Because no one had knocked, Falcon whirled toward the opening door, pulling and cocking his gun in the same motion. Raising his pistol into the firing position, he saw Frances Martin standing in the door.
To Falcon’s surprise, Frances did not react in fear to his sudden draw against her. In fact, she stood in the doorway as calmly as if she were carrying on a casual conversation with him. She was also wearing clothes that were nearly identical to what he was wearing: pants, a long-sleeve shirt, a vest, and a low-crowned black hat. She wasn’t wearing a pistol, but she was carrying two rifles.
“Oh, it’s you,” Falcon said. “What are you doing dressed like that?”
“You’re going after Johnny and the others, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“So am I.”
“The hell you are.”
“I’m going after the men who killed my son,” Frances said.
Falcon shook his head. “Frances, look, I know you are a good shot,” he said. “In fact, you are one of the best shots I’ve ever seen, man or woman. But you aren’t going with me.”
“Why not? Don’t you think I have a right to go after the ones who killed my boy?”
“I don’t deny that,” Falcon said.
“Then give me one good reason I can’t go with you. You’ve already acknowledged that I’m a good shot.”
Falcon sighed. “Yes, you’re a good shot, all right. But we won’t be shooting at targets on hay bales. We’ll be shooting at men. I don’t need anyone with me who might get squeamish about killing someone.”
“Even if they need killing?”
“You don’t understand,” Falcon said. “When you are in a situation like this, it doesn’t matter whether they need killing or not. You don’t have time to analyze the situation. If you have to kill, you kill.”
“Like in a war?” Frances asked. “In war people kill people, simply because they are on the other side. They don’t stop to think whether or not they need killing, or whether they are good men, or whether they have families. They just kill them because it is their job to kill them.”
“Yes, you might say it is something like that,” Falcon agreed.
“I understand that.”
“Understanding it and being able to do it are two different things.”
“I can do it,” Frances said.
“Frances, look, I know you want revenge for Gordon, and I don’t blame you, but . . .”
“Falcon, when you were at the funeral, did you hear the preacher say Gordon’s whole name?”
“What?” Falcon asked, wondering what the question had to do with this.
“Did you hear the preacher give Gordon’s whole name?”
“Yes, Gordon Martin,” Falcon replied.
“It was Gordon O’Neil Martin,” Frances corrected.
Falcon still didn’t know where Frances was going with this.
“My maiden name was O’Neil,” Frances said. “And my mother’s maiden name was Fitzpatrick. “My whole name was Frances Fitzpatrick O’Neil.”
The name still didn’t quite register with Falcon.
“You do remember the Phantom of Devil’s Den that Mr. Caulder was talking about, don’t you?” Frances asked. “The sharpshooter who killed twenty-three Rebel soldiers? Actually, it was only nine. These things always do have a way of getting exaggerated.”
“Nine,” Falcon said. “And you know it was nine because?”
“Because it was me,” Frances said. “I was the Phantom of Devil’s Den.”
“What?” Falcon asked. “Look here, Frances, are you trying to tell me that you were a sharpshooter during the war?”
“Yes.”
Falcon shook his head. “Impossible,” he said.
“Why impossible?” Frances asked. “If you read your history, you’ll see that there were a lot of women who disguised themselves as men to fight in the war. Even in our Revolutionary War there was Molly Pitcher. I’m not the only woman ever to do this.”
“But why in heaven’s name would your father let you do such a thing?”
“My father had no choice in the matter,” Frances said. “He was killed at Chancellorsville. My mother died of a broken heart soon after. I had no one left in my family and I wanted revenge. So you can see, this isn’t new to me.”
Falcon looked deep into the woman’s eyes and realized she wasn’t lying to him.
“Do you have a horse?” he asked.
“Yes, I have a horse. It was Gordon’s horse, but it is a good one.”
“All right,” Falcon said, nodding. “I’ll let you come.”
Smiling, Frances shook her head. “You still don’t understand, do you, Falcon?”
“Understand what?”
“There is no ‘letting me come’ to it. I was going on this hunt, with or without you.”
Falcon smiled. “Damn, woman,” he said. “You may just be wildcat enough to come in useful after all.”
Twenty-three
Riding hard, Johnny, Carney, Eddie, Gabe, and Pete reached Last Chance just before nightfall. Putting on their red scarves, they galloped through the draw and into the hidden valley itself.
There were about fifteen people in Last Chance, counting the men and women, and they all gathered to see what had caused the riders to come in at a gallop. The horses were breathing hard, and they were covered with a foam of sweat.
“Johnny, what is it? What’s goin’ on?” Quincy asked.
“Hello, Quincy,” Johnny said. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m going to need every man.”
“You’re going to need every man for what?”
“We snatched Carney out of jail,” Johnny said. “There will be a posse comin’ out here for sure. We’re goin’ to have to fight ’em off.”
Quincy shook his head no. “Huh-uh,” he said. “You ain’t goin’ to get me in on this. I didn’t take part in whatever you’ve been doin’, and I ain’t fightin’ no posse for you.”
“Fifty dollars to anyone who stays and helps us fight ’em off!” Johnny shouted.
“Fifty dollars? I wouldn’t stay for five hundred dollars,” Quincy said. He looked at the others who were living at Last Chance. “You folks can stay and get killed if you want, but I’m getting out of here.”
“Me too.”
“So am I.”
Within minutes everyone except the ones who had ridden with Johnny were saddled, men and women alike. Quincy rode over to where Johnny and the others of his group were rubbing down their horses.
“I wish you good luck, Johnny,” Quincy said. “But you got to admit that you got your ownself into this mess. You got no right to think any of us should stick around to get ourselves killed tryin’ to help you.”
“I understand,” Johnny said.
“If you get through this, maybe we’ll get together again sometime.”
“Maybe,” Johnny said.
“Come on, folks,” Quincy called to the others. “Let’s get out of here before the posse gets here.”
Johnny watched them until the last person had disappeared through the draw; then he turned to the others with a big smile.
“All right, boys,” he said. “No need for us to share the money with anyone now. It’s all ours.”
“Johnny,” Pete said nervously. “You really think they will send a posse after us?”
Johnny shook his head. “They can’t. Sheriff Gibson is in Albany County. We’re in Carbon County. He ain’t got no jurisdiction here.”
Pete smiled. “Then there ain’t nobody goin’ to be comin, is there? You just got rid of the others so’s they wouldn’t know about the money.”
“MacCallister will be comin’,” Carney said.
“What?” Pete asked.
“MacCallister will be comin’ after us,” Carney repeated.
“How is he even goin’ to know where we are?” Pete asked.
“He’ll know,” Johnny said. “That son of a bitch can track a bird through the air. We may as well get ready fo
r him.”
“Why do we have to get ready for him?” Eddie asked. “Why don’t we just divide up the money now and all of us go our own way?”
“You want to be dogged by MacCallister for the rest of your life?” Johnny asked. “If we don’t kill him now, he’ll track ever’one us down.”
“I agree,” Gabe said. “I’ve heard about MacCallister, and I know he’s just the kind of son of a bitch who would be after us for the rest of our lives. It’s best to take care of him now, while we are all together. What do you have in mind, Johnny?”
“Gabe, I want you and Pete to be posted on either side of the draw that leads into here,” Johnny said. “And Eddie, I want you on top of the big rock at the end of the pass.”
“Hell, what do we need all that for, Johnny? We only need one man watchin’ the pass,” Eddie said.
“Just do what I said,” Johnny ordered without elaboration.
“What about you and Carney?” Pete asked. “Where you going to be?”
“I’m going to put Carney in the loft of the barn,” Johnny replied. “I’ll be on the second floor of the house. If Falcon makes it by you three, we’ll have a good shot at him soon as he comes into the valley. And by that time, you three will be behind him. We’ll have him in a cross fire.”
Eddie laughed. “You act like we was about to get attacked by an army or somethin’, what with postin’ lookouts ever’where. You sure you don’t have a couple of them Gatling guns hid out some’ers?”
“I wish I did have a couple of Gatling guns,” Johnny said.
“Are you afraid of MacCallister, Johnny?” Eddie asked.
“You damn right I’m afraid of him. You will be too, if you have any sense. Now, you folks get posted like I told you to.”
“All right, all right,” Eddie said. “We’ll get where you told us to get. Hell, I might even see if I can round up a Gatling gun or two,” he added with a sardonic chuckle.
“Just do what I said,” Johnny growled.
Johnny and Carney watched the three men leave to get into position.
“You want me to get in the barn now?” Carney asked.
“Yeah” Johnny said. He pointed to the second-story window of the house. “I’ll be up there.”
“All right,” Carney said.
“Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
“We shouldn’t of left Girly like that.”
“She’s likely dead by now and we couldn’t of helped her if we stayed,” Johnny said. “Besides, look at it this way. That’s just one more reason for us to kill MacCallister.”
* * *
It had not been hard to track them. There were five men, riding hard and making no effort to hide their trail. It was late afternoon when Falcon and Frances reached the opening of the pass, and now they were crouched down behind a rock outcropping about two hundred yards from the opening of the draw.
Taking off his hat, Falcon climbed to just below the top of the rocks and looked through the binoculars he had bought to follow Gordon’s footrace. Holding the binoculars made him think of young Gordon lying dead, shot down in the street by the men he was chasing.
The sun was low in the west, and though the day wasn’t unbearably hot, the sun was bright enough to be oppressive to someone who was trying to keep a sharp watch. The gnats were out also, and when one of the lookouts slapped at one of them, Falcon caught just a glimpse of the movement.
“Do you see anyone?” Frances asked in a quiet voice.
“Yes,” Falcon said. “He’s up on top, on the left, about twenty-five yards back from the lip, just where that side of the draw flattens.” Falcon handed his binoculars to Frances, but she waved them off.
“I can do better with this,” she said. Since they’d arrived, she’d fitted a scope onto her rifle, and now she looked through the scope. “There he is,” she said.
“Is that the rifle you used in the war?”
“Yes,” Frances said. She smiled. “I know what you are thinking. This is a Whitworth and was used primarily by the South. But it was the most accurate rifle in the war and I came by one very early.”
“No, what I was thinking is that it is a single-shot,” Falcon said. “That might be a problem.”
“One shot is all I’ve ever needed before,” Frances said.
“You think you can hit him from here?” Falcon asked, talking about the man they had spotted.
“Yes. Do you want me to?” Frances pulled the hammer back and raised the rifle.
“Yes, but not yet,” Falcon said, stopping her. “Wait until you get my signal.”
“What kind of signal?”
Falcon pointed toward the mouth of the draw. “I’m going to try and work my way all the way down to this end of the pass without being seen,” he said. “When I get there, I’ll wave at you. That’s when I want you to take out the lookout. You are far enough away here that by the time the sound of the shot reaches the others, I’ll be inside.”
“All right,” Frances said.
There was no way anyone on horseback could approach the narrow opening of the draw without being seen, but ever since they had arrived, Falcon had been looking for an alternate route, and now he believed he had found one. Leaving his position of concealment behind the rock, Falcon started working his way along the bottom of a steep cliff. There were several places where he was able to go down into long, narrow cuts that allowed him to advance without being seen.
The advantage of this route was that it eventually put him in position at the very opening of the draw. The disadvantage was that, while he couldn’t be seen, neither could he see the lookout. That was why he was going to have to depend upon Frances.
It had taken him about ten minutes to work his way there. Now, looking back to where he knew Frances was, he saw what a good place they had discovered. He knew exactly where to look, but he couldn’t see her. He could only hope that she could see him. He waved at her, then waited.
The question as to whether or not she could see him was answered within seconds, because he saw the muzzle flash of her Whitworth.
With his pistol in hand, he rushed into the pass. The lookout was falling even as the sound of the gunshot reached him; a heavy boom that rolled down the draw, gathering resonance from the walls and erupting at the far end in a thunderous roar.
“Pete!” a voice shouted from the top of the draw on the opposite side.
Damn! Falcon hadn’t seen a second man. Looking up now, he saw, and was seen at the same time.
The two men fired at each other, the pistol shots sounding simultaneously. Like the rifle shot before, the noise of the two shots echoed back and forth until it was impossible to tell how many shots had been fired.
The man on top who was shooting at Falcon missed, but Falcon did not miss, and his target tumbled down, falling within a few feet of the other one. Both men were now lying dead, belly-down on the rocky floor of the pass.
Falcon stood there for a moment, looking down at the two men. Then he heard the loud boom of the Whitworth again, followed by a grunt of pain. Looking up, he saw a third man tumbling down.
“He had a bead on you,” Frances said, coming up behind him.
“Get your rifle reloaded and come with me,” Falcon said.
“I brought this one too,” Frances said, holding up a Winchester. She laid the Whitworth down. “We can always pick this one up when we’re finished.”
Falcon and Frances moved through the draw until they reached the open area of the little valley.
“Look at this,” Frances said in awe. “Who would have ever thought there would be such a . . .” Frances let out a gasp, and Falcon saw a mist of blood fly up from the impact of the bullet. Frances went down.
“Frances!” Falcon shouted. “No!”
A second bullet whizzed by, kicking up the dirt around him.
Looking up, Falcon saw a little puff of gun smoke drifting away from the open window of the barn loft. He ran toward the barn, dodging two more bullets, one f
rom the barn, and one, he noticed, from the top floor of the nearby house.
Dashing through the open door of the barn, Falcon dived into a pile of straw. He rolled over, then looked up at the floor of the loft. The loft floor was made of weathered planking with fairly wide gaps between the planks.
Falcon lay very quiet and very still.
“Johnny! Johnny, can you see him?”
From the voice, Falcon knew that Carney was in the loft above him.
“He went into the barn!” a muffled voice replied.
“Where?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know? You are the one in the barn. Look for him!”
As Falcon continued to look up at the loft, he saw movement between the cracks. He couldn’t see Carney, but he was able to figure out where he was, just by the difference of light and shadow. He fired three quick shots, heard Carney groan, then heard him fall.
Moving quickly, Falcon ran to the ladder, then climbed up to the loft. Peering just over the edge of the loft, he saw Carney lying there in a pool of spreading blood. Some of the blood was already beginning to drip down between the cracks.
Cautiously, Falcon stepped up onto the loft, then walked over and looked down at Carney.
Carney was dead.
“Carney! Carney, did you get him?” Johnny called.
Falcon was quiet.
“Did you get him, Carney?”
Falcon made his voice sound strained. “I killed him, Johnny, but I’m hit.”
“How bad are you hit?”
Falcon smiled. Johnny bought it.
“How bad are you hit?” he asked again.
Falcon decided not to push his luck a second time.
“I’m comin’ over,” Johnny called back.
Falcon moved back into the shadows of the loft so he couldn’t be seen right away. Quickly, he reloaded, then he waited.
He heard the door to the house close. A moment later, he heard Johnny come in through the open door of the barn.
“Carney? Carney, are you up there?” he called. “Listen, Carney, I was thinkin’. Maybe I’d better take all the money with me, you know, to put it in a safe place? Then, after you’re feelin’ better, you can have your share. Carney?”
Pride of Eagles Page 20
