Song of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “Yeah, but I don’t know for how long if I don’t manage to find the Kid ’fore somebody else does, or ’fore he kills again.”

  Roy nodded. “Kinda tough place to be in, ain’t it?” He hesitated, then added, “ ’Course, it ain’t near so bad as sittin’ around waiting for somebody to come jerk you by the neck ’til you’re dead, is it?”

  Garrett took a deep breath, trying to calm his temper. It wouldn’t do any good to get in a fight with Roy. It’d only make matters worse, he thought.

  “Please, Roy, can you tell me where Mr. MacCallister is?”

  “That’s better, Pat.” He inclined his head toward the back of the room. “He’s in his office. Go on in. He’s expectin’ you.”

  “I’ll bet he is,” Garrett muttered under his breath as he walked to Falcon’s office and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Falcon called. He was sitting leaning back in his chair, his boots on a pulled-out desk drawer, a whiskey in one hand and a long, black cigar in the other.

  When Garrett entered the room Falcon got a concerned look on his face. “Why, what’s the matter, Pat? You look like a gelding remembering the good old days, and not liking the new ones much.”

  “You got that right, Falcon.”

  Falcon nodded at the bottle of whiskey and glass sitting in front of Garrett, as if he had expected him to come and was ready for him.

  “What can I do for you, Pat?”

  Garrett poured himself a tall glass of bourbon and downed most of it in one long, convulsive swallow.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and stared at Falcon with narrowed eyes. “I come here to find out if you had anything to do with the Kid’s escape.”

  “And what if I told you, and you alone, that I did? What would you do about it?”

  Garrett slammed his hand down on the desk. “Dammit, Falcon, he killed two good men in that escape!”

  Falcon shrugged. “One good man, maybe, and one other.”

  He took a slow, deliberate drink of his whiskey, then a long draw on his cigar. With smoke trailing from his nostrils, he said, “But be that as it may, this is a dangerous country, Pat. Men are getting killed every day for no good reason. And, you’ve got to admit Olinger was warned, several times, about the improbability of Billy ever being hanged, and the danger of taunting and humiliating him just because he was shackled like a dog and couldn’t defend himself.”

  Garrett slumped in his chair and drained the rest of his drink, quickly pouring himself another. He took a ready-made out of his pocket and lighted it with a lucifer he struck on his knee-high leather boots.

  Falcon thought he looked quite the gentleman sheriff, with his cute little derby hat, long suitcoat, vest over a silk shirt, and fancy boots.

  “Falcon, I’m askin’ you straight out, did you help the Kid escape?”

  Falcon laughed. “Pat, I’m surprised at you. You’re the sheriff of this here county, and a United States Deputy Marshal to boot. If you think I aided and abetted a killer in a jail breakout, then it’s your duty to prove it, and arrest me.”

  Falcon leaned forward, both his eyes and his voice suddenly becoming hard as tempered steel. “But don’t come whining around here to me because you can’t keep a teenager locked up in your jail, with two full-time guards on him and with him chained to the floor.”

  “I take it that means you’re not going to answer my question.”

  Falcon shrugged again. “I will tell you this, Pat. If, and I say if, I had it in my power to see that the Kid escaped, I would have done it.”

  “But, Falcon, can’t you see Billy’s changed? He’s no better than a mad dog running in the streets tryin’ to bite people. Only the Kid’s bite is fatal.”

  “You don’t understand the Kid, Pat, because you’re so unlike him. To the Kid, the most important thing in the world is loyalty to one’s friends. He has proven over and over that there is not anything he won’t do for a friend.”

  Falcon shook his head. “I feel sorry for you, Pat, because you lack that quality. To you, a friend is just someone to use to gain power or money or position. For you, loyalty is a one-way proposition. That’s why you’ll never understand why a man like the Kid would risk his life—and in fact will probably lose his life—simply for doing what he thinks a friend should do ... take care of his compadres, his partners, or his saddle-mates.”

  “That may be, Falcon, but if I find out you helped the Kid I’ll be forced to come back here and arrest you for it.”

  Falcon smiled, took a last drag off his cigar, and stubbed it out. He looked up at Garrett, “Bring plenty of help if you try, Pat, because you aren’t man enough to do it alone.”

  “I won’t have to ask far, Falcon. There’s plenty of men in Lincoln who think you ought to be shot down in the street, without waiting for proof”

  “Some of Dolan’s lap dogs, I presume?”

  Garrett nodded.

  “Do you count yourself among them, Pat?”

  “If I did, you’d be dead already, Falcon.”

  Falcon got up and said, “Come on, Pat. I’ll walk you to the door.”

  As they exited the batwings, side by side, they found a group of men milling about in the dusty street in front of The Drinking Hole.

  Four men stood in the forefront of the group, talking in loud voices to the people behind them.

  A barrel-chested man with a full beard and the sleeves on his plaid flannel shirt rolled up to reveal massive forearms covered with thick patches of coarse black hair, yelled, “How long are we gonna stand for this? We all know MacCallister let Bonney out of jail. Let’s put a rope around his neck and string him up ’til he tells where the Kid is hiding.”

  “Who’s the loudmouth?” Falcon asked, slowly pulling his coat back and loosening the hammer thongs on his Colt.

  “That’s Bud Warwick, a friend of Bob Olinger’s. He’s a teamster, drives mule teams across the desert when he’s not drunked up or fighting in a saloon somewhere,” Garrett answered.

  A rail-thin man next to him held a shotgun up in the air. “What do you say, citizens? Let’s go in and get the gambler and make him talk.”

  “That’s Olinger’s wife’s brother, Slim Watkins, another worthless hunk of nothing. He’s mad ’cause Olinger was the only one who ever bothered to bail him out when he got arrested for drunkenness,” Garrett said out of the corner of his mouth.

  Suddenly, the crowd quieted and the two men turned.

  “There he is now!” Bud called, putting his hand on the butt of his pistol.

  As Slim cradled the shotgun in his hands, Falcon said, “Yes, here I am, big mouth. Just what do you intend to do about it?” Falcon asked, his eyes cold as February ice.

  “We’re gonna make you tell where Billy the Kid is hidin’, and then we’re gonna string the two of you up side by side,” the big man answered, glowering at Falcon from under bushy eyebrows.

  “Not likely, friend,” Falcon said in a low, dangerous voice. “You’d be dead before you took the first step.”

  “Now hold on,” Garrett called, holding up his hands. “As long as I’m sheriff of this county, there ain’t gonna be any lynchin’ or mob rule, you hear me?”

  “Get outta the way, Sheriff,” Slim Watkins said, earing back the hammers on the shotgun and starting to turn. “We ain’t got nothin’ against you. We want MacCallister.”

  “Take it easy with that scattergun, Slim,” Garrett said, his own hand hovering near his pistol. “I’ve already talked to MacCallister, and he says he don’t know where the Kid is.”

  “The son of a bitch is lyin’!” Bud yelled, “An’ he got my friend killed.”

  “Bob Olinger was a mean, cantankerous ass, who probably got what he deserved,” Falcon said, turning his body slightly to the side to present less of a target, for he knew gunplay was imminent.

  “Why you . . .” Bud yelled, his hand going for his gun.

  At the same time, Slim started to raise the shotgun to his shoulder.<
br />
  Both Garrett and Falcon grabbed iron, Falcon getting off two shots before Garrett or Bud cleared leather.

  The first slug took Bud in the throat, blowing a large-sized hole in the back of his neck and snapping his head back, throwing him with arms spread wide back into the crowd, spewing blood and bits of bone and flesh all over the men there.

  Falcon’s second bullet hit Slim in the forehead and blew the top of his head off along with his Stetson, which landed upside down on the ground and lay there with most of Slim’s skull still inside it.

  Slim’s eyes got wide in the second he lived after the shot. Then he gave a loud sigh and toppled backward.

  When his shotgun hit the ground butt first, it went off, blowing a chunk of meat out of a bystander’s thigh. The man fell to the dirt with a loud scream.

  By the time Garrett raised his pistol both Slim and Bud were lying dead on the ground. He turned to Falcon, who was still slightly crouched, his Colt extended should anyone else in the crowd want to take a hand in the fracas.

  “God Almighty, Falcon! You drilled both those galoots ’fore I cleared leather.”

  A voice from the mob could be heard to say, “Jesus, he’s faster’n greased lightnin’!”

  “And he didn’t even aim, just fired from the hip and hit both men dead center,” a voice nearby added, with awe.

  Garrett turned back to face the people in front of the saloon. “Someone go get the doc and take care of that wounded man on the ground there. And the rest of you go on home and let the law take care of Billy Bonney.”

  As the townspeople dispersed, Garrett cut his eyes back to Falcon, who was putting his Colt back in his holster.

  Falcon looked at Garrett, and smiled “Thanks for standing with me, Pat. There may be hope for you yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that maybe you’ll remember what it means to call a man a friend, and not go gunning him down without giving him a chance.”

  “If you mean the Kid, I’ve sworn to uphold the law, Falcon.”

  “Are you talking about the law of someone like Jimmy Dolan, or are you talking about justice? They’re not necessarily the same, Pat, a fact I hope you’ll come to realize before it’s too late.”

  Thirty-three

  The Kid approached Falcon MacCallister’s cabin slowly with his hands in plain sight. He didn’t want the gunman to shoot before he recognized him.

  Falcon came out on the porch, a rifle balanced in his right hand.

  “It’s me, the Kid!” he cried, raising both palms as he guided his horse toward the house with his knees. “Just wanted to talk a minute if you can spare the time.”

  “Ride in and climb down.”

  The Kid wondered if Falcon might have changed his mind about helping him after hearing about the two deputies killed in the escape. He knew Falcon was a friend, but he also knew Falcon didn’t much approve of his new life as a gunman on the run.

  He was still a little unsure if Falcon would get the drop on him to earn the five hundred dollar reward . . . or worse, just shoot him down at point-blank range, since the reward posters for Billy the Kid, alias William Bonney, said Dead or Alive.

  The Kid stopped his horse and stepped to the ground. A late afternoon sun cast shadows among the piñons surrounding the shack. “I got to ask you, Falcon. I’m takin’ a big chance by comin’ here, but I need to know if you’ve changed your mind ’bout our friendship, whether you’ve given up on me ever goin’ straight.”

  “If I had, you’d be dead by now, son.”

  “I know you didn’t mean for me to kill no one when I escaped, but there weren’t no other way. I want you to know I appreciate your help, and that I tried to get away without any killin’, but they wouldn’t let me.”

  Falcon sighed, “I know that, Kid. Olinger wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you if you’d given him half a chance.”

  “I’ve a mind to go after Murphey and Dolan, especially after all they done to our friend Chisum. They’ve hit his cowherds mighty hard lately.”

  “And I’ve made a few of ’em pay for it with their lives,” Falcon replied.

  “I’d heard some got shot.”

  “A few. The ones who were dumb enough not to toss down their guns and clear out of this country like I told ’em to. I never warn a man but once.”

  “I’m real glad to know you ain’t out after me,” the Kid said, trusting Falcon’s words. “I sure as hell don’t need no more enemies.”

  “Sheriff Garrett has hired two experienced deputies from down in Texas, John Poe and Tip McKinney. They’re both good with a gun, so be careful.”

  “Garrett’s gunned down or locked up most of my friends with the Regulators. I’m pretty much on my own now. Met a young feller named Billy Barlow. He’s back at our camp keepin’ an eye on things.”

  “It looks to me like the Lincoln County War is finished.” Falcon said in a calm voice. “Your side took a helluva whipping. Politics were against you, and when they brought in the army, the deck was stacked.”

  “We was fightin’ for somethin’ we believed in, settin’ things right for the way they murdered poor ole’ John Tunstall an’ then Alexander McSween.”

  “I understand, Kid, but that doesn’t change anything.”

  “I’m findin’ that out real fast.”

  “What do you aim to do? Seems foolish for you to hang around this part of the territory. Sooner or later, with that reward posted, they’ll hunt you down and kill you or take you to stand trial.”

  “Unfinished business is what’s keepin’ me here. There’s a few more who have to pay for what they did to Mr. Tunstall an’ Mr. McSween. Then I reckon I’ll clear out an’ head down to Mexico.”

  “You could get killed seeking more revenge,” Falcon said in a matter-of-fact way. “You’ve settled a number of scores, you and your friends. Why not let it rest?”

  “I ain’t built that way, Falcon. When a man’s a friend of mine, I believe in bein’ loyal to him plumb to the end, if that comes.”

  “I admire that in you, son, but it could also wind up being a death sentence.”

  “I stared death in the eye before. I ain’t scared to do it again.”

  Falcon grinned. “Things are a lot worse for you since your escape from the Lincoln County jail. You’ve killed a pair of deputies, and that’s something they won’t tolerate.”

  “Didn’t want to shoot Bell. He ran for the stairs an’ I didn’t have no choice. Olinger, he had it comin’. You won’t get much argument on that in these parts.”

  “He was a bully, all right, but he had a badge. That makes it a lot worse for you.”

  “Couldn’t hardly have been much worse,” the Kid said, remembering his escape. “They had me chained up like a dog, waitin’ to stand trial for murderin’ Sheriff Brady. I didn’t kill Brady.”

  “They’ve got plenty of witnesses who’ll say otherwise on a witness stand.”

  “I never even aimed at Brady. That’s the honest truth of the matter.”

  “Truth is sometimes hard to find when powerful people try to hide it,” Falcon said.

  “I reckon I’m findin’ that out, too.”

  Falcon gave him a lingering look. “If I were you, Kid, I’d head for Mexico, or damn near anyplace else. It’s just a matter of time before somebody bushwhacks you for the reward money. I’d give moving on some serious thought.”

  The Kid toed the ground with his boot. “I have been thinkin’ on it some. But like I said before, I’ve still got business with Jimmy Dolan an’ Lawrence Murphey. Maybe a couple more.”

  “You’re old enough to make up your own mind on it, but you won’t be able to raise another army like they did when Brewer organized the Regulators. Folks are scared now.”

  “I’d stand a better chance if you’d throw in with me an’ Barlow, even for just a little while. I’ve heard it said you’re damn near a one man army yourself.”

  Falcon wagged his head. “I don’t champion causes, an
d I never join organizations. I make it a habit to act alone.”

  “Sure would be a help if you changed your mind just this once.”

  “Sorry, son.”

  “Looks like I’ll be handlin’ it on my own, then. Thought I’d ask.”

  Falcon seemed to hesitate, pointing the muzzle of his rifle down. “I might still be of some help, if Dolan’s men aren’t smart enough to leave catching you in the law’s hands. I don’t much cater to vigilante justice—not by you, Kid, and not by Dolan and his friends. If his men continue to try and hunt you down to settle a score for Dolan, some of ’em are gonna pay for their mistake in blood. I’ve already sent word to Dolan and Murphey. If they ignore my warning, they’ll lose a few more gunslicks who ride for ’em.”

  “I reckon that’s a whole lot better’n nothing,” the Kid told him.

  “If you care to come inside, I’ll boil coffee. It’ll be dark soon and coffee will be a help against the night chill.”

  “I figure I’d better get back to camp. Barlow’s gettin’ real jumpy lately. But I’m obliged for the offer. We’ve been livin’ on beans an’ fatback for quite a spell, an’ our coffee’s nearly gone.”

  “I’ll send along a sack of Arbuckles,” Falcon said, turning to go back inside his rented cabin. “Maybe I can rustle up a little something else to eat.”

  “Be mighty kind of you, Falcon. Trouble is, I can’t pay.”

  “I didn’t say anything about money.” Falcon disappeared inside, leaving the Kid to his thoughts.

  It would have changed things considerably if Falcon had decided to join them. He was deadly with a six-shooter and a rifle. Men with good sense feared him around Lincoln, since his reputation was more widely known now.

  But MacCallister was firm about not joining the fight in an official way, and he wasn’t the type to be argued with . . . the Kid knew him well enough to know that.

  A few minutes later Falcon came out with a small burlap bag full of coffee beans and other foodstuffs. He handed them over to the Kid.

  “We’re much obliged, Falcon.”

  The tall gunman merely nodded

  The Kid hung the bag over his saddlehorn and mounted his sorrel mare.