Thunder of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “Yes, I see,” Falcon replied. “About this dinner we’re going to tonight. Do you think if we invited Rachael, she might come along with us?”

  Corey laughed. “I think she might,” he said.

  “Falcon MacCallister,” a friendly voice said. “I heard you were in town.”

  Turning toward the sound of the voice, Falcon saw a tall, bearded man.

  “Titus Calhoun, how are you?” Falcon said warmly. “Still wearing a star, I see.”

  “Yes, I’m the city marshal here,” Calhoun replied.

  “Let’s see, the last time I saw you, you were sheriffing down in Arizona,” Falcon said.

  “That’s right,” Calhoun said. “And if you hadn’t stopped by for a drink that day, I’d still be in Arizona, lying under six feet of dirt.”

  Falcon nodded as he recalled that meeting.

  Picacho, Arizona Territory, two years earlier1

  As he stood at the bar, a tall, broad-shouldered, bearded man stepped in through the back door. At first, Falcon wondered why he had come through the back door. Then he saw that a star was barely showing from beneath the vest he was wearing. The sheriff pointed a gun toward one of the tables.

  “I just got a telegram about you, Kofax,” the lawman said. “You should’a had better sense than to come back to a town where ever’one knows you.”

  “Let it be, Calhoun,” Kofax replied. “I ain’t staying here long. I’m just waitin’ around for the train to take me out of here.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “I don’t think so. You won’t be catchin’ the train today,” he said. “You’re goin’ to jail.”

  Kofax stood up slowly, and stepped away from the table.

  “Well, now, you’re plannin’ on takin’ me there all by yourself, are you, Calhoun?” Kofax asked.

  The quiet calm of the barroom grew tense, and most of the other patrons in the bar stood up and moved to both sides of the room, giving the sheriff and Kofax a lot of room.

  Only Falcon didn’t move. He stayed by the bar, sipping his beer and watching the drama play out before him.

  “You can make this a lot easier by dropping your gunbelt,” the sheriff said.

  Kofax chuckled, but there was no humor in his laugh. “Well, now, you see, there you go. I don’t plan to make it easy for you,” he said.

  “Shuck out of that gunbelt like I told you, slow and easy,” the sheriff ordered.

  Falcon saw something then that the sheriff either didn’t see, or didn’t notice. Kofax’s eyes flicked upward for an instant, then back down toward the sheriff. Kofax smiled almost confidently at the sheriff.

  “Sorry, Calhoun, but like I said, I don’t plan to make this easy for you.”

  Curious as to why Kofax wasn’t more nervous, Falcon glanced up and saw a man standing at the top of the stairs. The man was aiming a pistol at the sheriff’s back. That was what Kofax had seen when he cut his eyes upward, and that was what was giving him such supreme confidence.

  “Sheriff, look out!” Falcon shouted.

  “Stay out of this, you son of a bitch!” the man at the top of the stairs shouted. He turned his pistol toward Falcon.

  Falcon dropped his beer and pulled his own pistol, firing just as the man at the top of the stairs fired. The shooter’s bullet missed Falcon and hit a whiskey bottle that was sitting on the bar. The impact sent a shower of whiskey and splinters of glass.

  Falcon’s shot caught the shooter in the chest, and he dropped his pistol and clasped his hand over the entry wound, then looked down at himself as blood began to spill between his fingers. The shooter’s eyes rolled up in his head and he tumbled forward, sliding down the stairs, following his clattering pistol all the way down. He lay motionless at the bottom, his head and shoulders on the floor, his legs still on the steps.

  Although the sound of the two gunshots had riveted everyone’s attention, the situation between Kofax and the sheriff had continued to play out, and almost before the sound of the first two gunshots had faded, two more shots rang out. The sheriff’s bullet struck Kofax in the neck forcing him back against the cold, wood-burning stove, causing him to hit it with such impact that he knocked it over, pulling down half the flue pipe.

  As the smoke from four gunshots drifted through the saloon, only the sheriff and Falcon of the four original participants were still standing. Both were holding smoking pistols in their hands, and they looked at each other warily.

  “I thank you for taking a hand in this, mister,” the sheriff said. “Most folks would have stayed on the sidelines.”

  “How’d you wind up in Higbee?” Falcon asked.

  “My brothers brought me here,” Calhoun said. “We bought a restaurant together. With the railroad and all, seems to us like the only thing this town can do is grow.”

  “They own the Vermillion,” Corey said. “The one we were telling you about.”

  “Good for you,” Falcon said. “I hope it goes very well for you.”

  “We’re working at it,” Calhoun said. “Right now, my brothers are wearing two hats. They run the restaurant, and they are acting as my deputies when I need them.”

  “That must keep them busy.”

  “Only when the Clintons are in town,” Calhoun said. “Ray and Cletus are bad enough by themselves. But somehow, they seem to attract the very dregs of society to ride for them.”

  “We’re coming to your restaurant for dinner tonight,” Corey said.

  “Are you now? Well, in that case, I’ll tell Travis to give you the best treatment. And the meal will be on me.”

  “Marshal, you don’t have to do that,” Corey said. “Prentiss and I will be happy to pay.”

  Calhoun shook his head. “You don’t understand, Corey,” he said. “Falcon saved my life once. I figure that’s worth a meal.”

  Chapter Ten

  All through dinner, Rachael wore an enigmatic smile. Finally, Falcon could take it no longer and picking up the bottle of wine, he refilled Rachael’s glass and looked pointedly at her.

  “Miss Kirby, would I be out of line to ask you what amuses you so?” Falcon asked.

  “I would have known who you are, Mr. MacCallister,” Rachael said, “Even if we had not been introduced. You are just as Rosanna and Andrew described you.”

  “You know my brother and sister?” Falcon asked in surprise. Falcon’s siblings, Rosanna and Andrew, were twins and quite famous show personalities in New York.

  “Oh, yes, I know them quite well. We did a show together last year,” Rachael said. “I was very honored to appear with them. They are exceptionally talented.”

  “They are,” Falcon said. Smiling, he shook his head. “But I have no idea where that talent came from. None of the rest of us has any talent.”

  “Alas, I should have listened to them,” Rachael said. “When I told them I was going to tour the West with the J. Garon Troupe, they cautioned me about him. It turns out that they were right, Mr. Garon ran away with all the funds.”

  “Then I say we toast Mr. J. Garon,” Falcon said, lifting his glass.

  “What?” Rachael asked, surprised by his response.

  Falcon smiled. “Had Garon not abandoned you here, we would not have met.”

  “Rosanna said you were a silver-tongued devil,” Rachael observed as she lifted her glass to Falcon’s.

  “Don’t you two mind us,” Corey said. “Prentiss and I will just sit here quietly.”

  “Why, Corey,” Rachael said flirtatiously. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were feeling left out.”

  “Left out? No, not at all. I think it is great sitting here watching the two of you ignore us. Don’t you, Prentiss?”

  “Absolutely,” Prentiss said. “Never let it be said that a Hampton stood in the way of Cupid.”

  Falcon laughed and Rachael blushed.

  Five miles east of Higbee at the ranch, La Soga Larga, Ike Clinton bit the end off his cigar and licked it along each side. Firing a match, he held a flame to it, puffing until
the tip began to glow. He squinted his eyes as he stared through the billowing cigar smoke at the three boys, recently returned from a business trip, who were in the den with their father.

  “What kind of price did you get for the cattle?” Ike asked.

  “We didn’t get no offer a’tall,” Ray replied.

  Ike looked surprised. “What do you mean, you didn’t get no offer? Didn’t you go see Mr. Westpheling?”

  “Yeah, Pa, we went to see him,” Ray said.

  “So? What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say nothin’.”

  “He didn’t say anything?” Ike asked, the inflection of his voice showing his disbelief. “How could he not say anything?”

  “He didn’t say nothin’ ’cause we didn’t see him,” Ray said.

  “I thought you said you did go to see him.”

  “Yes, sir, well, what I meant to say is, we went to where he was supposed to be, but he wasn’t there. And when we checked up on him, we found out he was already gone.”

  Ike shook his head. “I don’t understand. I got a letter from him that said he would be at the Cattlemen’s Exchange Bank at two o’clock Monday afternoon.”

  “Yeah, well, he might’a said that, only he wasn’t there.”

  “How long did you wait for him?”

  “We waited at least half a hour, till the bank closed,” Cletus said.

  Ike took another puff of his cigar and stared at Cletus. He continued to stare until his oldest son became discomfited by it.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You stayed for half an hour, and then the bank closed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The Cattlemen’s Exchange Bank closes at four P.M. What time did you get there?”

  “Oh, uh . . .” Ray said, realizing now that he had been tripped up. “We got hung up, Pa. We didn’t get to the bank till three-thirty.”

  “And where did you get hung up? In a saloon somewhere?”

  “Well, yeah, we was in a saloon. But we was talkin’ business, Pa. We really was,” Ray said. He looked over to Cletus for support. “Wasn’t we, Cletus?”

  “Yeah, we was, Pa,” Cletus said. “It’s just like Ray said, we was talkin’ business. You know, cattle market and such.”

  “I see,” Ike said disgustedly. After a long, hard stare at his two oldest, he looked over at Billy. “What about you, boy? Was you in the saloon, too?”

  “Ha!” Cletus said. “You think Goody Two-shoes here would hang out in a saloon with us? Like as not, he was up in his room suckin’ on a sugar tit or somethin’.”

  Ray laughed.

  “Was you in your room, boy?”

  “No, sir,” Billy answered.

  “Where was you?”

  “I was meeting with Mr. Westpheling.”

  “What?” Ray and Cletus both shouted at the same time.

  “Don’t you remember, Ray? You told me to go ahead and go to the meeting. So I did exactly what you told me to do.”

  Ray realized then that Billy was covering for him, and he recovered quickly. “Yes, yes, that’s right. That’s exactly what I said,” Ray said. “Ain’t that right, Cletus? I told Billy to go ahead and go to the meetin’, do you remember?”

  “I don’t remember you tellin’ him nothin’ like that,” Cletus said.

  It took a long moment and an intense glare from Ray before Cletus caught on to what they were doing. Then, suddenly realizing what was expected of him, he nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, wait, yeah, now that I do think about it, Pa, that’s right. Me’n Ray was talkin’ business, so we told Billy to go meet with Mr. Westpheling.”

  “What kind of business could possibly be more important than getting a good price for our cows?”

  “Well, I thought that—uh—Billy could use the experience,” Cletus said. “Go ahead, Billy. Tell Pa what you found out.”

  “And did he make us an offer?” Ike said.

  “Yes, sir, he did.”

  “What was the offer?”

  “Mr. Westpheling will take twenty-five hundred head, Pa, at thirty dollars a head,” Billy said.

  “Twenty-five hundred head? That’s more than twice what he indicated in the letter,” Ike said.

  “What do you think, Pa?” Ray asked. “See there? You send us off to do business for you, and we bring back a deal worth . . .” He paused, trying to figure out the worth of the deal.

  “Seventy-five thousand dollars,” Billy said.

  “Yeah, seventy-five thousand dollars,” Ray said.

  Ike stared at the three boys for a moment, then nodded his head and left the room.

  Ray waited until he was gone before he turned to Billy. “Why didn’t you tell us that you met with Westpheling?” he asked angrily.

  “I did tell you,” Billy said. “But you and Cletus were both so drunk that you don’t remember.”

  Ray raised his finger and pointed it at Billy. “Yeah, well, don’t you be tryin’ to turn Pa against me, boy, do you hear me?” he said. “Brother or no brother, I won’t put up with it.”

  “I have no intention of turning him against you,” Billy said. He looked at Cletus. “Against either one of you. You are my brothers. All I want to do is look out for you.”

  “Yeah? Well, you don’t need to look out for me. I can look out for myself,” Cletus said.

  It was three days later when Cletus asked Ray and Billy if they would like to go into town.

  “I mean, when you think about it, we ought to celebrate the good deal Billy got us on the cows,” he said.

  “Good idea,” Billy agreed. “We could all have a nice dinner at the Vermillion.”

  “The Vermillion?” Cletus replied with a scoffing laugh. “Are you serious? In case you have forgotten, the Vermillion is owned by the Calhouns.”

  “I know it’s owned by the Calhouns. But they serve the best food in town.”

  “Little brother, you eat to stay alive, not to have a good time,” Cletus said. “What about you, Ray? You comin’?”

  “What the hell good is it to go into town?” Ray asked. “We can’t go to Maggie’s whorehouse no more. And the whores at the Hog Waller are so ugly, they’d make a train take five miles of dirt road. I don’t see no need to go into town a’tall.”

  “Ahh, you’re both useless,” Cletus said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll get a couple of boys from the bunkhouse to go in with me.”

  At the Golden Nugget, Falcon was sitting at a table with Corey and Prentiss viewing the architectural drawings of a theater they planned to build.

  “We’ve bought the lot next door, so we can expand in that direction,” Corey said. “That way, you can enter the theater from the street or from the saloon.”

  “How many seats in the theater?”

  “Three hundred and fifty,” Prentiss replied.

  Falcon whistled. “That’s more people than there are in town.”

  “Well, it is now,” Corey agreed. “But I think it’s like Marshal Calhoun said. Once General Garrison gets his railroad built, people will be coming here from all around. I figure we’ll have more’n a thousand people here the first year after the railroad is built. And when that happens, I believe they will welcome a theater.”

  “And I think people would come just to hear Rachael play,” Prentiss added. “Not drinking music, her kind of music.”

  Even as they were looking at the drawings, Rachael was playing the Moscheles Piano Concerto Number Two and Falcon turned to look at her. Sensing his look, Rachael glanced back toward him, then smiled and bobbed her head as she continued to play.

  “I agree with Prentiss,” Falcon said. “I think that many would come just to hear her play.”

  Across town, Billy Clinton stepped into the Vermillion Restaurant. He stood there for a moment, looking around at the customers, then saw what he was looking for, a pretty young woman sitting alone at a table in the back. There was an empty table next to her, and Billy walked back to take it.

  He said nothing
to her, nor did he make eye contact. Sitting down, he picked up the menu and began to study it.

  “Hello, Kathleen,” he said as he studied the menu. He spoke quietly enough that only Kathleen could hear him, and because he appeared to be looking at the menu, it would not be apparent to the casual onlooker that the two were even aware of each other.

  “Hello, Billy,” Kathleen replied.

  “I hear there is a dance next Saturday night. Will you be going?” Billy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe I could stop by your house and walk to the dance with you,” Billy suggested.

  “Oh, Billy, no,” Kathleen said. “Please don’t do that. My father would—well—let’s just say my father would not approve.”

  “I’ve done nothing to your father,” Billy said.

  “Not you personally, but your family has. You know how adamantly your father opposes the railroad. And right now, the railroad is my father’s entire life.”

  “Maybe so, but that’s my family, not me,” Billy said. “Anyway, why should our families have anything to do with something that is just between you and me?”

  “Billy, you know there is no way for that to be,” Kathleen said. “I will see you at the dance. For now, we must be satisfied with that.”

  “Trade menus with me,” Billy said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Trade menus with me,” Billy repeated.

  “All right,” Kathleen replied, puzzled by the request. She handed her menu to Billy and took his. When she opened it, she saw a piece of paper. “What is this?” she asked.

  “It’s something I wrote for you while I was in Pueblo,” Billy said.

  To Kathleen

  Like a blooming flower to behold,

  Your beauty shines through.

  If only I were so bold

  To declare my love for you.

  But cruel is the fate

  That keeps us apart.

  Divided by families that hate,

  I cannot speak what is in my heart.