The Rider of Phantom Canyon

by Don Bendell

  Strongheart slowly rode northward, carefully looking for sign along both sides of the wagon trail. He would make camp under an overhang well before dark so that he would be able to walk all around and check where danger might come from. Based on the reports he had heard from the sheriff and statements he had read, he was certain that the creature would hunt him, if there was a creature. He had already proven that one piece of the puzzle had a very simple natural explanation. Maybe he would discover that the rest of the story could be easily explained. He knew that many people in the area were spooked, but he also knew that people, most people, seem to almost want a boogeyman in their lives. Maybe it made folks feel more alive. Joshua did not know if this creature was real or not, but he would find out soon. Eagle would alert him if something approached, and Joshua knew that no animal of any size would spook Eagle over a cliff.

  Joshua kept this up for hours and by late afternoon found himself at a much-used overhang with several old campfires in it. He saw why the others stopped here, with the shelter of the overhang and towering cliff above as well as the stream near the road and good graze. Unsaddling Eagle, he let him graze along the roadside wearing a halter and long lead line. He found where the wagon and horses had gone over and scoured that area, on hands and knees at times. Then he returned to his campsite and started preparing it. He wanted a good rest, because he felt whatever it was might stalk or approach him during the night, and he wanted to be ready. Joshua found the largest campfire and dug it out better and placed more rocks around the rim. He built a fire with available wood and made a bed of pine boughs. Strongheart made his dinner and a pot of coffee. It was still light out, but he wanted to get some rest while he could. The next day, he would find the remains of the horses that had gone off the cliff and would check them to see what predators had fed on them. He would look for older tracks, as well as bite and claw marks and the type of feeding done on the horse carcasses.

  For now, however, he would see if he got stalked at night. He would have a comfortable bed and try to get some good sleep early, because he felt he might not rest much that night. Joshua had been through too much and been around too long now to worry about what might happen. He knew that most people would actually terrify themselves with the unknown. He did have an unsettled feeling simply because of the gossip and the fact that there were dead people. However, Joshua had been up against some incredibly dangerous, threatening adversaries before, and he felt confident he could handle whatever challenged him.

  Satisfied he had looked carefully at every possible avenue of enemy or predator approach, Joshua lay down before it was fully dark out and carefully set his holster close by, so he could reach over and draw his gun or knife quickly and easily. He almost immediately fell asleep.

  It was not that long after darkness fell that Joshua’s eyes came open. He froze, and he immediately took mental inventory of his surroundings. He looked at his campfire, which still had flames, so he knew he had not been asleep that long. His eyes searched the darkness, and then he caught sight of Eagle, who had stopped grazing. His head was up, ears forward, and his nose was testing the wind, facing south on the edge of the wagon road. Something was beyond Eagle in the darkness. Something was coming.

  Joshua’s right hand slowly went forward and grabbed the handle of his Peacemaker.

  The predator could now see the glow of Joshua’s campfire on the roof of the cliff overhang up ahead. Eagle would have been in view but was now gone. The predator moved forward slowly, eyes searching carefully, methodically for the big black-and-white horse he had already seen. This was the predator causing so much panic. This beast was what was responsible for the deaths of four horses and a man. The eyes kept scouring the road ahead as it moved closer to Strongheart’s camp, which was now almost in view. The eyes were well over eight feet above the road.

  The predator was very careful where each foot went, and what body part touched overhanging and roadside branches. Stealth had provided success in the past and was imperative now, because the man in the camp was a known quantity. He knew what he was doing and was presenting the biggest challenge for the predator yet.

  Rounding a house-sized rock by the trail, he could now see the camp, the fire, the sleeping figure under the blanket. Slowly; he must be patient, very patient. Inching forward.

  Movement! His eyes twisted up and to the right. A large figure was diving at him from the top of a boulder, and before he could react, a giant, muscular shoulder slammed into his torso and sinewy arms wrapped around him. They hit the ground with a thud, stunning him, and he opened his eyes, feeling the razor-sharp blade of Strongheart’s big knife against his throat. His black mask was pulled off, and he saw his big black Thoroughbred horse bolting away, totally unnerved by Strongheart’s surprise ambush. He was panicked, unable to breathe, and every part of his body hurt from the fall off the horse and Joshua’s vicious tackle. Scared to death, tears filled his eyes.

  “Mr. Strongheart, it’s me, Scottie!” he yelled in sheer panic. “Don’t kill me, please!”

  Joshua stood and jerked the teenaged boy up by the lapels with one hand. He dragged him to the fire and shoved him into a seating position. Strongheart gave out a low whistle, and Eagle soon came trotting up from the shadows of the road north of the camp.

  Scottie gingerly touched his face as a small trickle of blood ran from one nostril, and his left eye was swelling shut from the impact of Strongheart’s diving tackle from the top of the rock. He started crying.

  Strongheart poured a cup of coffee for himself and growled, “Hush up! You took on a man’s task, so face the consequences like a man!”

  Scottie was shocked into silence. The sobs ceased. Strongheart had always been so gentle with him, kind and understanding, and his sharp admonition shook Scottie into immediate compliance.

  * * *

  It was just before noon the next day when the Fremont County sheriff heard a knock on his office door and said, “Come in.”

  Strongheart walked in holding Scottie by the scruff of the neck.

  He plopped the teenaged boy down in a chair across from the sheriff and said, “Here is your monster, the phantom of Phantom Canyon. His big black Thoroughbred, Hero, which was a gift from me, is outside.”

  Joshua thought back to that day several years earlier after he busted the Indian Ring and took the leader’s big black Thoroughbred. Strongheart had led it to the home of Scottie Middleton and his aunt.

  Joshua had said simply, “Mount up.”

  The horse was so tall Scottie had trouble getting into the saddle, and his aunt had tears in her eyes.

  Strongheart said, “A man needs a horse, not a pony. He’s yours.”

  Scottie told him he would name him Hero after Strongheart.

  * * *

  The lawman surveyed the frightened young man in front of him dressed in all black. Joshua tossed the boy’s black mask down on the desk. The sheriff shook his head in wonder and looked at Strongheart with a grin. How powerful was gossip? With no words, this had just told him volumes. A teenaged boy dressed in black on a big black horse was what had spawned the legend of the ten-foot-tall monster in Phantom Canyon. People, in the dark, saw parts of the black Thoroughbred and probably Scottie’s head and shoulders usually hidden in shadow. Tracks of the horse in the vegetation-covered but rocky terrain away from the well-worn road would be obscure at best.

  Joshua explained, “I fed him last night and this morning, but we did not discuss much. I wanted to hear his full story along with you.”

  The sheriff nodded and leaned forward, picking his teeth with a straw from the broom in the corner.

  “Son, I wasn’t sheriff then,” the sheriff said, “but I was a deputy. Didn’t you used to clean up for us around here a coupla years ago?”

  “Yes, sir,” Scottie said.

  Scottie thought about what he had been through with Strongheart and felt ashamed. He had worke
d up his courage several years earlier and gone to the sheriff’s office to meet the tall Pinkerton he had heard so much about. After meeting Joshua, the little boy reached into his trousers and pulled out a small leather bag. He opened it, and marbles rolled out onto the desk. He reached in and pulled out some change and held it out.

  He said, “Mr. Strongheart, I saved me up some money and have four dollars here. I want to hire you to find the man who stole my pony Johnny Boy and get him back for me. Ma and Pa gave me Johnny Boy last Christmas, and it is all I have from them. That gang a men burnt our house down when they kilt Pa.”

  He had explained that his mother had died of consumption one year earlier, and now he lived with a very nice aunt and a very mean drunk for an uncle.

  Impressed, Strongheart shook hands and agreed to hunt down the boy’s pony and get it back for him if it was alive. The trail took him up to Denver and Aurora, but after some shooting, he recovered the pony Johnny Boy and brought him back.

  Scottie thought about how impressed he was when Strongheart came to his house along the Arkansas River near the First Street Bridge. The Arkansas River was due west of Cañon City, where it churned its way through a rocky canyon for miles, dropped thousands of feet, and produced some of the largest and wildest whitewater rapids in the world. After it poured out of the Grand Canyon of the Arkansas, which was starting to be called the Royal Gorge, the whitewater rapids disappeared pretty much, but the water still rushed with more power than in most rivers in the West.

  Seeing Scottie’s place, Joshua rode up to the front of the modest home, dismounting, and Scottie rushed out of the house, grinning broadly. A middle-aged woman with a kindly but haggard face walked out, and Strongheart doffed his hat to her. She was followed by a staggering brute of a man who obviously had been drinking.

  As Strongheart walked up to the group, he said, “You have a fine young man here in this nephew of yours. My name is Joshua Strongheart,” and he tipped his hat brim again. This brought a big smile on her tired but pretty face.

  Strongheart walked straight up to the uncle and said, “And you must be Dave.”

  The man started to say something, but his words were shut off when Joshua suddenly reached out and grabbed him, spinning him around. He then seized the back of the man’s unkempt hair, then grabbed the waistline of his homespun trousers in his other hand, jerked up, and gave it a twist. Now holding Dave up on his tiptoes, he started marching him toward the river in a rapid manner. Reaching the river’s edge, Strongheart pitched the drunk into the cold, glacial-fed water. The man went under and came up ten yards downstream gasping and flailing at the water while his family watched from the house in horror. Strongheart jogged along the river’s edge and waded into the water at a shallower spot.

  Joshua repeated this, dunking the man underwater several times and giving him very stern warnings about his future treatment of Scottie. It turned out that Dave actually straightened out after that and got a job as a guard at Old Max, the state penitentiary in Cañon City.

  It was some time later that Strongheart showed up with the big black Thoroughbred as a gift for Scottie, who in turn gave the pony Johnny Boy to a little neighbor boy who was very poor.

  Scottie told the sheriff the story about his relationship with the tall, handsome Pinkerton, adding that he wanted to be a Pinkerton someday.

  Joshua shook his head. “Young man, you say you want to be a Pinkerton, so you go out after dark in Phantom Canyon and dress in black, scaring people, and are very, very lucky you never got your head blown off!”

  The sheriff chimed in, “Not only that—do you have any idea how much jail time you are facing and how many crimes I can charge you with?”

  Without letting up, Joshua added, “You were responsible for a man’s death, and the deaths of his horses as well. This is very serious business, young man.”

  His now-changing voice breaking from low to high, Scottie started crying.

  He said softly, “Yes, sir.”

  Strongheart did not change expression, frightening Scottie with the stern look on his face.

  He said, “All right, young man. The sheriff heard about our background—now what is the story on you following and scaring people half to death? Also, dry up the tears. You are playing a man’s game; act like a man.”

  “Yes, sir,” Scottie said. “Sir, I want to be a Pinkerton agent like you so bad. I wanted to learn how to be sneaky, like you can be. I started following people in Phantom Canyon, riding Hero there, seeing if I could put the sneak on them without anybody seeing me. The more I got away with it, I guess the cockier I got.”

  The sheriff looked at Strongheart, unseen by the lad, and gave him a wink and a grin. Joshua was being very tough on Scottie, but his heart was breaking for him. Scottie, in the meantime, was heartbroken, because he could tell that his hero was very disappointed in him. The teenager wondered if Joshua would even have anything to do with him after this.

  Scottie knew how much Joshua respected total honesty, so he decided to be brutally honest.

  He said, “I guess I got cocky when I started hearing stories about the big monster in Phantom Canyon, and I started thinking that was me. It really made me feel special, and I really didn’t know I caused anybody to die, sir. Honest.”

  Strongheart said, “I’m surprised your aunt and uncle would let you out so late, and so far away. That’s a good ten-mile ride from your place, almost.”

  Scottie looked down.

  He said, “My aunt is in bed a lot, Mr. Strongheart. She cries a lot and has been sick some. My uncle left us, lost his job at the prison, and has taken up drinking again.”

  Joshua felt bad.

  He said, “Where is your uncle?”

  Scottie said, “He hangs out all the time at McClure’s Saloon. I heard he is living in an old miner’s cabin up north of town.”

  The sheriff stood up and looked over at Strongheart, waiting to follow his lead.

  Joshua said, “Well, Sheriff, you have to figure out what charges you’re going to levy on Scottie. Why don’t you toss him in a cell so we can talk about it?”

  “Good idea,” the sheriff said, and grabbed Scottie’s arm as tears welled up in the boy’s eyes again.

  He led him from the room, saying, “C’mon, youngster.”

  Strongheart heard him open and then shut and lock the door of a cell, and the sheriff walked back into his office, closing the door. He and Joshua immediately started chuckling.

  The sheriff said, “I swear, Strongheart. You sure put the fear of the good Lord into him. I’ll bet you he walks the straight and narrow the rest of his life. How long should we make him worry?”

  Strongheart said, “Why don’t you make us both fresh cups of coffee while he cools his heels and worries? You can tell me how your family has been and what is happening with your folks.”

  The sheriff winked and poured two steaming cups of coffee, handed one to Joshua, and sat down at his desk with his. They talked for a good twenty minutes while Scottie sweated bullets and choked back tears in his cell. He swore to himself he would never ever do anything to be put in a jail cell again if he got out of this somehow.

  He thought about the last time he had seen his uncle. The man came home drunk, and Scottie came in the door while his uncle Dave was rummaging through the cookie jar where Scottie’s aunt kept her emergency money. She was pleading and rubbing a swelling red welt on her left temple.

  “Please,” Aunt Kathy pleaded. “We need that money for food, David!”

  Scottie’s voice had changed, and he had gotten much taller. He was becoming a young man, and this incident made him reach an important decision.

  He ran over to his uncle and jerked him around, pointing and yelling, “Did you hit my aunt? Did you hit my aunt?”

  Dave swung at the boy, but was extremely drunk, and his punch was looping and sloppy. Scottie ducked a
nd hit Dave with a looping hook punch that caught him flush on the side of his mouth. Blood immediately streamed from his uncle’s mouth as the drunk flew into the table and fell on the floor in a clatter of dishes and bowls. To add insult to injury, the table fell over sideways on the man, the edge of it gashing his forehead open.

  Scottie grabbed the table and flung it aside, then pointed at his bleeding uncle. He was shaking, he was so angry—something that had never really happened before.

  The boy said, “Uncle Dave, if you ever lay a hand on Aunt Kathy again, I will beat you within an inch of your life! Do you understand me, Uncle Dave? I mean it!”

  Grumbling and rubbing his bloody face, the drunk got up and staggered out the door, mumbling under his breath.

  Scottie turned to see his aunt staring at him with awe and pride on her face and tears in her eyes.

  She held Scottie and said softly, “Good riddance.”

  Now Scottie looked around the jail cell and shook his head, and tears welled up in his eyes.

  In the office, Joshua walked toward the door, saying, “I may be back in a few minutes or a half an hour.”

  He was formulating a plan for Scottie, and he left the sheriff wondering what it might be as he watched Joshua walking a block down and entering McClure’s Saloon.

  Walking in, he heard someone say, “Howdy, Mr. Strongheart!”

  He gave a wave and headed toward the corner where Scottie’s uncle Dave was sitting, back to the door, very drunk, as usual. Strongheart reached down, grabbed him by the back of his lapel with his left hand, and grabbed the man’s ear with his right hand, lifting him out of the chair and marching him toward the door.

  Strongheart said, “Come on, Dave. We’re taking a little walk.”

  Uncle Dave screamed in pain, his eyes slowly moving around while he tried to figure out what was going on. Strongheart marched him downhill the quarter of a mile to the fast-flowing, summer-swollen Arkansas River. Then he walked him a block up the river road west to the Fourth Street Bridge and out over the angry, raging watercourse, the drunken man arguing all the way. Several passersby followed the two out of sheer curiosity, and the word quickly went through the crowd that it was the famous Joshua Strongheart teaching somebody a lesson.