The Rider of Phantom Canyon

by Don Bendell

  “Training?”

  “Training,” Joshua repeated. “You said you want to be a Pinkerton agent, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Scottie said enthusiastically.

  Strongheart said, “We’ll start off with a new rule. You’re what now, fourteen, fifteen years old?”

  Scottie proudly said, “Fifteen, sir.”

  Joshua said, “In many tribes, you would be fighting in battles and stealing horses, and might even be married with kids. You want to be a man, we’ll help you become one, if you can handle the training.”

  “I can,” Scottie boasted proudly, although inside his stomach he could feel butterflies flying upside down and sideways in anticipation of what lay ahead.

  They had ridden uphill for eight full miles and were now one thousand feet higher than the Arkansas River, which was flowing a mile to their left down through a magnificent Arkansas River canyon that would become world famous for its pristine beauty, thousand-foot sheer cliffs, and the winding, churning, angry whitewater rapids that ran the length of the canyon. Before dark, they were riding down a long, winding hill, and Scottie could see the Arkansas River down below them. The area had been called Parkdale. At the bottom of the hill, there was a bridge and they rode across the river.

  Scottie looked to his left and watched the churning water as it plunged into the steep-walled canyon. Now they rode west through a valley with rocky ridges in every direction with the river to their right. Strongheart spotted a grove of trees near the river and headed toward it.

  They rode in and dismounted, and Joshua said, “We’ll camp here tonight. Make camp for us.”

  Scottie’s mind raced. He did not know what to do. He first unsaddled the horses and put the saddles near an old campfire in the middle of the grove. Joshua sat down, grinning, and drank from his canteen. Scottie was doing the best he could trying to figure out how to prepare the campsite, but seemed a bit lost. His uncle Dave had never done anything but be abusive, and Scottie had not been old enough for his father to teach him much before his death.

  Strongheart stood up and he said, “Scottie, stop for a minute. Look up through the trees at the sky. Can you see those storm clouds coming in from the west?”

  Scottie said, “Yes, sir.”

  Joshua said, “We are probably getting rain tonight, so what should be your first priorities?”

  Scottie answered hesitantly, “A fire and shelter?”

  Strongheart said, “Correct, and also water. Throw the saddles on the horses, and we will head toward that ridge one mile to the west. We need to find an overhang with trees and vegetation nearby. We’ll be right by the river, so we will have plenty of water.”

  Where he was looking was one mile west, where the river came out of another narrow, steep canyon, called Bighorn Sheep Canyon by the locals. That canyon had very high mountain ridges extending up on both sides of the river, with a set of railroad tracks going through the gorge and then along the north side of the churning, boiling whitewater river. For forty miles, herds of bighorn sheep could be seen along the river, and occasional fluffy white Rocky Mountain goats, as well. The canyon was inundated with more mountain lions per square mile than any other place in the United States, and cinnamon- and blond-phase black bears and grizzly bears roamed freely through the many gulches and ridges that ran on either side of the river to both the north and the south.

  Strongheart found a spot along the south side of the raging current where there was a large rock overhang.

  He showed this selection to Scottie and explained, “If you have rain or snow threatening, or even possible, you always want shelter. With the mountains we so often have around us, shelter is already created by nature. We have a rock overhang that juts out over us, so now we use rocks and dig if we need to make sure torrents of water won’t come down the mountain and wash from the sides into our camp.”

  There were only a few spots where it could become flooded, and the pair made blocking fences with large rocks to route the water beyond the camp.

  Finishing that, Strongheart said, “Now we need firewood, several dry logs and large branches, then smaller branches, and then squaw wood.”

  “I thought squaw was a bad word?” Scottie asked.

  “No, that’s a fairy tale, Scottie,” Joshua responded. “It’s a good word for a woman. Do you know what squaw wood is?”

  Scottie replied, “No, sir.”

  Strongheart said, “It is smaller, dry wood—twigs, small sticks—and pinecones that you can pick up, the small dead branches easily reached on the lower end of trees, and the sawdust-like wood you find at the base of trees. That is what you start a fire with. Sometimes, when you look for that, you will find old birds’ nests that are dried out, and they make good tinder for starting a fire, too.”

  The two started gathering wood, and Scottie was very excited, because he did find an old bird’s nest, which he proudly displayed for Strongheart. They gathered more wood, and Joshua showed Scottie how to start the fire using the bird’s nest in the middle of a small teepee fire. That teepee fire was set up in the middle of a log cabin fire with larger logs going in both directions, overlapping each other, just like the construction of a log cabin. Joshua let Scottie do most of the construction of their fire and had him place rocks all around it. He cautioned him about not using rocks from the nearby rushing river, because they would sometimes contain pockets of water which could heat up, boil, and literally explode.

  After getting a fire going, Strongheart pointed at the rock overhang, saying, “Now, this is important, especially when it is freezing cold: You want the heat from your fire to bounce off rocks like that and keep you much warmer. When you build a reflecting fire, you do not have to use as much firewood to stay warm. In the wintertime, you will appreciate that. Sometimes, I make camp in a grove of trees, and the trees dissipate or spread out your smoke, so your enemies do not see where you are as easily. In this case, the same thing happens with an overhang, especially when there is fog in the morning. People at a distance see the smoke from your fire going up the mountain, and it simply mixes in with the morning fog.”

  Scottie was amazed how this day had turned out. It had started so badly but was ending so wonderfully. He could not believe he was being trained by Joshua Strongheart on how to become a Pinkerton agent, but back at his house his aunt lay in bed crying and smiling. She knew that Joshua Strongheart was teaching her nephew how to become a man.

  After dinner, Strongheart pointed at the fire and said, “See how we have a small fire but are warm as biscuits and gravy? That is because we have rocks reflecting its heat. There is an old saying, ‘The stupid cowboy builds a large fire and burns on one side and freezes on the other, but the wise Indian builds a small fire and stays warm all over.’”

  Scottie took a sip of hot cocoa and said, “That is neat, Mr. Strongheart.”

  Joshua corrected, “We are saddle partners and work together. Call me Joshua.”

  Scottie’s chest puffed out a little as he smiled.

  Strongheart said, “If you need a fast fire, you build that teepee fire we built earlier and you put good dry tinder or a bird’s nest or crumpled-up paper in the center to start it. Also, always remember that a fire has to breathe, like humans, so always have spaces between logs and sticks.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Joshua put a large log on the fire, then lay down on his tarp over pine boughs, his head on the saddle.

  He said, “We have to get up early. Going to get some shut-eye.”

  Scottie said awkwardly, “What about me, Joshua?”

  Strongheart closed his eyes and replied, “Suit yourself. A man should do what he likes.”

  Scottie beamed, and then said, “What about keeping watch?”

  Strongheart responded, “Not here. The horses will let us know if anybody approaches. There will be times you are on alert, but not here, not no
w.”

  * * *

  Scottie opened his eyes and creaked his neck. He could smell fresh-brewed coffee on the fire, and the sun was lighting the sky back in the direction of Cañon City, now eleven miles east and on the other side of the foothill that rose a mile above the Arkansas River, forming the Royal Gorge. He sat up and saw that Eagle was saddled and Joshua was eating breakfast. Scottie shook his head, realizing he had fallen asleep quite some time after Joshua the night before. He had slept leaning against a stump and was now stiff and sore. He noticed Joshua was clean—his hair was glistening, and he apparently had bathed—and was now clothed and ready to ride.

  Strongheart said, “If you’re going to be my saddle partner, you keep clean. Run to the river’s edge, brush your teeth, and take a quick bath.”

  He tossed Scottie a bar of soap.

  Scottie said, “Yes, sir, but how do I dry off?”

  Strongheart said, “I carry my own towel in my saddle roll. Guess you will need to use leaves and the sun.”

  Scottie said, “What about breakfast?”

  Joshua grinned, saying, “You slept instead. Hope it was worth it.”

  Scottie felt disappointment in himself. He turned toward the river and trotted off, following the same game trail Strongheart had used an hour earlier. The only problem was, when Joshua had bathed in the icy cold water, there had been no outside visitors. Now there was one.

  Scottie was naked and carefully walking along the rocks and boulders alongside the very powerful, angry, churning river roaring past him. He made his way around a large green bush growing between two boulders on the river’s edge, and came face-to-face with a large cinnamon-and-blond-colored black bear holding a dead young bighorn sheep in its mouth. Scottie and the bear both froze, both shocked, and the bear dropped the bighorn, growled, and popped its teeth.

  Normally, black bears were not a menace to man, and they were usually nocturnal and extremely shy. Even a small barking dog could ofttimes send one scampering away. However, if a person got in close proximity to a sow bear with cubs, or, like in this case, seemed to be a threat to a bear’s meal, then the bear could become a vicious killing machine. And in this case, it happened to be a very large boar bear with a freshly killed yearling bighorn sheep.

  The bear, ears laid back, took a step forward, and the nude young teenager stepped back. His bladder let go, and he felt the warm liquid running down the inside of his leg. He had never been this scared in his whole life, except when Strongheart had knocked him out of the saddle in Phantom Canyon. He could barely breathe, his legs were shaking and weak, his brain felt like it was filled with Aunt Kathy’s oatmeal, and his heart was pounding hard in both ears. He tried to think and tried to keep himself calm.

  Then he thought, “What would Strongheart do?”

  He kept backing away, trying to look nonthreatening, and his mind raced to try to remember various tips Strongheart had given him. Several times, he could tell the big beast’s muscles were bunching up as it prepared to make a charge; its relatively tiny ears were laid back on its head.

  Suddenly, he heard Joshua’s voice. “Scottie, do not run, whatever you do. Keep facing the bear and walk backward very slowly. Do not look the bear in the eyes. Just talk softly to the bear while you walk backward and tell him you did not mean to invade his territory, or whatever you want to say. If he charges, I will shoot him, but let’s try to avoid that.”

  Scottie kept slowly walking backward, and the bear inched forward.

  Scottie remembered not to look into the bruin’s eyes. Besides this incident, he had been told by Strongheart before that looking into a boar bear’s eyes was one of the surest ways to get the bear to charge. He could hardly breathe as he watched the big bruin inch forward as he inched backward. He was so relieved to know that Joshua was there, obviously covering him, but the presence of the bear was so unnerving. The bear suddenly stood up on his hind legs and sniffed the wind while popping his teeth and swinging his head from side to side.

  Just as he thought his knees would give way under him, he saw a blast of dirt and dust go flying up a few feet in front of the bear, and at the same time, he heard the loud blast of the tall Pinkerton’s Colt Peacemaker.

  Then Strongheart followed this immediately with a loud yell. “Get out of here, Brother Bear!”

  That did the trick; the bear did not run, but it turned, paused and looked back slowly, and then trotted away around the bend of the river.

  Scottie’s legs suddenly felt like wilting celery stalks and gave way under him. He dropped down in place, and Strongheart rode up from behind him on Eagle. Joshua grinned softly and stuck his arm down. Scottie grabbed his sinewy forearm, and the Pinkerton swung the lad up behind him on the big horse.

  Minutes later, Scottie was mounted, and the two headed across the short valley for one-half mile to Copper Gulch Stage Road. From there, they started up the familiar road, heading south. Strongheart was taking Scottie to an area where he had almost lost his own life to a large grizzly and in several gunfights, near Lookout Mountain and across the northern end of the Wet Mountain Valley from the majestic Sangre de Cristo range.

  They rode for miles in the high-steeped ridge gulch, giant boulders looming up between the cedars, piñons, and scrub oaks along the way as the two riders climbed all day from an elevation approximately a mile high to around eight thousand feet. Turning on Copper Gulch Stage Road, which had held many previous adventures for Strongheart, Scottie looked five to ten miles to his left at the towering Sangre de Cristo range, stretching as far as he could see to the south and blending in perfectly in the north with the Collegiate Range. He did not even know how many of the beautiful snowcapped peaks were over fourteen thousand feet in height, but there were dozens of the white-topped sentinels stretching up into the endless blue, cloudless sky. Scottie had seldom seen these majesties, even from a distance, yet here they were, less than a full day’s ride from Cañon City, witnessing their humbling presence.

  Strongheart had Scottie putting together their camp and had plans before dark. Every time he slowed down, like teenagers are wont to do, Joshua was there to put a verbal boot up his behind, motivating him into action.

  He lectured, “Scottie, whenever you are supposed to do any kind of job, no matter what you are paid or not paid, work so fast, so hard, and so completely that you know that person will beg you to come back and work for them again.”

  “Yes, sir,” Scottie said, while stacking another large armload of dry wood next to the circular, rock-lined cooking fire.

  Strongheart then walked over to his saddlebags and returned carrying a worn belt and holster, its loops filled with .44 rounds. He pulled the pistol out and handed it to Scottie. Scottie took it and looked at it admiringly. Joshua quickly yanked it out of his hand.

  He explained, “Lesson one, always check and clear any weapon the second it is handed to you. Never take anybody’s word that it is or is not loaded. Always check it with your own eyes.”

  Scottie was excited, and he said, “Yes, sir. Is this your extra gun?”

  “No, it’s yours,” Strongheart said, “if you’re man enough to handle it. That is called a Russian .44, and it is a man-sized gun. Is it too big for you?”

  Scottie puffed his chest out and said, “No, sir. Thank you so much. Thank you very much.”

  Strongheart said, “You’re welcome, but that is with the conviction that you will always use it as a tool, as an instrument for good. Become proficient, so nobody innocent can get hurt because you cannot hit what you are shooting, and so that no animal suffers because you cannot shoot straight. Fair enough?”

  Scottie was beaming. “Yes, sir!”

  Joshua said, “Okay, put on the holster.”

  The young man did so, and Joshua showed him how to wear it comfortably and effectively. Then he took the pistol from Scottie and tucked it into the back of his own waistband with the sim
ple instructions, “Follow me and, with your right hand in the holster, when I say the name of an object we can see, pull your hand up like you drew your pistol and point at that object with your finger.”

  As they walked through the trees, Joshua would say, “Broken branch,” “Yellow flower,” “Brown rock,” and after ten times of Scottie drawing his imaginary pistol at these objects, Joshua stopped.

  He said, “Now we are going into that next patch of woods across the meadow. This time when you draw and point, I want you to stop, hold your hand and finger still, and kneel down and aim right along your finger.”

  They walked through the trees and again Joshua called out objects. Scottie drew his imaginary pistol and knelt down and aimed along the top of his finger, and he saw that he was pointing directly at the object every single time.

  He mentioned this to Strongheart and Joshua replied, “Scottie, when we point, even if we hold our hands down at waist level, we always point straight at the object we are looking at. That is normal. Tomorrow, you will be doing it with your gun, unloaded. You want to learn to point, not aim.”

  “That is amazing!” Scottie said.

  They started walking back toward their campsite, and Joshua handed Scottie’s pistol to him. The young man immediately put it in his holster.

  Strongheart stopped. Scottie knew something was wrong. Joshua looked around and found a good-sized rock that weighed maybe fifty pounds. He removed the gun from Scottie’s holster and immediately checked it and cleared it.

  He handed the rock to Scottie and said, “Carry it. It better not touch the ground.”

  Scottie’s heart sank as he tried to keep up with the seemingly angry Pinkerton agent. In actuality, Joshua was grinning to himself as he walked in front of the young man. His discipline of Scottie was nothing compared to that his stepfather, Marshal Dan Trooper, gave to him. As he walked, Strongheart daydreamed, thinking back to an early memory.

  * * *

  Dan was 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.