Strongheart by Don Bendell Page B

you are wearing a gun, my gun. That is how you are going out of it. You chose the owlhoot trail. Don’t whine.”
    A shadow literally passed over Jeeter’s face and then the rocks, and he looked up. Three buzzards circled lazily along on the updraft from the mountain, looking for food. A dread came over him. He had to kill this Indian. His hand went down for the gun, and as it touched the handle, he thought he was going to do it, but he looked up and saw the muzzle flash from Joshua’s right hand. Jeeter was amazed that Joshua had been sipping coffee and not spilled a drop. At the same time, something slammed into his chest and then another, and somewhere he heard two loud booms. He was struggling to breathe.
    Looking at Strongheart in a panic, he said, “How kin ya bury me in these heah rocks?”
    Joshua said, “Don’t have time. You wouldn’t give me names or places. Remember? Besides, buzzards have to eat, too.”
    The thought sent Jeeter into sheer panic. He suddenly went blind, then deaf, then he could not breathe but kept trying. He was too young to die. That was his last thought.
    Strongheart retrieved his rig and grabbed whatever Jeeter had of any value, returned to Gabriel, and rode down, getting Jeeter’s gelding along the way. He saddled him and led him down toward Texas Creek, along a sandy gulch with an intermittent creek seeping in and out of the sand. It was known locally as Likely Gulch.
    An hour later, he led the horse into the small group of buildings called Cotopaxi. Zack Banta came out, the ever-present twinkle in his eye, and this time a large corncob pipe in his mouth.
    The old-timer accepted the saddle and carbine Joshua handed him, as well as a bag of money and some jewelry.
    Banta said, “Wal, I reckon ole Jeeter McMahon has no need fer none a this anymore. Ah also reckon the way ya do things, young Strongheart, thet Harlance ain’t gonna have much need fer this horse or his things purty soon. We’ll put him in the stable behind the hotel.”
    â€œSee that he gets a good owner, yourself or whoever,” Joshua said.
    â€œYassir, reckon I kin use a good mount. My ole piebald has crunched him a buncha gravel under his hooves in these mountains,” Zachariah mused, “but he likes to jest stand now a lot and remember those good ole days whilst he rests his eyes.”
    â€œYou have a good mount now,” Joshua said, winking.
    Zack said, “Get any more ’sides Jeeter? Someone rode in here. Said they was a hell of a shootin’ up to Westcliffe.”
    Strongheart said, “Yep. Ruddy Cheeks Carroll in Westcliffe.”
    â€œHee, hee, ya shore don’t waste no time,” Zack said. “Who’s next?”
    â€œOregon,” Joshua said, “I have to courier a message there. Very important, but I will be back. I’m looking for an woman’s antique wedding ring. Somebody in the gang has it.”
    â€œWal, ya better rest up tanight and leave first light. Who ya courierin’ fer?”
    Strongheart said, “The U.S. Army. I work for the Pinkerton Agency.”
    â€œYep, I knewd when I seen ya an sized ya up,” Zack said, “ya wasn’t some young half-breed tryin’ to figger out which world ya fit in. Could see right off ya was a man ta ride the river with.”
    A cute befreckled teenaged girl came in and Zack said, “Hiya, missy. Now, Esther, why doncha run and tell yer ma to fix up our friend Mr. Strongheart here some vittles and a food pack fer his saddle tomorrah.”
    She smiled broadly and said, “Yes, sir, Mr. Banta.”
    The girl flashed a longing smile toward Joshua and ran to the hotel.
    Joshua was feeling much stronger when he left Cotopaxi at first light and made his way westward toward Poncha Springs. He had some long hard riding ahead of him, but he would make the trip on his magnificent new mount, Gabriel, and load the big gelding when he could onto