Slaughter of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “I’m sorry. From the way you talk about her, you must have loved her very much.”

  “I still do,” Cornbread said. “Just ’cause some has died, that ain’t no reason you got to stop lovin’ ’em. She was a wonderful woman, Marthy Lou was. Maybe you’ll think I’m a bit crazy in the head, but I sometimes still talk to her, even though she’s been gone for all this time.”

  “Why are you out here all alone? Are you a farmer or rancher?”

  Cornbread chuckled. “I wouldn’t be much of a farmer out here, now would I?” he asked. “Can’t nothin’ grow out here but cactus and mesquite. Land ain’t much good for ranchin’ either. No ma’am, what I do is, I work for the railroad. I’m a track rider.”

  “What’s a track rider?”

  “That’s someone that rides alongside the track to make certain there ain’t no bad rails. If I find something I put up a signal for the engineer. One day I’ll ride ten miles north, then come back. The next day I go ten miles south, then come back. I only cover twenty miles of track, but I have to ride forty miles doin’ it.”

  “You don’t say. You know, when you are on a train, you never think about such things, but it’s people like you who keep the travelers safe. You ought to get more credit.”

  Cornbread shook his head and smiled. “No, I like it that people just take it for granted that the track is safe. That means that me’n the other track riders are doing our job.”

  After breakfast, Janelle walked outside with him. She watched while he saddled his horse in preparation of his ride for the day. He carried a couple biscuit and bacon sandwiches with him for his lunch.

  “You can fix anything you want to eat while I’m gone,” he said. “I’ll be back before nightfall.”

  “Thanks,” Janelle said.

  She watched Cornbread ride away, then returned to the cabin, Though it was very warm, she was at least out of the sun. With the window and the door open, she was able to enjoy a cross breeze.

  She thought of Mrs. Montgomery. Though Janelle had never met her she’d heard from Nellie that the woman had been thrilled with her new hat. Leaving Phoenix Janelle had been concerned only for herself, but now that she was in no immediate danger, she thought how difficult things must be for Mrs. Montgomery.

  She wished she could go to her and say a few words of comfort, but she knew she couldn’t. She figured the marshal had told Mrs. Montgomery that Janelle was responsible for Mr. Montgomery’s death. With no one to contradict the marshal, Mrs. Montgomery would have no choice but to believe it.

  Janelle hated that—the fact that Mrs. Montgomery would believe such evil of her—almost as much as she feared the consequences of being found and arrested for the murder. She had seen Marshal Cairns murder Mr. Montgomery, but the marshal was right, nobody would believe her over the city marshal.

  Why did the marshal do that?

  The map!

  Reaching down inside her bodice, she found the envelope she had taken from the back of the picture. Stuffed between her dress and the camisole underneath, it had been protected and was not soiled with sweat.

  Janelle took the map from the envelope and spread it open.

  At first she could make nothing of it but as she looked more closely she saw that the lines and squiggles were identified, though in a few cases she had to work to decipher the spelling. On the side of the mountain near Weaver’s Needle was an X beside which was annotated HOL IS HEER.

  Map to gold Mine

  Follow the salt river til you reech superstishen montan. Find Weevers Nedel, then look at the montan bhind the nedel.

  You haf to clum up the side of the montan to find it cuz the hol that gos into the mine can only be seed for a cupel minits in the aftrnun, and only for a cupel days in the erly sumer but evn if you caint see it, dont meen it aint ther caus tis. This heer X is the hol that gos into the mine. You haf to git down on yur belly and skiny thru to git inside wherats the gold.

  This heer map was drawd by Ben Hanlon

  Once Janelle managed to interpret the terrible spelling, she was able to decipher the map quite easily.

  “Oh, my,” she said aloud. “No wonder the marshal killed Mr. Montgomery to get this map. This is a real map to a real gold mine.”

  Folding the map up and putting it away, Janelle looked around the cabin to find something to occupy her time. Cornbread had said she could fix anything she wanted to eat and looking through all his possibilities, she saw that by using the dried apples she had brought, she would be able to make an apple pie.

  By late afternoon, the cabin was filled with the scent of cinnamon and baked apple. A pie, overlaid with strips of brown crust, sat on top of the stove—brown, aromatic, and pregnant with the promise of something very delicious.

  When Cornbread came back to the cabin that evening, a wide smile spread across his face. “Is this old nose a’ playin’ tricks on me?” he asked. “Could that be apple pie I’m smellin’?”

  “It is,” Janelle said. “I hope you don’t mind that I used some of your supplies for the ingredients.”

  “Mind? Darlin’, I’m happier than a pig in mud. Why, I ain’t had me no apple pie since Marthy Lou passed on.”

  That night they had a supper of cured ham and potatoes, followed by apple pie and coffee.

  “I don’t mean no disrespect to Marthy Lou, but this here may be about the best apple pie I ever et,” Cornbread said.

  Janelle laughed. “Or it could be that it has been so long since you had any apple pie that you have forgotten how good Martha Lou’s pie was.”

  “Yeah, it could be that, I reckon,” Cornbread said as he licked a little piece of apple from his finger. “But this here is awful good.”

  “Well, I thank you.”

  “No, ma’am, I thank you for makin’ it.”

  As Janelle watched Cornbread enjoy his pie, she thought of the map. Should she trust him with it? Deciding that she could, she said, “Cornbread, I want to show you something, get your opinion.

  “Darlin’, the opinion of an old man can’t be worth much, but if you want it, I’m willin’ to give it.”

  Janelle reached under the mattress of the bed and pulled out the map. “What do you make of this?” she asked.

  “Ha,” Cornbread said. “Looks to me like this is supposed to be a map of the Peralta Vein. ’Course there’s dozens of ’em for sale. Who’d you buy this one from?”

  “I didn’t buy it,” Janelle said. “I found it. What is the Peralta Vein?”

  “You ain’t never heer’d of the Peralta gold mine?”

  “No,” Janelle said.

  “Sometime’s it’s called the Lost Dutchman mine, because a feller by the name of Jacob Waltz is supposed to have found it. Anyways, there was this here feller by the name of Carlos Peralta, Mexican he was, who had him a gold mine here ’bouts on Superstition Mountain that is s’posed to be the biggest gold vein ever discovered. For a while he was takin’ gold out of the mine back to Mexico. But along about the time this here country transferred from Mexico to the U.S. ol’ Carlos brought in a large group of miners to take out as much gold as they could before the mine got took away from him. So what they done is, they started back to Mexico with a mule train loaded down with gold, but they was attacked by Apache Indians. And, at least accordin’ to the story, the Apache kilt all the miners, then took the mules but left the saddlebags loaded with gold ore behind.”

  “Is that true?” Janelle asked.

  “Well ma’am, I do know that Waltz showed up with a lot of gold.”

  “Then it is true.”

  Cornbread shrugged. “Who knows?” He reached for the map. “Let me look at it again.”

  Janelle handed the map to him and Cornbread looked at it again, then squinted as he tried to read the bottom line.

  “What’s this here say?” he asked. “My eyes ain’t all that good no more and this here is writ too little for me to read.”

  “It says that the map was drawn by Ben Hanlon,” Janelle said.
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  “Ben Hanlon, you say?” Cornbread replied, looking up in interest.

  “Yes. Is that significant?”

  Cornbread rubbed his chin, then he nodded. “It could be,” he said. “I know Ben Hanlon. He’s been prospectin’ around here for years. He’s spent some time with me in this very cabin. He ain’t the kind to make somethin’ up. If it was him what drawed the map, I don’t know. Could be somethin’ to it. Why you so interested? You goin’ to go look for the gold?”

  Janelle laughed. “I’m a city girl from New York,” she said. “Could you really see me poking around out in the desert, looking for gold?”

  Cornbread laughed as well. “No, I don’t reckon I could,” he said. “But if you was to take a notion to do it, I would use this map.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The next day, while Cornbread rode out on his track surveillance, Janelle found a trunk of clothes. Since they were mostly pants and shirts, she assumed they were old clothes of Cornbread’s, but she also found a couple dresses. As she examined the clothes more closely, she saw that the pants and shirts were all too small for Cornbread. On impulse, she took off her torn and stained dress, and put on the pants and shirt.

  They were a perfect fit.

  “I see you found Marthy Lou’s clothes,” Cornbread said when he returned that night.

  “Yes, I thought they might be hers,” Janelle said, “but being as they were pants and shirts, rather than dresses, I wasn’t sure.”

  “Dresses ain’t always the handiest things to wear out here,” Cornbread said.

  “Now that I have spent a few days here, I think I can understand why. I hope you don’t mind that I’m wearing your late wife’s clothes.”

  “Nope, I don’t mind a’tall,” Cornbread said. “Truth is, it pleasures me to see you a’ wearin’ ’em. It puts me in mind of Marthy Lou, and I know she would be real happy to see that the clothes was bein’ worn.”

  By the start of the fourth day Janelle felt she had recovered all her strength and when Cornbread returned after a day of riding the track, she announced that it was time for her to leave.

  “Ain’t no need for you to be rushin’ off,” Cornbread said.

  “I’d hardly say I was rushing off. I’ve imposed upon you for much too long now.”

  “You ain’t done no such a thing. I was a’ likin’ havin’ your company around.”

  “I have enjoyed your company as well,” Janelle said. “But I really do have to leave. Besides, this country is too wild and untamed for me,” Janelle said. “I think I’m going back to New York.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that? Whatever it is that made you leave New York is still there,” Cornbread said.

  “What? What do you mean whatever it is that made me leave New York? I haven’t said anything to give you that idea.”

  “You don’t need to say nothin’,” Cornbread said. “I can read folks’ eyes, same as I can read a critter’s eyes. You have run away from someone or something that put a deep hurt on you. All I’m sayin’ is, like as not when you go back that someone or something will still be there.”

  “You are a wise man, Cornbread.”

  “But you are still plannin’ on leavin’.” It was a comment, not a question.

  “Yes.”

  “That means you’ll be takin’ the train.”

  “Yes. That is, as soon as I can find a nearby depot.”

  “You don’t need a depot,” Cornbread said. “I can get you on the train. You don’t need no ticket, neither. That is, you don’t need none betwixt here and Phoenix.”

  “Phoenix?”

  “Yes, that’s near ’bout the closest place whereat there’s a depot.”

  “Oh, I-I don’t know that I want to go to Phoenix.”

  “Well, I reckon I could get you on a train to Tucson ’bout as easy as I can for Phoenix. Onliest thing is, if you’re aimin’ to go on to Superstition Mountain lookin’ for gold, you’ll need to do that from Phoenix.”

  “Who said I was going to look for the gold?”

  “Well, ain’t you? I would if I was you.”

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought of it before.”

  “But you’re thinkin’ of it now, ain’t you?”

  “Cornbread, do you really think there is anything to this map?”

  “Could be. Like I said, I know Ben Hanlon, and he ain’t one that goes around lyin’. If he drawed this map, then I’d say yeah, there is something to it. Before you go back to New York, you ought to at least look around for a bit.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Janelle said.

  Cornbread held up his finger as if asking for a moment’s pause in the conversation, then he went to the trunk that contained Martha Lou’s clothes. He pulled out four pairs of pants and four shirts, all clean and neatly folded. He handed them over to Janelle.”

  “You could start by takin’ these clothes.”

  “Oh, Cornbread, I couldn’t do that,” Janelle said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because they belonged to your wife.”

  “Darlin’, she sure won’t be a’ usin’ ’em now, will she?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “And like I told you, dresses ain’t exactly the kind of clothes you want to be wearin’ while pokin’ around out here.”

  “Cornbread, I don’t know what to say,” Janelle said, touched by his offer. “Other than thank you.”

  “They ain’t nothin’ wrong with thank you,” Cornbread said. “As far as I’m concerned, them’s always been a couple of pretty good words.”

  Janelle smiled broadly, then put her hand out to touch Cornbread’s hand.

  “Thank you, my friend. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

  “First thing tomorrow, we’ll go to the track and I’ll flag down the train. I’ll speak to the conductor and tell him you’re my kin. They’ll let you on for free.”

  “Why, thank you, Cornbread. I appreciate that. You have been a godsend to me.”

  Flagstaff, Arizona Territory

  It was late afternoon. Returning from New York Falcon had stopped in MacCallister to repack his luggage—from city clothes to clothes in which he would be more comfortable and that were more appropriate for mountain and desert. He also picked up his guns, and made arrangements to take his horse with him to Phoenix.

  He would have to change trains to continue on to Phoenix, so he checked on the status of Lightning to make certain that he had gotten off the train, too.

  “Yes, sir, we’ve got your horse right here, Mr. MacCallister. We have him checked on through to Albuquerque.”

  “No, not Albuquerque, Phoenix,” Falcon corrected.

  “Ah, Phoenix, is it? Well, then it’s a good thing you did check on him, isn’t it? Do you want him fed?”

  “Yes, feed him, then give him a good rubdown. The train for Phoenix leaves when? Ten o’clock tonight?”

  “I’d say it will be a little closer to eleven,” the station master said.

  “I’ll be back by ten-thirty, just to make certain.”

  The station master nodded. “Probably not a bad idea.”

  “Where is the best place to eat?”

  “We have a restaurant in the depot,” the station master said. “’Bout all you can get there is fried ham and fried potatoes, but folks tend to like it.”

  “These would be folks who have only a few minutes between trains?”

  “Yes, generally,” the depot manager replied.

  “I’ll look for a place downtown.

  Falcon gave his horse a few pats on the neck, turned to leave, and spotted a poster.

  WANTED FOR MURDER

  –a comely woman –

  JANELLE WELLINGTON

  $1,000.00 REWARD

  DEAD OR ALIVE!

  Contact Marshal Cairns, Phoenix, Arizona Territory

  Could this be the same Janelle Wellington he was looking for? It would have to be, surely there would not be two Jane
lle Wellington’s in a town no bigger than Phoenix. He had plenty of time before the train to Phoenix, so he decided to walk over to the sheriff’s office.

  The sheriff was the only one in the building, and he was sitting behind the desk, peeling an apple. His eyes were focused on the apple, and he was being extremely careful. From his dedication to the task at hand, it was obvious he was trying to pare the apple in one long, unbroken peel. So far he was having good luck. The long, thin strand of apple peel was coiling upon the desk beneath his knife. “I’ll be right with you,” he said without looking up.

  “Troy Calhoun,” Falcon said. “I haven’t seen you since that little ruckus back in Higbee.”

  The sheriff looked up, then smiled broadly. “Well, as I live and breathe, Falcon MacCallister!” he said. He reached up to shake Falcon’s hand and as he did, the long, thin apple peel broke apart.

  “Your apple peel broke.”

  “Ahh, I wasn’t going to make it to the end, anyway,” Troy said with a dismissive wave.

  “After what happened with your brothers Titus and Travis back in Higbee, I didn’t think you would ever have anything to do with the law business again.”

  “After what happened to them, I had to,” Calhoun said. “I’m doing this out of respect and honor for them.”

  Falcon nodded. “I can understand that,” he said. “But the question is how does Lucy feel about it?”

  “She’s all right with it,” Calhoun said. He smiled. “’Course it helps that nothing ever happens in this town. What brings you to Flagstaff?”

  “I’m on my way to Phoenix,” Falcon said.

  “Yeah, Phoenix is a bustling city. Near three thousand people I hear. That’s where near ’bout ever’one is goin’ these days. What are you goin’ for, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

  “I don’t mind at all, because it ties in with something I want to ask you.” Falcon walked over to the wall and perused a few of the wanted posters until he found the one he was looking for. Pulling it down, he took it over to Calhoun and showed it to him. “You know anything about this?”