Strongheart by Don Bendell

away no matter how attracted to a woman he was.
    The young widow was so vulnerable and seemed to be trying to act bravely while feeling such sorrow. Joshua wished there was some way he could help her. He knew, though, that she had lost her beloved husband not long before and was therefore off-limits to him.
    Doffing his hat, the tall half-breed reached out his hand. “By the way, ma’am,” he said, “the name is Joshua Strongheart.”
    She took his hand and smiled with those intense blue eyes peering into his, saying, “I am sorry. Pleased to meet you Mr. Strongheart. My name is Annabelle Ebert.”
    Just those eyes alone framed by the shiny black hair made Joshua feel his heart quicken in his chest. He smiled warmly and sat back.
    He looked out the window at the jagged rocks that rose above the wagon road on his right. On the left, there was a steep mountain ridgeline covered in cedars, with rock outcroppings sticking through here and there. Joshua looked ahead and saw that the narrow canyon was getting ready to open up into a larger bowl, with gulches coming in several places. The treed ridgeline on the left was suddenly right next to the stagecoach road, and the driver started slowing the team of horses.
    Annabelle looked out the window and the ranch hand explained, “We’re pullin’ up ta Sunset Gulch, ma’am. They might change the team or water what we got. There’s a place we stop about ten mile up, too, so they’ll probably change teams there. We’ll see.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” Annabelle replied. “I did not get your name.”
    â€œSorry, ma’am,” he said. “Folks call me Chancy.”
    â€œJust Chancy?” she replied.
    He said, “Yes’m. Don’t use the last name. Jest Chancy.”
    â€œNice to meet you, sir. And you, sir,” she said, looking at the drummer. “My name is Annabelle.”
    The drummer quietly said, “My name is Tom Smith.”
    Joshua interrupted. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
    The drummer seemed even more nervous and started looking out the window after forcing a smile. He clutched his valise even tighter to his chest, and Annabelle shot Joshua a quick, slight grin and head shake. He acknowledged with a similar grin.
    The stage pulled up in front of a long watering trough and a couple ramshackle sheds.
    The leathery old driver wrapped the reins around the long brake handle and hollered, “Quick break, folks! Hop on out and stretch them legs. Fresh spring water in the bucket.”
    Chancy opened the door and hopped out, followed by the drummer, and then Joshua. He turned and took the hands of Annabelle as she stepped down and looked around at the small mountainous valley. A tiny, intermittent brook ran along the side of the stage road, fed by the spring there at Sunset Gulch, but it went underground right before the place where they walked into the mouth of the gulch to drink some cool fresh water. The stream reemerged some one hundred yards beyond, just bubbling up through the sand. The sun was baking off the rocks and sand, buzzards circled lazily overhead in the cloudless sky, and the passengers were as ready to wash off road dust as to get a drink of cool water.
    The driver seemed to be searching around for someone and hollered out, “Reichert!”
    He turned and explained, “There’s a old boy heah who keeps up the spring and makes this a right comfortable rest stop for the stage folks. He oughta be heah.”
    As if it was a signal, Jeeter and Harlance both came riding up out of the gulch. They nodded at the passengers with phony smiles. The idea was to make an estimate of who could give them trouble. Long Legs and Scars both hiding behind rocks, armed with Spencer carbines. They were simply waiting for a signal from Jeeter. If he pointed at somebody, they were to be shot immediately with a head shot, because they were dangerous.
    Joshua Strongheart grew up