He was almost upon her when the arrow penetrated his rib cage from the right side, passed through his right lung, left lung, nicked his heart, and wedged into his left shoulder muscle. He let out a roar and stopped mid-charge, then stood again to face his new enemy: the powerful, handsome Lakota warrior Zuzeka, whose name meant “Snake” and who stood there with a large Bowie knife in his hand, his bow cast aside on the ground next to him.
Now the bear redirected his charge and dashed for the warrior, who refused to give ground. At the last second, the bear stood on its hind legs, bent slightly forward at the waist, and took a swipe at Zuzeka, raking his upper chest with four large claw marks, from the left side to the right side. Blood started streaming down the warrior's chest and rippled abdomen. He plunged the knife into the bear's chest just as it let out its death howl from the arrow. As it fell forward in a heap, its shoulder slammed the brave young man back ten feet, and he lay there unconscious.
He awakened to the smells of food and was very hungry. The startled brave sat up and looked around. It was daylight, and he finally realized that he was in the wagon of the
wasicun
woman, lying on her bed. He shook his head trying to clear his brain. Zuzeka looked around the inside of the wagon and recognized that this young woman was a good housekeeper.
She bounded up the steps and into the back of the Conestoga, and he jumped, reaching for his large knife, but the sheath was not around his waist. They looked at each other, and their eyes locked. Her chest started heaving a little in and out. His eyes entranced her. She smiled softly, and he relaxed, and she opened a box and pulled out his knife and sheath and handed them to him, as well as his bow and quiver full of arrows.
Abby said, “Do you speak any English?”
“Yes, a little maybe,” he said. “What happened?”
She smiled. “You saved my life. This giant bear was charging at me. You killed it with an arrow and your knife. You are so brave. Thank you.”
“Ah, I remember. Where is bear? When?” he asked.
“Three days ago,” she replied. “You were wonderful. I skinned the bear and saved it and the paws for you.”
“You did?” he said, then it hit him. “Three suns? I sleep three suns?”
“Yes,” she said. “Your chest wounds got infected, but I have medicine, and it is getting better now.”
She had to teach him how to drive her second wagon, loaded with the many supplies that her parents had brought with them to open their new store in Oregon or California. As they traveled in the coming days, Abby and Zuzeka both spoke constantly about what would become of them, for they were two people from very different worlds. His courage to her was incredible, as he traveled alone with her to protect her, driving a white man's wagon in the area known as Montana, which was not even a territory yet, let alone a state.
After a few weeks, with the canvas off the Conestoga, and lying under the millions of stars in the night sky, they made love for the first time. And it was on one of those nights in the big sky country that Joshua Strongheart was conceived.
Abby and Zuzeka first headed toward Oregon on a route known by fur trappers and Indians, which would become the northern route of the Bozeman Trail to Oregon some years later (and more than a century later, Interstate Highway I-90), but the farther they traveled the sadder Abby became.
It was in a lush, fertile valley surrounded by high mountain ranges that Zuzeka hid the wagons in a thicket where he and his father had camped years before on their way to the Yellowstone, ninety miles to the southwest. Where they camped and hid the wagons would, years later, become the city of Bozeman, Montana. From there they traveled on horses with a packhorse. Zuzeka wanted Abby to see what life was like in the lodges of the Lakota.
She met his family, and the baby grew inside her. Abby was shocked by how family-oriented, clean, organized, hardy, and happy these people were. She was made to feel at home in the lodges of Zuzeka's tribe. When she had revealed the story of his amazing courage and his people had seen the wound on his chest, he had been given the warrior name of Siostukala, “Claw Marks.”
On their way back to the valley that would become Bozeman, he planned to finally make the talk he had contemplated. They stopped in a thicket along a crystal-clear glacial creek, and she prepared them a meal, as they had not eaten for hours. He had the horses positioned so he could talk but still watch their ears and heads for signs that anybody was approaching or nearby. One horse was worth ten watchdogs, if you simply watched what the horse did with his head.
“The
wasicun
use the word âlove' and it means many things,” he said. “I have thought of this and it is what I feel with you, here in my heart.”
Tears welled up in Abby's eyes.
He said, “You carry our son in your belly. I know he is a son.”
He thought of the honor that had just been bestowed on him when he was renamed.
“My family circle has begun a good thing. It is called the Strong Heart Society.” He paused, sadly. “Maybe someday all the Lakota will have a Strong Heart Society. It is our best warriors; only a few can belong. I now belong,” he said, as he proudly pointed at the fresh claw marks.
“I will make you safe,” he went on, “then I must go.”
“No,” she protested and started crying, “I love you!”
“You hear my words, Abby. They are iron,” he told her. “My world is red and yours is white. You carry our baby. It will be hard for him, for he will have two hearts. My mother was sold to a
wasicun
, a, what do you call, a
wanasa pi
, a hunterâno, a trapper. He trapped beaver, shot
tatanka
, buffalo. This is how I learn to speak the white talk. My life was very hard, but we did not live in the towns.”
“
Siostukala
,” she said, “I need you! Please?”
Claw Marks set his jaw and spoke. “No. I have spoken. You will name our son Strongheart, for he will grow and become a mighty warrior with two hearts. Sometimes, you will visit my people or the Cheyenne or Arapaho, our brothers. They will know of him. We will talk more.”
They finished the trip to the green valley and her wagons and sat the first night by the fire. She had spent the trip there quietly thinking about his words.
She said, “You are right, but I am not going to Oregon or California. You would be killed.”
He started to speak, but she raised her hand. “Please, let me finish. I love you, but I have been thinking when we rode. You are right. This world is unfair. If we want to marry, we should be allowed, but that is the way it is. I will stay here, so our son, or daughter, can grow up in this beautiful valley, and I know white men will move here, and they will buy things from my store. Maybe someday there will be a town here.”
He left the fire then and walked long into the night.
The next day, Claw Marks told her he would find a place for her home and rode off. He knew of a place in the valley where the mountain men would sometimes rendezvous, and some Crows and other red men would come to it, too. The Crow and Lakota were bitter enemies, so he had to be very careful.
Two hours later, he found a bonanza. He saw two families near a stream with several other men. The warrior rode forward, his right hand up in greeting. He was met warmly. The two families had been on an early wagon train and decided they could make a wonderful life in this valley. There were also two fur buyers there, planning a mountain man rendezvous, and a man in a large tent who was an engineer, and even Claw Marks knew he was working on the planning for either a railroad or a spur for a mining operation. Another man was a farmer, and another a blacksmith and lay pastor. They were excited about having someone join them with all the supplies to start a mercantile, especially the men planning the rendezvous, who would now have a source for the many items they lacked. Little did Claw Marks know that in just over a decade, the Bozeman Trail would go through this valley. Little did he know it would become what would be called Bozeman, Montana, and Abby would then make a lot of money and own several successful businesses.
For now, they knew this place only by the name the Indians used, the “Valley of the Flowers,” because it got more rain than other parts of Montana and had very fertile soil.
Abby was welcomed with open arms as a new member of this small community, but soon it became time for Claw Marks to leave her. He removed his large knife and fancy sheath and handed them to her.
“I am a warrior,” he said. “This is my store. When you know our son is a man, you give this to him. Tell him he must keep it clean, keep it sharp, and only use it with wisdom. Tell him of his father. Let him learn of my people, too.”
“I will. I promise,” she said.
Abby threw herself into his arms and kissed him the way she had taught him, which he always liked very much. She would never forget how safe she felt wrapped in those massive arms. She would never forget the feeling of wrapping her own arms only part of the way around him, as if she were hugging a giant, gentle bear that would always protect her.
He turned and walked to his pony, then vaulted onto its back and rode away without looking back. That day was the last time Joshua's parents ever saw each other, but she kept her word.
Joshua grew up often going to Lakota and Cheyenne villages and learning of his red half. He was very proud of his heritage.
3
Lawman
Joshua longed for a father, and he was excited as a young boy when the town marshal, Dan Cooper, of the blossoming community of Flower Valley got serious about his ma. Marshal Cooper was tall and slender, maybe six-two and 190 pounds, but that was all muscle and sinew from all his years of hard work.
The marshal had high cheekbones, a prominent nose, and honest, intelligent hazel eyes that would bore daggers through anybody. Much older than Joshua's ma, he had a little gray in his mustache, which was always well trimmed and ran full down in a point just past the corner of each thin lip. Like his hair, it was primarily dark brown.
He was not given to talking, just doing. Dan was a very harsh taskmaster on Joshua when he was growing up, but he was all man and he was bound and determined to make his stepson a man. He said the country was too unforgiving for him to go easy on the boy.
The thing Joshua remembered most about the only father that he ever knew was how good the man could fight, even though he was much smaller than some of the giant buffalo hunters and mountain men he had to arrest. Dan had actually taken a section of log weighing over two hundred pounds, shaved the bark off of it and the two thick branches that extended out for two feet, and sanded the whole thing, rounding the ends so they would resemble thick arms. Joshua would watch the man for hours on end tossing that log backwards, sideways, and various combinations thereof, working on numerous grappling moves.
Dan was also an incredible shot with pistol or rifle. He started Joshua when he was small and taught him first how to shoot a long gun. He learned to shoot with an 1860 Henry .44 repeater, and his stepdad gave it to him when he turned twelve years old.
It was a Saturday morning, and he handed Joshua the rifle with two bullets and an admonition: “Boy, you have two bullets. One is for emergency. The other is for a deer, turkey, antelope, elk, or bear. We need meat. Your ma packed you some fixings. Saddle up old Beau and get us meat. Come back when you have it.”
“Yes, Sir,” Joshua said and walked away from the grim-faced lawman, his shoulders back and chest puffed out.
It was scary when he had to spend that night in the woods by himself, but he thought of his ancestry and the mighty warrior who was his father. He finally tracked down a small doe, shot her, field dressed her, and returned home hoping for praise. Dan was proud of him, very proud, but would not show it. His mother was bursting with pride.
Dan said, “Good. Clean your rifle and sharpen your knife?”
“Yes, sir,” came the quick reply.
“Good,” the marshal said. “Give me the second bullet.”
Joshua got a sheepish look. “I can't, sir.”
“Why not?”
Joshua replied, “I had to use both bullets. I missed with the first shot.”
“I told you the second bullet was for emergencies,” Dan said. “What if you had run into a grizzly or band of Crows on your way back?” He did not wait for an answer but said, “Out to the shed, Joshua,” grabbing the leather razor strop off the wall.
Before he gave Joshua his swats, he said, “If you point and cock a gun at an animal or a person, son, you shoot, and you do not miss. One bullet, one hit.”
Joshua Strongheart never forgot those words, “One bullet, one hit,” and subconsciously he touched his rear end every time he recalled the quote.
Dan never said words of sentiment or affection, nor did he praise Joshua, but a look of approval would make Joshua's day. And the man sure did teach the young lad how to fight with his hands and his pistol and rifle, and more importantly, with his head.
One of the incidents that impressed the young dark-skinned cowboy was an event that at first scared him for Dan. Some of these big men that came into town to blow off steam looked like they were related to the buffalo they hunted they were so large, and some were very nasty and mean.
Three behemoth mountain men were drinking heavily in the saloon and soon were slapping customers around. One of the victims came to fetch Dan, and Joshua happened to be with him. He tagged along behind.
Each of the men had murdered before but had never been caught. With Joshua following, Dan walked briskly, with long, easy strides, to the family's mercantile store. Joshua was very curious as to what would come next. Dan walked up to Abby, and she forced a kiss. Joshua grinned, knowing this man hated to show affection, but his ma would never let Dan get away with that where she was concerned. The marshal then walked over to a shelf of clothing and grabbed a pair of socks, and then to the hardware supplies along the far wall, where he grabbed a large wooden axe handle. Next, he went to a big jar of marbles and started pouring handfuls into one of the long boot socks. Joshua was still perplexed.