Slaughter of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  As the horses were lined up for the start, Janelle looked down the road and saw hundreds, maybe as many as a thousand or more people crowded on both sides of the street. Most, she knew, would be against her because she was a woman, and like Ellis the protesting cowboy, they did not believe that a woman should ride.

  But she had a small galley of supporters: Mr. and Mrs. Buckner, Mrs. Poindexter, and the other residents of the boarding house. She heard them shouting their encouragement, saw them waving at her. She gave them a small wave in return.

  Mayor Alsop climbed up onto a small stand at the edge of the street, even with the starting line.

  “Gentlemen!” he called. Then with an embarrassed smile and a nod toward Janelle, he amended it. “And lady. Get ready!”

  Janelle heard a scattering of sniggers from those of the crowd who were nearest the starting line.

  Alsop pulled the trigger, the gun banged, and the horses leaped forward. Although most of the horses were cowboy favorites—the fastest from the various ranches—only Vexation had actually been trained as a racehorse. Shooting away like a cannon ball, he got the best start.

  Janelle had pulled the stirrups up very high to keep her feet up, her knees bent and close in. She leaned forward from her waist with her head and shoulders only inches above Vexation’s neck.

  He was all strength and sinew, and as he galloped down the road she felt almost as if she were one with his musculature. The crowd on either side of the road flashed by with such speed they were a blur. She would not have been able to identify anyone’s face, even if she had known them, for she was going too fast to see.

  When she reached Indian School Road she turned and started back. She was pleasantly surprised to see that she was at least one hundred yards ahead of her nearest competitor, Ellis. Because he was so vocal in his protest over her riding, Janelle figured he probably had the most to lose.

  As he drew closer she moved over slightly, to give the cowboy room to pass, but he followed her. At first she thought it was because he was trying to avoid her. But when she turned again, she saw that it wasn’t an accident, he was purposely trying to run her down!

  Janelle was left with three choices—give way by riding off the road, in which case she would be disqualified, run into a vending stand which was protruding into the road, or cross the road into the path of the other horses.

  To everyone’s surprise, she headed right for the vending stand, urging the horse up. Vexation cleared it by inches, coming down in full stride on the other side. Even those who had been against her, began cheering her, and booing Ellis, who they saw trying to run her down.

  Janelle crossed the finish line first. When she looked back she was surprised to see that Ellis was nowhere close. He had broken off the race after Janelle jumped the vendor’s booth. As the other riders crossed the finish line, they rushed over to Janelle and congratulated her, not only for winning the race, but also for avoiding the trap Ellis had set for her.

  The Buckners ran up to her and both of them embraced her. “You were magnificent!” Ken Buckner said, enthusiastically. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “Vexation is a very good horse,” Janelle said, wrapping her arms around the horse’s neck. “I’ve never ridden a better horse.”

  “He is good, isn’t he?” Ken Buckner said. “I’m so proud of him. But I must say, I’m just as proud of you. In fact, I’m so proud of you, that I’m giving you the one hundred dollar prize money.”

  “Oh!” Janelle said. “You don’t have to do that, Mr. Buckner. It was your horse that won.”

  “I know, and I’m going to keep the trophy,” Ken said. “I think I shall keep it in the window of the Emporium so that everyone who sees it will be reminded that it was a woman who rode the winning horse in the Fourth of July race.”

  MacCallister

  The station that had been empty earlier was full of passengers holding tickets, friends, and family saying good-bye. There were also people waiting to greet passengers arriving on the incoming train. And a rather large contingent of townspeople tended to gather at the arrival and departure of any train, drawn by the excitement of it.

  “You got here just in time, Mr. MacCallister,” the ticket agent said. “Your train is pulling into the station now.”

  As if to underscore the ticket agent’s observation, Falcon heard the whistle of the approaching train. The 4-4-2 engine rushed into the station, its four huge driver wheels pounding, the steam gushing from the cylinders, and burning embers dripping from the firebox. Finally, with a squeal of steel on steel, the train came to a halt. It sat there, not as some inert iron contraption, but alive with sight and sound. Black smoke roiled up from the stack and wisps of steam glistened in the afternoon sunlight as it escaped with loud, rhythmic hisses from the actuating cylinders. While journals and bearings popped and snapped as they cooled, men shouted at each other as they off-loaded and then loaded luggage at the baggage car. The engineer leaned out the window of the cab, a long-stemmed pipe clutched between his teeth as he surveyed from his lordly position those who had gathered on the depot platform.

  Falcon watched as the arriving passengers detrained and were greeted by those who had come to meet them.

  When the last passenger had stepped down, the conductor raised his hand to his mouth. “All aboard!”

  Falcon waited until the others were boarded, then he climbed the steps and started down the center aisle of the car. It was a day car only, though once he reached Denver he would be able to take advantage of a Pullman car.

  Finding a seat by the window, he sat for a few minutes until, with two long whistles, the train started forward with a jerking, halting motion until all the slack was taken out of the couplings. The motion smoothed out and he looked through the window, watching the depot slide by. It was the beginning of what would be a four night, five day journey.

  Phoenix

  The day after Independence Day Janelle was busy spreading a display of colorful material in the window. True to his promise, Ken Buckner had put the silver cup winner’s trophy in the window, and it was Nellie’s idea to combine that with business.

  “If people are going to come look at the trophy, we may as well let them see what kind of material we have for sale,” she said.

  Ken agreed, and the two of them left it up to Janelle to construct an artistic display, rather than just lay out bolts of cloth. Janelle had risen to the task and the window had become a veritable meadow of color, with cascading browns, carpeting greens, billowing yellows, and floating blues all designed to draw attention to the display.

  As she was working on the display she saw a grizzled old man riding a mule down the street, and she laughed out loud.

  “What is it?” Nellie asked.

  “That man,” Janelle said, pointing. “I’ve never seen anyone who looked like that before.”

  “Oh, that’s just a prospector,” Nellie said.

  “A prospector?”

  “Someone who is looking for gold,” Nellie explained. “Or silver, or turquoise, or whatever they can find. They spend months, sometimes years out in the desert.”

  “Why on earth would anyone ever do such a thing? Do they actually think they will find something?”

  “Sometimes they do,” Nellie said. “Not very often, but evidently often enough to keep the hope alive in poor souls like that one.”

  “Poor soul?”

  “Yes, look at him, Janelle. You can tell by looking that he is barely able to keep body and soul together. Why, I’ll bet he doesn’t have five cents to his name.”

  “Oh, how terrible. How does such a person live?”

  “Oh, honey, you don’t really want to know that.” She laughed.

  “I’m ashamed, now, that I laughed at him. I wish I could give him some money.”

  “No, dear, you don’t want to do that,” Nellie said.

  “Why not.”

  “Those type of men are fiercely independent and very proud. If you offered
him money—especially coming from someone like you—he would be mortified.”

  “Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to do anything like that,” Janelle said.

  “I know you meant well. I’m just telling you how things are, is all.”

  “Thanks,” Janelle said.

  At that moment the bell on the door tinkled, and a tall gray haired, distinguished looking man came in.

  “Good morning, Mr. Montgomery. May I help you?” Nellie asked.

  “I’m shopping for my wife’s birthday,” Montgomery said. “Let me look around a bit.”

  “Go right ahead.” She turned her attention back to the window. “Oh, Janelle, that is beautiful,” she said, complimenting Janelle’s artistic display.

  After wandering around a bit, Montgomery picked up one of the hats Nellie had recently received. He spent a long moment examining it, as he held it in his hand.

  “Tell me, Mrs. Buckner, do you think my wife would like this?” he asked. “The reason I ask is, I thought I might get her a bonnet, but I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “That is called a flower pot,” Mrs. Buckner said.

  “A flower pot? You plant flowers in it?”

  Mrs. Buckner laughed. “Janelle, please come over here and tell Mr. Montgomery about this hat, will you?”

  “Of course,” Janelle said, coming away from the window.

  “You,” Montgomery said, pointing at Janelle and smiling broadly. “You are the young lady who rode in the race yesterday, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, I must tell you the entire town is proud of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you work here?”

  “She does,” Nellie said. “She has the most marvelous eye for fashion. And, she also keeps our books.”

  “This young lady keeps your books?”

  “She does indeed,” Nellie said. “Now, you wanted to ask her opinion about that hat?”

  Montgomery turned his attention back to the hat. “Yes, I do.”

  “What would you like to know?” Janelle asked.

  “Is it stylish?” Montgomery asked. “I mean, if we went to some big city like Denver, St. Louis, or New Orleans, would she be—I’m not sure what the word is I am looking for, but—would she be out of place?”

  “She would not be out of place at all,” Janelle said. “That hat is very stylish.” Janelle put the hat on her own head and tilted it just so. She smiled as she was modeling the hat, and the smile lit up her face.

  “Oh, my that—that is beautiful,” Montgomery said, almost reverently.

  “I assure you, Mr. Montgomery, if your wife wore this hat, she would be fashionable not only in Denver, St. Louis, or New Orleans, but I have seen this same hat perched on the head of the most fashionable ladies of New York, and Paris as well.”

  “New York and Paris, you say? You have been to those places?”

  “I have.”

  “And at the price of two dollars, you won’t get a better bargain,” Nellie added, trying to close the sale.

  “Two dollars? Isn’t that a bit high for such a small bit of straw?”

  “A small bit of straw? Mr. Montgomery, calling this a small bit of straw is like calling Michelangelo’s statue of David a small piece of marble,” Janelle said.

  Montgomery laughed out loud. “You make a good point, Miss—? I didn’t get your last name, and it would hardly do for me to call you by your Christian name.”

  “It is Wellington. Janelle Wellington.”

  “I see what you mean, Mrs. Buckner, when you tell me she has an eye for fashion. And you say she also does your books?”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “Tell me, Miss Wellington, are you an educated woman? And by that, I mean have you attended a school beyond the normal public school?”

  “Yes, my father believed in education, even for women. I matriculated from Cornell, one of the few private colleges that will admit women.”

  Montgomery smiled and nodded. “Cornell, yes, I have heard of it. It is a very good school. And, good for your father. He is, truly, a man ahead of his time. I think the time will come when men and women are given equal opportunities for education.”

  Mrs. Buckner laughed. “What a foolish idea. Beyond the ability to read, I see absolutely no reason for a woman to have an education.”

  “Unfortunately there are a great number of people who feel just as you do. Therefore it might be quite some time before my prediction comes true,” Montgomery replied.

  “Do you wish to buy the hat, Mr. Montgomery?” Janelle asked.

  Again, Montgomery laughed. “You are a woman with a mind for business, Miss Wellington, and I appreciate that. Yes, I will buy the hat.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  C. D. Montgomery was President of the Sun Valley Bank and Trust, and after having his purchase gift wrapped, he took it back to the bank with him. He pictured the look on his wife’s face when he gave it to her after the birthday dinner he had planned. He let himself into his office through a side door, and so didn’t see the long-haired, scraggily bearded, disheveled man in the raggedy clothes sitting out front, waiting for him. Immediately after stepping into his office, there was a light knock on his door, and his secretary, Jarvis Depro, stuck his head in.

  “Mr. Montgomery, there is someone waiting to see you. I told him I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in meeting with him, but he wouldn’t go away. I’m afraid he is rather insistent.”

  “Why do you think I wouldn’t be interested in seeing him?”

  “Because he is most—unkempt—sir,” Depro said. “He may be the filthiest man I’ve ever seen. And he smells.”

  Montgomery chuckled. “Jarvis, have you been around some of our leading citizens? The fact that the person waiting to see me smells is not particularly significant. Please, show him in.”

  “Very good sir,” Depro said.

  Leaving Montgomery’s office, Depro walked back to the front of the bank. For a moment he just stood there looking at the strange scruffy little man, then he walked over toward him.

  “Mr…?”

  “Hanlon. Ben Hanlon.”

  “Mr. Hanlon, Mr. Montgomery will see you now.”

  “Thank you, sonny. I’ll remember you in my will,” Hanlon said with a high, cackling laugh.

  A few minutes later Ben Hanlon was scratching his scraggly beard, feeling one of the lice move quickly to escape his clawing fingers as he sat in the office of the president of the bank. Leaning back in the chair he examined the room. The calendar on the wall said it was Tuesday, July 5, 1885.

  1885?

  That surprised him. He thought it was sometime in the 1870s, maybe ’78 or ’79. Damn, that meant he had been prowling around on Superstition for what? Ten years, maybe? He wondered how long it had been since he had slept in a real bed, or spent the night under a roof. It didn’t really matter how long it had been since he had done it, the important thing was how long would it be before he did it again. He had a feeling that it would be no longer than that night.

  Ben’s chair was on one side of the desk, and the bank president was on the other side. For the last few minutes, Montgomery had been studying a paper Ben had given him.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Hanlon,” Montgomery finally said, speaking for the first time in several minutes. “What you are asking is highly unusual.”

  “How come that?” Ben asked. “This here is a bank, ain’t it? An’ don’t banks lend money to folks.”

  “Yes, we are here to lend money to people. But only to people with a good prospect of being able to pay it back. Oh, and of course, people with collateral,” Montgomery replied.

  “What’s that mean? Collateral?”

  “It means that in order to get a loan, you have to put up something of value, generally of the same, or more value than the amount of money you are asking for.”

  “Well, hell, ain’t that what I just done?” Ben asked, pointing to the piece of paper on Montg
omery’s desk. “Didn’t I just give you that?”

  “I can’t make heads or tails of this,” Montgomery said holding out the piece of paper. “What is it?”

  “It’s what you was askin’ for,” Ben said. “It’s collateral.”

  “It’s a piece of paper.”

  “It’s a map,” Ben said. “It’s a map to the richest gold mine what has ever been found. I aim to put that map up so as to borrow enough money to start workin’ the mine. I’ll be needin’ me some food, and by that I mean some real store-bought food, not the desert rats and cactus fruit I been eatin’. An’ maybe a couple more mules, seein’ as I’ll be haulin’ out more ore than Rhoda can carry by herself. Oh, an’ I’ll be a’ wantin’ me some new duds, too. These here clothes is plumb wore out. And I’ll be a’ needin’ some—”

  Montgomery held up his hand. “Hold it, hold it, slow down here,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Mr. Hanlon, I’m surprised at you, paying good money for a map like this. Do you have any idea how many maps there are to the Peralta mine? Where did you buy this?”

  “I didn’t buy it nowhere,” Ben answered indignantly. “I drawed that there map my ownself. It tells you exactly where at the gold is.”

  “Are you telling me you know where the gold is?” Montgomery asked.

  “Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I’m a’ tellin’ you. An’ I need me some money to buy some new supplies. An’ like I said, maybe some more clothes and a couple of mules.”

  Ben began scratching under his shirt. “An’ I might even get me a bath,” he added. “Lord, I reckon it’s been some twenty years or so since I’ve had me a proper bath, I mean in a bathtub with soap and all.”

  “Do you have any proof that you found the mine? I mean, other than this map?”

  “Yes, sir, I got me some proof,” Ben said. He unbuttoned a couple shirt buttons, then reached his hand inside. Pulling out a small rawhide sack, he dumped the contents on Montgomery’s desk. “These here is nuggets I took from the mine,” he said. “An’ they’s a lot more where these come from.”

  Montgomery picked up one of the rocks, cleaned it off, then began turning it in his hand. He stopped turning when he saw a streak of yellow metal.