ran for his own horse and leapt into the saddle.
“Stay here, whiles Ah finish him off!” he commanded, certain he would act heroic in this way, although he knew Strongheart was already very dead.
As he inched along the caprock above Big Scars Cullen, Joshua was upset that Harlance had taken off after Gabriel. Joshua wore moccasins, a Sioux breechcloth, and his gun rig and knife. His face and body were streaked in mud to better camouflage him.
Cullen turned around in time to see Joshua’s body hurtling at him from the rock above, both heels striking him simultaneously, one in the jaw and the other in his massive chest. He flew backwards and landed hard on a flat rock, on his back and hitting the back of his head. The wind left him in a rush and the sky started swirling around. He shook his head and came to his feet with a roar.
Down below Gabriel trotted off up the gulch, and Harlance drew his pistol, approaching what he thought was the body of Joshua Strongheart. Then he saw that it was a dummy made of Joshua’s clothes filled with leaves and cedar needles, and he cursed to himself.
It was then that he looked back up the ridge and saw the gargantuan Big Scars Cullen rush forward, arms outstretched. Strongheart grabbed Cullen’s right sleeve with both hands, then stepped back, dropping to his left knee and pulling, and the big man’s weight sent him flying past the warrior and face-first into a large boulder. He was clearly staggered, his face pulped and bleeding.
Harlance McMahon had never seen and had never dreamed he would see any man manhandle the monstrous Big Scars Cullen. He was too big, too strong, too grizzly bear mean.
He needed to see no more. Harlance put his spurs to his gelding and ran back up the gulch like his tail was on fire. The heck with his grub, his bedroll, slicker, and everything. This man had already killed his brother and others in his gang, after they thought they had shot him in the head. Harlance still wanted to pay him back for killing Jeeter, but he wanted to pick the battlefield. He wanted to pick the strategy for the fight, and he wanted to make sure he would win. For now, he would not even stop in Cotopaxi, but just ride on roads where his tracks would mix in with others, and he would not slow down for a long while.
In the meantime, Joshua Strongheart did indeed have a fight with a grizzly bear on his hands. Cullen was now growling and roaring with rage, and he beat his barrel chest with both hands. He swung a vicious right and Strongheart blocked it with both arms, yet it rammed his own arms into his face, bloodying his nose and swelling his left eye and sending him flying backwards about ten feet.
Cullen then came roaring in like a charging bull, and Strongheart reached out, grabbed both arms, and stuck his right foot in the giant’s belly, then went backwards with the momentum and shoved as hard as he could, straightening the l
eg out. With a scream, Cullen sailed over Joshua’s head, then over a small drop, landed on his back down below, and rolled twenty more feet down the ridge and up into a large cactus. Hundreds of needles penetrated his skin, and he screamed in pain, squirming to get away from the giant spiny monster.
As he came to his feet, weaving, and bleeding like a pig at a barbecue, his left hand grabbed his cross-draw holster, and his right hand closed on the handle of his .44. His eyes looked up to see flame shooting from Strongheart’s gun, once, twice, and three times, as he felt the bullets slam into his chest. His knees failed him, and he saw the ground rushing at his face, then slamming into it. He rolled over on his back, moaning. Joshua walked forward, ejecting the three shells and thumbing three fresh bullets into his cylinder.
He saw the life slowly draining out of the behemoth and was shocked to see that tears filled the big man’s eyes.
Cullen said, “Ya killed me, Strongheart, and one of your bullets broke my back. I can’t feel anything. I deserve this. I have been a bully my whole life. You whupped me with your hands and plugged me with your shooter. Guess I deserve this. Wish I could do it all over.”
“You chose the outlaw trail, Cullen. Nobody to blame but yourself,” Joshua replied.
“Am I dying for sure?”
“Yes,” Strongheart said honestly and bluntly. “You won’t see tonight’s sunset for sure.”
Cullen said, “You are a good man. Can I ask a favor?”
“What?”
Big Scars said, “See that my horse gets a good home. You can sell him, but make sure he will get treated right. Also, please don’t leave me for the bears and coyotes and buzzards. Please give me a grave and say some words over me.”
Strongheart wanted to pursue Harlance, but he nodded and said, “I will. Want some water?”
“Yep.”
Joshua said, “I am after an antique wedding ring that belonged to that pretty woman on the stage. I said I would get it back.”
Big Scars started chuckling and coughed with a little blood coming up.
“That’s why you’ve been chasing us and killing us? Over a ring?” Cullen asked.
Joshua said, “Reckon so.”
Cullen tried to shake his head, but it would not move. He started to panic but stopped himself. He had been a miserable failure, he thought, but by God he would die a man.
“You know what, Injun?” he said.
“Strongheart, Joshua Strongheart is the name.”
“Strongheart,” Big Scars replied. “That suits you. Good name. At least I got killed over an important principle. That gives me some comfort. Harlance has the ring. He got it from Jeeter.”
His gaze froze and his chest stopped rising up and down. Big Scars Cullen died just like that.
Joshua whistled, and Gabe soon appeared and came trotting up the hill, dodging rocks like a dancer negotiating a stage. His reins had been tied around the saddle horn, so neither would drop down and cause a stumble. He whinnied when he smelled death and blood, and Big Scars’s giant horse whinnied back from the tank and little meadow.
Strongheart gave his horse some loving and removed his saddle and bridle, saying, “Go join your new sidekick and get some grass. I have a job ahead of me.”
He dragged the body down the ridge, until he came to a cut-bank spot. Using a small flat rock, he tried to scrape away some of the rocky soil, and then dragged the body up against the cut bank. Next, he got above it and stomped dirt down on top of it. Then Joshua started rolling large rocks down and made a pile over the expedient grave. He laid the man’s holster across the head of the grave and stood up, sides heaving with exertion, bowed his head, and said words over Big Scars, the man that two hours before was trying his best to kill him.
Joshua made his way down to the scarecrow and retrieved his clothes, then climbed back up to the camp of the outlaws. He walked over, stripped off his holster, moccasins, and breechcloth, and went straightaway into the tank. The water was cold and felt wonderful. He then sun-dried, dressed in his clothes, after examining the bullet hole in his wide hat brim, and made lunch. Joshua then lay down and took a nap.
When the warrior awakened a half hour later, his eye was almost completely swollen shut and very discolored. He felt very refreshed though.
When he walked into Zachariah Banta’s store near sunset, the old man looked up, and seeing the swollen black eye, and the large bullet hole through Strongheart’s hat brim and two more through his shirt, he just chuckled.
“Couldn’t jest plug old Big Scars, could ya? He was too big and mean,” the old man said between chuckles. “Ya jest had ta test yerself. Too much of a challenge.”
Joshua just grinned and shook his head.
“Come on,” Zack said, as he locked his store and walked out with the Pinkerton.
“What ya gonna do with thet big boy? Sell him ta Paul Bunyon?” Zack said, chuckling at his own joke.
“Who is that?” Joshua said as they walked into the hotel and restaurant and sat down at a table.
Zack said, “Aw, an old legend among timberjacks. Giant ole lumberjack an’ he had a big blue ox named Babe.”
“Is it in a book?” Joshua asked.
“Nope, not yet,” Zack mused, “but someone’ll write it up one a these years. Too big a legend. Been around a long time.” He paused and took a sip of water, then said, “Harlance must a had an appointment. He shore moved through here earlier like someone had lit his horse’s tail on fire.”
Strongheart said, “Bet his banker wanted to talk to him about a mortgage.”
Zack started chuckling even more.
With Zack’s insistence, Strongheart tied a raw steak over his eye and wore it there while he ate. They both had a hearty dinner of wild turkey and vegetables, and followed it with fresh blueberry cobbler and coffee.
Joshua had eliminated six of the members of the holdup crew. Now he had three more outlaws to pursue if need be to recover the ring from Harlance. Meanwhile, miles to the south and still in the saddle, Harlance McMahon had other plans.
8
The Chase
In southern Colorado at the time there had been some upheaval about slavery. There were many Hispanic settlers and ranchers in the area, and many of them owned slaves, in full contradiction of the Civil Rights Act of 1866. Most of these slaves were either women or children and a great many of those slave-owners held captured Utes, Navajos, and even a few Apaches and southern Cheyenne. These captives were rounded up in raids, sometimes kidnapped, and given in exchange for money owed Spanish landholders. Some tribal elders or parents would actually allow these Spanish colonials to purchase captives, in order to keep the women and children from being killed if attack seemed inescapable.
Chief Ouray, the most famous of the Utes, was actually hired by the U.S. government as an official interpreter in 1864, and under his watch many deals were made for hapless Ute innocents.
Once enmeshed in these Hispanic ranching families, however, the slaves were often assimilated into the family, and in many cases, the wealthy ranchero fathered many children with Native American women or some captured Mexican women. Although they were slaves, for many it actually turned out to be a very good situation.
Less than a decade before Joshua Strongheart showed up in the Wet Mountain Valley, several courts found Spanish-and Mexican-born landowners in southern Colorado guilty of violations of the Civil Rights Act of 1866. To that end, they lost slaves who had in effect become members of their household in many cases. A few of these cast-off American Indians, primarily from the Ute and Navajo nations, originally formed into little bands and caused some trouble for the population of southern Colorado. Most of them spoke Spanish, English, and their native languages.
Harlance had used a couple of these gangs previously on big holdup jobs and decided now he would hire one of the gangs to help him set up somewhere to bushwhack Joshua Strongheart when he came for him.
Jeeter was the real aggressor of the two brothers, but Harlance was
the brains. It did not take a college professor to see that Joshua Strongheart had fought members of the gang that ambushed him and had eliminated six out of nine members so far, including one of the gang’s two leaders. He also noted that the man did this with numerous wounds, as well. In short, Harlance was no dummy and Strongheart scared him. In fact, thinking about the half-blooded Pinkerton being on his trail sent chills down his spine.
Harlance thought Strongheart was simply executing the gang members one by one for revenge. He did not know that the man was seeking the ring, which really meant very little to McMahon, but a great deal to one of his many former victims. He had no clue that he might not have to worry about Strongheart again if he simply left the ring with Zachariah Banta at the Cotopaxi store or dropped it off in Westcliffe. He also had no idea that Strongheart was a Pinkerton agent. He had read the dispatch for General Davis, but it meant little to him, and nothing in that money belt really identified Joshua as a Pinkerton. Harlance only knew him as a powerful, wily fighter who seemed to be half-red and half-white and totally schooled in the warrior skills of both societies.
Harlance knew of a gang south of Westcliffe, down toward La Veta, and he would recruit them. As far as he remembered, there were six in the gang, so he would be recruiting as many as he had already lost. In the meantime, he would try to locate Gorilla and Percy Moss on the pretense of warning them. In reality, he wanted to recruit them for his ambush.
What he did not know, however, was that Joshua Strongheart already figured contacting them would be his next move. He and Zack had already talked over possibles as far as hideouts and whereabouts of the father-and-son hellions.
Joshua was now astride the saddle of Gabriel, but first he would take a quick side trip. As he left Cotopaxi, heading south toward Westcliffe, he was quickly climbing on an easy, winding road with high rocky ridges rising to his left and right, but more to his right. Before him he could see the top half of Spread Eagle Peak, Wulsten Baldy, and a couple more peaks in the more northern end of the Wet Mountain Valley. They loomed before him like giants rising up out of the land. Cloud banks on the western San Luis Valley side of the mountains pushed up against them, straining against the granite sentinels as if wanting to break over their fourteen-thousand-foot peaks and rush out east across the valley, over the shorter Greenhorns and across the great American prairies. However, the giant bodyguards of the plains and prairie stood unmoving, despite the large presence of the stratocumulus invaders.
