Blood Feather (22 page)

Blood Feather shaved off pieces of jerky into water he'd put on to boil. He kept getting the shivers and stared all around him, just knowing Strongheart must be watching. He felt stronger after he ate and drank water from his bison-bladder canteen. There was no sense moving, because he was not mobile now, and Strongheart could easily follow him. He slept and awakened a little after dark and fed wood into the fire. All of a sudden out the woods he heard a loud yell.

It was Strongheart, far off, yelling, “
We Tewaci Au We!
” which meant “Blood will bring blood!”

He repeated it three times, then the dark woods got quiet. Blood Feather was never before so frightened in his life. He had never felt fear, and he hated it.

Strongheart freshened his war paint and moved back to his hideout higher up in the rocks, where he knew
We Wiyake
could not pursue him right now. Maybe the next day he could, and he wondered if he was wise to let the man live for now, even nurse his wounds. He decided that he did not care if it was wise. It was what he felt must be done. This man had killed in the most frightening and horrific manner imaginable, for years, in both the red world and the white world. He was pure evil.

Joshua built a good fire among a jumble of boulders and ate a hearty meal. He thought about the love of his life and cried quietly. He sharpened his knife and arrowheads while he drank coffee and thought about Gabriel and the adventures they had enjoyed and survived together. He had not really used his guns, because this was a Lakota warrior. He wanted to use the weapons of his father Claw Marks.

It would be very easy to simply shoot the man with his Colt or his rifle. In fact, he could use either or both and shoot the giant killer over and over.

However, as soon as he even thought of this, the words of Dan Cooper rang out in his head: “Joshua, the easy way is not necessarily the best way. Most times, it's not.”

In honor of his father and even his mother, who loved Claw Marks her whole life; in honor of his stepfather, who raised him as his own son; in honor of Belle, the woman he loved so deeply and was ready to marry, he wanted to do this the Lakota way. The way of a warrior. Blood Feather, even twice-wounded, was still seven feet tall and well over one hundred pounds larger than Strongheart and all muscle and toughness. Joshua was not stupid. He had already evened the odds a lot, but he might even them even more. He knew that the next day maybe, he and
We Wiyake
would face each other and fight to the death. He did not care how badly he would get hurt. He would show the murderer that, indeed, “blood will bring blood.”

Blood Feather awakened in the middle of the night. The fire had dwindled down, and he built it up more. His leg was torn up and his arm hurt worse than any toothache he had suffered, and he'd had two major toothaches years before and hated them. He heated up more soup and ate it. Then chewed on some jerky, knowing the nutrition would help him with the challenge ahead.

For the first time in his life,
We Wiyake
wondered if he was going to die. He lay back down and wondered if Strongheart was just outside the circle of light, preparing to kill him now. Another chill ran down his spine. He slept very fitfully during the rest of the night and awakened with his wounded arm aching. It was almost dawn when he doused his campfire and led the big horse to a group of boulders. His whole life, he'd simply grab some horse mane and swing up on the back of a horse, but now he had to stand on one rock like a step to the next. Then he lay across the horse's back, swung his leg over, and sat up moaning and aching.

As soon as he mounted, he wondered if he could slip away somewhere and hide so he could heal a little more.

That feeling left him immediately when, out of the darkness, he heard the loud voice of Joshua Strongheart yelling, “
We Wiyake! We tiwaci au we! We tiwaci au we!
”

He kicked the big horse into a gallop through the trees in a total panic and felt a limb smack him across the chest. He flew off the horse's back, hitting the ground with a thud, breaking a rib on a small rock. He also got the wind knocked out of him for the first time in his life. He panicked but soon got his breath back.

Every time Blood Feather breathed, there was a searing pain in his lower left rib cage. He'd not only broken a rib, but bruised three others. He lay on the ground trying to breathe and heard the voice of Joshua Strongheart again in the trees, laughing heartily
.
We Wiyake
felt he was going to die now for sure, but he had to take this enemy with him. He determined he would push past the pain, ignore the aches, and set himself to kill the much smaller, weaker opponent. Although he was hurting more, his adrenaline was pumping now, and he felt stronger.

The sun was starting to peek through the trees, and
We Wiyake
checked his rifle to make sure it was clean and loaded. It struck Strongheart as funny that Blood Feather had used a white man's weapon during this chase and Joshua had used more primitive Lakota weapons.

Blood Feather got to his feet and followed the big horse for an hour. He walked up to it and the horse did not want to be caught. He pulled his cooking bowl out of his parfleche and put pebbles in it and shook the bowl. Thinking it was grain the big horse came forward. As soon as he got up to the bowl and started to stick his nose in it, Blood Feather reached out and grabbed the lead line the horse had been dragging.

The horse nudged him with his nose, and suddenly the big knife came forward. The strike into the heart was perfect and the horse felt nothing. It died on the spot. Weak and with his arm really aching, Blood Feather quickly started carving meat for himself to eat. He did not care about this or any horse. He was in for the fight of his life, and he knew he had to get some meat into his system. He would kill this man, eat his heart, and then he could go for miles on the spiritual energy of defeating such a mighty warrior. He made a quick campfire and started cooking the meat. He ate pounds of it and was unaware that Strongheart watched at a distance with his binoculars.

Strongheart said quietly aloud, “Eat all you want, but it won't help you, Blood Feather. You may kill me, but you are going to die, too. And first, you will die several times in your mind. This, I swear.”

He hid himself among the trees and waited for Blood Feather to move. Joshua was amazed at the killer's constitution. He moved with purpose as he went west into the trees and then turned back north. Joshua knew what he was doing. The giant was actually going to go for the western rock outcropping, hoping to find a hiding place among those granite sentinels. It would be extremely difficult for him to move in that unforgiving terrain, and nothing could have pleased Strongheart more.

Joshua decided to intercept Blood Feather in the rocks and figure out a plan to chip away at the brute's strength once more. He trotted forward with the morning sun still hidden on the other side of Pikes Peak off to his right. The pair of eyes with the binoculars watched Strongheart as he moved up into the rocks, and then he turned the field glasses to his left and saw glimpses of Blood Feather moving slowly through the trees. The watcher kept looking at Blood Feather but could not find Strongheart again in the rocks.

We Wiyake
was totally worn out and his head was spinning. He climbed slowly up through the rocks. Every muscle and joint in his body ached. He was tired, and he was for the first time in his life vulnerable, like other people. He hated how he was feeling. He made it one hundred feet up into the rocks and slowly climbed farther, one-handed, limping badly. His strength had dissipated, and with what seemed like the last of his energy, he pulled himself up around two large boulders, each the size of a buckboard. He started to step around one and for a split second he looked into the red-and-black war-painted face of Joshua Strongheart before the punch hit him full square in the nose and broke it. He fell back, dropping his rifle, and adrenaline took over. He reached for the rifle and spun around, bringing it up. The Pinkerton agent was gone. He had disappeared into the rocks.

The watcher glassed the rocks and saw the figure of Strongheart as he punched
We Wiyake
. The beast flew back holding his nose, which was now bleeding profusely. Strongheart slithered up through the rocks as the watcher kept the glasses on him; then he disappeared as he moved through the many rock formations.

Blood Feather held his nose and moved it over with a crunching sound, trying to make it straight. His eyes watered, and he pinched his nostrils. He knew he could not afford to lose more blood. This was the worst experience he had ever been through.

He lay on his belly and started crawling slowly between rocks, trying to find a hidden sanctuary where he could rest and regroup. He only crawled for a few minutes and was so exhausted and out of breath that he just dropped his head down on his good arm and tried to relax his breathing and calm himself down. He lay still for ten minutes and started rethinking about crawling.
We Wiyake
felt that Strongheart could not see him now and would have to guess his exact location, so maybe it would be worth crawling more. It was just so painful and slow. His breathing slowed down after five minutes, and he decided to set a goal. He would crawl twenty more body lengths and relax. The giant reached down for his rifle and could not feel it. His hand moved around something soft. He raised it up and looked at it. It was a red-tailed hawk feather. He turned, his eyes searching the ground frantically. Blood Feather's rifle was gone, taken right from his side. Then he saw the tracks of Strongheart, sneaking in and sneaking away in just those five minutes. He drew his giant knife out, his eyes going back and forth left and right. He looked behind him. His heart pounded in his ears. His breathing was coming out in gasps now.

Blood Feather tried to calm himself down more. He sat up and leaned against a rock, fidgeting. His right hand went up to his left shoulder and upper arm and rubbed them. His arm hurt so badly he wanted to amputate it. The psychotic killer looked all around him and started hearing the voices of all those he killed screaming in the rocks, their voices echoing throughout the outcropping. He put his hand to one ear and hurt his arm trying to put the other hand up to stop the voices.

Suddenly, he saw the face of Strongheart's woman. It was floating in the clouds directly to his front. Just like when she died, she stared at him defiantly, her jaw thrust forward and teeth clenched, but she had not and would not now show fear. She smiled at him.

Strongheart's voice came into focus echoing among the rocks, “
We Wiyake! We tiwaci au we! We tiwaci au we! We tiwaci au we!
”

Joshua had seen the flash now twice off the watcher's binoculars, and he carefully made his way through the rock labyrinth so he would not be seen. He went from the rocks into the trees and worked his way toward the watcher's position. First, he saw the horse and it was magnificent. Over sixteen hands, it looked Arabian, and it was a pinto, with black and white swirling all over its well-muscled body. The legs looked saddlebred and the head was definitely Arabian. The big gelding held himself proudly and stood patiently waiting for his owner.

Strongheart went silently past the horse, who let out a quiet whinny as the Pinkerton moved toward the watcher ahead of him on a pile of giant hardwood blowdowns. Joshua quietly slipped off his pack, pulled out his gunbelt, and strapped on his Peacemaker and knife. He was not stupid, and this man was holding a buffalo gun—a .50-caliber Sharps rifle, in fact.

The man was Zachariah Banta, and ten feet behind him Strongheart put his pistol away, saying, “Zach!”

Banta spun around, startled, and showed a big toothy grin. He climbed down off the logs and walked up to Strongheart, sticking out his hand to shake.

They shook hands, and Zach said, “Wal, son, you are a might painted up fer war. Looks like yer givin' war to that old boy, too. I was with the posse, and when he cut loose on us I rode that ole paint into the trees and jest kept coming up in the hill.”

“Beautiful horse, Zach.”

Zach ignored those words and said, “Look, I ain't good at speechifyin' at a time like this, but I am really sorry, Joshua. I loved the young lady like a daughter. I even got her Eagle there, but I guess he's yours now. I got Eagle from my cousin down to Westcliffe, and he was bred just like Gabe, half-Arab and half-saddlebred. That breed seems to fit you right fine.”

Strongheart was touched.

He said, “What do you mean you got that horse for her?”

Zach said, “I heered you two was officially gettin' hitched, so I wanted to give her a nice present. That is one handsome horse. I saw Gabe's body. Sorry about that, too, That son of a—”

Joshua interrupted. “You amaze me, Zach. You live in Cotopaxi and you already heard that fast we were engaged? That is a beautiful horse. I don't know what to say. I can't take him.”

Zach said, “You and me never talk that much about God and sech things, but the Good Book tells ya not to turn away a blessing. That is your horse now. He is five years old and all you gotta do is put your foot in the stirrup, and he is good ta go. Ya say anything other'n thanks, you will insult me.”

Strongheart stuck his hand out and said, “Thanks, Zach.”

Zach said, “Ain't ya worried about that dry-gulchin' varmint gittin' away whilst we're yapping like a pair a coyote bitches?”

Joshua said, “No, not at all. You ever see a cat playing with a mouse after he's caught it?”

Zach said, “Reckon so.”

Strongheart said, “Can I take Eagle for now and you wait for me up in the rocks? It is time to end it.”

Zach said, “I don't care if ya skin him alive, son. I will be happy to see it. Eagle is your horse. You ride him when ya want.”

Strongheart lengthened the stirrups and stepped into the saddle. He started Eagle off at a slow trot, and the horse proudly tossed his mane and tail from side-to-side like a parade horse. It was the smoothest trot Joshua had ever felt from a horse.