Blood Feather (12 page)

It also had landlocked lakes filled with cutthroat and rainbow trout, and also many glacial streams filled with brook trout. The views from above the timberline were some of the most pristine in the world, and the dramatic oft-times red hues on the snow at dawn and dusk gave the mountains their name,
Sangre de Cristo
, “blood of Christ.”

But, like a beautiful cobra, gila monster, or Bengal tiger, the mountains could also kill a person quickly and violently if they were not always treated with the utmost respect. Many times, prospectors, mountain men, hunters, trappers, travelers, and explorers would find themselves at eleven thousand or twelve thousand feet and above the timberline on a balmy summery day, with sweat soaking their hatbands, and suddenly, they would look at the nearby peaks and see angry storm clouds breaking over them, having maybe been on the San Luis Valley side pushing against the burly granite sentries for several days or hours. Then the hapless person would find himself with hurricane-type winds and rain whipping his face, lightning crashing around him, or a freezing cold, vicious blizzard encompassing him and quickly blanketing the whole area with a deadly quilt of frozen dispatch. Flash floods, avalanches, and landslides frequently would send house-sized boulders, giant hardwood trees, ice, snow, mud, or silt crashing down the side of a mountain as quickly as a falling object, taking life and many things in the path of destruction.

Joshua thought of the giant hiding place looming before him as he continued onward, knowing that Blood Feather seemed headed toward the Big Range. What challenges lay before him? he wondered. It was late fall, and the weather anywhere in southern Colorado Territory could turn from a nice sunny day to pure terror and murderous conditions in less than an hour. He had guessed correctly about
We Wiyake
leaving Grape Creek. Shortly after entering the evergreens of Reed Gulch, he found tracks of the big draft horse going through the trees within sight of the hard-packed wagon road. The killer figured the posse would follow Grape Creek towards Westcliffe, but Reed Gulch, a few miles north, would still wind its way westward toward the Big Range, his intended destination.

Joshua knew he was getting close and had to be very careful. Just then, there was an explosive movement to his left. He drew his Colt and spun in the saddle, and heart pounding, he saw a majestic, sable-colored, six-by-six bull elk which had been bedded down under the fir tree immediately to his left. The bull disappeared into the trees, and then Strongheart saw the rumps, heads, and sides of cows and younger satellite bulls headed farther into the dark morass of green.

Then, as if his thoughts had brought it on, Strongheart looked above Spread Eagle Peak directly before him. It had been enveloped in a swirling, angry storm cloud, and it was clear a blizzard was blanketing its fourteen-thousand-foot crest, but now, as if by Satanic signal, the blizzard headed straight at Strongheart. He knew he was in trouble, but more importantly Missy was in trouble.

He could not save her if he did not find immediate cover himself. Gabe sensed that they were in trouble, and he headed into the trees with his nostrils flaring in and out.

* * *

Missy was so scared and tired, and now she was frightened more than before. Even she could see the blizzard sweeping across the valley floor toward them.
We Wiyake
spotted a ranch ahead of them and rode up to the barn. He dismounted and set Missy down, pulling his Henry repeater out of his blanket roll, something he rarely did. They walked toward the ranch house front door.

Ed and Myrtle Hazleton were from Manchester, England, and had come to America with one express purpose. They wanted to see and help conquer the American frontier, the Wild West. They spent one year in Denver City, but it was way too urban for their tastes, so they came to the Wet Mountain Valley in a Conestoga wagon and purchased the ranch from another couple. They saw the giant killer Indian and little girl coming across their yard. Ed stepped out the front door; he was used to friendly Utes stopping by from time to time. A smile spread across his face as he looked at Missy, but then Blood Feather lifted the Henry and fired, then levered and fired two more rounds into the man's chest. A curious Myrtle was looking out the window and started screaming from inside.
We Wiyake
ignored the screams as he stopped, pulled out his knife, and cut the man's left little finger off for his necklace. Tucking it in his waistband, he went inside and saw the woman in the corner holding a rolling pin up, tears streaming down her cheeks. He walked across the room, set the rifle across the table, and strode over to her while she kept screaming. His hand came up with the knife, and he grabbed her right wrist as she swung the rolling pin at him. He then plunged the knife deep into her abdomen and, one-handed, lifted her up, still impaled, off the floor as she screamed in pain and terror. He just stared into her eyes up close until they became lifeless and her body went limp.

He dropped her and then picked her body up, carried it outside, and dumped it across her husband's. Missy just watched all this in shock.
We Wiyake
started carrying in many pieces of firewood and added some to the fire already going in the fireplace. A large pot had stew in it cooking.

Next, he quickly explored the property and found a stone-walled underground fruit cellar with many canned goods there in Mason jars sealed with paraffin. Blood Feather could tell by looking what they were, and he quickly figured out how they probably would open. These were actually screw-top Mason jars, which had existed for almost twenty years at that time.

Strongheart kept in the same direction of travel, but a little to the north he spotted a large dense outcropping of rocks rising up around five hundred feet. He cantered to it and galloped around the circumference. Near the base was a large grove of trees, mainly pines and cedars. He found a spot where there was a jumble of boulders on the lee side of the outcropping. They were large enough to provide some shelter for both Gabe and Joshua.

The blizzard had already enveloped the ranch where Blood Feather had taken over. Josh took Gabe into the trees and started finding large, dead branches, which he tied to his saddle horn and dragged to the rock outcropping. He cut down several long pine boughs and dragged them to the rocks, and with the storm almost on him, he got more firewood branches. He raced the horse back to the rocks dragging branches, then dropped the lasso, took off his bedroll, got out his Hudson Bay coat, and covered that with his rain slicker. Strongheart pulled a scarf out of his saddlebags, which he wrapped around his face, and slid on his leather gloves to go back out.

Then the cold, windy, wet white blanket enveloped him, and he had to make sure he kept his bearings, because he and Gabe would have to make it back to the campsite blind. After getting more wood, he forgot the precise route back and almost slammed Gabe into the rocks they appeared so fast. Quickly dismounting there, Strongheart grabbed the live pine branches and placed them as a roof over the rocks. Gabe stood comfortably inside the confines of the man-made cave watching as Joshua put together a fire.

He left Gabe there and walked to the closest trees, blinking his eyes against the driving wet snow. Normally, in this part of Colorado, almost all snows were very powdery, but once every year or two a very wet snow like this would fall, the kind they normally got in the eastern half of the country. It produced a bone-chilling cold. On top of this, there were hurricane-strength winds, so snow was covering the area faster than Joshua Strongheart had ever seen, even having grown up in the Montana area.

Now bundled up, he made one more trip into the trees for firewood and a few smaller green pine branches to make a bed. Adding more wood to the fire, he put on a pot of coffee and began preparing his camp for warmth. The blizzard was now an absolute whiteout, and the few branches he could see were bending down low from the wet snow. Already, he could hear loud cracks every fifteen to thirty minutes, from tree branches breaking and that was with a howling, treacherous wind to blow the snow away.

Inside, Joshua was anxious to saddle up and just plunge blindly through the storm in a desperate attempt to find and rescue Missy. However, his good sense told him he must stay put and that Blood Feather would indeed be staying put, too. Assuming that Blood Feather was raised in the Dakota or Montana territory, Joshua knew that the killer would have a similar set of survival skills to Joshua's and would know how to cope with such an unexpected winter storm.

Indeed, at that time, using guttural sounds and gestures, Blood Feather had directed Missy, as small as she was, to pour them each bowls of stew from the pot in the fireplace. Having helped her mommy many times, she even got them spoons and napkins. He did not know what the napkin was for, so he ignored it. She found a coffeepot on the stove, and although her mother would never let her near such a hot utensil, she poured
We Wiyake
a cup, and he added a great deal of sugar to it. She hoped this might help appease him, and it appeared to. The ranch house was well insulated and very warm.

In the meantime, Strongheart bundled up once more, attached his lasso to a rock, and held it as he walked out and leaned into the howling white morass. He went the thirty-foot length of the lasso and moved right to left until he came to a large pine. He attached the end of the lasso to it and found a long branch. He followed it with his hands to the end and found one at another tree and followed it to its trunk. Using his knife, he marked a blaze on the trunk at the end of that branch. He then cut off many more branches, with as many needles on them as possible. Carrying these, he held the branches and then the lasso and retraced his steps, now totally covered over by blowing snow, already several feet deep.

Weaving them like a giant green basketwork, Joshua worked the evergreen branches into his roof, trying his best to block out every spot where snow was coming through. He built the fire up more and was thankful the branch ceiling was high enough he did not have to worry about it catching fire. Although he had been freezing cold out in the sudden blizzard, he was glad he'd taken the extra effort, as the expedient stone room he had created was now warm and toasty. Using rocks, he fashioned a small trough and lined it with birch bark that had already been lying in the circle of rocks, having blown there in a previous windstorm. He then placed snow in the trough and decided to continue doing so, so that it would melt and provide Gabe with a supply of water to drink. The heat in the large rock room would keep melting the snow as he added it.

Joshua knew he could not help Missy by worrying himself about whether or not she was safe or warm. He was relieved that she had at least been abducted by a man of the wilderness like himself. He knew that
We Wiyake
had been through many sudden blizzards just like Strongheart had. Searching the last hideout, Joshua saw that Missy did not seem to have been molested or harmed. He saw this by many signs, such as that she had been allowed to make and find her own toilet area, which was private. He knew right now the best way to help her was to concentrate on surviving himself and taking care of Gabe. In one more day, he would have to worry about finding Gabe some graze somehow, but he would worry about it then. For now he had a little bit of corn in his saddlebags he could give the gelding, and the horse would have water and be warm. He still had plenty of food, water was plentiful from melting snow, and the shelter he had created was keeping both of them dry.

Joshua slept soundly all night and awakened to see the entire area blanketed with a deep, wet snow. The blizzard was past and the sun was now shining. Strongheart wondered how Annabelle was doing back in Cañon City, and if she might be very worried.

10

Worry and Mourning

Fremont County sheriff Frank H. Bengley came back with the posse as they fled the oncoming blizzard, escaping its frozen clutches somewhat unscathed but unnerved by the enormity of the storm. It was the talk of Cañon City. The next day, as always in the area, snow started melting quickly in the morning sun. Branches were down everywhere, breaking off the trunks all over town, their frozen tentacles still hanging their lengths. This southern Colorado territory, unlike the mountains to the north and northwest, did not get that much snow, less than a foot per year in Cañon City and Florence. Throughout most of Colorado, unlike in the east, the snow was always powdery, not like the wet snow brought on by this blizzard. Residents were used to walking outside in light clothing on sunny winter days, as it was usually so mild. Children in Cañon City and Florence could seldom make snowmen as the snow was so devoid of true moisture.

However, one thing that could happen in this whole area was high winds. Away from the Front Range and even occasionally in the Wet Mountain Valley, where Strongheart was marooned, there were sometimes tornados.

Sheriff Bengley and the posse told many tales about the speed, severity, cold, and blinding horror of the storm, and it seemed to Belle that everybody was talking about it, and many posse members were certain that Strongheart as well as the kidnapper and ther little girl had either perished or would soon. Tracks were gone, buried under several feet of snow and ten-foot and deeper drifts in the Wet Mountain Valley.

Annabelle had been to Westcliffe and that area a number of times, and it was well known that there was a lot more snow and colder temperatures in the almost eight-thousand-foot-high mountain valley. She was very worried about Missy but knew that Strongheart would find shelter and survive the storm.

Two days later, she really began to worry though, as reports from that area were that it was all snowed in. She pictured the poor little girl with that beast of a man in the bitter cold and deep snows. She wondered if she should try to get word to Lucky in Chicago but also did not want to interfere with Strongheart's job. She decided the best she could do was to keep herself very busy, and she started this by baking a number of pies for a couple of the local churches that were having bake sales. Next, she invited the sheriff, his deputies, and the members of the posse to her café for a free lunch.

It had now been five days since the blizzard hit and all the posse members were thoroughly enjoying her free spread for them. Most of the snow in Cañon City was gone, but many knew how treacherous the mountains could be.

Belle and her assistants were busy serving when the café door opened and a white-haired, white-bearded man with a very familiar face walked in and sat down at a corner table. Belle almost ran over to him and kissed him on the cheek.

Zach Banta said, “Wal shucks, I reckon if I's a-gonna get me a peck on the cheek like thet, I woulda come ta town long ago. Last summer mebbe.”

She chuckled.

He ordered food and she asked, “Did you have trouble getting here?”

“Nope,” Zach said, “I come down the river on a boat with some crazy fur trapper comin' from the Poncha Springs area.”

The enormity of his statement floored her as she looked at this old, weathered, white-haired man.

Over 1,450 miles long, the Arkansas River was the sixth longest river in the United States and was the lifeblood of Cañon City, Florence, and Pueblo. It began near Leadville, a ten-thousand-foot-elevation gold mining town since 1859, with its water feeding it from the glacial runoff of the Collegiate Mountain Range.

From Cotopaxi, where Zachariah Banta lived, to Cañon City, thirty-four miles to the east, were some of the roughest white-water rapids in the world, where the mighty Arkansas dropped over 4,600 feet in elevation, at 250 cubic feet per second. Every year a number of people would die in those rapids and icy water.

“How, why did you traverse such a treacherous river, in the wintertime, no less?” Belle asked.

Zach chuckled and rubbed his beard, saying, “Wal, I reckon I jest wanted to. Ain't never traveled like thet before. The rapids ain't nothin' in the wintertime, and this old feller had a big old canoe with these little side canoes on it. He called it an outrigger. Said he was a Christian missionary for bout ten year out in the middle a the Pacific Ocean. Bunch a islands called the Kingdom of Hawaii. Interestin' character, and he said these little canoes on the side would keep it from flippin' over.”

Belle shook her head and laughed, saying, “Mr. Banta, you are one of the most interesting characters I have ever known. Let me get your meal.”

She left him and returned with his food, leaving him to eat, but she returned with coffee and sat down.

“Have you heard about Joshua and my niece?” she asked.

“Reckon thet's why I'm here,” he said.

“How so?” she asked.

He smiled, “Wal, I reckon you would be a mite upset and worried. That was a nasty blizzard an' it come in like a stampede or flash flood. Ya know, jest like thet.” He snapped his fingers.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and Belle said, “I am so glad you are here, Zach. It is truly a comfort. I have been keeping myself busy, because I would be beside myself if I did not.”

“Wal,” he said, “I reckon ya already know thet there ain't no man, nowhere, who could do any better at finding yer niece than him. Only other man I know of, Joshua made friends with down ta Fort Union, Chris Colt. He could track an earthworm over a flat rock on a hot day, but he is gone up north now. Gonna scout fer General Custer.”

Sheriff Bengley, who had left an hour earlier at the lunch, came back and walked up to Belle. He doffed his cap and shook hands with Zach.

“Annabelle,” he said, “I'm afraid I do not have good news. I had two men try to head up there and see if they could get through, and there are still snowdrifts over ten feet deep. That area gets a lot more snow than we do down here.”

She said, “Sheriff, you know Mr. Banta?”

“Oh sure,” Bengley said. “Get much your way during the storm?”

Zach said, “Naw, Sheriff. Up the road we done, but it seemed to go past Cotopaxi. We got some, but not like ya even got here.”

The sheriff said, “I sure hope Joshua holed up somewhere and found some firewood, water, and shelter real quick. Your niece? Well, young lady, she is in the hands of the Good Lord to protect. I really wish I could take the posse back up there, but my deputies could not even move in that snow hardly. I got a telegram, and that boss of Strongheart's, the Frenchman, is coming in today on the late afternoon train.”

Lucky was upset and was now riding toward Cañon City on the Denver and Rio Grande Western narrow-gauge railroad. Only three feet wide to save cost on construction and cars, the line from Pueblo had just been completed and in just a few years would go through the Grand Canyon of the Arkansas, which was now being called the Royal Gorge by locals. It would pass by Cotopaxi and go farther west along the river for miles.

Lucky had received several reports about the storm, the kidnapping, and Strongheart's pursuit, and he was quite frankly very concerned.

Riding along and looking out at the Greenhorn Mountains a dozen miles to his southwest, Lucky thought back to the day when he hired Joshua Strongheart. Lucky had been dining with a female companion in Rector's, a very popular upscale restaurant in downtown Chicago, a city already becoming known for great eating places. He noticed his date eyeballing a man who had walked in and was escorted to his table by the maître d'. Tall, broad-shouldered, and very handsome, he was obviously half-Indian and half-white, and Lucky could not help but notice the way all the women looked at him.

At the table next to Lucky was a very large, boisterous, drunken police lieutenant. It was clear that was his profession because he made it clear in a loud voice that that was what he did. The man obviously was a mean drunk and wanted to intimidate all who were within earshot. Worse yet, he intimidated and embarrassed his wife, who was seated at his table. The man was complaining about anything and everything. His cursing of the wine steward and his waiter both finally brought the maître d', who tried to politely ask the man to leave.

The large police lieutenant stood and shoved the maître d', who fell over a chair, and several people in the room murmured. The waiter helped the man up.

The bully bellowed, “Do you know who I am? I am Lieutenant Daniel Alexander of the Chicago Police Department! If you think you can bamboozle me, you . . .”

His slurring was stopped by Joshua Strongheart standing up, and Alexander gave him a mean look, saying, “What do you want, you blanket nigger? What are you even doing in this place?”

Joshua kept smiling and said, “Sir, didn't you say you were Lieutenant Daniel Alexander?”

“Yea, sho what?” the man snarled.

Joshua extended his hand, saying, “I have heard all about you and your heroism, sir. I just wanted to shake your hand.”

The drunk was taken aback, and he extended his hand, but when they shook Lucky noticed the big man grimace in pain. That was when Lucky saw that Strongheart, while shaking, had stuck a pencil between the policeman's ring finger and middle finger and then squeezed his hand. He then grabbed the man's elbow and, appearing to be friendly, strong-armed him toward the door, all the way talking nicely to him. The wife sat in her chair and buried her face in her hands and cried.

Lucky excused himself and walked over to the window, where he watched outside as Strongheart first stuck his foot out and tripped the big man and then slammed his head into a gas lamp post. The lieutenant slumped to the ground unconscious. Joshua then summoned two other police officers over and spoke to them, and they began to laugh and shake their heads. They both shook hands with Joshua and grabbed the downed officer by his upper arms. Lucky sat down with his date.

Strongheart came back in and went right to the wife's side and handed her a handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes, and he held her chair as she stood and then gave her his arm and walked her out of the restaurant, snatching her presented check from the waiter on the way. Apparently having seen that she had transportation and sending her off, he reentered and sat down at his table as if nothing had happened.

Lucky excused himself again and walked over to Strongheart's table, extending his hand and offering Joshua a card. Strongheart motioned for him to sit.

Lucky said, “Sir, my name is Frank Champ of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

Joshua said, “Pleased to meet you, sir. Name is Joshua Strongheart. With an accent like that your name is Frank Champ?”

Lucky laughed, saying, “My name was François Luc DesChamps, and I was born in Paris, but came to the U.S. as a young boy and changed my name to Frank Champ. But everybody who knows me calls me Lucky.”

Joshua said, “Well, pleased to meet you, Mr. Champ. I certainly have high regard for the Pinkerton Detective Agency, a fine organization.”

Lucky said, “Please call me Lucky. I came over here to introduce myself because we are looking for a good man who can think on his feet and handle situations like you just did admirably. I saw the pencil.”

Strongheart said, “You saw the pencil?”

Lucky replied, “I am a detective. We must always observe.”

Joshua laughed.

Lucky said, “You're speaking. You seem to be an educated man.”

Joshua laughed again, saying, “Why do I look like an Indian but can actually talk?”

“Oh no, monsieur,” Lucky protested.

Joshua put up his hand and said, “It's okay. I get that a lot. I could cut my hair short, not wear beadwork, and so on. I am proud of my background. My father was a mighty warrior of the Lakota. The French call them the Sioux tribe. I never knew him. My mother was white and raised me to appreciate him and his people, as well as my father who raised me. I guess he would be called my stepfather, and he was a lawman, a good one. My mother made sure I got education, lots of it. I have even studied the works of Shakespeare and find myself quoting him on occasion.”

Lucky said, “I have a date and should not ignore her. Please join us at our table.”

Joshua and Lucky walked to the table, and the young lady rose.

Lucky said, “Miss Charlotte Smith, this is my new friend, Mr. Joshua Strongheart.”

She tried to shake hands, but Joshua lifted her hand and gently kissed the back of it, saying, “
Enchanté
, mademoiselle.”

She shivered, and he held her chair while she sat down.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

The two men sat down, and Lucky said, “By any chance, Mr. Strongheart, might you be looking for work, or would you have an interest in leaving what you are doing to pursue a career of excitement, very good pay, lots of travel, and challenge?”

Strongheart grinned, saying, “Sir, I have my letters of reference in my hotel room down the street. I was going to the Pinkerton Agency office tomorrow to see if I could get a job. That is why I came to Chicago. Plus, I wanted to see the town.”

Lucky jumped up saying, “
Sacre bleu!
Marvelous. You come to my office tomorrow! You have got the job. Tomorrow we will speak about compensation and answer all your questions. You showed me tonight more about yourself than I could learn in a dozen interviews.”

The narrow-gauge train started down an incline toward Beaver Creek, and Lucky grinned to himself, looking out the window, thinking about his initial meeting with and impression of Joshua Strongheart.

Since that time, Allan Pinkerton himself had become a fan of the man of two worlds. He was also bound and determined that the man who killed Blackjack Colvin pay for his murder, and both managers felt that the one man who could accomplish such a task was Joshua Strongheart.

Before going to see Belle, Lucky met with the sheriff. Most of the people he spoke with at the sheriff's office believed that the kidnapper, Missy, and Strongheart had all perished in the storm and were probably dead from hypothermia and buried under ten feet of snow.