Blood Feather (17 page)

Missy whimpered, “I'm scared. I don't want to leave you. If he gets me again . . .”

“I know you're scared,” he said firmly. “So am I, but there's no other way. I'll come and get you, but I have to throw him off our trail.”

“Maybe he won't follow us,” she said hopefully.

“Maybe, young lady, cows will fly,” he replied. “Get ready.”

They came to the log, and Missy held on to Joshua's axe handle–like forearm while he swung her off the saddle onto the log. He turned his head and nodded at her, as she looked after him with a frightened faraway look in her eyes.

He kicked his heels to the horse as the trail narrowed down and steepened. The big paint's rear end almost slid on the ground as he plunged down the path. Strongheart figured that, with the deep sand in the gulch's bottom, the killer would have trouble telling that the horse's load had been lightened. He knew Blood Feather would assume he was heading into the thick areas to hide, so he would make it look that way. He figured this might buy him more time.

The big horse seemed to sense Joshua's desperation and stepped out with more urgency now. They plunged down as quickly as possible and within fifteen minutes were in the knee-deep stream. Strongheart knew that whoever it was who'd said you can lose someone by walking down a stream was either full of bull or a dude. Footprints in a clear stream bottom hold for a while. Besides that, many rocks get turned over and scarred by the horse's hooves. Joshua counted on that.

He went west up the stream, toward the thick undergrowth, but finally climbed out on a grassy area, passing up more obvious spots where tracks could be hidden easier. Again, that was what Joshua counted on. Blood Feather would look more carefully at the most obvious places to leave the stream and would probably pay very little attention to this one.

Leaving his horse ground-reined in a little grove just beyond the grassy area, an apparent tributary course when the stream overflowed its banks during the rainy season, Joshua climbed from the saddle and pulled his extra cotton shirt out of his bedroll. Crawling forward on his hands and knees, he carefully dried the wet grass with his shirt, checking to be sure he had left no threads. He then carefully covered each hoofprint in the soft ground with dirt he brought from the depression beyond the grass, before he manipulated the grass back into place. This took the Pinkerton a long time to accomplish, but he knew being thorough would save his life and, more importantly, the little girl's. If it hadn't been for her, he might have just set up an ambush and taken on Blood Feather, but he could not let his ego get in the way of her safety. Satisfied that he had done a thorough job, he moved his horse beyond the depression and covered up those tracks as well.

He kept looking back up the giant slice in the earth they had come through, but he saw no sign of the psychotic warrior. He knew that he would be coming.

He mounted up and rode slowly along a long, flat rock outcropping. He went from this to each new outcropping with as few steps as possible in sand or soft dirt. In each instance where he had to, however, he dropped down off the horse and cleared away the tracks again. Strongheart passed the area where he had originally entered the stream and kept going up the watercourse. He then had Missy walk along the log and from rock to rock, until she reached him and jumped onto Gabe's rump, where he caught her.

One quarter mile along, he found a flat spot, turned the horse around, and spurred him toward the far bank. Reaching a ten-foot-high cut in the banks on both sides, he leaned out over the horse's neck and let Gabe fly.

He turned his head to Missy and said, “Hang on tight!”

The big horse cleared the cut with inches to spare and Joshua reined him up on the far bank and dismounted, patting the steed on his muscular neck.

“Good boy, Gabriel,” Strongheart said.

Blood Feather had a couple potatoes in his parfleche. He took one out and chopped it repeatedly with his big knife, then mashed it. He then mixed it into a poultice and applied it to the bullet hole, pushing it into his arm. He covered this with moss and wrapped it all tight with leather and tied it down with several leather thongs.

He mounted up and headed west at a fast trot. The
wasicun
had a big head start on him, but he planned to catch up, kill him, eat his heart, kill the little girl, and eat her entirely. Blood Feather reasoned that consuming her whole body would bring him the greatest medicine. He would decorate his war shirt with strands of her bright red hair and make a separate necklace of her fingers.

Now that he thought about this, he felt a new twisted sense of hope. Blood Feather simply never felt anything, except an occasional minor thrill when he took a life. He lived for those moments when he at least had some emotion in his life, and he was always after those elusive moments when he could really feel alive. Strongheart was such a powerful enemy, and the little girl was touched by the Great Spirit, he felt. Stealing her medicine would make him truly alive and mighty, he was sure.

It was well after dark when Zach Banta heard the knock on his door. He saw Strongheart through the crack and opened it with a big smile.

“Wal, I reckon,” he said. “We got a sleepy little princess here. Reckon you two could use a bit a grub.”

Joshua stuck out his hand and shook with the old man, grinning simply from the contagious effect of the old man's twinkling blue eyes. Zach handed Strongheart a cup of coffee and stoked the fire up in his big stone fireplace. He opened the lid on the big cast iron pot hanging over the fire and stuck a large soup ladle in.

“Bet ya would like some nice soup and bread with a glass a milk,” Zach said. “If yer gonna be the queen a England someday, ya gotta eat good vittles so you'll stay purty and grow up big and strong.”

Missy giggled and said, “I'm not a princess. I'm just a little girl.”

Zach winked at her, saying, “Yer a little girl awright, but yer certainly a princess, too. Even if ya ain't from England.”

Missy climbed into Strongheart's lap and said, “He is funny.”

She lay her head against his chest and was asleep in less than a minute.

Zach said, “Wal, reckon ya don't need no war paint with them dark circles under yore eyes. You two outta git sleep whilst I stand watch.”

Strongheart took a sip of coffee, saying, “No time to rest, Zach. I need to get her back to Cañon City and then locate her ma and get them out of the area. I guess because of her red hair, he was worshipping her in a way. They need to get on a train and head back east where he has no chance of finding her.”

“Look how exhausted she is,” Zach said seriously. “You both are. Rest heah. He comes, I'll blow him outta the saddle with mah Sharps.”

“I know you can, old partner,” Joshua said, “but I have to get her out of the area completely. I was hoping to get a bite of food from you and we are off.”

Strongheart, as much as he hated doing it, awakened Missy and set her at the table. Zach handed each of them large bowls of stew, and the girl woke right up, eating like she had never been fed. Banta kept the stew, coffee, milk, and bread coming, and the two stuffed themselves.

When he first arrived, Joshua had grained Gabriel, after stripping off his saddle and bridle. The horse sensed his urgency though and was ready to go. Gabe knew he was near home, and the closer he got, the more excited he would get. This was a familiar comfortable place, but Cañon City was home to the big horse. Missy slept while Joshua took the time to give Gabe a good brushing and rubdown, then saddled up. The horse pranced in the stall, anxious to get his legs moving again.

Instead of taking the stage road, Strongheart decided to go directly along the river trail, straight ahead to Cañon City. Actually, at Parkdale they would leave the river and head up Eight Mile Hill, cross the plateau, and drop back down one thousand feet, coming out at the west end of Cañon City, just below Razor Ridge, which decades later would be called Skyline Drive and would be a major tourist attraction. He would make camp along the river at some point, get a few hours' sleep, then finish the ride into Cañon City, but first he wanted the big pinto to eat up some miles and put more distance between him and the monster.

The sun was still fairly high in the western sky the next afternoon when Joshua Strongheart pranced into Cañon City with Missy holding his waistline. The first person that noticed it set off the alarm to others, and by the time they reached Annabelle's restaurant, a small cheering crowd had gathered out in Main Street.

A broadly smiling, crying Belle stood in the front of the townspeople, and it looked to Strongheart like every woman in the crowd was dabbing at tears. Strongheart stopped in front of them all and handed the little girl to Belle, who hugged her like someone might try to steal her away. The two just cried happy tears while the townspeople applauded to beat the band. The news was quickly spreading and the crowd was quickly growing larger.

Joshua dismounted, and a cowpuncher grabbed his reins with a smile and a nod, and a dozen other men slapped him on the back. He went forward, engulfing Annabelle and the little girl in his big grasp, and he and Belle kissed softly and for a full minute. As their faces pulled apart, they gave each other knowing looks that told each other volumes.

The man from the livery stable two doors away took the horse, saying, “Joshua, ole Gabe heah is plumb wore out. Ah'l take care a him fer ya and give him some rest and food.”

Strongheart nodded and smiled, saying, “Thank you very much, my friend.”

They went inside the café, and Annabelle locked the door behind them, opening it only when the sheriff came in. He shook hands with Strongheart, giving him a wink and a nod.

The monstrous killer was atop one of the steep ridges overlooking Cotopaxi, watching the activity there for any signs of Strongheart or the flaming red hair of the little girl. He watched through his binoculars as Zach Banta tilled the road into Cotopaxi over and over, making small furrows in the ground on the road surface. The serial killer only knew it was a
wasicun
activity, not realizing that Zach was destroying all traces of Strongheart's tracks coming and going. Blood Feather would pick up the trail, however, by simply riding around the small settlement from the western part of the Arkansas River to the eastern end of it and finding Strongheart's tracks again.

Sheriff Bengley took a sip of coffee, saying, “Annabelle, you did not tell him about Mrs. Vinnola yet.”

Joshua looked at Belle, and she said, “Oh yes, my cousin Lucy is back and staying with me. She is going to be so excited to see Missy. Missy, your momma is back from the hospital!”

They all looked again and sighed, as they saw that the little girl was sitting up at the table but had fallen fast asleep.

Joshua said, “What happened with Lucy?”

“They believe,” Annabelle said, “that she has an allergy to a flowering plant which grows all over her yard. Once she got away from the plant, she started breathing better. By the time she got to Glenwood Springs, she was almost completely back to normal. She simply must remain away from that plant and she will be fine.”

“Do they know which plant causes this?” Strongheart asked.

“Yes, they think it is a flower, goldenrod,” Belle replied. “The doctor told her not many flowers ever cause allergies, but that is one of the worst when it does occur, and she has goldenrod all around her house.”

Strongheart said, “Does she have friends or relatives she can stay with back east? We have to get this little girl out of here right away. They must go back east on the train. That is the only way Missy will be safe.”

Belle said, “Yes, she does. How soon must she leave?”

“Today! Now!” Joshua said. “This killer is touched in the head. When he held Missy hostage, he treated her like she was an idol or a deity. She could not understand his words, but he was worshipping her. I would guess her bright red hair has a lot to do with it, but lately she felt more and more in danger. Our senses tell us a lot, and she got more scared in the last few days with him.”

The sheriff said, “Why don't we let your horse rest. I will have a buggy brought up and two deputies. They can take you to the house, then to the depot.”

“That is good, Frank,” Joshua said. “Thank you. I will accompany them to Pueblo and then see they get on the train for Denver. Then I will feel a whole lot better.”

Belle said, “If the deputies will be around, why don't you two get some sleep first, then leave?”

Strongheart said, “No, I guarantee you he is coming hell-bent for leather. In fact, I would prefer you ride with me to Pueblo and back.”

He added, “I shot him in the arm and know I got him good, but he will not let that stop him.”

She said, “Well, you are going to get some food in you.”

It was not stated as a question or suggestion, so Joshua shut his mouth and waited while she fixed a plate each for him and the little girl.

The sheriff headed for the door and said, “I have one deputy outside now, but will have two come shortly with a buggy.”

Joshua got up and walked over to him, extending a handshake. “Thanks so much, Frank.”

Frank smiled and walked out.

Strongheart walked to her and swept Belle into his big arms. They kissed long and passionately, then stepped back.

She said, “I missed you.”

Joshua said, “I love you, Belle. I have held back because I kept worrying about marrying you and having you vulnerable because of my work. I had decided we could never marry, but while I was gone I thought about you all the time.”

Her heart leapt at the prospect of thinking he might propose. A tear crept into the corner of one eye.

Strongheart said, “Belle, we live in a tough country and you are a tough woman. I could not think of ever living my life without you by my side. I love you with all my heart, darling. Will you marry me?”