The Rider of Phantom Canyon (17 page)

He shoved his rifle into his scabbard, dug his heels into Eagle, and yelled, “Heeyah!”

The big black-and-white horse leapt forward, his powerful muscles bunching and lunging under Strongheart's own powerful legs, which were now clinging tightly to the horse's ribs. Wednesday was swaying and somehow miraculously still on her feet. He approached her at full gallop, reached down and grabbed her by her long, shiny, raven-colored hair, and swung her up behind him on the horse, which naturally knew to do a rollback and sprinted back downhill with two riders on his back now. Somehow, instinctively she wrapped her arms around Joshua and slumped forward against his back, barely conscious.

The detective was proud of Scottie, who had stopped and was providing cover fire as Joshua sped past him, even winking at the teenager as he ran by. The two horses kept down the ridgeline, the Wet Mountain Valley clearly visible and sprawled out below them. Strongheart saw the ridge below was starting to level out among a large jumble of boulders, and he reined up in the rocks.

He quickly dismounted and laid Wednesday down behind a large, house-sized boulder. Scottie followed suit and both men raised their rifles, firing almost simultaneously, and two riders fell off their horses with large spots of blood on their chests.

Joshua looked over at Scottie, who had blood seeping through his arm bandage. Scottie looked back at him and only now saw that Strongheart had been shot through his left hip. Scottie wondered how this amazing man was even walking. The bullet clearly had entered his upper left buttocks and come out low on his left hip, maybe right below the hip bone. The pain, he knew, had to be unbearable.

Scottie yelled, “I'll fire. Bandage your hip!”

Joshua complied, then knelt down by Wednesday, who weakly smiled at him.

She said, “I am dead. You must leave me. I slow you down. I am happy to die with the man I love.”

Strongheart said, “Will you shut up?”

“What that means?” she answered weakly.

The shooter gang all dismounted and took cover behind trees. There were now only around a dozen or fewer, and the accurate fire from Joshua and Scottie was unnerving them.

Strongheart was tickled by her saying,
“What that means?”
He started laughing, and she, barely awake, joined in.

Scottie looked over from his boulder and saw them
both laughing, and he started laughing, too. Soon, amid the shooting, all three of them were laughing hysterically, with tears spilling down their cheeks.

Scottie hollered, “I'm hit! You're shot! She is shot to doll rags. Her horse is dead. We are shooting up all our ammunition! Gee, Joshua, thanks for teaching me how to become a Pinkerton. You always get your man!”

This really struck Joshua's funny bone, and he laughed even harder, and Wednesday, seeing this, laughed even harder, too. The gang of bushwhackers heard all the hysterical laughing and howling and were totally frightened now by such bravado in the face of certain death.

The only one not unnerved was the leader of the shooters, dressed in a dapper suit and wearing a derby even in the mountains. It was Bat Masterson. He knew that Joshua Strongheart had been “down the river and over the mountain,” as the old frontier cliché went. Joshua had seen it all, and Bat knew he was letting off steam, and so were those with him. He knew that this gang, which he had just joined after riding to the canyon head from the ranch, was after blood but was no match for the Pinkerton.

One of the shooters was a large man named Bullsquat Withers because he always used that term when speaking. Bullsquat looked like a bull himself and was an enormous man of great strength.

He laughed and said, “Wal, boys, I shot thet horse from unner that ole red nigger girl, and ya could see she
was bleedin' like a stuck pig already. I think old Strongheart took one, too.”

Another man chimed in. “He did! I seen it! He was shot in the ass, and that kid is shot up, too.”

Bat looked at the men. “What girl? What kid?”

One of the shooters, a slight, balding man with mean eyes said, “Strongheart has some Injun woman with him, looks like she is a Cheyenne or Sioux, and some kid, a teenaged boy.”

Bat Masterson said, “You mean to tell me you men shot a woman?”

Bullsquat said, “She ain't no woman. She is a red blanket nigger. They ain't women. They're animals.”

Bat bristled.

He said, “I would love to see you face Joshua Strongheart and say that about her to his face, man to man.”

Bullsquat had the gauntlet tossed down now and his manhood called into question. He stood up, towering over Bat Masterson.

The behemoth said, “I ain't afraid ta face him. He's a red nigger, too.”

Bat ignored the big man and grabbed his rifle, saying, “I'm going to go parley with Strongheart. You boys hold tight, and don't anybody shoot.”

Joshua was changing the dressing on Wednesday's wounds and cleaning them. She was conscious now, having had some water and elk jerky he gave her.

Scottie said, “Joshua, someone's coming with a white truce flag on their rifle barrel.”

A voice rang out. “Hello, the boulders!”

Strongheart recognized the voice of Bat Masterson, and he peeked out.

He hollered, “Come on in, Bat!”

Bat Masterson entered the boulders and looked at all three, shaking his head.

“You folks are sure shot up, Strongheart,” Bat started, doffing his hat to Wednesday, then saying, “Ma'am, I had no idea you were with Joshua. I do not make war on women or children. Do you speak English, ma'am?”

Strongheart shook hands with Bat, saying, “She does that indeed. This is Wednesday, and she is the daughter of Crazy Horse. She is eaten up with infection, Bat. This is Scottie Middleton, my riding partner.”

Scottie's shoulders went back with that remark, and Joshua added, “Wednesday, Scottie, this is my friend Bat Masterson.”

Scottie stepped forward, eyes opened wide, and shook hands with Bat, saying, “Please to meet you, sir. You're famous.”

Bat and Joshua laughed at this.

Masterson explained, “The ranch foreman said that you and two assassins snuck up over the wall of the ranch and tried to back-shoot V. R. Clinton through the windows with shotguns and rifles.”

Strongheart grinned and said, “You have met me and have spoken with me. Do you believe I would do that, Bat?”

Masterson said, “Bullsquat.”

Strongheart went on. “Have you met your boss yet?”

Bat said, “No, just a disagreeable ranch foreman.”

Strongheart said, “Your boss is not a he, but a she.”

Bat said, “What?”

Strongheart said, “V. R. is Victoria Roberta Clinton. She is absolutely beautiful, my friend, but is more deadly than any buzztail you have ever encountered. She was the mistress of Robert Hartwell, whom I killed, the head of the Indian Ring. That's where all the money came from, the misfortunes of my father's people. I had already met her. In fact, she almost killed me in Cañon City. Wiya Waste, we call her Wednesday, rode all the way from the Dakota Territory to warn me about her. She grew up in my father's village.”

Bat stuck out his hand, saying, “Your word is gold with me. You need to get her to a hospital somewhere, quick. I ride for the brand, Strongheart.”

Joshua said, “I know, Bat. I respect that.”

Bat Masterson added, “But the brand has to stand for something decent. I'll hold these boys off as long as I can. Then I know some will come after you. I am sure some will side with me, though, and move on. Most Western men I know won't have anything to do with hurting women, no matter what color their skin is.”

Strongheart thanked him and said, “Thanks, Bat. I was going to head to Cañon City down Grape Creek or Copper Gulch Stage Road, but I think we need to go straight to Westcliffe and maybe get a train. I have to get her to Denver to a hospital.”

Bat walked Joshua off a few feet and said softly, “When this is all over and you are mended, there is a very disagreeable fellow, a monster actually, named Bullsquat Withers. He found it amusing that she was shot and referred to her and you as
red blanket niggers
. I challenged him to say that face-to-face to you someday, and he said he was not scared to do that.”

Joshua shook hands again and gave Bat a knowing look and smile. Scottie shook hands, too.

Bat said, “Wednesday, you could not be in better hands. I know you will get better. I am sorry those men I am with shot you.”

She smiled and weakly said, “I know I am in good hands, as you say. I have loved Strongheart since I was a little girl. I like you, Bat.”

She smiled and fainted.

Bat said, “Get moving. I'll hold them as long as I can.”

Bat left the rocks, pulling his white handkerchief from his barrel. His men were puzzled at seeing Joshua and Scottie mount up, with Joshua holding the limp, wounded woman across his lap on his horse, and head down the mountain at a walk. Nobody in that group, though, would question Bat Masterson, but would wait to hear his words. He walked back to them and called them together. Just in case, he held his right hand on his black-handled, shiny, custom-made .45 revolver with the numeral
1
etched onto the loading gate, just as Bat had designed it.

He said, “Boys, make us a fire. We're camping here tonight.”

Bullsquat said, “What about them red niggers? They're getting away!”

Bat got into a gunfighter's crouch and said, “I am the top hand here and give the orders. This outfit is not run by committee. Make camp.”

Bullsquat would face any man with his fists, and most with his guns, but not the likes and nerve of Bat Masterson. He turned, grumbling, and set out to gather firewood. Soon a fire was going and coffee was on, and all gathered around the fire, glad to have the shooting over for now.

Joshua held Wednesday in front of him as Eagle, now rested, carefully picked his way down the rocky ridge. Bat had indicated to Strongheart that he would run into a worn wagon road as soon as he left the trees and that he could turn left, go a mile, and turn right again, and Westcliffe would lie before him several miles ahead in the wide open, very green
valley.

“Gentlemen,” Bat Masterson said, raising his hot cup of coffee in a toast to the gang of sleepy gun hands before him.

It was shortly after dawn the next day, and they were breaking camp.

Bat said, “Boys, I am leaving you all this morning, and although I won't be speaking to him until I get to Cañon City, I am certain I speak for my friend Doc Holliday, too. I found out you boys had shot a woman, and to me, a man who shoots a woman is not a man, but a gelding.”

Bullsquat jumped up in anger, but calmed down when he saw Bat's eager smile and his hand hovering over the black-handled, shiny pistol.

Bat said, “Go ahead, Bullsquat. Do you want to join the list?”

Bullsquat slumped and poured himself a cup of coffee.

Bat said, “By the way, boys, V. R. Clinton is a woman, not a man, and she has a bunch of blood money. That's what we were paid with. Any of you want to leave with me, I am heading out.”

Three men indicated they were joining him and saddled their horses. Bullsquat and four others were left. One of them was the ranch foreman, Ez Bookman.

Ez said, “Yeah, I knew Miss Clinton was a woman, so she relayed her orders through me on account of she figgered most men wouldn't want no woman ramrod.”

Another one said, “I don't care. I ride for the brand.”

Bat mounted up and grinned, saying, “You're gonna die for it, too, if you boys try to tangle with Strongheart again.”

Bullsquat spit out some tobacco and said, “Bullsquat.”

Bat Masterson just laughed, turned his horse, and started down the mountain, his saddle partners following.

*   *   *

Joshua opened his eyes, and it was afternoon, the sun high in the sky to his west. He was dazed and confused, and he slowly started waking, coming to his senses.
There were no mountains around him, and he was in a freight wagon with no top on it. He looked over, and Wednesday lay beside him, asleep. They were lying on mattresses, as far as he could tell, with patchwork quilts on them. She had been rebandaged with good bandages.

Strongheart tried to sit up but could not move. He looked down. His hip and buttocks were bandaged and his leg had completely stiffened up. Grabbing the railing, he pulled hard and raised himself a little. He was in the prairie, and the Greenhorn Mountains were behind him at some distance. He saw a small herd of pronghorns scattering before the wagon and the back of a familiar head of white hair belonging to a slight, older man—it was Zach Banta.

Zach didn't even look at him, but spoke while driving. “Wal, Strongheart, old boy, looks to me like ya saved yer hair again somehow.”

Joshua said, “What happened?”

Zach said, “I'll tell ya when ya git up, but you need more rest. Lay back down and close them eyes.”

Strongheart felt faint and gladly did as he was told. He was back into a deep sleep almost as soon as he lay back down.

*   *   *

Joshua opened his eyes, and he was lying on the banks of the Arkansas River. The rapids roared past him, and
Belle Ebert stepped out from behind a bush and approached him.

“Belle, you're alive!” he said.

He added, “I thought at first I was dreaming, but this is real. These cliffs rising up above us are real. The river is real. You are real. Am I in Heaven? Can I kiss you?”

She smiled broadly, looking more beautiful than she had ever been, and she said, “Please do. I have missed you so much, my darling.”

They kissed, long and passionately.

They pulled apart, and he just smiled at her and pulled her to him.

He said, “I am confused. I love this, but I'm confused. You were murdered. You were raped and murdered, but now you are whole. Belle, you have never looked more beautiful. Am I dreaming?”

She said, “No, Joshua. You are here with me now. This is real, and I love you, darling. I always will.”

“I love you, too, and I have missed you so much—so very much,” he said.

She twisted her head to the side and laid it on her left hand, which was on top of a boulder.

Strongheart said, “‘See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!'”

Belle said, “Shakespeare again.
Romeo and Juliet
, Act II. See, I'm onto you now, Joshua.”

He said, “How did you know that was from
Romeo and Juliet
?”

She said, “There is much that I know now that I never knew before. I know many things, my love.”

He said, “I know that I will never stop loving you, Belle.”

She said, “As it should be. But your heart is troubled, Joshua. You want to love others, or another, but you are worried that you will not be loyal to me.”

Belle continued, “Shakespeare also said, ‘Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.'”

Joshua said, “I don't understand.”

She said, “Yes, you do. Shakespeare also said, ‘Go to your bosom; Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.' Joshua, do you believe God put love in your heart for me?”

“Yes. Yes, I do,” he said.

She replied, “God puts all love in your heart. If He puts love for another in your heart, who are you to deny it?”

Strongheart had a lump in his throat and said, “What about you, Belle?”

She said, “You asked me if you are in Heaven. No, a little bit of Heaven is in you. It is in your heart, and I am in your heart and will always dwell there. I am very happy and safe now. You have much to give, and it is only right that you give it to another. You survive. That is what you do, and you save others. That is to you what
breathing is to other men. Keep saving and keep loving, Joshua Strongheart. I will always be here for you, in your heart to call upon when you need me. Follow your heart. Your mind will lead you astray.”

*   *   *

He opened his eyes and blinked them. The sun was low in the western sky, hovering over the Greenhorn Mountains, far behind them now. Strongheart shook his head. His dream had been so real. It seemed like he was not dreaming. Moaning, he pulled himself into a sitting position and looked around. Wednesday was still sleeping. He touched her cheek, and it felt warm.

Zach looked back over his shoulder, saying, “Wal, Joshua, guess ya had yoreself a nice little nap, did ya?”

Strongheart said, “I was just dreaming—a very realistic dream. I even asked during the dream if I was dreaming.”

Zach said, “Reckon so. Ya was talkin' ta Belle. Ya talked in yore sleep. Mentioned her name.”

“I talked in my sleep?” Strongheart said. “I never talk in my sleep. I cannot afford to. Might happen when I am sleeping close to an enemy.”

Zach replied, “Reckon so. I take it as a compliment. Ya woke up, knew ya was with me, and fell back asleep knowing ya was safe.”

Joshua said, “Makes sense. You have different horses. What happened?”

Zach chuckled, cracked the whip, and said, “Get up there, boys!”

Strongheart watched the horses break into a trot and could see the tops of some buildings in Pueblo in the distance.

Zach said, “I had them unhitch mah team and hitch up these stagecoach hosses thet was lent by the Wells Fargo boys. Ain't that nice?”

Joshua smiled, and Zach continued, “Wal, I reckon you come waltzin' into Westcliffe carryin' this young lady in yore arms, barely able ta walk. Thet Scottie boy was ridin' his big black and leadin' Eagle fer ya. Eagle had thrown a shoe and had worn his hoof down to the frog jest about. All heart, thet horse is. You wouldn't let thet horse carry ya one more mile, and ya walked carryin' her fer several miles. The doctor treated all three of ya and said she had to get to the hospital quick. They was gonna send you down ta Cañon City by rail, then to Pueblo, then ta Denver.”

He chuckled and continued, “I said, ‘Gimme some faster horses and I'll get him ta Pueblo quicker than any old trains can. It's a straight shot, boys.' They fetched me this team, doctor treated ya, and here we are.”

“Thanks, old-timer,” Joshua said. “Where is Scottie? Where is Eagle?”

Zach responded, “Reckon he is on his way down Grape Creek on the Rio Grande Line ta Cañon City. Bat Masterson come down outta the mountains and tole
what happened. Said he would see Scottie ta home, and they'd make sure Eagle got stabled and fixed up with the blacksmith. Blacksmith here said he figgered Eagle would need ta rest his legs a bit and let thet hoof heal a few days before he got new shoes. He put some salve on it he swears by.”

“What about Scottie's wound?”

Zach said, “Aw, it weren't no more 'n a scratch. Doc patched him up and said he'll have hisself a good ole scar for the womenfolk to carry on over. Tell you what, Strongheart, thet young man has some bottom to him.”

Strongheart grinned and thought about how proud he was of the man Scottie was becoming.

Joshua moved forward and sat down next to Zach.

Zach said, “Yer rifle, bedroll, and saddlebags are in the back there, and here's yer rig.”

He reached under the buckboard bench and pulled out Joshua's gun belt with his pistol and large knife. Joshua nodded in appreciation and put them on. He tried to stretch his leg out. He had never had his hip hurt so badly.

“I tole Bat Masterson who yer boss is, and he is sending him a telegraph when he gets ta Cañon City,” Zach said. “He also said ta tell ya not ta worry about thet Scottie boy, as he and Doc Holliday will keep an eye on him whilst they're in town.”

“Boy, oh, boy,” Strongheart said. “Zach, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your friendship, and it looks like I made some good friends in Bat and Doc, too.”

Zach said, “Young man, reckon ya really don't know how many people ya got coverin' yer back door. I ever tell ya of the ole boy who had friends watchin' out fer him?”

Joshua laughed and said, “No, but I suspect you will.”

Zach said, “There was this ole boy that had run outta luck and had a posse of fifteen chasin' him. You know the Mogollon Rim country down New Mexico way?”

Strongheart said, “Yes, sir.”

Zach went on, “Well, this ole boy was holed up there down at the Mogollon Rim with his gang. From what I understan', this ole boy and his amigos went into a bank down there near the border and took upon themselves ta make a large bank withdrawal. That woulda been okay, 'ceptin' they didn't have no deposit or funds sittin' in the bank at the time, only a strong desire to make a quick withdrawal. Wal, they reckoned they could do it quicker by drawin' their hoglegs and wearin' kerchiefs over their faces in case too much dust was stirred up by the eagerness of them bank employees to oblige their request.”

Joshua, despite his pain, was laughing already, and they were now riding into the western outskirts of Pueblo.

Zach continued, “So this posse formed that was not appreciative of this ole boy's banking practices. They come out to give him and his gang their comeuppance. So, after some lead flying back and forth, he stuck out a flag of truce. He told his gang to cover his backside
fer him whilst he tried to parley with the lawmen. He goes walking out with that flag, which happened to make a good target, and the next thing ya know, the marshal grabs iron and opens up the ball. This ole boy was shot ta doll rags, and crawled back to his gang, near dead. He said, ‘You boys tole me ya was coverin' my backside fer me. What the hell happened?'

“One a them outlaws said, ‘We did, boss. All a them bullet holes are in yer front. Ya ain't got a single hole in yore backside.'”

Strongheart chuckled, then laughed hard.

He said, “Zach, you sure have a way with a story.”

Banta grinned at him.

*   *   *

An hour later, the wagon pulled up to the Pueblo train depot, and two Pinkerton agents appeared out of the crowd. Strongheart knew them both.

They shook with Joshua, who introduced them to Zach Banta.

Jules Carter said, “We've been down here a week. Lucky sent us down to investigate V. R. Clinton for you, and we weren't able to come up with much. Then we heard from Lucky that V. R. stands for Victoria Roberta Clinton.”

Strongheart said, “Yes, and she is a looker who will steal your heart as easy as you please. Of course, while she is doing that, she will reach back and steal your wallet, your pocket watch, the watch fob, and the
jingle-bobs off your spurs if they are made of anything other than steel.”

The men chuckled.

Jules said, “We have orders from Chicago and have a nurse. She just went to get coffee and will accompany you and your lady friend to the hospital in Denver. The company hired her to be your personal nurse. Boy, I never saw an Injun that beautiful before. Come to think of it, Strongheart, that has to be about the most beautiful face I have ever seen on any woman.”

Joshua responded, “Her Lakota name is Wiya Waste. It means ‘beautiful woman.' I call her Wednesday. That name will make it easier for her dealing with white people.”

Jules said, “The hospital in Denver is expecting you both, and they have people ready to operate on her right away. I guess one person gave Lucky some guff about Wednesday here being an Injun, and he telegraphed some doctor that took care of him before.”

Strongheart laughed, thinking about when Lucky was lingering near death in the same hospital. He'd had a good doctor, because Joshua had had him before, too.

Jules went on, “I guess this doctor lit into that woman like a marmot after a prairie dog and tore her hide into several shreds. She's looking for a new job somewhere besides Denver, I'll bet.”

Strongheart knew that Jules was going to tell him she was fired. Wednesday's concerns, and his little concern about her being treated poorly, proved to be
unnecessary. He sure appreciated his boss and realized again how fortunate he was to have so many friends.

On the train, able again to relax, he fell asleep in the private car reserved for Wednesday and him by Allan Pinkerton himself. Joshua was so tired by the time they were loaded on the train, he did not even hear the name of the nurse, which was Teresa Williams—a very nice, caring person with blond hair and a pleasant smile. He did remember that.