Authors: Don Bendell
Strongheart whispered, “Whew!”
Now, he had a new challenge. He had to get Bugger's body out of sight quickly. He wiped the point of the spear and wedged it across the well again, so he could grab it if needed. Next, he took the important well rope that was coiled diagonally around his muscular chest. He formed a double overhand knot. On the second toss, he got it around the neck of
the dead Bugger McDonald. Carefully, Strongheart tightened the lasso, then using one hand pulled on the rope and lifted the dead weight of Bugger's body up over the edge of the well and finally, with a jerk, sent it falling past him down to the bottom of the dry well. It hit the floor with a thud. It actually took him longer wiggling and shaking the rope to get the lasso loop off of the dead corpse than it did to lasso him. He finally got the rope free.
Joshua coiled up the rope again, and attached it to the spearhead with a loose knot in a leather thong from his clothing. He reached up with the spear and was able to just get the coil of rope over the top of the crank for the well. He held the end of the rope and the weight of the coil pulled the loose knot free and the rope fell down into the well, where Josh easily grabbed it. Quickly, the Pinkerton agent formed another loop and immediately stuck his left toe through it, like a stirrup. He stuck the end of the spear into his boot and attached it to his belt with another thong from his fringe, so it remained alongside his body, and he did not have to worry about it swinging from side to side or banging it into something.
He pulled himself up quickly to the edge of well, peered over and saw two guards sleeping by a campfire made out in front of the main farmhouse. They seemed to be sleeping soundly, and he dropped into the shadow of the well on the far side of it opposite from the two guards. Undoing the spear, he freed it from his boot and started crawling on his belly toward the barn and corrals where his horse had been placed. Trying to stick to the shadows, it took him nearly a half hour to make it the short distance to the barn. There, he found a very alert guard looking all around with a Henry carbine in his hand. It was getting close to dawn now, but Strongheart took his time sneaking up on the man. He removed his boots
and crawled around the barn, then got to his feet and went forward barefoot. Joshua was ten feet away when the man turned, bringing the rifle up. Strongheart had wanted to get close enough to stab, but had to throw the spear, with adrenaline coursing through his body. The spear actually went through the guard's body right in the abdomen, slicing the celiac artery in the process, and the man sensed he would be dead in seconds. He instantly thought he had to fire a warning shot, but he could not pull the trigger. His fingers would not work. Then, as if in slow motion, he saw the carbine tumble from his hands onto the ground. The last thing he saw was Joshua Strongheart pulling out his .44 revolver and grabbing the Henry repeater. Everything went blank.
Strongheart quickly searched the man's pockets looking for clues but found nothing but tobacco and some paper money, which he left. He was so thankful that his mother took him to his father's village circle so often as a child so he could learn the skills of the Lakota warriors. He now had the man's Henry and pistol, so he went into the barn searching for his saddle, tack, and saddlebags. Strongheart found a well-appointed tack room and there was his gear and, surprisingly, his guns and knife.
He quietly saddled Eagle and led him from the barn, then disappeared into the orchard, grabbing some apples as he moved along. Deep into the trees, Joshua saddled up and moved away heading into deeper woods. Strongheart identified several higher wooded hills, so he headed for them so he could look out and get a vantage point. As always, he had paid attention to what direction they had traveled in to get to the farm he was escaping from.
THE CHASE
Joshua soon found himself atop the highest ridge around, which would not even compare with a small rise in his part of the country. Nonetheless, he got a view of the countryside around, and he took in drainages, thick woods, trails and roads, including the one they rode in on. Strongheart planned his escape routes in his mind, thinking of each possible attack. He saw movement down below and got his telescope out of his saddlebags. There was a posse following him and there was a tracker in the lead.
“Shawnee,” Strongheart said to himself. “Let's see how good you can track.”
Strongheart took off down the other side of the ridge, then doubled back, reached the top of the ridge, and doubled back again down the gentle ridgeline, making three sets of tracks going both up and down the ridge. He went into a stream running along the bottom of the gulch to the east and slowly walked through the stream until he came to a rocky bank, left the stream, and carefully rode up the opposite ridge a short distance. There, he dismounted, left Eagle grazing on
the wild grasses, and he went back to the stream, and covered up all signs of him leaving the waterway. He thought about even drying the grass where they came out and went up the bank, but he figured that the sun would dry the grass by the time the tracker led the posse there.
The Pinkerton returned to Eagle, and took the leather hoof covers from his saddlebags and slipped them over each hoof, tightening them at the top of each. He then slowly walked to the top of the ridge and removed the leather horse moccasins. It was important to Joshua to remain on high ground, so he could see when Robert Hartwell was coming on their backtrail.
He soon found a thick stand of hardwoods on the south side of the ridge overlooking the trail the posse brought him in on. It was not as high as the previous ridge and there was plenty of grass for Eagle to graze on. Strongheart made camp.
Hokolesqua, which was a Shawnee name for “cornstalk,” was simply called Johnny in this part of the country. He was the only tracker around and was frequently hired by hunters and lawmen searching for fugitives. He had a great reputation locally, but he had never tracked anybody like Strongheart before. He was still working out the jumble of tracks going up and down the end of the ridgeline across the valley and had not even gotten to the creek yet.
Knowing he still had hours of time separating them, Joshua made camp and built a small low smoke fire out of very dry wood, knowing the heavy cover from the oaks and maples about him would dissipate the smoke as it filtered through the tree canopy. He took a risk and decided to take a nap, sorely needing sleep.
Joshua's eyes opened, and he looked around. It was nearing dark. Quickly, he saddled Eagle, leaving his camp in place, and rode back to the other side of the smaller ridge he was
on. Reaching a good vantage point with cover, he retrieved his telescope. Far down the valley, he spotted patches of color here and there as the posse moved along the creek. He finally spotted Johnny as he walked along the small waterway, searching for clues. Strongheart rested easy, knowing he had been very effective so far covering his trail. He decided he would nap for a few hours, every once in a while awakening and checking for both posse and Robert Hartwell.
Eagle whinnied lightly and Joshua's eyes came open. His hand was already on his Colt Peacemaker, and he doused the small fire and then urinated on it. He then covered the fire completely with soft dirt. Strongheart ran through the trees and saw that a second posse was coming up one end of the ridgeline, and the first with Johnny tracking was coming up the backside. The two would soon meet on both sides of his makeshift camp. Strongheart made it back, saddled Eagle, and scraped out the fire pit, quickly rebuilding it. He lit the fire and fanned the flames. He then stacked some pine boughs he had used as a bed so from a distance in the dark they might look like a sleeping man's figure. With the flames licking up higher, he tossed nine bullets into the fire and crept away into the darkness. Retrieving Eagle, the two quietly slipped down the steep side of the ridge between the two posses.
Down below, Strongheart slipped into the saddle and grinned as he heard his rounds now cooking off in the fire. As he hoped, both posses opened fire on the camp and each other. The large farmer with the coveralls was hit in the heart and killed instantly with the very first shot. Several men on both sides lay on the ground moaning with wounds.
Joshua Strongheart was now in the creek bottom down below the northernmost ridge and would exit the stream on the main road. Once on the main road, his tracks would mix in with all the other tracks. He would move farther down
the road, find another vantage point to see the road, yet still be far enough away that he could catch up on some much-needed sleep. If Robert Hartwell ever appeared, Strongheart would snipe him out of the saddle. He was a very destructive force, especially for the American Indian nations, and most especially the Plains tribes. It was a matter of national security and Joshua saw Hartwell as a traitor and enemy combatant. He needed to be killed on sight.
He rode down the road over a dozen miles and was now at the end of the long valley where he could see from the high ridge before. If Hartwell came, he would have to come that way, as the railroad was that direction.
Strongheart hid his sign well as he left the road and went into the trees and made a safe camp in a thicket with lots of sign of game, but no humans. He built a smokeless fire and a comfortable bed of pine boughs, left Eagle to graze nearby, and went to sleep. If riders came, Eagle would whinny or snort when he smelled or heard them in the distance, and Joshua would check it out. In the meantime, he had to get caught up on sleep.
The Pinkerton agent slept the sleep of the dead for hours. When he awakened, it was dark out, and he built up the fire a little, made breakfast and coffee. He checked on Eagle, who grazed peacefully in the trees nearby. Joshua felt much better after food and a few cups of coffee. He needed some more meat though, so he got his Lakota bow and arrows from their hiding place in his bedroll. Stringing the bow, Joshua slipped on his moccasins, and left the camp, not intending to go far.
As the first streaks of daylight began to slice their way through the green forest canopy, Strongheart drew the bow, and launched an arrow into the left ribcage of a young whitetail buck. He was less than one hundred yards from his
camp. He rolled the buck on its side and quickly field-dressed it, then cut the two scent musk hocks out of the inside of the hindleg kneecaps. He carefully cleaned his knife blade, knowing the strange gland scent could taint the rest of the meat. He carried the deer back to his camp and started cutting meat. He put a couple backstraps on the fire and ate until he was stuffed. He knew the protein, the meat, would help him be more alert and stronger, and Strongheart did not know when he might have his next meal.
After preparing some of the meat and placing it in his saddlebags, he packed up his camp and started covering all signs of its existence. He then headed back toward the road to get a closer vantage point. Right after dismounting, Joshua spotted a group headed toward him in the distance. The group had men all dressed in suits, and then he spotted him. It had to be Robert Hartwell. In the midst of the group was a tiny man, even obviously so without Strongheart's telescope. He was riding a large black horse, larger than the others in the group. Joshua ran to his saddle and grabbed his Winchester carbine. He found a stump where he could rest the barrel, and he ran to his saddlebags and grabbed his spare shirt, brought it back and used it as a pad for the rifle. The group was riding slowly, carefully. He would simply bushwhack Hartwell from a distance, shooting him out of the saddle.
Strongheart laid the rifle across the shirt on the stump and aimed at a spot in the road. He was conflicted, because everything in him wanted to challenge the man to a gunfight and shoot it out with him no matter how many shootists accompanied him. Then he thought back to his shootout in Florence, Colorado, and how close to death he was, how many bullets were in him.
He decided back then in the hospital to be much smarter in the future and not let his emotions influence his decisions.
He knew that Robert Hartwell was an enemy of the United States, and enemy of the American Indian nations, an enemy who manipulated the system for personal gain and cheated Americans out of their taxes and the red man out of lands and promised compensation that was part of various peace treaties. One of the biggest problems affected Joshua's people. Gold had been discovered in the Black Hills of South Dakota territory, very sacred lands to the Lakota. Hartwell kept his crew very busy. He paid them very well, which bought much loyalty, and he was building a very financially successful power base nationwide.
Joshua knew he had to stop him for the sake of the country and his father's people, so fair play was out the window. He would easily take the henchman out with the sniper shot he planned. Robert Hartwell would soon be in the killing zone of the ambush.
No sooner had the Pinkerton agent thought this than a group of four riders came running down the road from his left and rode straight up to Hartwell, who halted. Joshua knew the conversation going on. They had just told him about Strongheart's escape and that there were two posses out trying to find and catch him, maybe more than two posses out now. He could not hear the words, but he saw that Hartwell was angry. Then, the ruthless killer nodded at two of his henchmen, and they drew, shooting the man out of the saddle who had just warned him. Hartwell spoke to the assembled gang, and they turned and galloped away. Joshua almost came close to cursing he was so frustrated. The other three dismounted and loaded the dead man on his horse and headed back toward Joshua's prison compound.
He saddled up and took off after Robert Hartwell and his crew. Joshua would plan as he rode, keeping out of sight behind them, but something happened he did not count on.
One of the three riders who rode back with the dead body of the fourth had to return and catch up with Robert Hartwell to give him a message. He was galloping hard behind Strongheart, and within a few miles he came running around a bend and spotted Joshua Strongheart far ahead following Hartwell's trail. The Pinkerton did not see him, even though he frequently checked his backtrail. The man immediately slid to a stop, turned his horse, and put the spurs to him. He did not have to be hit over the head to know what was going on. He would return and tell the rest of the group that he had spotted Strongheart following Hartwell and his gang. They would want to pursue Joshua from the rear.
Hartwell had ridden hard for several miles when he stopped and appointed two men, who were good rifle shots, to lie in wait along the road to ambush Strongheart if he might be coming along behind them, tracking them, or just coincidentally going down that road, his only way back to the railroad. Feeling more secure knowing the two men were covering their rear, Hartwell had his men slow to a walk, which he would alternate with slow trotting, As bad as he was as a man, he did take good care of his big Thoroughbred. That, however, was quite common among outlaws, because they were frequently pursued by posses, legal ones. Outlaws quite often had the best horses around and usually treated them well.
Both men were named Shorty. One was Shorty Medina and the other was named Shorty Atha. Shorty Atha was nicknamed that humorously because he actually was tall and lanky, at about six foot four. The other was five foot two and very stocky. Medina took cover right next to the road where he could not possibly miss. There were some thick bushes around the base of a large oak tree. He crawled under them on his belly with part of the oak hiding most of his body.
Shorty Atha, in the meantime, climbed up and lay down on a flat-topped short grassy hillock about thirty feet beyond Medina's position. They waited patiently for fifteen minutes, and suddenly a chill crept up Shorty Medina's spine. He felt like someone was staring at him and he rolled over, and sat up looking up the short ridge behind them that skirted the roadway. He gulped as he stared at the grinning face of Joshua Strongheart, who was up the hill and aiming an arrow directly at him. He saw the Pinkerton wink at him, then release the arrow, which whooshed through the air and buried itself in his chest right through the heart. His head slumped forward on his chest, and his lifeless eyes stared at the ground.
Joshua nocked another arrow, and his moccasins made no sounds as he padded along the low ridge to his right, until he was behind Shorty Atha. He gave a whistle and Atha whirled, pistol drawn and in his right hand, but the arrow penetrated his forehead immediately passing out the back of his skull. He died before his hand dropped the gun.
Joshua ran forward and checked both men for .45-caliber bullets, which would fit his gun. Medina's body had them and Joshua took the dead man's pistol as well, tucking it into the back of his waistband.
Strongheart knew that Hartwell had not survived this long by being stupid, so he would probably set up an ambush on his backtrail. He had simply kept under cover on the high ground, and saw the two bushwhackers when he slowly came to the part of the ridgeline and stopped to scour the area with his telescope, as was his custom. He had indeed learned his lesson about just wading into an entire gang of bad men gun ablazing. However, the tall half-breed had no idea he now had ten men in front of him and would soon have twenty more behind him, all wanting to tear him to shreds.
He knew one thing and was very single-minded about it.
Strongheart had to fight or think his way past all the gun hands and kill Robert Hartwell, for the sake of his country. To that end, and not wading into a gun fight, he decided very firmly if he had to lose his life to accomplish that goal, so be it. He definitely would.
Joshua decided to risk it and go back into the road and speed along for a while at a mile-eating fast trot. He rode for miles and the tracks of the gang were still there. He saw where they had stopped twice, apparently to give their horses a breather. Then he saw where they took a side road south.