The Rider of Phantom Canyon (14 page)

Wiya said, “I was told you seek V. R. Clinton, and I knew it was her. I cannot say her name good. Some of the chiefs learned this, that after you killed Hartwell, his woman took much money and came here. She has hair like the sun and long like a Lakota woman.”

Joshua said, “You came all this way to tell me that?”

She said, “Yes, and to tell you what I have learned about Thašúŋke Witkó.”

Scottie said, “Huh?”

Strongheart said, “I know how he was killed a few years ago. Is that what you mean?”

Scottie interrupted. “What do those words mean?”

Strongheart said, “Crazy Horse.”

Scottie was excited. Just the name Crazy Horse sent many exciting images through his mind.

“What do you mean, cousin?” Strongheart asked.

“Crazy Horse was my father,” she said, smiling.

“What?” he said. “How could that be?”

She said, “You know my mother was young when I was born?”

Joshua said, “Yes.”

She went on. “Crazy Horse was young, too, and he and my mother loved each other, and he went away to fight with his own circle of teepees, the Oglala Lakota. Then, after he went away, I was born. My mother married your father's brother, who I thought was my father.”

Strongheart said, “We need to talk about all this later, but how do you know?”

She said, “My mother, you know, has the coughing sickness now, and will soon die. She told me about it. . . . You are not my cousin, Joshua.”

She looked at him, a hopeful look in her eyes, and moreso in her heart. She had loved this man since she was a little girl.

Strongheart was amazed and walked over to Eagle, picking up his reins and saying, “We'll talk later, but we need to get moving. I have many men after me by now, and I do not want to watch out for you two and try to stay alive at the same time. It does not work.”

They mounted up and followed him as he zigzagged
through the trees. Unfortunately, that took just enough time for some of the gun hands to catch up. A shot rang out and Joshua squeezed Eagle's flanks, and they sprinted through the aspens, with Scottie and Wiya Waste close behind. More shots rang out behind them as they fled, but these were farther back. The aspens helped because they could only run on game trails used by deer and elk, with little fear of their pursuers spreading out behind them. They were running on the face of steep mountains with terrain rolling in and out of dips in gulches, and at a number of spots the horses leapt over fast-running, bubbling, churning whitewater glacial creeks roaring down the mountainside and spilling nature's lifeblood out into numerous channels lacing the Wet Mountain Valley floor below. Strongheart could see the many buildings of Westcliffe and even Silver Cliff off to his right front out across the valley many miles away. In less than thirty years, the game trails they were on would be made into a 110-mile-long north-to-south trail along the Sangre de Cristo range all the way down into New Mexico, and it would be called the Rainbow Trail, which would become a tourist attraction for hikers for over a century to come. For now, Joshua was just grateful the elk and deer had made these natural game trails across the face of each mountain.

He finally reined up and spun around to face the attackers, and then he saw what had happened. Wiya Waste was barely hanging on, holding her horse's mane
in a tight grip. A giant bloodstain covered the upper right front of her dress, where a bullet had hit her back low in the right shoulder and passed through her body just above her right breast, but had fortunately missed her lungs. Joshua immediately knew this, because he saw no frothy bright red blood or bubbles coming out.

He called Scottie back and handed her reins to him, commanding, “Take her ahead and find us some boulders for cover.”

She bravely forced a weak smile, but was barely awake. Scottie took off at a gallop, with her holding tight onto the mane of the paint mare. Strongheart faced their rear, his Colt Peacemaker in his right hand, carbine in the left.

In a minute's time, four riders appeared, rifles in their hands, but they were single file on the game trail. Joshua had pulled Eagle up with a large tree trunk along the trail between him and the pursuers. He aimed at the lead man, and his first shot went through the man's neck and hit the rider behind him on the left side of his face, blowing that side of his head off. He flew off his horse like a rag doll, slamming hard into a tree trunk and onto the ground, a bloody, lifeless mess. The other man dropped his rifle and clutched at his bloody throat, blood gurgling up out of the bullet hole, as his horse ran wildly off the trail and under a large maple tree branch, which hit the dying man in the chest, sending him backward.

Joshua knew that the accurate shooting and devastating results would play on the minds of his pursuers and
make them more hesitant about coming after them too fast. He turned Eagle and took off after Scottie and Wiya Waste. Within ten minutes, he caught up and found that Scottie had indeed paid attention. He had made a camp amidst a large jumble of huge boulders, some the size of a small house. He had dismounted both horses and had Wiya lying on the ground with a clean cloth pressed against her wounds in both front and back.

Joshua dropped down, grabbing the Lakota beauty, and said, “Good job, son. Get up on that rock with a rifle and keep watch. I think I held them off for a while.” He told Scottie not to look, and he carefully removed Wiya Waste's dress, built a small fire very quickly and stuck the point of his knife blade in it, then retrieved clean bandaging from his saddlebags and a pair of snipe-nosed pliers, which in modern day are called needle-nosed pliers. He had started carrying them for just such an emergency. He also stuck these in the fire, and he washed her wounds with canteen water, then added whiskey from a small flask he also carried in his saddlebags for wounds.

Upon cleaning her, he found that she'd had two bullets pass through the back of her shoulder. One tore through the front above her right breast, but the other stopped under the skin surface an inch higher and now created a large, angry bruise and a small lump under the skin where it had not broken through.

Joshua handed her the whiskey flask and said, “Take one quick swallow.”

Then he stuck a green stick in her mouth and said, “Bite down!”

She bit the stick and he asked, “Are you ready?”

Eyes opened wide in fear, she nodded yes.

Strongheart quickly and efficiently cut through the lump where the bullet pushed against her skin. She bit down hard and was clearly in pain, but did not make a sound. He grabbed the snipe-nosed pliers and reached into the bloody hole, grabbing the bullet and pulling it out the front. She clearly almost fainted from the pain and breathed very heavily, but never let out as much as a whimper.

He then poured whiskey on the bloody wound and, following that, wrapped her shoulder and covered the wounds with bandaging. Wiya Waste spit out the stick and reached up with her arm and pulled Strongheart to her lips, kissing him fully. He kissed her back. Joshua quickly pulled her dress back on her and helped her stand. She still wore her porcupine-quilled moccasins, almost identical to Joshua's. She had made his for him.

“Can you ride?” he asked.

She smiled, saying, “I am Lakota. I am the daughter of Crazy Horse, an Ogle Tanka Un of the Lakota.” (A term meaning “shirt wearer,” a war chief.)

He grinned.

He literally lifted her up and set her on her pinto mustang. Joshua vaulted into his own saddle, and Scottie, wanting to emulate the flash and dash of his mentor, jumped from the top of his boulder, landing in the
saddle of his black Thoroughbred, Hero. They went up higher into the mountains, heading for the timberline to find a hideout and make camp. Joshua thought of the perfect place. They moved north fast, heading for Hermit Peak. Lake San Isabel was beneath it, right below the timberline, with heavy forest to the west and high, steep peaks all around it to the north, east, and south. They could hide in there, have plenty of game, fish, and make a good camp where a fire would not be seen. Their fire and camp could only be spotted from the steep, snowcapped slopes above them, and no horsemen were going to journey up there.

They made it there a few hours before dark and left their pursuers far behind, jumping at every shadow. Seeing the destruction Strongheart caused by killing just a few of the pursuers really made believers out of those who were there. They saw Strongheart's shooting prowess. Seeing someone bounce off a tree with a sickening
thud
impacted their psyche even more. They now were twenty strong, but moving very slowly across the mountainside. On top of that, Strongheart had had Scottie go back and wipe out their tracks several times with large branches.

Joshua was very impressed with Wiya Waste's tenacity and fortitude. She had clung to the mane hair of her pinto while he led it with a long lead line attached to its Lakota war bridle. She mainly held on with her muscular legs clinging to the horse's sides.

Strongheart led them along the lake, then through
the big trees, and found a great place to make camp at the edge of the forest. The peaks rose up around them on all sides, and across the lake, Hermit Peak towered over them. Scottie got busy helping Joshua make camp, but was amazed at the speed and efficiency with which Strongheart worked. They cut large, thick evergreen branches and made a comfortable bed for Wiya Waste, then Joshua carried her to the bed of boughs, covered her with his saddle roll, and gently laid her down. She kept trying to get up to help, but Joshua would not let her. He got large rocks and put them in a circle about three feet across to build a campfire. While he did this, Scottie grabbed dry logs to burn and squaw wood.

Joshua got a fire going and put water on to heat up.

He said, “They are not going to move very fast, and may send for a tracker if they have one at the ranch. We don't have to be too careful . . . yet. Scottie, I am going to clean Wiya Waste's wound better, and I want you to fetch us cattails, wild rose, buck brush, wheatgrass, some fresh green oak branches—I need the sap—and if you can find any elderberries or blueberries, grab a bunch, a hatful, and some skunk cabbage. Do you know all those plants?”

Scottie said, “Yes, sir, I shore do. Gathered 'em all at one time or t'other with my aunt. But why do you need all of them?”

Wiya Waste interjected, “He makes a poultice for my wounds and some food to help me in case I get bad red color and fire.”

Joshua grinned. “She is talking about infection and fever.”

She smiled and said, “I do not speak American well, but I will learn. I must. Our days are over.”

Scottie hopped up on Hero and took off around the lake, and in the meantime, Joshua looked around the lakeshore and found a large, flat rock with a dimpled center. He carried it back to the campsite and set it down, then washed it off with hot water. He returned to the shoreline and finally found an oblong stone, rounded on all sides. He returned to the camp and cleaned it off, too. Then he let the fire fry the two stones.

He removed Wiya Waste's dress again, secretly marveling at her natural beauty. He re-cleaned and re-dressed her wounds and left her dress off, covering her naked body with his slicker, which he kept rolled up with his bedroll. As he covered her, she looked at him longingly.

The Lakota beauty said, “Kiss me.”

Joshua said, “No. You rest.”

He smiled softly. Strongheart knew if he kissed her, he would not want to stop, now knowing that she was not his cousin. He also knew that he had to be extremely careful, because they were hiding in the wilderness, miles away from any civilization, well above ten thousand feet high, almost to the timberline, in fact. The chances of her getting a bad infection were great, and if she did, they would really be in trouble. Joshua knew that the pursuers had been told in no uncertain terms to
kill him. Victoria had been found out, and he held her secret, and she knew he would tell those with him. She did not want him getting back to civilization, and when they realized he had two with him, they would want to kill them, too. She had been the recipient of Robert Hartwell's ill-gotten millions. This woman was ruthless, as Joshua had learned when she slipped him a Mickey the first night they met.

Scottie arrived after an hour with all the ingredients Joshua had asked for, and Strongheart soon was using the rounded oblong stone on the large flat one, rolling the smaller over the larger to extract seeds, juice, or sap from the vegetation he laid out on the bottom stone.

Scottie said, “What are you doing, Joshua?”

Wiya Waste said, “He uses a
wiyukpan
to make medicine from
hutkhan
for Wiya Waste. I do not know the words.”

“Huh?” Scottie said.

Strongheart rolled hard on some cattails, squishing and pulverizing them, and chuckled, saying, “Wiya Waste is saying that I am using a grinder to grind up roots to make her medicine.
Wiyukpan
means ‘grinder,' and
hutkhan
means ‘roots,' like tree or plant roots. The Lakota use rocks like this the way a pharmacist uses a mortar and pestle to make drugs for you at a pharmacy.”

“That is neat,” Scottie said. “I wish I could speak another language, too.”

“Go to school,” Joshua said. “My mother knew it would be hard for me because I am half-red and
half-white, so she made sure I went to school a lot. I went through college.”

“His mother was a very wise woman,” Wiya Waste said. “She brought him many times to our village to learn the ways of his father, but she also wanted him to know the ways of the white man. Wanji Wambli knows many things.”

Scottie replied,
“Wanji Wambli?”

She replied, “One Eagle. He comes from two flocks of birds. One flock is red birds and one flock is white birds. He is one bird, but he is one eagle, and flies alone.”

Strongheart spent an hour grinding roots while Scottie went in search of more cattails and other edibles for dinner. Joshua made a poultice and placed it over Wiya Waste's wounds. She seemed to relax afterward.