“Got these marbles, Abby, pair of socks, and this axe handle. Put them on our account. Gotta get back to work. See ya.”
Curious, she gave a half wave as he strode out of the store. He tied a knot into the end of the marble-filled sock while he walked, then stuffed it into the right pocket of the long tan duster he was wearing. Next, he slid the handle of the axe up his right sleeve, but it stuck out. He pulled it out and put it under his left arm, inside the long coat, squeezing it along his body with his left elbow and forearm.
Without hesitation, he stepped up onto the wooden boardwalk and into the saloon. He spotted the three giants in front of the bar, and one had lifted a woman of pleasure up in the air, taking his own pleasure at the very obvious abject fear showing on her painted face. That man looked at the others and laughed, a booming guffaw that seemed to echo from a deep cavern.
“Lookee, boys,” he mused, “a teeny little lawman come to arrest us!”
He laughed at his own joke and was joined by the others. Dan never broke stride and walked straight up to him. Off-balance, the brute dropped the red-haired tart on the rough-hewn bar with a thud and tried to gather his thoughts. He did not have time. The sock filled with marbles came out of the right pocket of Dan's duster, swung around one time, and struck him with a louder thud on the left side of his jaw, breaking it and dropping him to the floor unconscious. Now Dan had one giant behind him and one in front of him, and they immediately closed in, but Dan had already untied the sock, and with his left hand he let the marbles fall to the floor behind him. That brute saw them too late and went down unceremoniously on his back with a thundering crash. In the meantime, Dan's right hand grabbed the axe handle and raised it high, taking hold with both hands and now facing the third giant. The brute's eyes opened wide as he saw the massive piece of wood coming down toward his head, and his eyes crossed looking up on contact, before rolling back as he fell to the floor unconscious.
The victim of the marbles had now regained his footing and was about to grab Dan from behind, when Dan shoved the axe handle straight backwards into the man's solar plexus and heard the wind leave him with rush. Dan spun around and swung the axe handle upward like a butt stroke with a rifle, and it caught the three-hundred-pounder under his chin, snapped his head back with the force, and he, too, went down out cold.
Dan grabbed the woman and helped her down off the bar, saying, “Lucy, isn't it about time you consider a different profession?”
She was so amazed and still frightened that she could not even speak. She just fluttered.
Dan said to the frightened, but now very relieved, bartender, “Fred, get some men and a buckboard and get these three down to the jail before they come to.”
Fred said, “Yes, sir, Dan, and thank you very much.”
Joshua was bursting with pride over the cool-headed way Dan had handled that crisis.
As if he was reading Joshua's mind, Dan put his hand on the young man's shoulder, spun him around, and said in a low voice, “When you are outnumbered, keep them off-balance and do the unexpected. Come on to the office with me.”
They walked out the door, Joshua half-running to keep up with the stern lawman's long stride.
Joshua said, “Pa, how come you didn't just pull your gun and arrest them?”
Dan said, “They kept their knives sheathed and guns holstered. Remember what I told you. If you draw a gun, use it. Don't pull it just because you're afraid.”
Joshua said, “I ain't ever seen you afraid.”
“You just did, son,” Dan said, giving a slight grin, which hardly anybody ever saw from him. “You see the size of those three grizzlies?”
The stories of his biological father and the example of this man who stepped in were the male influences on Joshua as he grew into young manhood. They served him well.
4
A Man Alone
A man of two worlds, Joshua was now alone in the world, and in many ways that was how he liked it. With a nice inheritance, he had a good bank account socked away in the Pioneer Western BankâFirst of Denver. He figured it was enough to buy a large ranch someday.
The problem, though, was that Dan had taught him that a man had to have job to feel like a man, and a profession to be happy. And Joshua had just such a profession. He was a Pinkerton secret courier.
Actually, he was officially a Pinkerton detective, but his primary focus of late had been to hand-carry and hand-deliver critically important documents. These papers were almost always either coming from or going to the Office of the President of the United States or Congress. He had earned their trust, as he was unbending in his principles and his dedication to finishing every mission, regardless of obstacles.
Several Washington insiders now would ask specifically for Joshua Strongheart to be their courier. He always remembered these words of Dan's: “Get a job, work hard, and make yourself so invaluable they won't want you to ever retire.”
Some of the management with the Pinkerton Detective Agency referred to him now as “Strong-Willed Strongheart.” Allan Pinkerton himself, who had risen to national prominence a few years earlier when he personally foiled an assassination attempt on President Abe Lincoln, took notice of the young half-breed detective and kept track of his comings and goings. Quietly and privately, the Pinkertons in general were gaining a foothold in the trust of Washington's elite. Joshua Strongheart was one small part of that legacy-building.
Another one of Pinkerton's rising stars was Francois Luc DesChamps, who was born in Paris but came to the U.S. as a young boy and changed his name to Frank Champ, although everyone in his family and all his American friends started calling him “Lucky,” for his middle name, when he was a slightly larger than a bean sprout. Lucky was on a train from Chicago to meet up with Joshua in Denver, to give him his new assignment. Frank was a no-nonsense manager and was totally dedicated and loyal to the Pinkerton Agency and all it stood for. He also considered Joshua Strongheart a tremendous asset for the Pinkertons.
Joshua had been riding south from Montana Territory and decided to spend the night in a town along the way, opting for Cheyenne. It had only been established in 1867, in what was then Dakota Territory, but a newspaper editor had already dubbed it the “jewel of the plains,” because it had grown so rapidly. Joshua remembered crossing Crow Creek and heading to the Cheyenne Social Club to wet down some of the prairie dust he had been swallowing for several days.
He blinked his eyes and felt dizzy. His head felt like he was spinning in a circle, and his tongue seemed to have fuzz on it. A sweet-sour flavor crept from his stomach into his mouth, and Joshua sat up quickly on his bunk, making everything worse. He looked in the corner and saw a waste bucket for his use, and he ran to it, emptying whatever might have been left in his stomach into it. His head pounded as if his horse were standing on it and trotting in place. Finally, he spotted nearby a bucket with a bar of soap and a towel, and he crawled to it on hands and knees and dunked his head in and out of the bucket three times. His head cleared a little as he shook it like on old dog who had just crossed a creek.
He blinked his eyes and then rubbed his face with the towel, looking around. Joshua Strongheart was in a dark, dusty jail cell and could not, for the life of him, figure out how he got there.
The outer door opened with a loud, rusty squeak, and Joshua scrunched his shoulders up with the sound, which made his headache hurt worse. He had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Dark auburn, her hair hung all the way down to the small of her back, and it had a natural curl in it, the morning sun streaking through the window making it glisten like dew drops. The classy full-length shiny green dress she wore could not hide the natural curves of her body, but what entranced him were the light hazel, almost yellow eyes. She smiled looking at him and walked right up to the bars. Hesitantly, he got to his feet and walked forward.
“The deputy said I could visit with you briefly,” she said through full crimson lips.
Joshua knew this beauty was speaking to him as if they were close. Her body language showed it, but he had no idea what had transpired the night before, or nights before.
He said softly, “Hi,” still wondering why he was here and what had happened.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed. “Your eye is black, and you have a nasty cut on your cheekbone. I was certain those men were going to kill you. How can I ever thank you?”
He suddenly realized his left eye was swollen almost shut, and he winced as he touched his cheekbone.
“Well,” he said, actually trying to access information, “they were awfully tough. Weren't they?”
“Them?” she said, throwing up her hands. “You almost killed all three of them.”
Now Joshua was really concerned, and it was driving him crazy trying to figure out a missing piece of his history. Had he nearly killed someone? Did he use a gun, or his knife? What started it? He made a silent promise to himself to never drink again. It seemed like every time he tried to drink, things like this just happened, even if he planned on having only a cold beer. He also knew he had made himself the same promise before, but now here he was again, wondering what he had done.
She suddenly pulled him forward, kissing him full on the lips, and the door burst open again.
A very large and sloppy-looking strawberry-headed deputy walked into the room, saying, “Time's up, ma'am.”
She whispered, “Even though they were paying customers, I could not believe how you took exception to them touching me. You were such a gentleman protecting my honor.”
Joshua stepped back and sat down hard on his cot.
He smiled at her feebly, saying, “Sorry. Hangover. Are they okay, ma'am?”
She headed toward the door, saying, “Don't know, sweetie. Ask him,” indicating the deputy. “Thanks again.”
Joshua gave the deputy a sheepish grin and said, “Did I hurt some men last night?”
“Naw,” the deputy replied, and Joshua felt relief.
Then the jailer added, “More like half kilt 'em. Ya broke up Bugger Johnson's face bad, knocked out a lota the teeth he had left, broke his jaw, smashed his nose. Lessee, Big Ed Thomas, ya snapped his arm like it was firewood. He screamed like a durn banshee. Then poor ole Lucipher Rhames. Took the doc mosta the night to get him awake. He cain't remember what happened neither.”
The deputy shuffled toward the door, then stopped and scratched his ample beard stubble, chuckling.
He added, “In fact, Lucipher cain't remember anya this week or last, the doc said. His face looks like the walls of Black Canyon out yonder. Phew. Ya gave them lads a whip-pin', Injun. You are durned shore rattler mean when you git some rotgut in ya. Guess you will be going down to the territorial prison down ta Canon City fer a long visit. Hope ya like eatin' hog slop.”
Laughing at his own joke, he exited, leaving Joshua with his confused thoughts.
What troubled the hungover, mixed-up young man was that this had happened before when he drank. He could not remember at all what happened, and he obviously turned into a monster when he drank.
Joshua got up and paced back and forth across the cell muttering to himself, “I can't trust myself. Even if I have a beer this seems to happen. I get drunk and get whiskey mean.”
He set his jaw and told himself he must have the red man's weakness for liquor, and he would never, ever drink again. No sooner had he made this solemn oath to himself, than the outer door creaked open again and the strawberry-headed jailer walked in with the keys, followed by a well-dressed middle-aged man in a tailored business suit. Joshua could clearly see the handles of the pair of Colt Navy .36s the man wore under his suit coat.
It was Lucky, and Joshua moaned out loud, “Damn!”
The cell door was opened, and a startled Joshua walked out, unsteady on his feet.
Lucky waited until Joshua had been given his weapons, then they walked out into the blinding sunlight, with Joshua squinting his eyes and not realizing he was moaning out loud.
“This weel never happen again,” Lucky said with a slight French accent, his face red with anger. “I had to call een a favor with zee judge, and the three men you broke up were happy to get a hundred dollars each for zeir injuries.”
Joshua felt horrible.
He said, “I am very sorry, Lucky. I will pay Pinkerton Agency back for the three hundred dollars.”
Lucky interrupted. “Zee Pinkerton Agency deed not pay it. Zey do not know about thees. I paid eet, and you weel pay eet back, and your five-hundred-dollar fee for damages I paid to zee judge. You weel pay eet back each paycheck, one hundred dollars at a time, to me.”
Joshua said, “Thank you very much, Lucky. I mean it, I will pay back two hundred dollars out of each paycheck, and I will never get into that kind of scrape again. I will never take another drink the rest of my life.”
His own words hit him suddenly, and he shivered, but he had given his word and that was that. If he dared ever break his word, he knew the ghost of Marshal Dan Cooper would come back to haunt him. The man's stern lessons had stuck, especially about keeping your word, and would remain with Joshua Strongheart all his days.
“Come on to zee café,” Lucky said, cooling down a little. “You can buy us breakfast, and I weel tell you about your assignment.”
There was a restaurant on the main street that had people walking in and out of the door more than any other building. That is where Lucky headed. They sat in the corner, both facing the entrance. That was a common choice among lawmen, gunfighters, and all warriors. None felt comfortable with his back to the door.