Strongheart

by Don Bendell

  Joshua looked up above the horses on the rocky peak and focused on Jeeter’s old hideout. Sure enough, in minutes, he saw small puffs of smoke rising up from the rocky enclave. Strongheart smiled. He would save his love, but he wanted to insure he could do it safely. He had to wait several hours until well after dark, so he set off up a side gulch protected by two east-west running ridges, so he could build his own fire safely, eat, let his horse rest, take a nap, and then get back to work maybe around midnight.

  Strongheart had an oilskin bag in his saddlebags in which was some corn and oats mixed. The corn would give Gabriel warmth during the chilly mountain night, as there were still patches of snow in the tree and ledge shadows on the north slopes of the ridges. The oats would give him nourishment along with the corn. When Strongheart finished his food, he shoved the frying pan into some snow and melted and boiled it on the fire. After cleaning the pan, he put it back in the snow to cool it off, dried it, and poured the grain into it for Gabriel. It was a good treat for the horse, who had worked so hard during the day and would need to work maybe harder the next morning and yet again that night.

  The night would be cold, and Strongheart always made sure he had large rocks near the fire as heat reflectors, but he also surrounded this small fire pit with smaller round rocks. He then dug in the ground near the fire, where the ground was, and buried the warmed stones under the dirt, to make a good spot for his bedding area. Having made sure he had some nice logs crossed in the pit, he lay down and went right to sleep. When he awakened several hours later, he could tell from the sky that it was around midnight. It was hard to crawl out from under that blanket, but he built the fire up and put his coffeepot on it.

  Fifteen minutes or so after finishing his coffee, Joshua had covered his fire with snow, then dirt, and headed out on Gabriel. The big horse was alert and ready to pursue the smell of his master’s mare, Annabelle. His thinking was not really that precise, but instinctively that is how Gabe viewed it. He could smell her horse, her, the other human, smoke, and the man’s horse. When Joshua had ridden close to the two horses, he dismounted and walked up. Catching each, he saddled the horse, put the horse’s bridle on, and led him off to the left, the east. The two horses disappeared into the trees, with Joshua looking back and seeing some smoke coming from the camp and a red glare on the overhanging rocks. He was glad Annabelle would at least be warm during the night, since he was taking her horse away as well as Harlance’s. He rode for several miles and then turned south toward Road Gulch Stage Road. He came to the spring and good grass on the other side of Lookout Mountain, where he had camped before sneaking up on Jeeter McMahon’s hideout. He unsaddled both horses and left them to enjoy the lush graze and good water, and he rode back to cover their trail, which was another task of several hours.

  There would be only one way Harlance and Annabelle could go after losing their horses. They would have to cross over Lookout or go around and come down this side and go to Road Gulch Stage Road. There, they would meet a stage, a wagon, or riders on horses. It was a reasonably busy road. Strongheart took the time and care to actually cover the horses’ hoofprints with rocks and sticks, carefully brush away tracks, and cover the ground with faux deer or elk tracks by making V’s with his fingers. After covering their backtrail, he returned to the two horses, left Gabe saddled but removed his reins from his hackamore, and let him graze, too.

  He broke off several pine branches and lay on them under a tree, wrapped himself in his bedroll, and went to sleep again. When he awakened, it was past dawn. He had slept in. He did not make a fire, not wishing to take a chance on Harlance seeing it. After some jerky and hardtack with canteen water, he mounted Gabriel and headed again toward Lookout Mountain, which was just over the low rise. It had snowed in the past few hours, and now the sun was out and glaring. Joshua had wisely put a small coal stick in his saddlebag, and he drew a line under each of his eyes with charcoal. This black line under each eye would keep him from being bothered by snow glare, and he would thus avoid snow blindness.

  Ready for more chase, the horse pranced uphill as Strongheart searched for a good vantage point from which to watch this side of the mountain. He found a little promontory on a wooded ridge coming from a much smaller peak. It extended like a long, narrow finger pointing at the frequent hideaway for road agents and other miscreants.

  On the other side of the mountain, Harlance had a rope tied around Annabelle’s neck and was cursing a blue streak. They had tramped all over the area the horses had been grazing, and he could not find any sign of where they could have wandered to. It made no sense that they wandered. His was an outlaw horse. It was too well trained. Besides, the graze and water was there. It dawned on him that Strongheart had found them already, that quickly. And it frightened him to no end.

  Although she was frightened by his red-faced, vein-bulging outburst, Annabelle could hardly contain herself. She knew her man had come to save her, and he would somehow.

  The night before had been miserable for her because of the way she kept catching Harlance looking at her when she was lying there in the flickering firelight. He might have followed that much of the code of the West about women so far, but he would not much longer. She could tell. When he put the rope around her neck, he had pretended like he accidentally let his hands fall down on her breasts after tying it. She knew it was not accidental touching, and she knew she had guessed right about him the night before.

  They eventually returned to the hideout, and he made her make them breakfast.

  Strongheart did not see any of this, but a couple times he heard the shouted curses, and he chuckled. Joshua waited and watched.

  13

  Showdown

  An hour later, they both emerged from the western rimrock of the canyon. Joshua had to ride closer to get a better look. They were heading down the mountain, as he had predicted. But he did not like what he was seeing at a distance.

  Harlance was totally frightened, and as Joshua snuck in behind them and off to the side, he looked with his telescope and saw that the outlaw had tied a small rope around Annabelle’s neck many times and then tied it around the barrel of his Henry carbine. The end of the barrel was up against her neck and Harlance was holding the trigger, with the rifle cocked. He looked all around him with certain paranoia while they rushed down the mountain.

  This was not what Joshua had wanted to happen, but what he’d feared might. He had decided against sneaking in and sneaking Annabelle out, because he did not want to start a gunfight in which any stray bullet could kill her. But now Harlance McMahon was apparently in total panic, and Joshua knew he had to defuse the situation somewhat for Annabelle’s sake.

  He rode closer and yelled, “Harlance! I am over here!”

  Harlance yelled, “Ya come near me, she is going under! Ya hear me, ya red blanket nigger son of a bitch!”

  Joshua put his hand up and said, “Harlance, I believe you! I am backing off. You need to uncock that gun. If either of you stumbles, she will die. If she dies, or gets hurt, I will take four or five days to kill you, Lakota style! But, McMahon, I do not want her hurt. I am backing off. Take your time! I will not rush you while you are walking! Just relax!”

  Annabelle said quietly, “Mr. McMahon, Joshua Strongheart never breaks his word. Please listen. Just let the hammer down. You can always cock it and shoot me if he rushes you.”

  Harlance said, “Good point, okay, but walk faster once I do.”

  He uncocked the rifle and Annabelle felt her legs almost give way, but she steeled herself to her task ahead. That was to stay alive and trust Joshua. Harlance looked back and saw that Joshua had dismounted and was sitting on a rock drinking from his canteen. Annabelle could not turn her head, but she now walked faster down the mountain.

  Harlance settled down a little and even bragged to her.

  “Ya see how tough yer blanket nigger boyfriend is?” he said. “He knows I’m smarter’n him. He shore didn’t know how ta get around thet one, did he?”<
br />
  “No, he didn’t,” she said, humoring him. “I have to admit, you certainly outsmarted him that time. Where are we going?”

  He looked at his stolen pocket watch and wondered why he had not gone on to Animas City like he’d told Jeeter he was going to.

  He said, “Walk faster. The morning stage comes by down below anytime now. They stay up on Copper Gulch Stage Road ’bout a mile past the turnoff and rest their horses overnight. I’m outsmartin’ him again. We are takin’ over thet stage, and if he follows us, I’m a-gonna ear back thet hammer again and let er rip, right through thet purty little haid of yourn.”

  They arrived soon on the dirty stage road, and Joshua was nowhere to be seen, but he was watching. He had gone over every possible scenario to rescue her before, and he felt the safest way would be to take away Harlance’s tools, one by one. Now he was stuck with this decision, wishing he had sneaked in during the night with his moccasins on and stolen her away. Now, though, he had to deal with the hand that was dealt.

  Joshua heard the distant creaking and rattling of the traces and wooden workings of the big red Concord stagecoach. He moved from his hiding spot beneath the branches of a stunted cedar and climbed into Gabe’s saddle. Looking through the trees with his telescope, he saw Harlance finally untie the thong from the carbine barrel and remove it from Annabelle’s head. Holding her with his left hand, he stepped into the road and held the cocked carbine with his other hand.

  Again, he appeared to be in wide-eyed panic mode. The stage came into view, and the driver slowed the horses to a stop then held his hands high in the air.

  Harlance yelled, “Toss the express gun down!”

  The driver carefully grabbed the double-barreled sawed-off shotgun at his side and tossed it into the road, then raised his hands again.

  He yelled, “I ain’t carryin’ no strongbox, mister!”

  Harlance ran to the side of the stage and yelled inside, “Everybody out, now!”

  Five passengers, three women and two men, got out, hands raised.

  Harlance had started to shove Annabelle up into the coach, when the driver decided to grab for his Russian .44 in a cross-draw holster. Harlance shot and the women screamed. The driver, dead, fell off the boot and released the brake. The movement made the coach lurch and knocked Harlance forward into the stage, to land on top of the rifle, which was now grasped in both of his hands. The stage horses bolted and started running, driverless, in a panic down the winding Road Gulch Stage Road. Seated in the coach, Annabelle slammed both feet down on the rifle barrel, pinning Harlance’s hands underneath it, with his legs hanging out the door of the stage as it raced down the dangerous road. Harlance started cursing and threatening her, but she kept her weight on the rifle.

  She looked up and saw Gabriel racing along parallel to the stagecoach, dashing through and around trees and boulders. Just as she feared that the mighty horse would trip over a branch, log, or rock, and both he and his rider would go tumbling down, Joshua would look over at her, smile, and wink. It took her breath away. Gabe came off the ridge and ran right alongside the stage in the road, coming up next to the lead horses. Strongheart tried to reach over and grab their reins but could not. Annabelle continued to put her weight on the rifle as Harlance screamed, kicked, and struggled. She screamed as Joshua suddenly leapt from his saddle over the back of the right lead horse and landed on the wooden shaft running along under the inside traces between the six-horse team. He started to rein the horses in, but just then Harlance broke free and scrambled up, leaving the rifle there and leaning out to fire his pistol, hitting Strongheart in the back of his left shoulder.

  Joshua fell beneath the horses and Harlance grinned, holstering his pistol and crawling out the door, up onto the roof, and into the box.

  In the meantime, Joshua was underneath the center shaft walking his hands down one by one as he slid underneath the stage, his heels dragging in the dirt, his butt held off the ground. He walked his hands down the undercarriage of the stage, grabbed the leather thoroughbraces, and swung his legs up from the underside of the luggage boot in the back. He pulled down with his knees, grabbing the boot, and pulled himself up onto the back of the it.

  Harlance saw him and slammed on the brake lever, while he pulled hard on the reins, yelling, “Whoa! Whoa! Settle down!”

  He got the stage stopped and then he spun around with his pistol firing wildly at Strongheart. Inside the coach, Annabelle stopped crying. Joshua was alive! Now she could feel him moving behind her.

  Strongheart reached for his gun, but it was gone. Harlance sensed the big man’s hesitation and jumped up on the roof.

  “Lost yer gun, dint ya, ya damned blanket nigger! Go haid and pop that little red face up again.”

  Joshua popped up and back down as a bullet flashed right over his head. He leapt back up while Harlance cocked the pistol. Strongheart’s upraised right arm whipped forward and his father’s big knife flipped over once in the air before it buried itself in Harlance’s hip. He screamed in pain, and Joshua knew this was his chance. He pulled himself up quickly onto the roof, and Harlance raised the pistol up, grinning evilly.

  “Whoopsy daisy, huh, buck?” he said to taunt him. “Now yer gonna find out ya ain’t so tough. Where ya want it, half-breed, in yer haid or yer gut?”

  Joshua said, “How about in you?”

  At that point he felt as if he were just trying to joke in the face of certain death, but suddenly something exploded through the roof of the stage and both men heard Harlance’s rifle fire below them in the coach. A bright spot of crimson appeared on Harlance’s stomach, and he looked down at it in horror. Then Annabelle could be heard cocking the repeater and firing again, and a second bullet exploded through the coach roof, smashing into Harlance’s chest. He dropped his pistol and in sheer panic tore his shirt open, sticking his fingers in both bullet holes.

  Strongheart said calmly, “The fingers won’t help, McMahon. You are going to be dead shortly. Killed by a tiny, pretty woman who bested you. Take that to Hell with you.” Joshua laughed.

  This realization hit Harlance, and his face turned from white to bright red in anger. He started to speak, but when he did, blood spewed from his mouth, and he only gurgled. His face again turned white, ghostly white, and his eyes rolled back in his head. His body went limp, and he folded like an accordion, and fell off the roof, headfirst onto the dirt stage road. He did not feel it. He was already dead.

  The door of the stagecoach flew open, and tears streaming, Annabelle leapt out, smiling broadly. She looked under the stage and saw McMahon’s lifeless body and dropped his rifle.

  Joshua said, “You sure saved my bacon.”

  She said, “Get down here, redskin!”

  They both laughed, and he climbed down, and she threw herself into his arms. They kissed long and passionately and were in that embrace when the stage passengers came running around the corner. One was carrying Joshua’s pistol, and another the shotgun, and they were all cheering. The couple stepped back and looked at them and then at each other, smiling.

  One of the passengers boasted that he had been a barber and done some dentistry and was not without some healing skills. He poured whiskey on the bullet hole in Joshua’s shoulder and bandaged it. The bullet had passed cleanly through the top of the trapezius muscle, but compared to the wounds Strongheart had recently survived, it was like a bee sting to him.

  Within an hour, Joshua had retrieved the two horses, and the bodies of Harlance and the stage driver were loaded into the boot and covered by the leather cover. The luggage had all been transferred to the top of the coach and strapped down. Gabriel and Annabelle’s gelding were tied to the back of the stage, and Strongheart sat in the front, grabbing the coach team’s reins, with Annabelle next to him grabbing his massive right bicep.

  Five hours later, the sheriff of Fremont County, Frank Bengley, found a note nailed to a tree next to Road Gulch Coach Road. It read, “Sheriff, McMahon dead, Annabelle safe, driver dead, t
ook passengers, bodies, and stage to Cotopaxi. Wait for you there.”

  That night, Bengley, Zachariah Banta, Annabelle Ebert, and Joshua Stongheart sat in the Cotopaxi hotel enjoying a nice brown trout dinner.

  Banta said, “So what’s on the horizon fer you two now?”

  Before Joshua could answer and not wanting to pressure him, Annabelle answered, smiling broadly, “Right now, Joshua has another assignment, Mr. Banta. He has to get back to work. We can talk about the horizon later.”

  Pointing to the bandage on Strongheart’s shoulder, Zack said, “Reckon he oughta git back to work. Look what the heck happens ta you two when yer jest relaxin.”

  Everybody in the place laughed heartily, then Strongheart looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, saying, “Zack, I suppose if somebody painted a picture of that horizon you mentioned, there would be lots and lots of children in the painting.”

  Smiling softly, they looked deep into each other’s eyes; the secrets hidden therein held the key to their future.

  EPILOGUE

  The descendants of Zachariah Banta all had a quick wit and a dry humor, and ran cattle all around the Cotopaxi area for many decades, finally moving the ranching operation to southwestern Texas in the early twenty-first century.

  Frank Begley was in fact the sheriff of Fremont County, Colorado, in 1873, one of many in a long line of fine lawmen in southern Colorado.

  Except for the fictional town name, Flower Valley, all the locations and local histories mentioned herein were actual places, and many still exist today. I have ridden my horse over almost every piece of land mentioned in this book and in my other westerns, so you will know it is real and not a Hollywood movie set. For example, the old settlement of Hardscrabble is visible by binoculars from the back porch of my ranch outside Florence, Colorado, and the spot of the night camp of Joshua Strongheart at the top of Five Points Gulch is exactly where I killed a large cinnamon- and blond-colored bear in 1985.