Thunder of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  From the Higbee Journal

  NEW RAILROAD TO BE BUILT.

  Financing Already in Place to Connect

  Higbee with Rest of the Nation.

  Wade Garrison, a former general in the Army of the Confederacy, is a man who is used to getting things done. He has applied the skill and leadership that served him so ably in the great War Between the States to a more peaceful pursuit, and all will benefit from it.

  General Garrison has put into motion the plans to build a railroad that will connect Higbee to La Junta to the north, and Big Spring, Texas, to the south. Such a railroad will mean that Higbee can take its place among the major cities of the nation, and indeed, phenomenal growth is predicted as a result.

  General Garrison has chosen Higbee as the headquarters of the new railroad, to be called the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas line, though it shall be quickly recognized by the initials CNM&T.

  Signs of the new railroad will be evident within days, as General Garrison intends to build the Higbee Depot immediately. According to the general, the construction material has already been ordered, and will arrive within the week. The office of the CNM&T, currently housed in a small building on Front Street, will be moved to the depot once construction is completed.

  Between La Junta and Higbee

  Taking on a load from the depot warehouse, three freight wagons belonging to the Bob Thompson Wagon Freight Company left La Junta at ten o’clock in the morning with the expectation of arriving in Higbee by noon. Norman True was the lead driver. True was the oldest of the three, and had been driving for Mr. Thompson from the day Thompson started the operation ten years earlier. The other two drivers were much younger, one a mere boy of sixteen.

  The wooden seat of the wagon gave off the familiar scent of weathered wood when heated by the sun that beat down upon it, and while some complained that it was a somewhat stale smell, True liked it. To him, it was as familiar, and comfortable, as a pair of old shoes.

  Loaded with lumber and building supplies, the three wagons belonging to the Thompson Wagon Freight Company rolled slowly across the southeast Colorado Plateau.

  “You holding up all right, Mickey?” True called to the boy, who was in the wagon directly behind him.

  “Yes, sir,” Mickey called back. “I’m gettin’ a mite hungry, though.”

  True laughed. “You was born hungry, Mickey,” he said. “But if we don’t get no rain, I expect we’ll be there by noon.”

  True had teased the boy for being hungry, but the truth was, he was hungry as well. Sometimes he brought a lunch to work, but today he would go home for lunch. His wife had put on beans to soak last night, and began cooking them with a ham bone this morning. He figured on having beans and cornbread for lunch, and the thought of it caused his stomach to growl.

  He snapped the reins against the back of the mule team that was pulling the wagon, not to increase their speed, since they were already walking at a good five miles per hour, but just to let them know he was still here. In response, one of the mules lifted its tail and farted.

  “Damn, Rhoda!” True said. “You got the smelliest farts of any critter on God’s green earth.”

  Less than a quarter of a mile ahead of the three wagons, four men waited in a stand of trees. One of the trees near the road had been chopped and notched out.

  “How much more before you can fall the tree?” Ray Clinton asked.

  “Three, four, maybe five chops ought to do it. I don’t expect it’ll take any more than that.”

  “All right, get ready. I’ll give you the sign.”

  Ray watched the wagons approach. Then, as they drew even with the western edge of the little thicket, he brought his hand down.

  “Now!” he shouted.

  Behind him he heard three more blows of the ax, then the creaking snapping sound of a large tree coming down. It fell through branches of neighboring trees, then hit the ground with a loud crashing noise, sending up a cloud of dust as it did so. The tree fell in such a way as to completely block the road.

  True heard the tree coming down before he saw it, and having once worked as a lumberjack, he recognized the sound immediately. He hauled back on the team, stopping the wagon just as the tree crashed across the road in front of him.

  “Hey!” he called. “Are you a fool, falling a tree across the road like that? Don’t you know that could kill someone? Besides which, how are we supposed to get through here?”

  Four men came riding out of the woods then, and they approached the wagons as calmly as if they were about to ask for directions.

  “You ain’t,” one of the riders said.

  “I know you,” True said. “You’re one of the Clintons, ain’t you?”

  Cletus pulled his pistol and shot True at point-blank range.

  “Mr. True!” Mickey called, but before he could say another word, he was also shot.

  The driver of the third wagon jumped down and started to run.

  “Run him down,” Ray Clinton shouted, and the other two riders spurred their horses into a gallop. Catching up with him, they shot him as well.

  “Burn the wagons.”

  Cletus Clinton had a can of kerosene tied to his saddle, and he began pouring it on the three wagons. Then, going back to each one, he struck a match and dropped it on the little wet spot of kerosene, and the flames leapt up. In less than a minute, all three wagons were burning.

  “Let’s go,” Ray said.

  Higbee

  Kathleen Garrison was waiting in the freight office for Mr. Thompson to come back in from the wagon yard. She was an exceptionally pretty girl, tall and willowy, with high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and long, chestnut hair that hung down her back.

  Thompson came back inside. “I checked with the others,” he said. “I don’t reckon True has come in yet. Ain’t nobody seen him, and the wagons is still gone.”

  “I thought they would be here by noon,” Kathleen said. “That’s what we were told.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know that’s what we told you,” Thompson agreed. “I don’t know what’s keepin’ him. He should’a been in a couple of hours ago. Could be one of the wagons broke an axle or something. If so, they would have all stayed back until it got fixed.”

  “My father really needs those supplies, Mr. Thompson,” Kathleen said. “Would you please send someone over to let us know the moment they arrive?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that,” Thompson replied. He chuckled. “Even though I’m sort of diggin’ my own grave, so to speak. I mean, if your pa gets that railroad built, then who’ll be usin’ my freight wagons?”

  “Why, Mr. Thompson,” Kathleen said. “When the railroad is built, your business is likely to double.”

  “Double? How do you see that?”

  “How do you suppose people who have things to ship by rail are going to get them here to the railhead?” Kathleen asked. “They’ll have to use your wagons. And with the railroad will come more people, which means more business.”

  Thompson stroked his chin for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling broadly. “Yeah, now that I think about it, you might just be right at that.”

  “Of course, I’m right,” Kathleen said.

  “You tell the general I’ll let him know the moment the shipment gets here.”

  “I’ll do that, Mr. Thompson, and thank you.” Leaving the freight office, Kathleen walked down to the opposite end of town to a small building that was attached to the side of the hardware store. A sign in front of the building advertised this to be the office of the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas Railroad Company, though as Garrison was quick to point out, this was only temporary.

  A little bell rang when Kathleen pushed open the door of the office. Her father was leaning over a table, examining a map. He looked up as Kathleen came into the office.

  “Kathleen, the county commissioners just gave us final clearance for passage all the way to La Junta. There’s nothing can stop us n
ow,” he said.

  “Oh, Papa, that’s wonderful!”

  “What about the building materials?” Garrison asked. “I’d like to get the depot built right away.”

  “The shipment hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “It hasn’t?” he asked, the expression on his face registering his surprise. “I received a telegram that they left La Junta at ten o’clock this morning.” Garrison glanced at the clock. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. They should have been here two hours ago.”

  “That’s what Mr. Thompson said, too,” Kathleen said. “He said one of the wagons may have broken an axle or something. Anyway, I asked him to let us know the moment they arrive.”

  “Good, good, I’d really like to get started on the depot right away. I think seeing a depot go up in town would have a great effect on the townspeople and—”

  Garrison’s comment was interrupted by shouting from outside. The shouts were loud and angry.

  “What is it?” Garrison asked. “What’s going on outside?”

  “I don’t have any idea,” Kathleen replied. “It was quiet when I came in a moment ago.”

  Garrison put a paperweight on the map he had been studying, then walked over to the door and stepped outside. Kathleen followed him.

  “They’re dead! All three of ’em are dead!” someone shouted.

  “Marshal Calhoun should get a posse together,” another called.

  “What good would that do? He ain’t got no jurisdiction outside of town.”

  “What about Sheriff Belmond?”

  “Lots of luck getting Belmond to do anything.”

  “Well, we need to do something! We should go after the sons of bitches who did this. We can’t just let them get away with it.”

  “Don’t nobody know who it was.”

  “Abner!” Garrison called to one of the men.

  “Yes, sir, General?”

  “What are you men talking about? Who is dead?”

  “You mean you ain’t heard?”

  “If I had heard, would I be asking you?”

  “No, I’m sorry, General, I guess you wouldn’t be,” Abner said. “It’s Norman True, Josey Hale, and Mickey Wells is who it is.”

  “Wait a minute, Norman True you say? He drives for Thompson Wagon Freight, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where was he found?”

  “They was found out on the road ’bout halfway between here and La Junta. All three was shot dead and their wagons burnt.”

  “The wagons were burned?”

  “Yes, sir, all three of ’em, burnt to the ground.”

  “Papa, that’s—”

  “Yes, Kathleen, I know,” Garrison replied. “That’s our shipment.”

  “But why would anyone do such a thing? Mr. True is as nice a man as you would ever want to meet,” Kathleen said.

  “They weren’t after Mr. True, darlin’,” Garrison said. “They were after our shipment.”

  Chapter Six

  Ike Clinton, owner of La Soga Larga Ranch, and his three boys were riding into the town of La Junta.

  As they came into town, a dog ran out into the road to yap and snap at the heels of the horses. Cletus, the middle of the three, pulled his gun and shot at the dog. He hit the dog in one of its legs, and the dog ran from the street, yelping in pain. A young Mexican boy ran out to grab the dog.

  “Ha! Did you see that?” Cletus asked. “I think I took his foot off.”

  “You ought not to have done that,” Billy said. Billy was the youngest. “That dog wasn’t bothering you.”

  “Yeah, well, he was botherin’ my horse,” Cletus said. “That’s damn near the same thing as botherin’ me. Anyway, I did the dog a favor.”

  Ray laughed. “How did you do that dog a favor by shootin’ off his foot?” Ray was the oldest, and by far the largest of the three.

  “Well, he won’t be runnin’ out after horses no more now, will he?” Cletus replied. “Like as not some horse would’a kicked him in the head and kilt him one of these days.”

  “Yeah,” Billy growled. “You were just real good to him.”

  “Hey, Ray, what do you think? Billy is just all broke up ’cause I shot that dog’s foot off.”

  “Yeah,” Ray said. “Billy worries about things like that—being good to dogs, little kids, and old folks.”

  “Billy, how the hell did you get to be so different from us?” Cletus asked.

  “You boys quit pickin’ on your brother,” Ike said.

  “I can’t help pickin’ on him,” Cletus said. “He’s so damn easy to pick on.”

  Ray laughed.

  “Pa, you sure they didn’t somebody else crawl into bed with Ma before this pup was borned?” Ray asked.

  “If there had’a been somebody crawled in bed with Martha, whatever he whelped would’a never been born,” Ike said. “I’d’a kilt ’em both.”

  “So, what you are sayin’ is, Billy is our kith an’ kin.”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’.”

  “Well, maybe so, but he sure is different,” Ray said. “Always worryin’ ’bout the other fella, and puttin’ ever’-body else’s good a’fore his own blood.”

  “Hey, Pa, what time does the train get in?” Cletus asked.

  “I make it about another hour,” Ike replied.

  “Then what do you say we stop by the Bull’s Head and have us a couple of drinks?” Cletus suggested.

  Ike shook his head. “I intend that you boys get on that train. There’s a cattle buyer will be in Pueblo, and I aim for you to get us the best offer for our cows I can get.”

  “We ain’t goin’ to miss the train, Pa,” Ray said. “And it was a long ride over here from the ranch. Don’t tell me you ain’t got no dust in your mouth that a couple of beers and a whiskey or two wouldn’t do for you?”

  “All right, we’ll stop for a drink,” Ike replied. “But I’m goin’ to stay with you till I see you are all three on the train.”

  Dismounting in front of the saloon, the four riders looped the reins of their horses over the hitching rail, then went inside. There wasn’t quite room for all four of them to stand at the bar, but Cletus and Ray made room by pushing a couple of men apart to open up a big enough space for them.

  “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doin’, mister?” one of the men said angrily.

  “Larry, that’s the Clintons,” a man next to him whispered.

  “I don’t care who it is. There don’t nobody—”

  Before he could finish his statement, Cletus pulled his pistol and shoved it into the man’s face.

  “You complainin’ about somethin’ are you, mister?” Cletus asked menacingly.

  The complainer was a good-sized man who was perfectly willing to use his fists to defend his position at the bar. But he wasn’t willing to die for it. He stared at the gun for a moment.

  “Sure, mister,” he said. “You want to stand up here that bad, you are welcome to it.” Turning away from the bar, he walked out of the saloon.

  “Ha!” Cletus said with a barking laugh. “I sure made him back down, didn’t I?”

  Turning around to lean against the bar, Ray looked out over the saloon at the bar girls who were working the customers.

  “Hey, Cletus, think we got time to go upstairs with one of these here whores?” Ray asked.

  “You ain’t got time to be messin’ with no whores,” Ike said.

  “If we don’t go with no whores here, where can we go?” Cletus asked. “The only whores in Higbee that will go with us is the ones in the Hog Waller. None of Maggie’s whores will have anything to do with us.”

  Billy laughed.

  “What are you laughin’ at?” Cletus asked.

  “I’ve heard about men who couldn’t get themselves a woman,” Billy said. “But when you can’t even get a whore, that’s pretty bad.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t see you havin’ all that much luck with that Garrison girl, now, do I?” Cletus asked.r />
  “What Garrison girl?” Ike asked quickly. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothin’, Pa,” Billy said. “We aren’t talkin’ about anything.”

  “The hell we ain’t,” said Cletus. “You been sniffin’ round the general’s daughter like a male dog around a bitch in heat.”

  “Boy, tell me that ain’t so,” Ike said. “After what’s goin’ on between Garrison and me?”

  “Pa, this is between Kathleen and me,” Billy said. “It doesn’t have anything to do with her pa, or with you.”

  “The hell it don’t,” Ike said. He pointed a long, bony finger at Billy. “I don’t want you to be havin’ anything to do with that girl. Do you hear me?”

  Billy didn’t answer. Fortunately, he wasn’t required to because Cletus started laughing.

  “What are you laughin’ at?” Ike asked.

  “I was just thinkin’ about Little Billy here. As far as you’re concerned, he can do no wrong. Only, that ain’t the case no more, is it?”

  The sound of a train whistle could be heard in the distance, and Ike tossed down the rest of his drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Finish your drinks, boys,” he said. “The train’s a’comin’.”

  Relieved that the whistle of the train had interrupted a conversation that was growing increasingly more uncomfortable, Billy finished his beer, then followed his father and brothers out of the saloon.

  “Looks like you just lost four of your customers there, Hank,” one of the men standing at the bar said.

  Hank, the barkeep, wiped the bar in front of where the Clintons had been standing. “Wouldn’t bother me if they didn’t never come back in here,” he said. “There ain’t a one of ’em worth the powder it would take to blow ’em to hell.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Billy’s all right,” the customer said.

  “Yeah, he’s not bad if he’s by himself. Trouble is, he ain’t ever by himself,” George said.