The Rider of Phantom Canyon (16 page)

As he inched into the closing, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and felt it pounding in his temples and the sides of his neck. His ears and eyes strained to detect the slightest movement, the slightest sound. He heard some little tiny birds tweeting a few feet away in the morass of green, but could not see them and couldn't
identify them by their sound. His breathing became difficult, and his head felt to him like it had been filled up with mud. Just as he passed the dead tree, there was an explosion, and Scottie jumped in the saddle, startled out of his wits. He cried out, and the red-tailed hawk he had startled almost flew into his face as it took off from its perch on the limb on the opposite side of the dead tree. It quickly flew up over the treetops and disappeared to the north, and Scottie laughed at himself for getting so nervous and then so scared when the predator spooked.

The weight of Fancy Moccasins's body hit Scottie full force from the left, the tracker's arms wrapping around the teenager's arms as the pair flew into the greenery on the right side of the trail. They hit the ground, and the tracker's body forced the air out of Scottie. Then he felt other hands grab him, powerful ones, and he felt his rifle being yanked away and his pistol being pulled from his holster. He started to yell for Strongheart, but a ham-sized fist smashed him in the mouth, bloodying and swelling both lips. The world was spinning, and he felt himself being dragged to his feet, and was now being tied up with rope.

Minutes later, Scottie was in the custody of two dozen armed thugs. Someone kicked him in the ribs, and he panicked. It bruised two ribs, but also kicked the wind out of him, and he struggled to try to breathe.

Someone put a rope around his neck and tightened
the noose while the other end was thrown over a branch, and he realized he was about to be lynched.

Somebody asked, “Where's his horse, that big black?”

Another man said, “He took off when the tracker jumped him.”

He was placed on the back of a bright red sorrel mustang with no saddle, only a rope halter and lead line around his head. A calm came over Scottie, and he got angry now. His lips and mouth were bleeding, it was painful to breathe each breath, and he was mad that he was about to die and had not fought back at all.

One of the gunslingers, a very tall black cowboy with twin Colt Peacemakers, butts forward in cross-draw holsters, said in a deep, low voice, “Where is Strongheart, boy?”

Scottie stuck out his chin and said, “You can go to hell!”

Someone behind him said, “Thet's where yer going in about one minute, buster.”

The black cowboy said, “I will ask you one more time. If you tell me, we will hang you fast and let your neck snap, but if you don't tell me, we will pull you up and let the rope strangle you real slow. Where is Strongheart?”

Scottie thought quickly and laughed heartily, then said, “Probably aiming at your head right now with his Sharps.”

Strongheart had told him that when your life is on
the line, lying doesn't count and you should always try to buy time. Set your enemy off balance; make them worry.

He could see the worry now.

Scottie said, “He is watching, and you lynch me, he'll open fire and kill all of you. If you let me go, he probably will let some of you go. You kill me, and he might set these woods on fire. Any of you ever seen Strongheart in a gun battle? You ever heard about his shootouts?”

They were thinking now. Scottie knew his horse would run back to join his pasture buddy, Eagle. That was the nature of horses. They are herd animals. They hate to be alone, and Hero had been spooked by the hawk and then the ambush, just like Scottie was. He was right—the big black ran into Joshua along the lake's edge.

Strongheart said, “Grab his reins and follow me. I have to fast track this horse back. Scottie is in trouble.”

Wiya Waste said, “Go.”

She caught Hero, tied his reins to her horse's tail, and led him forward, her rifle across the front of her saddle. She wanted both hands free in case she had to shoot.

The gang members looked around nervously, picturing a man like Joshua Strongheart with a Sharps buffalo gun in his hand. By the early 1880s, the long-range 1874 Sharps in .45/.70 caliber had become the favorite rifles of buffalo hunters and mountain men. Many shooters had practiced at targets one thousand feet away with the
Sharps, and Joshua's legendary reputation really made these men nervous. In actuality, he had his Winchester in his hand and could draw his pistols when he wanted.

He fast-trotted forward until he saw the trail narrow well ahead of him, and he had to chance that Scottie had been ambushed there. It was too obvious a spot. He pulled Eagle off the trail into the trees and knew that Wiya Waste would find his horse there. Joshua grabbed his bow, arrows, and rifle, switched back to his moccasins, and headed into the trees at a run.

The black cowboy said, “Maybe we should keep him alive and tie him up to a tree. Strongheart will come for him eventually, and we will be hiding all around. Tie him up to that tree, boys, and find a hiding spot.”

Two men bound Scottie to a large elm tree with ropes, his arms outstretched backward on the large tree. They quickly went into the trees looking for a hiding place, each feeling grateful that the lead shooter had listened to Scottie's reasoning. It was bad enough facing Strongheart as a group, but if they really had to feel his full wrath, many more might perish. They also pictured him one thousand yards off picking out targets and then making their heads explode with a Sharps buffalo gun he did not really have.

*   *   *

On his powerful arms and legs, Strongheart low-crawled into position. He had already picked out three targets, and one was the leader. He drew two arrows from his
quiver and nocked a third one on the bow. He aimed at the black gunfighter, checked on the other two targets, drew the arrow back to the anchor point under the back of his right jaw, took a breath, let it halfway out, and released the arrow. He was already nocking the second arrow as he saw the leader fall forward, a hole through his forehead where the arrow had entered, and it exited his skull in the back.

The second target was a redheaded little man wearing a pair of Colt Navy .36s. Joshua's arrow went into the man's chest, through his lung and upper torso, and lodged against a rib in his back. He jumped up with a panicked look on his face and was frantically pulling at his shirt in the front where the arrow went through it, frothy bubbles already pouring out of his mouth and spilling onto his chest. Joshua had to waste his third arrow on him to put him down, and a second arrow sliced through the man's chest. He fell forward, dead.

Strongheart quickly pulled another arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and drew as he saw the third man, another black gunfighter, draw his gun, spotting Joshua's hiding place between two bushes thirty paces away. The Pinkerton released the arrow, and it passed through the man's Adam's apple and his neck, sliced his cervical vertebrae, and paralyzed him instantly. He fell to the ground, immobile, and started choking on his own blood. His heart almost exploded from sheer panic and terror, but soon stopped beating anyway.

Strongheart low-crawled from his position, confident
the others in hiding could not see the ground out in front of Scottie. With Scottie simply brimming with renewed hope and confidence now, Joshua quickly low-crawled up to him, and reached up with his knife.

Joshua whispered, “When I cut your ropes, hold your arms and legs there like you're still tied, until I get a horse and some guns for you.”

“They hid the horses to my right. See that pine thicket?”

Joshua replied, “Yes. Back in there?”

“Yes,” Scottie said. “I knew you would come. They were gonna lynch me, Joshua. How'd you find me so quick?”

Strongheart said, “Hero was a hero.”

He crawled off toward the thicket. In there, he found a horse still saddled and bridled, a gun belt hanging from the saddle horn, and a rifle in the scabbard, running under the right stirrup. Strongheart swung up on the big steed, put his heels to him, and galloped out of the thicket and to Scottie. As he reached the young man, he stretched out with his right hand, and he grabbed Scottie's forearm while Scottie grabbed Strongheart's forearm and swung easily up behind him. Shots started ringing out as they raced away.

Bullets whistled all around them, and one hit a tree trunk right by them. They made it to Eagle, and Joshua jumped onto his own saddle, grabbed the reins, and started to race back toward Wiya Waste. However, she came racing out of the trees to his left, Hero trailing
behind her. Her face was drawn and pale, and Strongheart was worried that her infection had worsened. He rode up to her and felt her forehead, and it was hot. She had a fever. He pulled the top of her dress aside, and the wound in front was red and angry outside the bandages. He
had
to get her to a hospital.

Then, he turned and saw blood running down the side of Scottie's arm. He ran over to him and saw a large bullet crease running along Scottie's triceps on his left arm.

Joshua said, “Did you get shot riding behind me?”

Scottie said, “Yes, sir, but I didn't want to bother you with it.”

Strongheart said, “I swear!”

He pulled Scottie's kerchief off and bound the wound, saying, “You okay?”

Scottie said, “Let me at them,” as he jumped up on Hero.

Strongheart said, “Scottie, you see that peak up there? It is not as high as most. It's only twelve thousand feet, and most of the other peaks are fourteen thousand feet, and rockier. You can go up there and drop over on the north side of the peak and down into the San Luis Valley. You will see the town of Del Norte when you are up on top. You just ride across the valley or stop at any of the ranches, and they can get you back to Cañon City. There is a good chance Wiya Waste and I will get killed, but I cannot wait any longer. We're going to fight our way out of here, head across the valley and down
to the railroad in Cañon City. I have to get her to a hospital right away, or she will die.”

Scottie said, “Joshua, Mr. Strongheart, yer my boss, and I do what I'm told, but there is no way you can make me leave you and Wiya Waste.”

Joshua looked at Wiya Waste, and she grinned at him while he shook his head.

He looked at her intensely and said, “We have to do this. You understand that?”

She smiled, saying, “We will make it.”

He said, “White men usually use one name for people, so since today is Wednesday and that sounds something like Wiya Waste, I'm going to start calling you Wednesday. Then, like with the doctor or at the hospital, we will say your name is Wednesday. Okay?”

She smiled weakly, obviously in a lot of pain now, and said, “I like the name.”

Scottie said, “I like it, too.”

A lead horseman appeared from the shootists, and Strongheart lifted his rifle and fired before the man could even think to raise his own. He fell back on his horse's rump, did an unplanned backward somersault, and was kicked squarely in the face by his horse's right hoof. He was dead when he hit the ground.

Strongheart said, “Now they know exactly where we are, so we will go around the woods over there and will be on their east side. Maybe the trees will even get us around some of them. Let's go.”

They ran toward the base of one of the surrounding peaks, and the bright sunlight shimmering off the snowcaps felt like it was only a few feet above them. The horses trotted through the trees and around their eastern edge, which rose up on several ridges. This worked to their advantage for almost an hour, but finally they saw a blocking force waiting for them about one hundred yards ahead or better.

Joshua immediately knew that blocking force had to be a tactical maneuver to get them to run westward into the trees. Instead he spun Eagle and rode past Wednesday and Scottie.

He yelled, “Follow me!”

He ran back the way they had come, knowing that the large force would not plan for that, since they were figuring he would surely head into the trees to seek an alternate route out of the canyon. After fifteen minutes of hard riding, they were back to their starting point, and he reined Eagle to the right and headed due north, right up through the middle of the forest.

He had calculated correctly. Within minutes, he saw off to their right the movement of ambushers who had been waiting for him to run right into them. They were scrambling to get to their horses while the trio headed toward the mouth of the canyon. At one point, he reined in and held his hand up.

He turned and explained, “We have to take it easy on our horses, or we will kill them.”

Gunfire suddenly opened up behind them, and they
had no choice but to run toward the canyon opening. Once there, they would turn east and head down the mountainside, looking for a low, tree-covered ridge to provide plenty of cover. At some point they would have to stop and make a stand and rest the horses, so Joshua kept looking for that. Twice he stopped, spun Eagle around, and shot riders out of their saddles—three of them. The gang of killers was now down to about fifteen.

Strongheart made the end of the high-mountain canyon and headed into an avalanche chute off to their right, but soon saw it had too many knocked-down trees to dodge, so he moved to their left, up onto the next ridgeline. It was a more gentle slope, and, being at the top of a ridge, the trees were not quite as thick. He dashed forward on his horse, and he kept worrying about Wednesday's. It was a Lakota mustang and an unknown quantity. He knew Hero could keep up and was sure-footed and long-winded, but he did not know how long the mustang could last running, especially downhill, which was harder on a horse's legs than any other activity.

The worry was taken away from Strongheart when Scottie yelled, “Joshua!”

The Pinkerton spun around and saw that Wiya Waste's horse had taken a round through the head and was falling face-first, dragging its head in the dirt as it went down. Somehow, Wiya Waste was on her feet, staggering and apparently dazed, and the fusillade of
bullets increased. Joshua signaled Scottie to come forward fast, and he took careful aim at the fast-approaching horsemen in the woods and unloaded his carbine into them with accurate, withering rapid fire. There was no way Wednesday could grab his forearm to swing herself up in the saddle. She looked totally dazed.