The Rider of Phantom Canyon (9 page)

Bat stuck out his hand, saying, “I think we are all of the same mind-set.”

With that, the three men went their separate ways, each feeling good, yet uneasy about their concluding conversation.

Strongheart checked out and headed south through Lincoln Park toward his small spread south of Cañon City. As he climbed out of the emerald Arkansas River
drainage, he started wondering what lay before him with Doc and Bat. Would they indeed fight each other, and if so, who would win?

Before him he could see the lesser peaks surrounding Cañon City, all under ten thousand feet. Well beyond was the giant Sangre de Cristo range like a western wall, which would block many storms without the courage to climb up over the thirteen- and fourteen-thousand-foot barrier. Those blizzards and storms that did make it over the top often would blow out over Cañon City and Florence and fall on the prairie out to the east.

Suddenly, Strongheart's hat flew sideways as he heard a crack as the first bullet flew past his head, and he immediately heard the thump sound from the muzzle blast, then a loud bang as a second shooter missed him. Both were in the trees, on two small hills surrounding Oak Creek Grade Stage Road, which climbed up over three thousand feet in elevation to the new mining town of Silver Cliff, a full day's or two days' ride southwest. He immediately swung down under Eagle's neck while the big paint bolted toward the trees to his right. Strongheart held on to the saddle with his left calf and wrapped his left arm around the horse's neck as he fired under the neck into the trees to his left. He heard more host right above him, but he knew the shooter to the right was firing blindly, as he heard bangs instead of that
crack-whump
sound when a bullet passes right by you. He swung up into the saddle, reloading while reining
Eagle with his knees. The paint instinctively knew Joshua was looking for that shooter. They came around a large clump of trees and there was a man, rifle in hand, trying to mount up on a big bay. Eagle slammed into the horse with his chest, sending him rolling sideways downhill on the backside of the small hill. The man hit the ground rolling and jumped up, shaking off the cobwebs.

He was a big man, Strongheart's height and solid, but his face was ugly and he looked like a giant rat with a narrow pointed nose and a tiny mouth that was pursed. Joshua almost grinned to himself, knowing this had to be Big Mouth Schwinn whom Doc Holliday had told him about, as the man had notches on the six-shooter on his hip. Joshua recognized it as a Colt Russian .44. The bushwhacker's right hand hovered over the holster as he wondered if he should draw.

Strongheart grinned. “Pull it. Bring that smokewagon out and go to work with it, and let's see what happens.”

The shooter stood there, not knowing what to do.

Joshua said, “Your name is Schwinn?”

Schwinn said, “Yeah, how did you know?”

Strongheart said, “'Cause I heard they call you Big Mouth Schwinn, and I understand why. You are a curious-looking critter, Mister. Your mouth looks like the narrow end of a small funnel, and your face—well, you look just like a opossum.”

The killer's face reddened as Strongheart said, “So,
before I go after your partner across the stage road, tell me, why did you varmints try to bushwhack me?”

“Yer a damned tin star Pinkerton and yer ridin' fer the Denver and Rio Grande in the railroad war, ain't ya?” Schwinn said.

“No,” Strongheart replied. “Got that wrong. I might be tomorrow, but my boss hasn't given me marching orders yet. Why the notches on your gun? Fancy yourself a shooter?”

“I've kilt my share,” the man said.

Joshua could tell from experience the man was working up the courage to draw. Strongheart didn't say a word, but just spun the pistol backward into his holster and smiled. Big Mouth's eyes widened suddenly, and Joshua drew with years of practice, seeing the man's pistol halfway out of his holster when the Pinkerton's pistol spit flame and a big red spot appeared in the middle of Schwinn's forehead and his body fell forward, dead and unmoving.

Strongheart now had to find the other bushwhacker quickly. He slowly rode Eagle back up the hill and moved from tree to tree, looking across at the other small piñon-covered hill, trying to spot the shooter. The man was not moving, and Joshua knew he had not taken off. Even though Joshua had been dealing with Big Mouth Schwinn, he had also automatically kept an eye on Eagle's ears, knowing the horse would warn him if the other bushwhacker tried to get out of the
area or tried sneaking up behind him. The man was laying low.

Strongheart pulled his carbine out of the scabbard and cocked it. He aimed at the spot closest to where he thought the other ambusher was shooting from. He squeezed the trigger, and five seconds later the man took off at dead run from behind the hill on a big chestnut. Joshua put his front sight between the man's blades, then spurred Eagle into action while he stuck his carbine back into the scabbard. The black-and-white half-Arabian, half-saddlebred gelding started overtaking the big chestnut in short order. The killer galloped up Oak Creek Grade Stage Road, smacking his horse's withers with his long reins. Eagle was thrilled with the chase, and the more they angled uphill, the more ground he gained on the other horse.

When Strongheart was less than twenty feet behind him, the man whirled in his saddle, six-shooter in hand, and Joshua drew and fired. His fast point-and-pray technique worked, and the pistol flew out of the ambusher's hand as he screamed in pain. He spurred his horse even more, but Eagle was far superior, especially the farther they ran. The other heavily muscled horse was good for gathering cows and short bursts, but not longer distances, especially running uphill, which they had been doing within a half mile of the ambush spot. Arabian horses have larger nostrils, allowing them to take in more oxygen.

Joshua pulled up alongside the other man. He did not want him dead. He wanted to know how Schwinn knew who he was and where to lie in wait, and also why. He was certain that his meeting with Holliday and Masterson was simply coincidence. Nobody had gotten word to the two ambushers that fast. They had been waiting for him.

The horses were now side by side, and a large embankment ran off the west side of the road. Joshua jumped and slammed into the other man. They flew sideways, knocking the wind out of the shooter when he hit the ground and started rolling down the steep embankment. Joshua rolled, pushed with a foot and went into a shoulder roll, and then came up running. The man stood and staggered, and Strongheart slammed into him with a diving tackle. The shooter's eyes opened in panic, as he could not get his breath at all.

Strongheart jerked him up roughly and yelled, “Jump up and come down with your legs locked.”

The panicked man jumped up in the air and came down on the ground with his knees locked and landed stiffly. The jolt jarred his wind back immediately and the panic feelings went away, but now he was being slapped across his face by a very powerful Joshua Strongheart. He tasted blood in his mouth, and blood spurted out of both nostrils.

His right hand bleeding with a bullet hole through it, he grabbed for his sheath knife with his left hand and desperately stabbed at Joshua. Strongheart sidestepped
and the knife thrust went by his waist, and a vicious right fist arced and hit the man in the left cheekbone, shattering it. He hit the ground, and his left eye immediately started swelling shut. He was out.

When he awakened, he sputtered from the canteen water Joshua splashed on his face. The man was stout and wore all black clothes, had a black holster—basically, everything was black.

Strongheart stuck a prerolled cigarette in the man's mouth and lit it for him. He puffed long and deep, blowing out a blue tendril of smoke, which wafted away on the light mountain breeze.

Joshua said, “What's your name?”

The man said, “Stones Blackstone.”

“Why were you and Big Mouth Schwinn trying to dry-gulch me?” Joshua asked. “That was Schwinn, wasn't it?”

Stones said through now-swollen lips, “Yes.”

Joshua said, “Why did you two ambush me?”

Stones puffed thoughtfully and said, “Where is Big Mouth?”

Strongheart replied, “He has a new mouth in the middle of his forehead. I can arrange for you to have one, too, if you don't tell me what I want to know.”

Blackstone said, “You outdrew Schwinn?”

Strongheart immediately replied, “No, I didn't. I had the drop on him and tied him up just like you are. He refused to answer my questions, so I shot him in the face.”

Stones's eyes opened wider than when the wind was knocked out of him, and he started breathing very heavily.

He said, “What do you want to know?”

Joshua said, “I already asked you,” and he cocked his gun.

Stones said, “He takes his orders from the big boss, V. R. Clinton. I ain't ever met him, but I know he told Big Mouth ta kill ya. Oncest we spotted you was in town, we set up at that spot, knowin' it was on the way ta yore spread. We been there since you and thet kid come ridin' inta town. I swear thet's all I know, sir. I swear it.”

Strongheart said, “Why did he want me dead?”

Stones was almost in tears. “The only thing I heerd was thet you was on the side a the Denver and Rio Grande in the railroad war. Mr. Clinton wants you outta the way, cuz Big Mouth said you was a rattlesnake-mean hombre, especially when you drew iron. I seen myself he was right.”

Strongheart led the man's horse over, picked Stones up, and placed him backward in his saddle. He lashed his bound wrists to the saddle horn. Stones panicked again.

Blackstone said, “What're ya doing? Ya ain't gonna hang me, are ya?”

Strongheart said, “I'm going to gag you if you don't shut up.”

He checked his binding and mounted up on Eagle,
taking the man's reins in his hand, and headed back toward Cañon City. Stones was headed for the Fremont County Jail.

When they got to the ambush site, Strongheart dismounted, leaving Stones there behind on his horse. He walked Eagle around and found Big Mouth's horse, then took it to over to the body. He tied the man's body over his saddle, walked the gelding over behind Stones's horse, and tied the lead line around Stones's horse's tail and mounted up.

Joshua got many stares as he led his equine train down into Cañon City and to the sheriff's office. The sheriff greeted him when he rode up to the stone building on Macon Avenue. Scottie came riding up at a fast trot on his long-stepping Thoroughbred.

He jumped down and ran over to his hero, saying excitedly, “What happened, Joshua?”

It wasn't the first time he had called his mentor by his first name, but he still felt funny doing so, though it also made him feel more grown-up. After all, Strongheart had insisted he call him that.

Strongheart, grinning, said, “Well, I saw this feller riding his horse backward pulling the other one, so I thought I should lead them back to Cañon City and introduce them to the sheriff here.”

The sheriff and the young lad both chuckled.

Joshua said, “Come on, Scottie. You can listen in while I tell the sheriff all about it, if he has some coffee made.”

The sheriff said, “No, but I'll send a deputy for some good coffee from the café. You want some milk, Scottie?”

“No, sir,” Scottie replied, puffing his chest out. “I'd like some coffee, too, Sheriff. Thank you, sir.”

Grinning, the lawman and Strongheart gave each other a knowing look as they thought back to their own emergent teenaged years.

Over coffee, Joshua told them both the story, beginning with his meeting with Doc Holliday and Bat Masterson. He also told the sheriff about V. R. Clinton and wondered what he knew about him.

The sheriff said, “Loner. Total loner. He has a big, big house up in the Wet Mountain Valley, and we have not been able to find out anything about him, except he is surrounded by gun toughs and nobody but a few of them ever sees him. This Percival Schwinn you killed was one of his shootists, but the man acted like a dude. He even had notches carved in his gun.”

Strongheart laughed out loud, interrupting. “Percival? Did you say Percival? No wonder he had a nickname.”

The sheriff laughed and slapped his right thigh.

He went on. “Maybe we can find out more, since you brought this Stones back alive. We do not know where his money came from, but he has bought up large parcels of land between Cotopaxi and Pueblo and just sits on it.”

“Mighty interesting,” Strongheart said. “Wonder if we have any info on him? I'll find out. I have to go send
a telegraph about the shooting anyway. Come on, Scottie.”

The two rode to the Western Union office and Strongheart explained as he wrote, “When you send a telegraph, you say as much as you can with as few words as possible.”

The telegrapher said, “Mr. Strongheart, we have a telegram here for you. Came several days ago from Chicago. So much excitement with our break-in the other day, and I heard you weren't in town.”

Joshua said, “Break-in?”

The telegrapher said, “Yep. Didn't steal anything, but broke in through a side window. Telegrapher was out delivering an important telegram to a rancher way up in the north end of town, toward Red Canyon. They did steal three dollars, but that was all that was here, except for the hidden safe.”

Strongheart read his telegram and saw it was from his boss, Lucky. “Investigate railroad war STOP We are on side of D and RG STOP Good luck STOP.”

That answered his question about how Big Mouth Schwinn or his boss found out Strongheart was on the side of the Denver and Rio Grande.

He wrote a quick report about the shooting and then added, “Need info on V. R. Clinton wealthy rancher south of Westcliffe STOP.”

Now Strongheart knew where he was standing with the railroad war, but his first thought was he hoped he would not have to have a shootout with Doc Holliday
and Bat Masterson. Besides them, Joshua knew they had a gang of seventy gun toughs, including the infamous Ben Thompson and Dirty Dave Rudabaugh. The latter had earned that nickname not because of his ruthless gunplay, but because of his bathing and personal hygiene habits. In short, Dirty Dave Rudabaugh was, well, usually dirty and smelly.