Song of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  Brady looked up, eyes wide. “Now hold on, gents. You don’t have to do anything like that. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”

  The Kid spoke up from the doorway where he was standing. “Hey, Falcon, there’s Evans’s horse now. It’s tied up down in front of Dolan’s store.”

  Falcon unhooked the hammer thong on his Colts.

  “Come on, Kid. Let’s go have a talk with Mr. Evans. I don’t rightly appreciate someone shooting at us while trying to rustle cattle on my friend’s ranch.”

  Brady jumped to his feet. “Wait a minute! You two can’t just go up and brace a man in my town. He’s liable to go for his gun—”

  The Kid snarled, “That’s what we hope he’ll do. Then we won’t have to hang around waiting for you to get off your butt and do your job.”

  Brady stood there for a moment, and Falcon thought he could almost hear the man thinking. He was certainly between a rock and a hard place—he knew they would kill Evans if he didn’t arrest him.

  Finally, he shrugged and got his hat off a rack. “All right, gentlemen. I’ll put Mr. Evans under arrest. But I doubt he’ll be convicted on your testimony alone.”

  “Not in Judge Bristol’s court. But we’re going to see if we can get the U.S. Marshals to take him over to Ruidosa, to stand trial where he doesn’t have so many . . . business associates,” Falcon said, enjoying the look it brought to Brady’s face.

  Falcon and the Kid followed the sheriff as he walked down the boardwalk to Dolan’s store. When they entered they found Jesse Evans and two other men sitting at a table in the back, talking to James Dolan and John Riley.

  When Evans saw Falcon and the Kid with Brady, he jumped up and grabbed for his pistol. Before he could clear leather, he found himself facing the drawn guns of both Falcon and the Kid.

  Brady stepped between the men, his hands in the air. “Now hold on. Everyone just calm down.”

  Dolan stood up. “What is the meaning of this intrusion, Sheriff Brady?”

  “These two say they saw Jesse attempting to rustle cattle off Tunstall’s ranch last night, Mr. Dolan.”

  Dolan stared at Falcon, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Why, that couldn’t be true,” he said. “Jesse was with me last night. We were talking business until late in the evening.”

  The Kid, his voice rising, said, “You’re a liar, Dolan! We killed most of his men, and the yellow-bellied coward ran for cover like a scalded dog!”

  “Why you—” Evans started to say, shutting his mouth when the Kid eared back the hammer on his Colt and raised it to point directly at his face.

  “Go on, you lowdown cur. Give me a reason,” the Kid said, his eyes blazing and his lips grinning.

  Falcon stepped forward, a thoughtful look on his face. “I was there, Mr. Dolan, so I know you aren’t telling the truth. I wonder why someone would deliberately lie to protect a cattle rustler, unless he was somehow involved in the matter himself.”

  “Are you accusing me of—” Dolan started to say, until Sheriff Brady interrupted him.

  “Take it easy, Mr. Dolan. I’ve got to arrest Jesse and take him to jail. Then, we’ll let Judge Bristol decide what to do about all this.”

  Dolan relaxed and sat back down at the table. “That’s right, Sheriff. This is a matter best handled by the judge.”

  “I’m not goin’ to let him put me behind bars,” Evans said.

  “Calm down, Jesse,” Dolan said. “We’ll take care of this. I’m sure the judge will realize there’s been some mistake made.”

  “You’re the one who’s made the mistake, Dolan,” Falcon said. “I’m going to ride over to Ruidosa and see if I can get the U.S. Marshals to take a hand in this affair. You and your cronies on the bench and in the district attorney’s office had better watch yourselves. One way or the other, justice will be done.”

  As Brady took Evans’s pistols from him and walked him toward the jail, Falcon and the Kid could see the sheriff talking rapidly to the gunman, no doubt telling him not to worry that the judge would let him go.

  “Kid, I’m going to ride over to Ruidosa and talk to the marshals over there, and while I’m in the area I’m going to see about leasing that ranchito Mr. Tunstall told me about. You head on back to the Rio Feliz and tell John what’s going on.”

  “All right, Falcon. But if Brady lets Evans out of jail, I’m gonna kill him.”

  “Settle down, Kid. Don’t go off half-cocked. We’ve got the law on our side, so don’t do anything foolish.”

  The Kid nodded. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

  * * *

  Falcon was disappointed to find out the U.S. Marshals wouldn’t intervene in a local matter of Lincoln County unless there was obvious malfeasance at the trial. They refused to move Evans to Ruidosa, but promised that if he were let go under suspicious circumstances, they would take action.

  On his way back to Fort Sumner, Falcon stopped off at the Smithers’ ranch. It was a small cabin, nestled in a grove of pine trees on the very banks of the Ruidosa River. He talked to Mrs. Smithers, a middle-aged woman who looked tired and worn out from trying to run the small spread without her husband.

  She agreed to rent the place to Falcon while she tried to find a buyer for it. They settled on a price, and he asked if the cook would be willing to stay and keep house and cook for him. She said she would, so the deal was struck.

  Falcon accompanied Mrs. Smithers into Fort Sumner and arranged to have his clothes and personal items sent out to the ranch.

  Now, he thought, maybe I can get back to running my saloon and doing a little gambling. I’m tired of mixing in other people’s business, though it would be nice to see Dolan and his cronies brought down a notch or two. He shook his head as he walked into The Drinking Hole. John Tunstall was a good man, but Falcon just didn’t know if he was tough enough for the West, where might made right more often than not, and the rule of law was secondary to who had the upper hand.

  Fourteen

  Less than a week after Jesse Evans’s arrest, James Dolan called a meeting of his friends and associates. They met in a back room of his La Placita store in Lincoln. Present were Dolan, John Riley, Billy Matthews, Sheriff William Brady, and Judge Warren Bristol.

  “Bill, have you taken care of Evans yet?”

  Sheriff Brady smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Earlier tonight, someone broke in the jail while I was over at the hotel having supper and busted him out.”

  Dolan nodded. “I assume he’ll be at the usual place should I need him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, ’cause I will have need of his services in the next few days.”

  Dolan looked over at Judge Bristol, who sat in a corner, quietly fuming.

  “Warren, I need a favor.”

  The judge looked up resentfully. “Dammit, Jimmy, you shouldn’t have called me to come over here. You know there’ll be hell to pay if anyone finds out I’m working with you.”

  “Your share of the Dolan Enterprises money ought to make up for any trouble I cause you, Warren. Now quit your whining, I need some legal advice.”

  Bristol took a pipe from his suit coat and began fussing with it, filling it with a wad of tobacco that smelled bad even before he lighted it. “Go on, I’m listening.”

  “I need some legal way to get at Tunstall. I need some excuse to serve a writ on him, something that will let me tie up his business for a while. His store and bank are beginning to really cut into my ... I mean our, profits.

  Riley, Dolan’s second in command of his operation, snorted. “Hell, Jimmy, I don’t know why you don’t just send Evans and his gang out to Tunstall’s ranch and burn the bastard out.”

  Dolan shook his head. “John, I know you favor the direct approach, but the days are gone when we could get away with something like that. First of all, Tunstall’s hired too many good guns of his own. That Rio Feliz Ranch looks more like a fort than a cattle operation.”

  He paused to take a long, black stogie out of his coat a
nd light it. As he trailed smoke from his nostrils toward the ceiling, he added, “Besides, too many of the smaller ranchers around here are beginning to side with Tunstall, and his letters to the Mesilla Independent newspaper about Sheriff Brady’s diversion of some of their tax monies are beginning to get some attention in Santa Fe, attention we don’t need right now. We need to try a more subtle approach.”

  Bristol lighted his pipe and sucked on it, blowing out pungent blue clouds of smoke as he thought. After a moment he looked up, a satisfied grin on his face.

  “Say, Jimmy, didn’t you tell me you once hired that lawyer that works for Tunstall, Alexander McSween, to collect on a life insurance policy of Colonel Fritz’s?”

  Dolan’s eyes narrowed, “Yeah. He went up to New York and got a check for a little over seven thousand dollars. I told him I should get the money, as I was successor to L.G. Murphey and Company, but he put it in his account. He said he would pay it out when the legal heirs were determined.”

  Bristol sat back and spread his hands and smiled. “Well, there you are.”

  Dolan frowned. “I don’t understand. How does my fight with McSween help me to get to Tunstall?”

  “There is a little known law in New Mexico called joint and several liability. That means, if McSween owes you money and can’t pay, and he is partners with Tunstall, you can attach Tunstall’s property to pay McSween’s debt. With that, and those notes you bought up that John Chisum owes on, you can tie up the entire Tunstall and Chisum operation.”

  Dolan nodded. “I’m beginning to see the light here, Judge. Now, here’s what we’re gonna do . . .”

  On December twenty-first, Dolan took the affidavit signed by Judge Bristol to his business associate, District Attorney Rynerson, to effect the arrest of Alexander McSween on a charge of embezzlement and a note of summary judgment against John Chisum.

  Dolan waited until McSween and his wife, accompanied by John Chisum, set out on a trip to St. Louis. Dolan then wired the sheriff of San Miguel County to detain the McSweens and Chisum. He wanted them out of the way while he took on Tunstall.

  Chisum, who refused to answer the complaints, was jailed, receiving a sentence of eight days. McSween made bail and headed back toward Lincoln.

  With Chisum and McSween out of the picture, Dolan had Sheriff Brady levy an attachment on Tunstall’s bank and store, stating that since McSween owned part of them, they could take the two as part payment on his debt.

  McSween arrived back in Lincoln and was immediately arrested and put in jail by Sheriff Brady, to be released only upon pledging of enough property to cover the amount he supposedly owed to J.J. Dolan.

  Tunstall, with the Kid as his bodyguard, came to town and pledged a number of cattle and horses, which he was to deliver to town the next day.

  On their way back to Rio Feliz, Tunstall and the Kid stopped in at The Drinking Hole, and sat down with Falcon MacCallister.

  Falcon ordered whiskey for Tunstall and sarsaparilla for the Kid.

  “I hear you’ve been busy of late, John,” Falcon said.

  “Yes. That damned James Dolan is trying every sneaky legal trick in the book to start a war with John Chisum and me.”

  The Kid took a deep swallow of his carbonated drink, burped once, then said, “I say we give it to him, boss. Between us and Chisum’s men, we got plenty of firepower to take on the whole Dolan gang.”

  “It may well come to that, Billy. But with John Chisum still in jail up in Mesilla, his brothers won’t allow his cowboys to join in our fight until they get John’s permission.”

  Falcon realized that the tensions he had noted on his arrival in the area were coming to a boil. There was going to be bloodshed before too long.

  “So, John, what do you intend to do?” Falcon asked.

  Tunstall shrugged. “I’ll just have to play along for a while, until Chisum and I can get together and decide what to do. Meantime, I must take some cattle and horses into Lincoln tomorrow to try to get Alex McSween out of jail.”

  “I say to hell with ’em,” The Kid snarled in his boyish voice. “We ought ’a give ’em lead instead of beeves.”

  “I will not have a single man killed over a few cattle,” Tunstall said, firmly. “I will play along with their legal games, and pursue the matter in the courts. Dolan will not prevail if we can get the lawsuit heard in an impartial venue.”

  “Do you need some help tomorrow?” Falcon asked.

  Tunstall smiled. “No, but thank you for the offer, Falcon. I plan to take Billy here along as my guard, and some other men from the ranch to herd the cattle. I’m sure it will all go smoothly.”

  The Kid looked at Falcon and grinned his dangerous grin. “I just hope they try and start some trouble. I’ll be ready for ’em if they do, an’ I’ll make ’em wish they had never been born.”

  * * *

  That same night, Dolan had Billy Matthews fetch Jesse Evans and some of his gang to his store. Evans arrived, along with Frank Baker, Tom Hill, George Hindman, Johnny Hurley, “Buckshot” Roberts, Manuel “the Indian” Segovia, and William “Buck” Morton.

  “Boys,” Dolan said after passing out bottles of whiskey to the hardened gunmen, “tomorrow, John Tunstall is going to be bringing in some cattle and horses to turn over to me to get his lawyer, McSween, out of jail.”

  Evans pulled the cork from his bottle and took a deep swig. “I hope the Kid is with him. I have a score to settle with that bastard.”

  “You’ll get your chance. Tunstall never goes anywhere without Bonney. But whatever it takes, I don’t want Tunstall and those cattle to make it to Lincoln. I intend to keep possession of his store and bank.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Evans asked.

  “It would be worth a great deal of money to me if, by some happenstance, Tunstall were to suffer an accident and be killed,” Dolan said.

  Buck Morton grinned, showing yellow, rotten teeth. “Consider it done, Mr. Dolan.”

  “Of course, there should be no witnesses left who can testify to the matter.”

  “There won’t be nobody left who can say we didn’t act in self-defense.”

  Dolan stood and offered a toast. “Then goodnight, gentlemen, and good hunting tomorrow.”

  Fifteen

  As the Kid helped drive the small herd of cattle and horses toward Lincoln he thought about how much he had liked working for John Tunstall at the Rio Feliz Ranch, although the Englishman had some peculiar habits. He was always stiff and mannerly, and his speech was so odd it made some of the other ranchhands laugh . . . men like Fred Waite, John Middleton, Charley Bowdre, and Dick Brewer. But this trouble between Tunstall and the Santa Fe Ring, headed by Jimmy Dolan and John Riley, was no laughing matter.

  Kid knew Dolan had hired as many as twenty-two gunmen and outlaws . . . bad men the likes of Jesse Evans, Billy Morton, and Tom Hill, according to folks around Lincoln—and everyone, including John Tunstall, expected shooting to start at any time. Tunstall had warned all his ranchhands to keep their guns handy, even though he was a peaceloving man who did not want bloodshed.

  Down deep, the Kid figured there was no way to avoid flying lead before the difficulties were settled. Changing his name from Antrim to Bonney after the shooting at Fort Grant in Arizona Territory had not changed his character. He was fiercely loyal to those who befriended him, and he was ready to stand with John Tunstall no matter the odds or the cost.

  * * *

  The Kid rode his best sorrel pony, the one John Tunstall had given him when he was first hired, flanking the horse herd along with Middleton, Dick Brewer, Charley Bowdre, Fred Waite, and Henry Brown. Tunstall rode at the front on a good bay stud, leading them toward the Penasco River crossing. This was rough, brushy country, hard on horses and men.

  Waite rode up beside the Kid. He glanced over his shoulder and said, “Every now an’ then appears we got somebody followin’ us. Can’t say for sure.”

  The Kid examined their backtrail. “Don’t see a thing, Fred, onl
y they could be tryin’ to stay hid, whoever it is.”

  “You know damn well who it’ll be. Jimmy Dolan an’ Jesse Evans, prob’ly Billy Morton an’ Tom Hill. They ain’t nothin’ but hired killers, every damn one of ’em.”

  “Mr. Tunstall acts worried,” the Kid agreed. “He wouldn’t be givin’ up these horses an’ beeves so easy if he wasn’t scared we’ll be in a war with them Santa Fe boys.”

  Waite looked backward again. “I can feel trouble comin’, an’ when I get that feelin’ I ain’t hardly ever wrong, like when my knee hurts just afore it rains.”

  “You sound like an old woman with the rheumatiz,” the Kid said, grinning.

  “I ain’t funnin’ you. All week long I’ve had this real bad feelin’.”

  “You worry too damn much. If Morton or Evans or any of that bunch shows up, we’ll just shoot ’em down.”

  Waite looked at the Kid’s pistol. “You any good with that thing?”

  “I’ve killed a man or two, if that’s what you’re askin’. I shot this big-mouth horseshoer down in Camp Grant when he called me out.”

  “You did? You actually killed him?”

  “Deader’n a gate hinge. He was big. Thought he was tough. I showed him otherwise. A gun is a funny thing, Fred. It ain’t nothin’ but a piece of iron, but if you use it right it makes all men equal.”

  “I never knowed you shot somebody dead, Kid.”

  “I ain’t braggin’ about it. Just made mention of it so you’d know I ain’t just carryin’ it on my hip for decoration. I can shoot, if the need arises.”

  Waite turned back again, scanning the horizon. “Looks like I seen ’em again just now . . . four or five riders. If you look real close you can see the dust from the horses’ hooves risin’ on the wind.”

  The Kid couldn’t see any dust. “Quit you’re damn worryin’, Fred. We’ve got big John Middleton an’ Dick Brewer with us. We can handle trouble if it shows up.”

  They heard a shout coming from the front of the herd. Dick Brewer was standing in his stirrups. “Wild turkeys, boys! Let’s go hunt down our supper!”