Defiance of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “Sounds like Doc is trying to bluff his way into a pot,” Pogue said. “I see your dollar and raise it one.”

  “I’m in,” Falcon said.

  “Call,” Doc said.

  “Call? You mean you really do have something?” Pogue asked.

  Doc turned up three aces.

  “I’ll be damn,” Pogue said. “You’ve got me beat.”

  “Me, too,” Falcon said.

  Chuckling, Doc began raking in the pot, when he saw young Jimmy Barnes coming into the saloon. Jimmy was wearing a Western Union cap and carrying an envelope in his hand. He looked around for a moment, then seeing the cardplayers, hurried over to the table.

  “Mr. MacCallister, you have a telegram,” he said.

  Falcon picked up a fifty-cent piece from the stack of coins in front of him and handed it to Jimmy.

  “Thank you, sir!” Jimmy said, smiling broadly.

  Falcon opened the telegram, read it, then frowned.

  “Bad news, Falcon?” Doc asked.

  Falcon showed Frazier the telegram.

  MEGAN’S SON IN LAW KILLED STOP HER DAUGHTER

  TAKEN BY OUTLAWS STOP ASKING 20,000 FOR HER

  SAFE RETURN STOP PLEASE COME STOP MATTHEW

  “Megan? Isn’t she your sister that married that English lord or duke or whatever he is?” Frazier asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Wait a minute. She got married not too long ago, didn’t she? You went to her wedding, I think.”

  “Yes, I did. Jimmy?”

  “Yes, sir?” the Western Union delivery boy replied.

  “Have the telegrapher send this reply for me. Taking next train.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jimmy said.

  Falcon stood up, and when he did, the others stood as well.

  “Gentlemen, I hate to leave the game, especially when I’m losing. But I’m going to Montana.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “We didn’t tell you in the telegram, but we know who killed Johnny, and who has Mary Kate,” Morgan said when Falcon showed up at Brimstone Ranch.

  “Who was it?” Falcon asked.

  “Boyd Ackerman. Have you ever heard of him?”

  “Ackerman, yes, I have heard of him. I gave testimony for the prosecution when he was court-martialed for failure to go to Colonel Cahill’s aid.”

  “Yes, that’s the Ackerman we’re talking about. But he’s been quite busy since he left the army. Here’s an article that ran in the Helena Independent a while ago,” Matthew said. “Read this first, then you’ll get an idea as to what we are dealing with.”

  The article had been cut from the newspaper and was only a small square. Falcon held it under the light to read.

  Boyd Ackerman is a former Major in the U.S. Army who was cashiered out a few years ago for dereliction of duty. Now he leads a group of former soldiers, commanding them like a military unit. They have robbed banks, held up stagecoaches, and even rustled a few cattle. But because there are so many of them, and because they are so well organized, no sheriff has been able to deal with them. Authorities attribute at least ten murders to Ackerman’s Raiders, and think there may well be many more.

  “Ackerman’s Raiders?” Falcon asked, looking up after he finished the article.

  “Yeah, the arrogant son of a bitch came up with that name himself,” Matthew said. “He’s actually written a few letters to the newspapers. Would you like to read one of them?”

  “Yes.”

  Matthew handed his younger brother another piece cut from the paper.

  TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC:

  Never, at any time, was it my intention to become an outlaw. I am a proud graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point. I graduated with honors, and because of my score was given my choice of branches in which I could serve. I chose the cavalry because I wanted to serve my country.

  During my service, I participated in several engagements with the Indians, serving with intrepidity, but when I was ordered on what would have been a suicide mission for me, and for the men under me, I refused to carry it out. Had I done so another two hundred soldiers would have been slaughtered, to lie beside the men that Colonel Cahill so arrogantly wasted.

  Because of that I was court-martialed and drummed out of the army, an institution that I had intended to serve until old age mandated retirement. I was unfairly treated and turned on by the army I so loved. Now, I have taken a new path. I have riding with me several superbly trained soldiers. These men are intensely loyal to me, and will do anything I ask of them. I call my command Ackerman’s Raiders, and I believe that we are fully the equal to any army command of twice our strength. There is no sheriff’s department, no U.S. Marshal and a cadre of deputies, nor a posse of civilians who would dare come after us. Be warned that should such a group attempt this foolish effort, they would do so at their own peril.

  MAJOR BOYD ACKERMAN

  Ackerman’s Raiders,

  Commander.

  “That is the letter of an arrogant man,” Falcon asked.

  “And brutal. He has been terrorizing Montana and Wyoming for the last three years,” Matthew said. “And, like he says in his letter, he has his own private army, which makes it very difficult for a sheriff with no more than one or two deputies to deal with him.”

  “I really don’t know that much about him,” Falcon said. “As you recall, Edward, my testimony was more along the lines of, could a rescue operation have reached Cahill and if so, would it have made any difference? The more we know about him, the easier it will be to come up with a plan of operation to find him.”

  “What do you want to know about him?” Edward asked. It wasn’t a question of curiosity; it was, rather, a question that promised some sort of response. “Specifically,” he added. “Since I was his commanding officer, I can tell you anything you need to know.”

  “You are also the one who brought charges against him, aren’t you?” Morgan asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then this isn’t just a matter of trying to get money from you, is it? It’s also revenge.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

  “Good,” Falcon said.

  “Good? What a piquant thing to say. Why would his wish to extract revenge from me be a good thing?” Edward asked.

  “Because it means he has his emotions tied up in this,” Falcon said, explaining his response. “And when people have an emotional investment in something, they often make mistakes. And that’s exactly what we need Ackerman to do.”

  “Oh, yes, I think I see what you are saying.”

  “Has Ackerman made contact with you since he took Mary Kate?”

  “No. We have only the bill he left plastered on Johnny’s corral gate,” Edward said. He showed Falcon the poster.

  “Have you posted an ad in the newspaper?”

  “No,” Edward said.

  “We told him not to,” Matthew said. “We thought we would wait for you, and see what you thought.”

  “Let’s post something and see if we can smoke him out,” Falcon said.

  “What paper should we use?” Edward asked.

  “Does Deer Lodge City have a newspaper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I expect that is the paper he will be watching. Which means he probably isn’t too far from here, right now.”

  “All right,” Edward said. “What should we say?”

  “We’ll work on it a bit,” Falcon said. “I’m sure we can come up with something.”

  “I know Jim Mills, editor of the Deer Lodge Examiner, quite well,” Edward said. “We can meet with him today.”

  “As I understand it, so far we are the only ones who know that Ackerman and his men are the ones who did this. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s keep it this way. It is always good to have a piece of information that your enemy doesn’t know you have. If Ackerman didn’t leave his name on this note, then he didn’t intend for us to know yet. And at this point he has n
o reason to be aware that we know who he is. We’ll see if we can work that to our advantage.”

  “So, what’s our first step?” Megan asked.

  “First thing we do is go into town and put an ad in the paper just like he asked. Then, Edward, if you would, I’d like you to put what you know about Ackerman on paper. Don’t hold anything back, if he has any particular skills or abilities, put that down. Don’t let your dislike of him, or your concern over Mary Kate, color your perception.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Edward said.

  The Deer Lodge Examiner was the second newspaper in Deer Lodge, the first being the Weekly Independent, which moved to Helena. The Examiner’s office was a long, narrow building with a big glass front, upon which was painted, in black letters, outlined in red, the name of the newspaper. A counter separated the front of the building from the back, where sat the type drawers, the composing tables, and the press. Jim Mills, the owner, was wearing an ink-stained apron when he stepped to the counter to greet Edward and the MacCallisters.

  “Yes, what can I do for you folks?” he asked, then he saw Edward. “Colonel Hamilton,” he said. “Have you any news on your daughter?”

  “No, nothing, I’m afraid,” Edward said. He unfolded the paper that had been left. “I didn’t mention this before, but this was left by the man who killed Johnny and took Mary Kate. As you can see, he wants us to respond by newspaper.”

  “This newspaper?” Mills asked.

  “We are assuming it will be this newspaper,” Falcon said. “Since he knows Colonel Hamilton lives here.”

  “And you are?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you knew him,” Edward said. “You’ve met two of my brothers-in-law, Morgan and Matthew MacCallister. This is another brother-in-law, Falcon MacCallister.”

  Mills’s eyes opened wide. “Falcon MacCallister?” he said. He smiled broadly and extended his hand. “I am very pleased to meet you, sir. I have heard much about you.”

  Falcon shook Mills’s hand. “Good to meet you as well,” he said.

  “So, the killer wants a response by newspaper, does he? All right, what do we want to say?”

  “First, we want you to print an article that says the sheriff still doesn’t know who the killer is,” Falcon said.

  “Why in heaven’s name should we do that?” Mills asked, confused by the request.

  “He doesn’t know, does he?”

  “No, he doesn’t, but do you really think that is information we should let the killer know?”

  “We want to give him a real sense of security,” Falcon said. “As long as he knows that we don’t know who he is, he won’t be quite as guarded. He may do something that would give us an advantage,” Falcon said.

  “Yes, yes, I think I see what you mean. All right, I’ll write such an article. Now you said something about the killer wanting you to place an ad?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want the ad to say?”

  “I have it written out here,” Edward said, handing a sheet of notebook paper to the editor.

  To the person who recently visited my son-in-law and daughter:

  You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You know who I am but I don’t know who you are. You have something that I very much prize, and you have proposed a price for dealing.

  I am sure we can do business. Please do nothing to lower the value of the product before our negotiations can be conducted.

  I beg of you to contact me. You know how to reach me.

  “Is this all there is? Do you not want to sign your name?” Mills asked.

  “No, I think not. I think the more we can keep this business between just me and whoever did this, the better our chances will be for a satisfactory solution.”

  “But, Colonel, I’ve already printed one article, shortly after it happened. And of course there was the funeral, so everyone knows about it.”

  “Yes, that can’t be contained. They know of the crime, but they don’t know, nor do I want anyone to know, of the ongoing negotiations. You have to understand, Jim, that what I want, the thing that is most important to me in the world, is the safe return of my daughter.”

  “Yes, I understand. All right, Colonel, I’ll do what I can to help you.”

  “You will have my eternal gratitude,” Edward said.

  Later that afternoon, Edward brought a piece of paper to Falcon. “I’ve made as honest an appraisal of Ackerman as I can,” he said.

  “Thank you, Edward,” Falcon said, taking the paper.

  Boyd Ackerman graduated from West Point with honors. He was a very good soldier, though a bit of a martinet who demanded strict discipline among the men who served under him. He is an excellent marksman and horseman. He understands tactics and strategy, and well knows the difference. If engaged in a shooting battle, he knows how to deploy his men for the best possible utilization, and would, I feel, be quite formidable.

  On the negative side, he is overconfident to the point of arrogance, and rarely admits that he is wrong. This makes him somewhat less flexible, and, perhaps susceptible to innovative tactics used against him.

  He has poor impulse control, limited tolerance for frustration, and an explosive temper. And on a personal level, though I have reason to justify this thought, other than my own feelings, I don’t think he likes women. I think he tends to be intimidated by them.

  “Very good, Edward, this will be helpful information to know,” Falcon said.

  “What do we do next?” Megan asked.

  “Now, we wait for Ackerman to make the next move,” Falcon said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Colorado State Prison, Cañon City

  Mo Fong and Harvey Hood were four years into their twenty-year prison sentence, and at the moment they were in the rock pit, breaking rocks. Some of the rocks were used to construct roadbed, but the primary purpose of breaking rocks was to keep the prisoners busy. They not only wanted to keep the prisoners busy, they wanted to keep them on the edge of exhaustion all the time. The reasoning for that was a belief that prisoners who were tired were prisoners who were easily controlled.

  “I’ll be damned!” Hood said. “Hey, Booker!” he called to the guard. “Come here, look at this! Damned if I don’t think I’ve discovered gold.”

  “There ain’t no gold here. Prisoners been breakin’ rocks in this pit for five years now, there ain’t been one ounce of gold found.”

  “Yeah? Well there’s gold in Colorado, ain’t they?” Hood asked. “Ever’ body knows that. And I just found some.”

  “What if you have? It sure ain’t goin’ to do you no good, bein’ as you’re in prison ’n all,” Booker said.

  “No, but you ain’t in prison. You could take it into town ’n sell it. You can keep half of it, and maybe some tobacco and a few other things for me.”

  “And for me,” Fong said. “Don’t forget, me ’n you’s partners.”

  “Look at it, Mo,” Hood said. “You think that’ll be enough for both of us?”

  “Hell, yeah. I’ll bet there’s three ounces there, maybe more. Where was that rock, I’m goin’ to start breakin’ ’em there.”

  “Me, too!” one of the other prisoners said enthusiastically, moving over to where Hood had been working.

  “All right, let me look at it,” Booker said, curious now.

  Hood walked over to him, holding the rock out. But just before he reached Booker, he dropped the rock and it started rolling down the hill.

  “Damn! What did you drop it for?” Booker said. He turned his head to look at the rolling rock, and Fong looped the chain that was stretched between his hands around Booker’s neck. He twisted it tight, and Booker dropped his rifle and put both hands up to try and resist the chain. Booker struggled, trying to draw a breath, then after a moment he went limp. Fong kept the chain around him.

  “Get his rifle, Harvey,” he said.

  Hood moved over quickly to retrieve the rifle. Not until he had it did Hood release the pressure on Booker
’s neck. He fell to the ground, dead.

  “Get his keys, get his keys!” one of the other prisoners said.

  Hood got the keys, unlocked his chains, then unlocked Fong’s chains.

  “Set us loose, set us loose!” one of the other three prisoners shouted.

  Hood threw the key ring as far as he could throw it.

  “Sorry, boys, but two can travel a lot faster, and without arousing as much suspicion as five. If you can find the keys, you can set yourself free.”

  “Come on!” one of the men shouted to the others. “Let’s find those keys!”

  Hood and Fong started in the opposite direction from the prison, moving quickly.

  Five miles away from the rock pit where Hood and Fong made good their escape, sixteen-year-old Drew Tindol was working in the barn when his fifteen-year-old sister, Molly, came to get him.

  “Mama says to wash up for dinner,” Molly said. “But look at you. You’re so dirty you won’t be clean by suppertime.”

  Drew began pumping water into a basin. “And you think you are clean?”

  “I’m always clean,” Molly said. “I keep myself clean.”

  Suddenly Drew threw the basin of water at Molly. “Now you are a lot cleaner!” he said, laughing loudly.

  “Oh! Oh! Drew, stop that!” Molly shouted, turning and running back into the house.

  Molly was still complaining to her mother when Drew went inside.

  “Drew, apologize to your sister,” his mother demanded.

  “I’m sorry, Molly. I was just funnin’ you. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I tell you what, I’ll let you ride Prince this afternoon.”

  “You will?” Molly asked, breaking into a smile.

  “Sure. If you forgive me.”

  “I forgive you,” Molly said.

  “Good, here’s your father. I’m glad this is all settled,” Molly’s mother said.