Blood Feather (19 page)

He remembered his father had told him before many times, “Red sky in the morning, cowboys take warning, but a red sky at night is a cowboy's delight.”

It would be sunny this day, and his pa was defending him. He simply couldn't feel any better and had a definite spring in his step. They walked at a brisk pace, and young Joshua had to take two steps for each one his stepdad took. He wondered if he would ever be that tall when he grew up.

They walked into the schoolyard and up the steps to the wooden schoolhouse. The teacher had the other kids playing outside, who were genuinely curious about what was going on. As the meeting started, every few minutes some child would try to peek in the windows but be shooed away by Miss Vendetti, the schoolmarm.

Dan presented the case in a matter-of-fact way, and the very large blacksmith seemed to be frustrated. He was not used to speaking in such a meeting, only to customers talking about shoeing horses in his stable, where the surroundings were familiar. As the meeting wore on, he seemed to get more frustrated and was soon on his feet pacing. Dan stood up, too, being cautious.

Dan stared at the blacksmith, saying, “You know, Whitney, what really bothered me about the story?”

“What, Marshal?” the blacksmith growled.

“The fact that your boy here referred to Joshua as a red mongrel,” the lawman replied. “Does your son at his age have a big enough vocabulary to even know what a mongrel is or to use the term ‘blanket nigger'?”

Whitney's large face grew beet red, and then before he could speak, Dan turned his attention to the man's son, Billy.

“Boy,” Dan said, “can you tell me what a mongrel is?”

“A person?” the boy obviously guessed.

Dan said, “So that was a term he heard at home.”

Whitney tried to step forward, being used to intimidating people with his bulk, height, and brawn. Then it dawned on him that he would never intimidate this marshal ever. He relaxed his stance a little and folded his calf leg–sized arms in front of his chest.

Dan ignored this and then turned his attention to the schoolteacher.

“Miss Vendetti,” Dan said, “I also do not understand why my son is supposed to be punished for defending himself. That is not fair at all, and the Constitution of the United States guarantees all of us the right to defend ourselves. So does the Good Book. Can you explain this to me?”

She immediately displayed a haughty demeanor and, hands on her hips said, “Marshal Cooper, I most certainly can explain why. Joshua struck him very hard with his fist, right in the face. It was horrible. There was blood everywhere.”

Pointing at the bully, she said, “Yes, Billy acted out first, and we talked about it. However, even though he was wrong, he only shoved Joshua. He did not strike him with a fist or even attempt to.”

Dan laughed out loud.

“So, ma'am,” he responded, “you feel that shoving a person does not constitute an assault on a person, any person?”

“That is absolutely correct, Marshal,” she said angrily. “It pales in comparison to fisticuffs.”

“So,” Dan said, “a person shoving another cannot hurt the other person?”

“Indeed not!” came the terse reply.

Dan walked slowly over toward Whitney, and when he got near him their size difference became quite obvious, as Whiney towered over the six-foot-one-inch lawman and was twice as large as the older man. He stiffened up a little because Dan had come within a few feet of him, but he kept his arms crossed.

Joshua wondered if his pa was at a loss for words, as he had not replied.

Suddenly, without any warning, in an explosive flash of movement, Marshal Dan Cooper launched himself forward, bringing all his weight to bear, and his hands shot out, striking the blacksmith on both shoulders and shoving hard. The 250-pounder, off-guard and off-balance, flew backward, the weight of his body sending him unceremoniously through the one– by twelve-inch pine-board wall two feet behind him, with a thunderous crash. Whitney landed with a thud on his back in the schoolyard and lay there unmoving, knocked out when his head hit the wall.

Dan smiled and gently grabbed a beaming, proud Joshua by the scruff of his neck, saying softly, “I am proud of you, son, for defending yourself against a bully. Miss Vendetti, tomorrow one of my deputies and I will rebuild that wall, and I will bring new lumber and nails to do so. In the meantime, Joshua is taking the day off from school, and he and I are going fishing. Do you have any questions?”

She stared, mouth open, at the unconscious blacksmith and then back at the marshal.

“No, sir,” she replied. “You made your point quite emphatically. I will see you tomorrow morning, Joshua. Have fun with your father today.”

Dan grabbed her fire bucket from next to her desk and stepped through the gaping hole in the wall amid the crowd of awestruck children. He poured the water on Whitney's face, and the big man sat up suddenly, sputtering and shaking the water from his head. Dan handed the bucket to Joshua, who, grinning from ear to ear, ran to the well and filled it before returning it to its resting place next to Miss Vendetti's old desk.

Whitney looked around in a daze, shaking his head. Dan grinned and stuck his hand down. The big man took it and was pulled to his feet.

Dan grabbed his arm and said, “Are you okay, Whitney?”

Shaking his head again, the burly man said, “I guess. What happened?”

Dan just patted him in the back and chuckled, then turned and walked away.

Joshua followed his stepdad through his gathered classmates, his chest puffed out like a peacock's, and they walked back toward Dan's office. The boy had never been so proud.

“Thank you for standing up for me, Pa,” Joshua said.

“Never start a fight, Joshua, and do not strike first unless you can tell the other guy is about to strike. And when you do get in a fight, you win, and you do not take water or give up ever. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the lawman replied. “This is a tough world, and a man has to be tough to survive in it. As tough as you might become, though, you treat every lady you meet like she is fine china and make sure others treat all women that way, too. Understand?”

“Yes, Pa. I give you my word,” Joshua said solemnly, and the weight of this commitment hit him squarely.

Although kids talked about the traumatic and exciting event for weeks, none of the adult participants ever mentioned the incident again.

Strongheart decided he would indeed take a room at the McClure House, and he headed there, less than a block away from the restaurant, and registered, getting a room facing the back of her café.

Joshua's head was spinning because of exhaustion. He had to get some sleep and certainly had not the night before. Anytime Belle had not been giving him her full attention, he was doing that for her, staying awake and alert and getting up several times to look out windows.

He walked into the café later, and she beamed when she saw him enter. She rushed over to the door, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him passionately. He quickly explained about getting a room at the McClure House and why, and she protested a little but was also relieved. Like Joshua, she thought: Why give the tongue-waggers something else to talk about? They would create enough on their own.

“Is Deputy Vaughn here?” he asked.

“Yes, he is at the far northwest corner table drinking coffee,” she answered. “He seems very diligent. He tried to bring a chair in the kitchen here, but you have seen me zip around when the café is busy, and I shooed him out to the dining room.”

Strongheart was glad to hear that the big lawman truly had her welfare at heart. He gave her a kiss and told her he was going to go flop on his bed and just sleep, so he could be fresh and refreshed.

Belle grinned at him and flirtingly said, “Well, my dear future husband, I may come over to that nice new hotel and knock on your door.”

Joshua grinned, saying, “Sweetheart, I love you more than life itself, but as tired as I am, if you do that, I will put six Colt .45 slugs through the door.”

She laughed and went back to her cooking, while he entered the dining room. He spotted the big deputy and went over to his table. Both men nodded, and Joshua sat down across from him.

He said, “Deputy, everything under control?”

Vaughn said, “Please call me Steve. Yes, sir, all is good so far. I just cannot figure out how she stays so busy in that kitchen and then smiles so much and stays friendly with every customer.”

Strongheart said, “Don't call me Mr. either, please. It's Joshua or Strongheart. Belle is an amazing woman, amazing. She does bring in help sometimes when she gets really busy, but she still does the work of ten women. Now, about this Blood Feather. He is so brazen, so cold, so cunning, and is obviously very mad. Do not take any chances with him.”

Steve said, “Joshua, listen to me, partner. One thing I can do is shoot, and if any seven-foot-tall Indian walks through that door, I will light him up like a church Christmas tree and apologize later if he is the wrong seven-footer.”

Strongheart started chuckling. Then his head started swimming again.

He stuck out his hand and shook, saying, “I have a room at the McClure House, so if you have any problems, give me a shout or fire a shot. I got a room looking at the back of the café. You take care of that woman. She is going to be my wife soon, you know.”

Steve winked and said, “Yes, I heard. Congratulations.”

Strongheart went to the hotel, and into his room, and fell asleep on his bed, only taking his gun and knife off first. He still had his boots on, and he slept the sleep of the dead for hours. It was dinnertime when Joshua awakened. He freshened up and headed back to the café, and got a wonderful shock. There was his friend Chris Colt, the scout he'd become partnered with at Fort Union, and his boss, Lucky.

He had barely sat down with both men before Belle was bringing out plates of large steaks, baked potatoes, and fresh bread for the trio. She was busy, but she sat down briefly at their table, after taking a plateful to Deputy Vaughn.

“Chris,” she said, “Joshua told me all about you and your adventures together. I was just thinking. He said you were going up north to be a chief of scouts for the Seventh Cavalry?”

Chris said, “Yes, ma'am.”

She said, grinning, “Don't you ma'am me, Chris Colt. You call me Belle or Annabelle.”

He said, “Okay, Belle.”

Belle said, “If you ever get to Bismarck in Dakota Territory, my first cousin, Shirley Ebert, owns a restaurant there and is the best cook in the West. She is a woman to latch on to, and I have a hunch if you two would meet you would want to latch on to each other.”

Little did she know how prophetic her words were, because in just over a year, Chris Colt would indeed meet, fall in love with, and marry her cousin Shirley.

“So,” Joshua said, “what brings you two to Cañon City and how did you meet?”

Lucky said, “We met at Fort Union because we had some other business zere.”

Chris said, “I had to come back to pick up two scouts for the Seventh Cavalry who had been instrumental for us down south in the Apache campaign. I sent them on with the train. Lucky heard my name and told me he felt he knew me, because you had written such good things about me in your report on Quanah Parker.”

Strongheart grinned, saying, “Got caught lyin' again. You headed back to Chicago, Boss?”

“
Oui
—I mean yes,” Lucky replied, as always trying to catch himself and stick with English and not lapse into French words.

“Are you okay?” Lucky said.

Joshua said, “What do you mean?”

He said, “I read your telegraph and heard from the sheriff, and from Annabelle, about all you have been through saving that little girl. How badly deed you wound that keeler?”

Joshua said, “I hit him good on the arm and probably broke some bones, but a wound like that won't slow that man down. He is very touched in the head, Boss, and the toughest I have ever faced.”

“Well, I have a new assignment for you, but right now, Mr. Pinkerton wants everything, all resources, behind you to get thees man,” Lucky replied. “He wants all men to know you do not kill a Pinkerton man and get away weeth it. But you must be exhausted. How are you?”

“He is not going to tell you,” Chris said, holding a forkful of steak in front of his lips, “He'll make it work.”

He ate his food and grinned.

Lucky said, “How do you know?”

Strongheart grinning himself and said, “Because that is what Colt would do. He understands.”

The men gave each other a knowing look, they were so much alike.

“Why don't I put you both up at the hotel I am staying at?”

Lucky said, “No, thank you, Joshua. We both agreed to take thees queeck side trip to see you, but we both have deadlines.”

Colt said, “Yeah, I sent those two trackers on ahead, and I don't want them to get near Fort Robinson and then get lost. It might make me look bad.”

Joshua and Lucky chuckled.

Belle came out from the kitchen and gave Chris and Lucky big hugs, telling them good-bye. She insisted Joshua saddle up and escort them to the train depot to see them off, so he did. Their train left in an hour.

The sun was getting close to the mountains, waiting to tuck itself in for the night behind those rocky sentinels. As he rode along the river road, Strongheart spotted a familiar house almost overgrown with beautiful fragrant flowers. He dismounted and left Gabe outside a white rose-covered wooden trellis and entered the gate.

The door was opened by a very slight and bent gray-haired woman with hands that were gnarled from years of hard work and whose leathery wrinkled skin creased her face like an old mining trail map. Although her grin was half-toothless, it was very pleasant, and Strongheart could tell that maybe fifty or sixty years earlier, she had probably been quite the looker.