Blood Feather (21 page)

Strongheart said, “General, men shot down and killed under a flag of truce is not something any red man of any upbringing condones. We have honor, too.”

Davis stared at him and extended his hand, saying, “I believe you, Mr. Strongheart.”

The general thought about having his first sergeant escort Strongheart to the store and away from the garrison, then he grinned, thinking this man would handle whatever his men handed him.

Earlier, Joshua had been attacked by a big, burly sergeant named Rowdy, and he tricked him and dumped him in a watering tough while the men Rowdy had tried to show off for laughed at him.

Strongheart left the headquarters building and asked directions to the store. Unfortunately, Rowdy and his hangers on were outside the store. Joshua was going to just leave, but he was already headed directly toward the store when he spotted the troublemaker. He could not just turn tail.

Rowdy came forward, chest sticking out and chin jutting defiantly.

“Well, laddie,” he said, “ya think ya bested me 'cause I had a slip. We're gonna change the dance.”

Strongheart said, “Sergeant, you are playing the wrong tune. I am tired, just traveled halfway across the country to deliver one letter, and plan to buy my supplies and leave. So step aside kindly.”

Rowdy stepped forward and tried to give Joshua a shove with both hands. Joshua's hands shot forward and up, like Dan had taught him, with his palms forward. They went in little semicircles from the inside out, and he grabbed Rowdy's fingers, which naturally made both hands turn palms up, with the fingers bent down toward the ground. Rowdy screamed in pain from the pressure on his wrists and knuckles, which all felt like they were ready to pop totally out of joint, and he stood up on his tiptoes it hurt so bad.

Joshua grinned, whispering, “You said you wanted to dance. How about a do-si-do?”

With that, he marched the crusty old brawler twenty feet to the watering trough he'd swum in before. Suddenly, Strongheart swung him sideways, spinning on his own heels and letting go, laughing as the big sergeant crashed into the watering trough again, while all his men laughed. Joshua walked on to the store, while General Davis chuckled to himself, watching from his outer office window. Even the general laughed aloud as Rowdy came out of the trough cursing and yelling, slipped, and fell back into the water. Suddenly, instead of Rowdy, a bully twice as big sat up out of the water. It was Blood Feather, and he held Belle's heart up in one hand and a large bloody knife in the other hand.

Joshua sat up, heart pounding, blinking his eyes, and looked around. He pictured Belle, and he wept.

“I miss you so much already, Belle,” he said. “I will never love another.”

He let himself cry for now, but could not afford to tomorrow. Sometime during the next day, Blood Feather would be within range. He knew it. He felt it, but right now he simply grieved until he dropped off to sleep again. He would awaken and have venison steaks and biscuits in the morning, and lots of coffee. Right now, he would simply get the rest he needed.

A plan was developing in his mind. It was daring and bold, but he figured Belle was worth it.

The next day, by mid-morning he was halfway across the wide, grassy, treed valley west of Pikes Peak. Strongheart ground-reined Gabe, and over the widely used road up the valley's middle he searched for tracks revealing the big draft horse and its heavy load. This was one of the few bottleneck parts of the valley, where large rock outcroppings came close together, so all traffic was funneled through the area he was checking.

He had guessed correctly. He was ahead of the big killer. Strongheart started making preparations, hiding in the trees whenever a traveler happened by.

We Wiyake
sat in the rocks, his rifle ready, watching at the top of the very long, steep hill on the road northwest of Cañon City. He knew Joshua would have to come this way. In his sick mind, he wondered if it was a wise decision to kill Strongheart's woman. He still wanted to eat the man's heart, and women, in his mind, were not that important anyway. Blood Feather saw a posse coming far down the long hill, but Strongheart was not with them. He lay down and waited, knowing exactly what he would do.

Strongheart had picked his spot. He had ridden around the trees looking, and after half an hour spotted what he wanted. Many feet off the ground was a gigantic nest, over ten feet in depth. It was the aerie of an eagle. Now he ground-reined Gabe again, and walked around under the tree, walking out in circles. And forty feet out he found what he wanted, the discarded tail feather of a bald eagle. He had been looking for the nest of a red-tailed hawk, golden eagle, or bald eagle, but this white feather with brown tip would be even more dramatic.

He returned to the narrows.

Blood Feather watched where there was a patch of road that was very rocky. He had made note of it riding up the hill. He lay down in the middle of the dirt trail and aimed his rifle at the rocky patch. The posse was halfway up the long climb, a Ute tracker in front of them. He waited. Now they were less than ten feet from the rocks, and he started firing and chambering rounds, the bullets traveling down the long hill, ricocheting off the rocks, and slamming into the legs and chests of the now screaming and rearing horses. Several riders hit the ground, and he fired toward them, seeing three get hit by either direct hits or ricochets. None of the posse even fired shots close to him. His concentration of rounds caused the desired effect—wounded men and wounded horses. He knew the white men would take the time to care for their wounded and would be nervous about proceeding, plus half their horses were now useless. He waited, watching while they treated the wounded, and none seemed to want to proceed. There was one who rode off to the west, wide of the road, and Blood Feather figured that one was probably hiding in the trees. Even at that distance, that one looked old and was moving very slow anyway, so he did not concern the killer. Finally, the group turned and headed back toward the south.

Blood Feather was certain that Joshua would have pursued him immediately, and it was bothering him that the Pinkerton was not with the posse. Then, he wondered if Strongheart simply wanted to stay with his woman.
Wasicun
were sometimes weak like that, he thought.

We Wiyake
turned and went to the big draft horse hidden in the trees, where he was resting and recovering from the long climb up the evergreen-lined hill. Blood Feather started riding at a trot toward the valley where Strongheart was awaiting him. His arm was throbbing where infection had set in, and he knew he had to find some roots and sap to make a poultice to combat the infection.

Two hours passed, and Blood Feather finally came to the narrowing part of the valley. He now slowed to a walk and held his rifle across his thighs, knowing this was the area where he would make an ambush. He did not like this. Something made him stop, but he did not know what. Then he realized it was something out of place.

To lure in a bobcat or even a curious pronghorn antelope on the prairie, American Indians of most nations knew to hang either a flap of fur or a large bird feather from a branch, bush, or tall plant. Under the long overhanging branch of the closest tree
,
We Wiyaki
saw something white hanging, moving with the wind. Then he made a big mistake. He knew about luring in pronghorn or bobcats, but he did not think. He rode forward to look closer, like a giant, unsuspecting bobcat. Blood Feather stopped the Percheron and stared at the feather swinging to and fro with the wind. It was a bald eagle feather, and it was covered with blood.

Whoosh!
Blood Feather felt stabbing, searing pain in his right thigh, and he grabbed it. He looked down. It was a Lakota arrow, and it had entered his right thigh, mid-thigh, and stuck out the other side, almost hitting the horse's side. His head snapped up, and he saw Strongheart, in war paint and breechcloth and holding his bow in his left hand. Joshua raised the bow in victory celebration and disappeared into the rock outcropping he stood on. Before Blood Feather could do anything. Blood poured everywhere from the wound. The serial killer could not attack or chase Joshua, as he had to get the bleeding stopped fast. He dropped off the horse and went down with pain when he hit the ground. He knew his thigh bone had been broken or chipped by the arrow. He quickly wrapped leather around the wound and secured it with his headband, which he yanked off his head.

He knew he had to get up again and get back on the big horse.

We Wiyake
normally never felt emotion, except after eating the heart of a victim. Normally, he was in charge. He struck terror into the hearts of white men and red men, women and children. But now he was twice wounded and in excruciating pain. More importantly, he was unnerved. He had been outsmarted.

He decided that if he was going to make the spirit journey, this mysterious, powerful half-white, half-Lakota enemy would die with him, locked in battle. They would die together, if he could not kill Strongheart outright. This was something he must do.

Joshua went to his next spot and lay down. He waited. Gabe was well back in the trees. In this place, the trail wound its way through the trees, and Joshua lay behind a fallen log across the trail. The big horse would step over the log, and as soon as he was over, Strongheart would spring up with his father's knife and slice through the Achilles tendon on
We Wiyake
's left ankle, then run into the trees, using the thick woods as perfect cover.

Two hours passed.

Boom!
A rifle went off far to the west in the trees. Joshua was up and running in a moment, and rushing to where he had left the big pinto.

“Oh no!” The words came out of his mouth as he saw Gabriel, his beloved horse, lying still.

Running forward, Strongheart saw the pool of blood and the big crimson hole in Gabe's forehead. The big red-and-white horse did not feel a thing. He had died instantly, but now Joshua's heart broke even more. Another thing happened: His resolve to get Blood Feather had been total before, but now it was well beyond that. It was beyond unbridled passion. It was cold fury.

Joshua stripped what he could from the saddlebags and made himself a pack to carry his provisions. Then he lay across the neck of the big horse.

He quietly said, “Good-bye, Gabe. We were partners.”

It suddenly hit Strongheart that he was a sitting duck, and he knew that
We Wiyake
could be sighting him in with his rifle now. He felt a shiver go down his spine, that sixth sense of “knowing” that some warriors have. He jumped to the side, and the little tree just past where he'd been sitting exploded, and then he heard the sound of Blood Feather's rifle no less than a hundred yards south of him. He speed-crawled away from his horse, and then got to his feet and started running through the thick trees in a northerly direction. He had to abandon the horse there and not look back.

No more shots rang out, but Strongheart could rest assured that
We Wiyake
was going to pursue.

He kept on northward at a steady, fast pace, jogging. He knew that a man jogging, if in the right condition, could actually keep on going when a horse could not. He went into the rock outcropping, as he knew the big horse could not follow there. Blood Feather would also be very slow-moving there. He had wounds to deal with.
Crack! Whump!
A bullet flashing by Joshua's left ear made him feel its power. He ducked and snapped his head, barely seeing Blood Feather in the trees. Joshua stood up, which was unexpected to the killer, and quickly took a snap shot with his bow. The arrow sailed rapidly and stuck in a tree right next to the giant's head. He disappeared into the trees.

Strongheart knew the man had to nurse his wounds, so he thought about pushing him, keeping on taking shots at a distance, letting him bleed. Then he thought about his beloved Belle and his horse Gabe, and he decided he would not let it happen that fast. This was not about revenge, he decided. It was about retribution. It was about the riddance and destruction of pure evil.

Strongheart crept back into the woods wearing his pack. He stayed out at a distance and walked a route parallel to the clear path the big draft horse made through the trees. There were lodgepole pines and aspens here, with a lot of undergrowth. The trail went for a mile, and then Strongheart spotted Blood Feather's horse covered with blood on one side and the giant serial killer lying on the ground next to it. He slowly moved forward, arrow nocked, ready to draw and shoot.

Joshua looked closely at the horse first and saw it was covered with
We Wiyake
's blood from Strongheart's arrow. He then looked at the murderer. The man was clearly unconscious. Strongheart pulled out his scalpel-sharp knife and held it over Blood Feather's throat. Then he grinned an evil grin and put it away. He pulled out the roll of bandaging he now always carried in his saddlebags. He dressed the leg wound and put a tight pressure bandage on it.
We Wiyake
was still out cold. Joshua looked at the giant's arm and could see angry flesh above and below the leather wrapping. Blood Feather's arm was severely infected where Strongheart had shot him.

Joshua then built a campfire and pulled an eagle feather out of the back of his hair. He soaked the feather with
We Wiyake
's blood and set it on the killer's face. He then rose and walked away from the camp, pulled his Colt from his pack, and fired two rounds in the air.
We Wiyake
started stirring, and Strongheart ran into the trees, disappearing quickly in the vegetation.

He was killing this man a piece at a time. Strongheart waited a good distance away and watched with his spyglass. After fifteen minutes, Blood Feather was sitting up and looking around. He held the bloody feather and stared at it. He looked down at his patched up leg.

We Wiyake
normally had no emotions, but now he was terrified. He looked at Strongheart's bandage and a shiver ran up and down his spine. He looked down at the feather, and things started to register. For the first time in his life,
We Wiyake
was scared. He was terrified. He had thought that if he did the terrible things he did, it would force Strongheart to be an even greater adversary, but the smaller man had bested him at his own game. It unnerved him, and the big killer did not know how to react other than to survive.