Slaughter of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  Calhoun nodded. “Yeah, a little. According to the warrant out on her, she supposedly killed a banker down in Phoenix.”

  “Supposedly?”

  Calhoun stroked his chin for a moment. “Falcon, why are you interested in this?”

  “I’m looking for this woman,” he said.

  “You mean she’s wanted someplace other than down in Maricopa County? What did she do?”

  Falcon shook his head. “It’s not like that,” he said. “She’s the daughter of some friends of my brother and sister back in New York. The parents are quite wealthy, and they have asked me to find her and take her back to New York.”

  “She comes from a wealthy family, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, if you was just guessin’, you wouldn’t guess someone like her would get mixed up in shootin’ a banker, would you?”

  “I’ve not met her yet, but I have met her parents, and from what I know of them I would say no—she is not someone I would expect to find in a predicament like this.”

  “Uh-huh, that’s sort of what I thought,” Troy said.

  “Why? Have you heard something about this case?”

  Troy shook his head. “No, not directly. But the sheriff that got the warrant put out on her is Jimmy Cairns. From what I know of Jimmy Cairns, he’s just the kind of lowlife bastard that would do somethin’ like that.”

  “Jimmy Cairns? Wait a minute, are you talking about the Jimmy Cairns who was once a deputy for Wyatt Earp?”

  “So I hear,” Troy said.

  “And you say he is a lowlife?”

  “I guess one law officer shouldn’t talk about another one this way, but in my book he is about as low as they come,” Troy said.

  “Is that just from what people say? Or have you ever had a run-in with him.”

  Troy nodded. “Oh, yeah, you might say I had a run-in with him.”

  “What happened?”

  “Last year I had the occasion to deliver a prisoner to him. All the way down to Phoenix, the prisoner kept tellin’ me that if I turned him over to Marshal Cairns, I was signin’ his death warrant. I figured he was just talkin’, but before I left town to come back up here, that prisoner was already dead. He ‘tried to escape’ Marshal Cairns said.”

  “Maybe he did try to escape.”

  “No, I don’t think so. In fact, Muley, that was the prisoner’s name, Muley Carson. Muley told me that Cairns would kill him, then claim that he tried to escape, and that’s exactly what happened.”

  “Why would Cairns do that?”

  “Muley said he had somethin’ on Cairns, somethin’ that if it got out, it would cause him a lot of trouble.”

  “Did Carson tell you what it was?”

  “No. All he said was that his only chance of stayin’ alive was to not tell anyone about whatever it is he knew about Cairns. But as it turns out, that didn’t help him a-tall. Cairns kilt him anyway, and I’m the one that delivered Muley to him. That’s been stickin’ in my craw ever since.”

  “Wasn’t your fault, Troy. You were only doing your job.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I tell myself. I’m having a hard time making myself believe that, though.”

  “I’m not doubting your word any, Troy. But you have to admit, that doesn’t sound like the kind of person Wyatt would have working for him.”

  “I know,” Troy said. “It puzzled me some at first too, but I have to tell you, Falcon, it ain’t just what happened to Muley. I’ve heard a few other stories about him as well. I don’t know, I can’t explain it, but maybe he went bad after he left Earp. Or maybe gettin’ hisself elected sheriff just went to his head. Gettin’ into a position of power like that sometimes causes folks to do that. But I tell you true, Falcon, there ain’t nobody I know who has ever met him that likes him. That’s why I’m sayin’ if he’s the one who took out the warrant on this woman, there could be some reason for it, other than the woman actually bein’ guilty.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hell, Falcon, for all I know the son of a bitch could have killed the banker his ownself and is just doin’ this to cover up. I’m thinkin’ that if you want to get that woman back to her folks alive, you’d better find her before Cairns does. Because whatever happened down there, I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t wind up just like Muley did.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  Troy looked at the wanted poster in his hand then, with a shrug, he wadded it up and threw it in the trash basket. “Well, if it does happen, I don’t aim to help him this time. Not even by keeping the poster up.”

  “There is another one down at the depot.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it won’t be up for long. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just take a walk down there with you and get that one too,” Troy said.

  “I don’t mind at all,” Falcon said. “In fact, my train doesn’t leave until ten-thirty tonight, so I was about to go have some supper. How would you like to come with me?”

  “I’d love to come,” Troy said. “Say, Falcon, you wouldn’t mind if we stopped by the house and picked up the missus, would you? I know Lucy would love to see you again.”

  Falcon chuckled. “Troy, I know it’s been a while since we saw each other, but do you think I’ve changed so much that I would pass up the opportunity to have supper with a pretty woman? By all means, let’s invite her. Only thing is, I hope you have a place in mind as to where to go. I don’t know Flagstaff that well.”

  “I know exactly where to go, and it will be my treat.”

  “Nonsense, it’ll my treat,” Falcon said.

  Troy smiled sheepishly. “Well, it won’t exactly be my treat. There is a restaurant in town where I can eat anytime I want, and the city picks up the tab. It’s part of my pay.”

  Falcon laughed out loud. “All right. In that case, I would be happy to let the city buy my supper.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Phoenix

  Behind Janelle, the train popped, snapped, and gurgled as the boiler kept up the steam pressure. Cornbread had managed to get her a ride on a train that took her right back to the place she had fled. As he explained, if she really did intend to look for the gold on Ben Hanlon’s map, she would need to start from Phoenix. She didn’t protest, because she didn’t want him to know she had run away from there.

  But was it safe for her?

  The first thing Janelle saw when she walked across the depot platform was a wanted poster, offering a one thousand dollar reward for her, DEAD OR ALIVE.

  She had seen other wanted posters since coming out West, and remembered thinking how quaint—and a little frightening—they were. But this dodger was about her! That made it even more frightening.

  The wanted poster was nailed to the outside wall of the depot so that every arriving and departing train passenger could see it, and Janelle stepped up closer to examine it a bit more carefully.

  Seeing the words Dead or Alive gave her a chill. One thousand dollars was a lot of money, and it could tempt almost anyone to collect it. The fact that the reward would be paid, dead or alive, meant that, for all intents and purposes, she had already been found guilty.

  At least there was no picture of her, nor was there any description beyond “a comely woman.” And that, Janelle knew, could fit many women.

  She wasn’t sure what she should do next. She wanted, desperately, to go back to her room at Mrs. Poindexter’s Boarding House, if for no other reason than to get her clothes, and the little amount of money she had there. But she was afraid to. She didn’t think she had any fear from Mrs. Poindexter. She was sure her host didn’t believe she was really guilty of murder. At the very least, she would be willing to listen to Janelle’s side of the story. So would Mr. and Mrs. Buckner, she believed.

  But to see either of them could put them in danger, and Janelle didn’t want to do that.

  “Excuse me, sonny,” a man said. The man was pushing a handcart, loaded with luggage, and Janelle stepped out of the way for h
im.

  Excuse me sonny? Is that what he said?

  Janelle looked over at the window opening into the waiting room of the depot, and saw her reflection. She was wearing the shirt and pants she had gotten from Cornbread, and her hair was piled up under an old slouch hat. She looked nothing at all like the beautiful, sophisticated woman who once graced the most elegant salons of New York. She also didn’t look like the young woman who, for the last couple months, had worked in Buckner’s Ladies’ Emporium, nor even like the woman who had ridden Vexation in the Independence Day race. And she certainly didn’t look like someone who could be described as a “comely woman.”

  In fact, she didn’t look like a woman at all. She looked for all the world like a young man.

  Sonny! The man had called her sonny, because he thought she was a man!

  Janelle smiled, broadly. That was it! That was how she could avoid the sheriff, or anyone else who might be looking for her. From now on her name was Joe—she stopped to think for a moment, trying to come up with a last name.

  “Henry, you are standing too close to the track. What if you fell, and the train ran over you? Get away from there, now,” a woman’s shrill voice yelled.

  “Oh, Mama, I’m not standing too close. And I want to see the train,” a young boy replied.

  “Henry Taylor, you do what I said! Get away from that railroad track!”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Henry, Janelle thought. That will be my last name. Joe Henry.

  All right, she had a disguise and a name. But where was she going to stay, and how was she going to live? She couldn’t take a chance on going back to the boardinghouse. Even in the camouflage, she was certain that Mrs. Poindexter would recognize her. She had no doubt the hosteler would do nothing to betray her, but there was still the possibility of putting Mrs. Poindexter in a compromising position, which Janelle did not want to do.

  As she was contemplating what she should do next, she saw a possible solution on the same wall where her wanted poster was being displayed. Not too far away was another poster. Instead of frightening her, it offered opportunity.

  HELP WANTED

  God-fearing Boy

  To work at Housewright’s Livery Stable.

  Must be good with horses.

  Good wages and room furnished for honest work.

  “I don’t know,” Murray Housewright said when Janelle applied for the job. “I have to tell you, you look a might puny to me.”

  Janelle swallowed a chuckle, because Murray Housewright was at least an inch shorter than she was, and couldn’t have weighed much over 140 pounds. But, tactfully, she withheld comment.

  “What would I have to be handling that is any heavier than a pitchfork for mucking out stalls, a saddle, or a bale of hay?” Janelle asked, establishing as low a register as she could with her voice. “I can muck out shit with the best of them.”

  She purposely used that word to make herself seem more masculine, though in truth, the word almost hung up in her throat.

  “Well, maybe you can and maybe you can’t. The real question is, can you handle horses? You see, we not only board horses, we rent ’em, too.”

  “I can handle horses.”

  “You can ride?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I don’t mean can you just seat a horse that’s been broke to ride gentle. I mean can you ride a horse that sometimes has a mean streak?”

  “I am quite good with horses,” Janelle said.

  “I don’t know. You don’t look all that much like someone who can ride.”

  “What is your most difficult horse?” Janelle asked.

  “That would be Prince John, I reckon,” Housewright said. “He don’t buck, or nothin’ like that. But he likes to run and jump. That horse would rather jump over somethin’ than go around it, and sometimes folks who are just rentin’ a horse ain’t quite ready to deal with somethin’ like that.”

  “If I can ride that horse, will it prove to you I can handle horses?”

  “You’re wantin’ to ride Prince John?” Housewright asked with a knowing grin.

  “Yes.”

  Housewright chuckled. “You don’t have no idea what you are gettin’ yourself into,” he said. “But if you’re wantin’ to ride Prince John, be my guest.” He made a sweeping gesture with his right arm toward one of the filled stalls.

  Looking across the stall door at her was a very handsome chestnut horse, standing just over sixteen hands high. Janelle thought she saw a lot of intelligence and a bit of whimsy in the horse’s steady gaze. She walked over to the horse and stroked him on the face. “Hello, Prince John, How would you like to go for a nice ride?”

  “There are the saddles,” Housewright said, pointing to a rack. “Go pick you one out.”

  Janelle knew the test had already started, for there were several saddles, and she had to pick the one that was best suited for Prince John, not only according to the condition of the saddle, but also because of Prince John’s conformity.

  She ran her hands over several saddles before picking one and, as she started toward Prince John’s stall, she saw by the expression on Housewright’s face that she had chosen well.

  Janelle put on a blanket, then the saddle. She tightened the cinch, then slapping Prince John on the side, got him to relax so she could tighten it again.

  Housewright chuckled. “I wasn’t goin’ to tell you ’bout that,” he said. “But ol’ Prince John, he likes to swell up like a toad first time you try ’n saddle him. That way the saddle sometimes slips off. But you done it just right.”

  Once Prince John was saddled, Janelle mounted him, then rode into the paddock. She slapped her legs against his side and Prince John reared up. Janelle hung on easily, and when he came back down on all fours, he bolted forward. Seeing a watering trough that protruded out from a windmill she headed directly for it, as the horse gathered himself for the jump. He sailed easily over the watering trough, then continued on the other side.

  As she had with Vexation, she gave Prince John his head, allowing him to race all the way around the paddock, staying close to the fence. Finally she trotted back to where Housewright was standing, brought him to a halt, then slid gracefully down from the saddle.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Do I know you, boy?” Housewright asked.

  Suddenly Janelle realized she had almost exactly duplicated the ride she had done with Vexation, and she felt a quick twinge of fear that she might be recognized.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Janelle replied. “I just arrived on the train, today.”

  “You just arrived today, did you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, that’s funny, ’cause it sure seems to me like I’ve seen you before.”

  “What about the job, Mr. Housewright? Am I hired?”

  “What? Oh, yes, yes indeed. I need another person to work here, and there ain’t no doubt as to whether or not you can ride. If you want the job, it’s your’n.”

  “Yes, I very much want the job. Thanks.”

  For the next few days, Janelle’s job consisted of feeding, watering, and rubbing down the horses. She also had to muck out a few stalls, but at least it was a paying job, and it gave her a place to stay. Her plan was to make enough money to outfit herself, then see if she really could use the map to locate the mine.

  She learned very quickly that Ben Hanlon, the man who had drawn the map, was dead. The story was he had died while in the jail, as a result of being beaten and robbed. But Janelle was convinced that Cairns had killed him. She had no proof of course, and not even any evidence to suggest such a thing. But she had seen him kill Mr. Montgomery over the map, so it was not hard for her to believe that he killed Hanlon as well.

  She knew, also, that if he discovered she was the “boy” working at Housewright’s stable, he would kill her and get away with it, since she was wanted, dead or alive.

  A couple times she saw Nellie Buckner, and once she saw Mrs. Poinde
xter. She wanted desperately to go to them, to tell them who she was, but she bit her lip, continued her work, and watched them from afar.

  “Joe?” Housewright called.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Somebody just told me that Corey Minner is down at the depot. He rented a horse from me last week, and he ain’t never brought it back. I want you to go get the horse from him.”

  “How do I do that?” Janelle asked.

  “Well hell, boy, you just go up to him and ask for it,” Housewright said.

  “All right.”

  Janelle started to leave, but Housewright called out to her. “Boy?”

  She didn’t respond to the call.

  “Joe?”

  She gasped then, realizing she had not responded when called boy. She would have to watch that. She turned back toward him.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Listen, Minner is, well, he ain’t that friendly of a man. So if he gives you any gruff about givin’ the horse back to you, don’t you go pushin’ him, if you know what I mean.”

  Janelle knew about Corey Minner. Though she had never met him in person, she had heard about his run-in with Ken Buckner. Anyone who couldn’t get along with Ken Buckner, or who would purposely pick on him, couldn’t be that good of a man.

  “If Minner says no, just walk on down to the marshal’s office and tell him. Let the marshal get the horse back.”

  “The marshal?” Janelle replied with a catch in her voice. She knew Minner was an unpleasant person, but no matter how unpleasant he might be, there was no chance he would recognize her. On the other hand, there was a very good chance the marshal would. She had no intention of going to the marshal. “I don’t think we’ll need him,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, if you do need him, go get him. After all, that’s what we pay him for. We don’t pay him to go huntin’ some woman who the whole town don’t believe kilt Montgomery anyway.”

  That was the first time Janelle had ever heard mention of her situation, and the fact that Housewright said nobody believed she was guilty was encouraging. But she still felt it was probably better to keep her identity a secret.