The Rider of Phantom Canyon (3 page)

Jerome found the small cave and grabbed some squaw wood to start a fire. He soon had one going, and he then ventured out to break off some branches to make himself a bed. An hour later, he was fast asleep and slumbered fitfully.

In the morning, at full light, Jerome started walking . . . fast. He could not get to town soon enough. He saw the tracks of his stampeding horses and then figured he must have been thrown from his wagon. Following them around one of the many turns in the road, he gasped.

He clearly saw the tracks of his wagon and horses going into the trees, and there before him about eight feet up off the ground, he saw the limp figure of Dub Tabor, neck broken and wedged in the
V
of an extended, large cottonwood limb. The tracks told the story, and he hung
his head down as he walked past the body. He could tell the man was wedged firmly into the tight
V
of the limb, and there was no way he could retrieve the body.

Two hours of walking brought him to the team and wagon. The horses, still in their harness, were grazing on tall green roadside grasses, and a small stream ran down the side of the ridgeline nearby. Jerome thought about going back with the wagon to cut the branch down and take the body back with him, but he thought better of it. The frightened man pictured every sort of monster imaginable, and he wondered if the phantom was watching him now. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what had happened. He clearly remembered his talk with Dub about the large, hairy, black creature he had seen that ran his team over the cliff, and about the creature stalking him. He remembered it was at least eight feet tall and wider than a pair of oxen.

It was all he could do to keep his panic in check and not run his horses to death all the way to the mouth of Phantom Canyon. Finally egressing the twisting, turning canyon, he went uphill for a mile or so and emerged at the beginning of the prairie stretching to the east. To his right was Cañon City, now only a few miles distant. In two hours, he pulled up in front of the Fremont County sheriff's office and tied his team at the hitching rail and watering trough out front. He had quite a tale to tell and knew many deputies and others would be going back to Phantom Canyon to investigate and retrieve the body. He wondered if they would want him
to lead them back to where the body of Dub was hanging from the tree. That was the last thing he ever wanted to do. Jerome did not want to go to Phantom Canyon again. He now knew the legend about the phantom was not a tale. It was something to be feared, and he wondered if there was anybody, anywhere who could find and conquer the
monster.

Men tried to envision the shapely body and long, muscular legs under the classy gold lamé dress, while women watching the duo walking down the well-lit Chicago street marveled at the man at her side. He was much taller than other men, with a similar waistline to most, yet he had a chest and shoulders much larger than just about any man. The suit he wore strained to contain the bulging muscles all over his body. Properly tailored, it hid the specially designed Colt .45 Peacemaker with a tiny lawman's badge on either side of the ivory handle, an inheritance from his stern but fatherly stepdad. The back of his suit jacket also hid the large fringed and porcupine quill–decorated sheath of the razor-sharp, antler-handled Bowie-size knife, an inheritance from
his biological father, a Lakota warrior named Claw Marks who left this man's white mother to a life that would be productive and less complicated without a “red savage” in her world.

The pair were leisurely walking and talking after having dinner on Randolph Street, the site of numerous restaurants in Chicago. As they passed under a gas streetlamp, he looked over and stared into her deep brown, smiling eyes. She did the same to him, and it seemed as if they had aimed bows of passion at each other loaded with arrows of desire. They stopped and faced each other, and each of their lips slowly moved toward the other's. The arrows had been released and were flying true. Their lips came together.

“Well, lookee here, boys. One a them blanket niggers come off the reservation and thinks he is gonna git hisself a white woman,” came a voice from behind them.

They both pulled apart, and the man, Joshua Strongheart, pushed her protectively behind him. He faced the gang of five who had come up behind him. All of them were obviously drunk. They also were all angry railroad workers, taking part in the nationwide railroad strike that had begun a month earlier in Baltimore and quickly spread across the country. These ruffians were angry at the management of several railroad lines, but were now focusing their anger on Strongheart, the half-breed premier Pinkerton agent.

The beauty, Brenna Alexander, tried to step around
Joshua to confront the men, too, but Strongheart's sinewy arm pushed her back out of harm's way.

He turned and softly commanded, “Brenna, go sit on that bench. I'll just be a minute.”

Seeing the command presence he had when he spoke, she immediately went to the nearby street-side bench and sat obediently. This man was in charge right now in the face of danger, and she was glad. She had seen him in action before, when her Indiana mansion was burned to the ground while she and Joshua barely escaped. Like her father before her, Brenna abhorred racism and was active in the Underground Railroad, smuggling slaves and oppressed sharecroppers from the South to more freedom and paying jobs in the North and Midwest.

The worker who had made the initial comment was a big, beefy man with wide shoulders, a barrel chest, and massive arms from years of laying railroad ties and driving in spikes.

The man guffawed and started to make a comment, but Joshua's hand came up quickly, palm toward the man's face. Joshua's mind was working rapidly. He was facing five large, muscular men, and he preferred defusing this situation and getting back to the lovely Brenna. He had no desire to fight, especially with the odds so much against him. He knew a fight was inevitable unless he could stop the five in their tracks.

Joshua said, “Before you say anything else here, let's
save a lot of time. It is obvious to me that you are spoiling for a fight, and I have become your target. So, will I only have to fight you, or all five of you?”

The big man looked at the other four and started chuckling.

“What do you think, blanket nigger?” he replied with a deep, bellowing laugh.

Strongheart said, “Well, sir, that sure makes it acceptable for me to use any tools I need to get this job done. So, first, let me show you something.”

He walked over to one of the behemoths, who was holding a large mug half-filled with frothy beer.

He gently took him by the forearm, smiling, and said, “Please, sir. Just help me out a second.”

The man, in his drunken stupor, followed Strongheart's direction as he moved him so a vacant lot was behind him.

Joshua backed off about twenty feet and said, “Now, sir, please hold the mug of beer out to your side.”

Not knowing how to respond, the man did just that.

Joshua said, “Thank you. Now, without anybody counting, or saying anything, simply let go of the glass anytime you want.”

The man did so, and before the mug of beer fell even one foot, it exploded with the blast of a Colt .45. All looked, and that quickly, Joshua had reacted, drawn his pistol, and fired from the hip. Brenna had never seen anybody draw a gun so fast in her life, and nor had any of the striking railroad workers.

One said, “Did you see that?”

The man next to him said, “No. I ain't never seen anybody draw so fast, or accurate.”

Strongheart grinned sadistically and said, “All right, gentlemen. There are five of you, and I have five bullets left in my shooter, plus six more in my belly gun. I'm ready to fight.”

They looked at each other and back at him and put their hands up in a pleading manner.

The bully said, “Mister, I am very sorry. I did not mean no disrespect.”

Strongheart said, “Well, each of you owes my young lady here an apology, as you disrespected her.”

All five of them started bowing and apologizing to her, removing their hats. They walked backward, increasing their speed as they moved down the street.

Brenna walked up to him, smiling, and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately.

She stepped back, looking up into his eyes, and said, “Joshua Strongheart, you are the most amazing man I have ever known. I feel so safe with you. You can handle any problem that would ever come up.”

He said, “No, it is just a lot harder not to fight than it is to fight, but not fighting is usually the right thing to do.”

She wrapped her hands around his beefy arm, and they walked down the street.

He smiled at her as they walked along and said, “William Shakespeare wrote, ‘I must be cruel, only to be kind.'”

She just shook her head and chuckled. She was falling deeply in love with her hero. He never ceased to amaze her.

Joshua Strongheart was a Pinkerton agent, the stepson of a quiet, unassuming Montana lawman, and the love child of a mighty Lakota warrior named Claw Marks and a beautiful and hardy fifteen-year-old orphan girl who settled in Montana and ended up marrying Marshal Dan Trooper. They were all gone now. Strongheart was taken often to the village of his late father to learn the Lakota ways. At home, Dan was a strict but loving father figure who taught him how to be a good man who could fight with guns or fists better than just about anyone. His mother, who was a self-made, successful merchant, ensured he got an education, including a penchant for quoting Shakespeare.

Strongheart was left with a nice inheritance from his mother, as her mercantile was very successful for years. He knew he had to find a job he would be totally passionate about, and he did find it. He was a Pinkerton agent and the apple of Allan Pinkerton's eye. This organization was the forerunner of the United States Secret Service and was the premiere private detective agency of the entire world.

The couple walked on to Brenna's house, and no sooner were they inside than there was a knock on the door. Hand on his pistol, Joshua stood by the door while Brenna answered it.

A man stood there in a brown suit, and he tipped his
hat to Brenna and said, “Agent Strongheart, they want you at headquarters right away. Sorry to interrupt, sir.”

Strongheart said, “I'll saddle my horse and be there shortly. Thank you. Are you new?”

“Second day, sir.”

*   *   *

One hour later, Joshua Strongheart walked into the lantern-lit office of Lucky Champ, his French-born supervisor and friend.

“Bonsoir, mon ami,”
Strongheart said.
“Comment allez-vous?”

Lucky smiled.
“Je vais bien, merci, monsieur. Et vous?”

“
Bien, merci,
boss. What's up?”

Lucky said, “We have trouble times two brewing in your home territory. The Fremont County sheriff has sent several telegraphs to us. It seems there is a place near Cañon City called Phantom Canyon?
N'est-ce pas?
”

Joshua said, “Yeah, I've ridden it. It runs up to the southern and western slopes of Pikes Peak. Narrow wagon road, lots of twists and turns, cliffs, and forest. If some of those prospectors poking around Pikes Peak hit gold or silver, I guarantee it will become a railroad right-of-way.”

Little did Strongheart know how prophetic that statement was, as that would occur in less than a decade.

Lucky went on. “Apparently, the people down there are nervous, thinking there really is a phantom or
something scary in Phantom Canyon. Somebody has been killed and there have been several incidents, and the sheriff would like your help in tracking whatever it is. Also, we have been hired because there is trouble brewing, with a possible railroad war beginning. You are going to investigate and try to avert it if you can.”

“Well, so much for a few days off,” Joshua said merrily. “I guess trouble never stops. I will take the train at daybreak.”

Wannge'e grew up in the Four Corners area, where Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico came together. As many members of the Ute tribe did, he had blended into white society and had been working as a scout, leading white men out on hunting and fishing expeditions or taking them into the wilderness to search for areas they wanted to prospect. Although his Ute name meant “Red Fox,” white men called him Juan Jay, or just Juan, as it was the closest name to his real name of Wannge'e. Also like many Utes, he spoke English well.

Wannge'e had heard the stories which were circulating all around southern Colorado now about the phantom of Phantom Canyon, the death, the fear, the crashed
wagon and dead horses. He heard descriptions of a creature that moved fast and was as tall as a tall man holding another tall man on his shoulders. He heard that the creature was as wide in the shoulders as a small horse is long. Thinking of all the stories he heard, Wannge'e was certain that Phantom Canyon had become the home of at least one
Pahi-zoho
, also called
Si-Te-Cah
. He had met a Nez Perce at Bent's Fort one day, and they got into a discussion about the
Pahi-zoho
. The Nez Perce, who was from the Oregon area, told him that some white men who had seen the
Pahi-zoho
called it a Bigfoot, because its tracks were so large. He said in their country many large ones had been seen, as well as females still taller than any man, and young ones, too. The shoulders on the male were as “wide as a man lying on his side is long,” and some were as “tall as two men, one standing on the other.”

He was frightened, yet fascinated.

The sound of many crickets deep in Phantom Canyon was haunting, and the trees and overhanging cliffs were stingy about letting shards and slivers of moonlight shine through them. The crickets stopped suddenly. Wannge'e awakened and sat straight up, looking all about him. He blinked his eyes at the shadows, and suddenly movement to his left front caught his eyes. He felt a shiver run up and down his spine; he had to quickly stand up and relieve his bladder. He shivered again while he did so.

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he
caught movement again, in the trees. He now felt his heart thumping in his chest, and he shook his head. It felt like it was full of lard, and he could not think clearly. His knees were shaking so hard, he thought whatever it was could see them shake.

More movement, and this time it was from the shadows in the trees and undergrowth, and it seemed to be getting closer, looming larger and larger and larger. It was the shape of a man, now behind some branches and trunks, but it must have been ten feet tall. It had long hair all over its body, and its muscles, even in the shadows, were clearly enormous compared to those of any man Wannge'e had ever seen. Thrice the size of the strongest man Juan Jay had witnessed in his life. Paralyzed by fear, he could not move.

The beast moved closer and now was standing clearly visible in the moonlight less than twenty feet away. Wannge'e wanted to scream, but his vocal cords would not work.

He had been this close to a massive boar silvertip grizzly one time, but this monster looked twice as powerful as the mighty bear. It was built like a man, but its arms were much longer, seeming to hang almost down to its knees. What was most eerie, though, were the eyes. With a full moon brightly illuminating the creature, the eyes looked humanlike, but they were bright red. This was the same look he had seen in the eyes of owls before when he cast a torchlight on them. That made the whole scene even more scary. It had not walked like a bear
balancing on its hind legs either, but more effortlessly, like an athlete, a giant man. Wannge'e had a friend who had traveled back East with some white men and had seen monkeys and apes and described them in full detail. This looked like a giant version of what his friend had described, but walking and moving upright like a human.

Wannge'e felt if this
Pahi-zoho
took one more step forward, he might faint, he was so frightened. He had never been so scared in all his life. He could tell the creature could move rapidly, and he felt if it grabbed him it was strong enough to literally rip his arms or legs off. He wondered if this thing considered him prey to be killed and eaten.

It stepped forward, and Wannge'e yelled as he turned to run and his legs got tangled up, tripping him. He hit the ground hard, then pushed himself up with his hands as his eyes came open. He looked around and saw only the glowing embers in his campfire. His feet were tangled up in his blanket, and his horse was calmly grazing in the grass nearby. His breaths came out in heaving sobs almost.

He had been dreaming. It was a nightmare—the worst he had ever experienced—but it all seemed so real. He was panting like a dog now, and he put some sticks on the fire, instinctively feeling the additional light and warmth would make him safer. Wannge'e had been “over the mountain and down the river” a time or two, and nothing had ever frightened him like this. He
put his pot of coffee on the fire and waited for it to heat up. He knew he would be awake a long time now.

An hour passed, and the adrenaline coursing through Wannge'e's body was starting to wear down. His eyelids became heavy, and he blinked continuously, staring into the shadows, which frequently seemed to be moving. His eyes scanned across an open area in the trees and looked up the road to his right, toward the distant, unseen Pikes Peak. Then he swept his gaze back, and suddenly in the open space, there was a creature, and now Wannge'e was not asleep. This was not a dream. Something very wide, very tall, and very black moved from the opening, and made noise doing so. It was much wider than a bear would be, and much taller, even than a grizzly bear.

Wannge'e left his coffeepot, his pack, his water bag, and everything but his rifle, and leapt up onto his horse's back, leaving his saddle behind as well. He grabbed the mane of the big bay and kicked him hard in both ribs, heading back south and hoping he could make Cañon City alive. He bent low over the horse's neck and the bay sensed danger was behind them as he lit out as if his tail were set ablaze. As the trail fell behind him, Wannge'e relaxed his senses a little bit more and, after a mile, slowed to a trot.

He kept on at a trot, periodically slowing to a walk, lest he kill his horse. Then, when the horse seemed to catch his breath, he would kick him back into a trot. More than an hour passed before he finally let the horse stop
and rest along the trail. Wannge'e dared to dismount, and he put his ear to the ground, listening intently. Coincidentally, three mule deer who had let him pass by minutes earlier were now spooked by another noise farther up the road, and they bounded off in their hopping style, reminiscent of giant four-legged kangaroos. Juan Jay heard the drumming sound in the ground, and his eyes opened as wide as silver dollars. He made a mad dash for his horse and leapt onto his back, sending him south again in a panicked canter. The horse was well-lathered before he slowed the mustang gelding down again.

The frightened Ute was miles down the canyon and it was well after daybreak before he dismounted again and led his horse at a fast walk. His eyes scoured the trail and, off to his right, within a half mile, he spotted something that made him freeze in his tracks. He looked down, and there, hardened in the mud, were the footprints, heading north, of a barefooted man. They had been made when the ground was wet from rain two days earlier, but what sent shivers up and down his spine was the size of the tracks. They clearly looked humanlike, but were thirty percent wider than any human footprint and were seventeen or eighteen inches in length. They were also very, very deep into the dried mud. Staring at the tracks, which he assumed were from the creature who had confronted him, Wannge'e shivered and felt a chill run up and down his spine. He had to relieve his bladder again and shivered the same way twice more while doing so.

This
Pahi-zoho
was not just a menacing, frightening creature; it was also enormous compared to stories he had heard about other sightings and tracks. The Ute wondered how close to death he had been.

Two skeptical deputies from the Fremont County sheriff's office rode out of Cañon City the next morning to head up Phantom Canyon to where the very frightened Indian had seen the tracks. They both were no longer skeptical when they did see the tracks. They both had to relieve their bladders and both also shivered while doing so. One was wise enough to hang a red kerchief from an overhanging branch to mark the unnerving tracks. They returned at a fast trot most of the way to make their report to the sheriff. They both had gone after escaped prisoners from Old Max. Both had been on the search for a large killer grizzly and had been in on the capture of several dangerous outlaws, but no experience compared with this one. The two men were frightened and wondered how this monster could be killed. They wondered if it could be, and who could do
it.