Blood Feather (6 page)

Joshua rode the big draft horse in ever-widening circles around his own campsite, looking for sign to show him where the massive killer had taken Gabriel. He was worried that the man might kill the horse, but so far there had been no sign of that, and he figured it would have been done right away.

As soon as he discovered Gabe had been stolen, Joshua had immediately gone on foot toward
We Wiyake
's night position and stolen the big draft horse. He had read the war party's trail so far, found the two bodies, and knew the big man wanted to terrorize and frighten his victims. He figured he would simply turn the tables and steal his horse, too.

Actually, Joshua would have been better off to leave the horse, as the big draft horse with the distinctive oversized tracks would have left a much easier trail to follow.
We Wiyake
was now headed due west, toward the distant big range, but he was occasionally stopping to cover his tracks. He would also start false trails in several spots.

It took a while, but Joshua cut the trail a mile out and followed it the last mile to Gabriel. He was happy to saddle him up and thankful he had not been killed. Now he had to decide what to do with the big roan draft horse. He led the horse, which followed easily.

Strongheart got on the trail of the war party and caught up with them several hours later. They smoked a pipe, and the men told about the killing of their leader that morning. They said they'd found
We Wiyake
's tracks heading west toward the Big Range and that he was running.

Joshua knew then the man's plans must have changed; he had decided to head into the big mountain range where it would be easier to hide his trail and route of travel. Strongheart also knew that the killer would cover his trail to such an extent that at some point Joshua would lose it. He decided to head south and try to attend to his challenge with Quanah Parker, as
We Wiyake
would show up somewhere in the southern Colorado area within the next month, to kill once again in the white community.

Joshua was going to head to the nearest location where he could send a long message to Lucky and tell him all he had learned and request that plenty of agents spread out around southern Colorado. Denver was the terminus for Western Union for the entire region and had a population of over thirteen thousand. Joshua decided he would head there to send his long telegram to Lucky.

He took the draft horse with him, deciding it was one a rancher might need. He assumed the horse had been stolen from a ranch by Blood Feather anyway. Strongheart was outside Laramie, Wyoming Territory and decided he would find a rancher who might want the horse, and he would simply give it to him. Laramie was a small, interesting town. It had rolling mills, a tie treatment plant, a brickyard, a slaughterhouse, a brewery, a glass-blowing plant, and a plaster mill. It also contained the Union Pacific railroad yards.

Six years earlier, three half-brothers—Town Marshal Steve Long, Con Moyer, and Ace Moyer—had opened a saloon in Laramie named the Bucket of Blood. The three would bully new townspeople and settlers, making them sign over deeds to their ranches and property. If any refused, they were challenged to gunfights by the three and killed. By October 1868, Steve Long had already killed thirteen men.

Many citizens tired of this very quickly, so the sheriff of Albany County, N. K. Boswell, who was also a rancher himself, formed a “Vigilance Committee.” They went into the Bucket of Blood on October 28, 1868, heavily armed, and seized the three killers, marched them down the street to an empty building, and lynched them. Not long after that, the committee lynched more ne'er-do-wells and Laramie started calming down as a nasty town.

The town became a nicer place to live, but now that a group of vigilantes had enjoyed some success, many saw such men as the solution to other problems over the following years.

Strongheart was north of Laramie and rode over a rolling hill. Below him was a sprawling ranch, with a large house, a barn, outbuildings, several corrals, a squeeze chute, and a round training pen. He thought to himself that this would be a place that could use the large draft horse.

Hooves thundered behind him, and he turned in the saddle to see a group of riders approaching him at a gallop. Strongheart reined Gabe in and held his hand up in greeting. As they got closer, he saw that over their heads the riders all wore burlap bags with eyeholes cut in them. They brandished guns as they rode up.

Here was trouble Joshua had not expected. His mind started racing, and he immediately sized up the gang of riders to figure out who might shoot first, who might take the most bullets, and so on. This was the automatic response of any gunfighter: to immediately assess the threat response of any potential enemy.

Joshua said, “Hold on. If you are vigilantes, I am friendly. I am passing through here on my way to southern Colorado Territory. I am a Pinkerton agent. My name is Joshua Strongheart. If you boys are holdup men, then we are going to have a problem.”

One of the masked men, on a handsome red dun, said, “Let's hang us a blanket nigger, boys!”

Another one said, “Aye. Let's do it, lads.”

The one on the lead horse said in a deep voice, “Where did ya git that Percheron, boy?”

Joshua was not liking this at all, but he answered, “I stole it off a Lakota Indian in Montana Territory who probably stole it from a ranch.”

“Damned right, you lying buck,” the deep-voiced one said. “That horse was stolen by you from the Gillen Ranch. Killed old Casey when you done it, too. Joseph, what did the foreman say the Injun looked like?”

Another replied, “Like him here. He was tall, real tall, with lots of muscles.”

Joshua said, “That man is named
We Wiyake
, which means ‘Blood Feather.' He is a murderer, and he is over seven feet tall. I have been after him. He is Lakota. I am half-Lakota and half-white. Listen to me speak.”

“Let's stretch his neck, boys,” the one on the red dun said.

Joshua sized him up and figured him to be a cowhand who practiced shooting targets with his six-shooter all the time. He was not a gunfighter; Joshua could tell by the way he wore his gun and even how he held his hand readying to draw.

Strongheart knew he had to take some strong action and take it fast, or he would end up lynched without having a chance to prove he was an innocent man.

He said, “Talk awfully bold hiding behind a mask, mister.”

“We all agreed to wear masks!” the red dun rider said defensively.

Now he was on the defensive, which was exactly what Joshua wanted. Now he thought he should put them all on the defensive.

“In fact, to me, you all are a bunch of cowards hiding behind masks to face one man.”

The leader immediately removed his mask, and the others, seeing this, followed suit.

Joshua said, “Well, at least now we can talk to each other like men,” and he stared at the man on the red dun. “Like you. You are awfully anxious to string someone up without checking out his credentials. Is it because you have this posse with you to give you some backbone?”

The man bristled and said through clenched teeth, “I don't need no posse backing me up! I ain't gonna be spoke to by no damned blanket nigger! Draw that smoke wagon, Injun, and go to work.”

Joshua said, “No, I told you I am a Pinkerton. They wouldn't have hired me if I was not good with a gun. You draw first. I'll give you that, before you die, because you look to be a bigmouthed cowpuncher who's probably never shot a man before. Question is, if he grabs for his gun, are you men gonna jump in or keep out of this?”

The leader said, “We won't interfere, redskin. Ben started this dance.”

Joshua said, “Well, Ben, like he said, you opened the ball, so you can ride away or you can reach for that hogleg and I will punch your dance ticket. What is your decision?”

Now Ben clearly had sweat on his upper lip and did not know how to get himself out of this predicament. Joshua knew he would draw. He had no choice and he had crazy eyes, jumping all over the place. Before his hand went to his holster, his face was like a giant sign telling Strongheart he was drawing.

The man's eyes opened wide, and he clawed for his gun. It was just clearing the holster when he looked up at the business end of Joshua's Colt Peacemaker, and saw flame stab out from it twice in an instant and immediately felt two bullets slam into his chest and pass through his body. He could not breathe, and he felt his body roll backward over his horse's rump as he fell face-first onto the ground behind his dun. He was dead before he hit the dirt with a loud thud.

Joshua swung the gun toward the leader and held it on his chest. It was cocked.

“Now,” Strongheart said, “if you boys decide to kill me, it will be with bullets and not a rope, but I am shooting, too, and it starts with you, partner. You die with me no matter what. Now, I have done nothing wrong and am not going to be strung up by a bunch of vigilantes just because you do not like half-breeds. So, mister, it's your turn to make a decision.”

“Hold your water, boys,” the leader said nervously.

Joshua said, “That is the first wise thing you have said. Now, have one of your men come over here, and I will show him my badge and a paper showing I am a Pinkerton agent.”

One of the men climbed out of the saddle and walked over. Joshua handed him his badge and a note from Lucky on Pinkerton stationery. The man took it to the leader, who read it and had it taken back to Joshua.

The leader said, “Guess we made a mistake, Mr. Strongheart. I am glad we got things stopped. Ben there that you shot was always a big mouth and a hothead. We all saw that was a righteous shooting, and you even give him a chance to make his play first. What were you gonna do with the draft horse?”

Strongheart said, “I was going to give him to a ranch. In fact, I had decided to leave him at that ranch down there. You can take him and give him to the ranch where he was stolen if you want.”

The leader said, “We will. Shore sorry how things worked out. We shouldn't have jumped the gun like we did.”

“No, you shouldn't have,” Strongheart said. “Now you have a man to bury, so you can think about it.”

One of the men said, “With that long hair and gun skill, you sure you ain't really Wild Bill Hickok in disguise?”

The man nervously laughed at his own joke. In less than four years, James Butler Hickok would be murdered in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, by an assassin named Jack McCall hired by some gamblers to shoot Hickcok, simply on the fear that he might decide to become a lawman in Deadwood and clean the town up.

The leader nodded at Joshua as he took the lead line to the draft horse, and the group rode away.

Strongheart gladly left them behind him, wanting as he did to get away from Laramie as quickly as he could. He went straightaway to the town and boarded a train to Denver.

It was dark already when he happily checked into a hotel there. In the morning, he went to the big Western Union terminus, made his report to Lucky, and waited there for the reply. Lucky sent a message back indicating that he would send as many agents as they could spare, and they would start sharing information about Blood Feather with lawmen, especially in the southern Colorado area.

Joshua was able to catch a train to Pueblo fairly quickly and would reach there late that afternoon. He then would take another train to Cañon City that afternoon or early evening, and that trip should only take about an hour. It was after dark when Strongheart reached Cañon City, and he immediately went to Annabelle's café.

She greeted him with a kiss near the door and showed him to a table.

“Hungry?”

“For your food, darling, always,” he replied. “Been on trains from Denver since this morning and haven't eaten much.”

She prepared him a meal, and they talked over coffee. Joshua told her all about Blood Feather, and she shivered with the thought of the killer. He explained that he would leave the next morning for Fort Union in New Mexico Territory and would then head due east from there toward the lands of Quanah Parker in Texas.

5

Quanah Parker

Fort Union was built for the third time in 1868 and was the largest and most important fort, supply depot, and trading post in the entire area. The fort was built with native rocks, clay, and lumber. The adobe buildings were covered with red bricks brought in from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. It was also well stocked with plenty of supplies brought in from Leavenworth by wagon trains on the Santa Fe Trail.

This was the final, post–Civil War version of the fort. It housed four companies of both cavalry and infantry. The Fort Union Quartermaster Depot supplied all forts in the entire New Mexico Territory.

When Joshua rode in from the north, the fort stood out of the trees on his right as a sentinel standing watch in front of the wooded foothills of the distant Sangre de Cristos. The Santa Fe Trail passed from east to west in several large tracts both north and south of the fort, a pathway to the west which had been used for centuries by Indians of many tribes and by white men, Mexicans, and Spaniards. Mountain men and Indians had been trading at Fort Union for years, and there were many trails coming and going from the busy fort. Now it was also occasionally getting attacks from those on the warpath, fighting for their very own preservation by trying to stop the recent onslaught of buffalo hunters.

The fort was abuzz with activity as Joshua rode up to it, and he soon found himself in the supply depot speaking with a burly, jovial man with a bushy shock of bright red hair and a body covered with freckles.

He shocked Joshua with the first words out of his mouth: “And you'll be Joshua Strongheart from southern Colorado. My name is Dutch O'Reilly.”

He stuck out a beefy hand, which engulfed Strongheart's as they shook.

Joshua said, “You have a trace of an Irish or Scottish accent and your name is O'Reilly. Why do they call you Dutch?”

Dutch roared with laughter. “Beats me! I have always wondered that meself. Irish, by the way.”

Joshua chuckled and replied, “You mean you really do not know why you're called Dutch?”

“Nope,” the man replied. “No idea. Men started calling me that years ago, and it as stuck with me.”

Joshua shook his head and said, “How did you know who I am?”

Dutch laughed again. “Zach Banta thinks the world of ya and described ya to a tee. Also heard from several all about yer gunfight up in Florence a year or so ago. Looks like ya had another shoot-out, the way you're favorin' yer leg and that cast on your arm.”

Strongheart said, “Zach Banta knows everybody. That man is amazing! I suppose you probably know everybody, too, in your line of business?”

“Aye, it pays to know as many folks as ya can.”

Strongheart asked, “How long have you been in supply?”

“Thirty-some odd years. Yeah, I know a few folk,” Dutch answered.

“Do you know Quanah Parker by any chance?” Strongheart asked, and Dutch laughed.

Dutch replied, “Naw, and I sure don't want to now, Strongheart. He is a fearsome enemy. The man has smarts. Real smarts. I know some who have had dealings with him, and each has told me he is one of the smartest men they know, white or red. You gonna parlay with him?”

Joshua said, “Yes, they want me to have a talk with him.”

“Aye, so you'll be headin' east outta here?”

“In the morning,” Strongheart said.

Dutch said, “We'll fix you up some supplies and a nice gift ya can take the ole bugger. Pick 'em up at daybreak.”

Strongheart said, “Thanks.”

They shook, and Strongheart went to find a place to stable Gabe and curl up for the night. He settled for curling up in a pile of bedding straw next to Gabe's stall.

Joshua awakened to the smell of bacon, eggs, potatoes, and coffee. He sat up and saw the steaming plate on a shelf near him, a closed barrel sitting there for him as a seat. He looked at the good-looking stranger who was about the same height and build as him. His horse was saddled just beyond and was a tall, beautiful line-backed buckskin with black mane, tail, and four black stockings. The horse had four black hooves. The stranger wore a pair of Colt Peacemakers. He had a rugged and handsome face, and intelligent eyes that seemed like he was on the verge of smiling.

Strongheart sat up and started eating.

“How do you like that Peacemaker?” the man said.

“It's a good gun,” Joshua answered. “My stepfather died and left it to me.”

“I know,” the handsome stranger replied. “I had it and the holster made for Dan. He was a good friend. It was one of the first Peacemakers ever made by my uncle.”

Joshua stared at him.

Strongheart said, “Are you Chris Colt, nephew of Colonel Samuel Colt?”

Chris smiled, saying, “Guilty, Your Honor.”

Joshua stood up and stuck out his hand. The two shook.

“I am so pleased to meet you,” Strongheart said. “Dad could not say enough good things about you. It meant a lot for him to respect a man, and he respected you more than any man. He told me that you would live and die by your word and could be the best friend a man ever had and the worst enemy. I try to live my life the way Dad told me you live yours.”

Colt said, “Dan was a very fine man, and your ma was all lady. I am sorry you lost them both so close together. I am working for the army as a chief of scouts right now out of Fort Union. I heard from Dutch that you were headed for a rendezvous with Quanah Parker. I need to head that way to scout the Staked Plains and the Red River area, so I wondered if you would like some company.”

“Heck yes,” Joshua answered enthusiastically. “I would be honored to ride any trail with you, Mr. Colt.”

Chris laughed, saying, “Mister? I'm not that much older than you. Please call me Chris or Colt, either one.”

They finished eating and both mounted up and headed toward the quartermaster depot. Dutch greeted them and gave Strongheart two oilskin bags full of food and goods to put in his saddlebags or roll up in his bedroll.

He said, “I put some rounds in there for your .45, too.”

Strongheart pulled out some money and asked what he owed.

Dutch put his hand up, saying, “This one is a gift.”

Joshua said, “Dutch, thank you, but I am on an expense account. The Pinkerton Agency can afford the bill.”

“Aye, they can,” Dutch laughed, adding, “but I'm old, and I can afford it, too. I don't give many gifts. Speaking of that, you'll find one there for Quanah Parker.”

“Thank you very much, Dutch,” Strongheart said as they shook hands.

“Colt, you'll be keepin' an eye on this young lad here,” Dutch said.

Chris Colt said, “Who's gonna keep an eye on me?”

The two men set off from Fort Union headed east. It was going to be a long ride to the Texas Panhandle, and they would get plenty of chances to talk to and get to know each other.

The men were very much alike but now were just beginning their friendship. In a couple more years, Chris Colt would end up as chief of scouts for George Armstrong Custer, but he would be fired by Custer prior to the Battle of the Little Big Horn. He would also develop a friendship with Crazy Horse because of early introductions by Joshua Strongheart.

It was the third morning after they left Fort Union when they got the opportunity to cement their friendship. Nothing makes men closer than facing death together, and death would certainly visit them this day.

Laughing Dog was from the Quahadi tribe of Comanches, and so were the fifteen men in his raiding party. Two scouts had spotted Strongheart and Colt at a distance and ridden back to report to Laughing Dog. The war party closed in and kept the two men in sight until they made their night camp.

The men talked over cups of steaming hot cocoa, compliments of Dutch, as they lay by the fire. They had made their campsite in an arroyo.

Colt said, “Did you spot the Comanches following us?”

Strongheart said, “Yes, how many are there?”

Colt said, “I counted fifteen, but there may be as many as twenty.”

Joshua said, “They'll attack us at first light.”

Chris replied, “Yep, but we need to be in a better spot tactically when they do attack. Do you have a belly gun?”

Strongheart said, “Yep, I carry two in my saddlebags, plus my Winchester and plenty of rounds for that.”

Colt said, “Good. We want to have the sun behind us so it's in their faces.”

Strongheart said, “Why don't we ride or walk into their camp from the east and start the ball ourselves, right at or just before daybreak?”

Colt laughed. “That's a great idea! They don't like to fight in the dark.”

Strongheart said, “Want me to take first watch?”

Colt laughed. “Why bother? Those boys are going to be restless and watching over us all night. Why don't we both get sleep? They aren't going to try putting the sneak on us.”

Strongheart said, “Why don't we move our camp closer to them and leave some dummies by our fire?”

Colt chuckled. “That's another great idea. We can cover some bushes with spare shirts, leave our hats over the heads, and still wrap up in our blankets to sleep.”

Strongheart said, “I'll get some logs that will burn a long time.”

Chris got up and said, “I'll start making some brush dummies.”

It was almost daylight when Chris Colt and Joshua Strongheart mounted up on their horses. Joshua had crawled in and memorized the layout of the Comanche camp and where each man was sleeping. He'd come back and drawn the layout on the ground with a stick so he could brief Chris. They started moving forward slowly on their horses.

Strongheart was nervous, as they were taking on so many. Fortunately, only a handful of the Comanches had guns. The rest had bows and arrows. The pair moved forward slowly on their horses, and now the Comanches' location was in sight. The sun was just starting to peak over the eastern horizon. Besides his prized Peacemaker, Strongheart had a Colt Army .45 single-action revolver in his left hand and another tucked into his gunbelt at the small of his back. Chris Colt had his own pair of matched, engraved Colt .45 Peacemakers, and he also had a Colt Army tucked into his belt in the front.

The two men continued to move forward slowly, Colt from the southeast and Strongheart from the northeast. As the Comanches tried to shoot, they would be getting direct sunlight in their eyes from the breaking dawn behind the duo. Two of the war party were already awake and preparing to leave, and the one on the right finally turned and saw Joshua. He never got to yell his warning, as the bullet slammed into his chest, and Strongheart saw the other one fly backward from Colt's first shot. There was a cacophony of explosions as the Colt six-shooters sent deadly round after deadly round into the surprised Comanche warriors. A few arrows were launched, and Chris Colt felt a tug under his left arm, then a burn as a bullet tore a little of the flesh of his trapezius muscle passing through his shirt.

Both horses seemed to sense what to do, as they moved the riders forward while also moving side to side. As soon as each man fired twelve rounds, he holstered his revolvers and pulled out his carbine. Strongheart had a fancy, specially made Winchester, a gift from a Westcliffe bar owner, and Colt shot a Henry repeating rifle in .44 caliber. Round after round was levered and fired from both rifles, and by the time they stopped firing, Comanche warriors lay all over the area. Laughing Dog was one of those wounded.

Chris and Joshua both dismounted now, holding their backup belly guns. They both reloaded their other pistols, then, at an ungiven signal, both moved forward.

Without looking over, Strongheart said, “Are you hit?”

“Yeah, took one, but not bad,” Colt answered. “I think. How about you?”

“Nope,” Joshua said. “Didn't touch me.”

There were three wounded, and Strongheart kicked away the weapons of one and handed him his canteen. The man nodded and smiled as he drank deeply, holding his hip, which was shattered. Colt knelt down by another who was bleeding from the side. Colt gave him some water and started to bandage the wound. Joshua walked over to Laughing Dog, who was bleeding from both legs and one arm.

He spoke to him in Lakota, but Laughing Dog did not understand. Joshua said, “You speak English?”

“Yes,” the man said, “a little.”

Strongheart said, “Who was the leader?”

Laughing Dog replied, “It is me.”

Strongheart said, “What band of Comanches are you?”

“Quahadi” was the answer.

Joshua replied, “I'm going to patch you up. Then, I want you to take a message to Quanah Parker. Can you do that?”

As Chris walked up, Laughing Dog said, “I will do that.”

Strongheart and Colt both worked on the man, cleaning and dressing his wounds. After they finished, Joshua retrieved ponies for the wounded men. Colt handed them their weapons.

Laughing Dog asked, “Why you not kill us?”

Colt replied, “We won. We don't have anything against you.”

“What message?” Laughing Dog asked.

“Tell him I am Strongheart. I come to speak with him.”

“That is all?” Laughing Dog replied.

“That is all,” Joshua said.

They sent the three off on their ponies, then went over by the fire. Joshua cleaned and bandaged Colt's arm. They used the Comanches' fire and made a pot of coffee, then cleaned their weapons and rode off toward the rising sun.

Quanah Parker lived primarily in the Palo Duro Canyon area, and that was where the two were headed. He had been given the message from Joshua's father's tribe through the Cheyenne. To understand how he and Joshua might relate to each other, it helps to understand the background of Quanah Parker.

Quanah
in Comanche means “fragrant.” Quanah Parker was born the son of Chief Pete Nocona and Cynthia Ann Parker, a white woman who, when she was nine years old, had been abducted from the famous Texas Parker family. Cynthia Ann lived with the Comanche for twenty-four years.