Thunder of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “You should’ve kept on going,” Ray said. “A little shooting and you all turned tail and ran.”

  “A little shooting? Deke and Seth was killed right off. There wasn’t none of us countin’ on gettin’ killed.”

  “You took your fifty dollars, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t of took it if I’d knew they was folks goin’ to get killed.”

  “Quit your bellyachin’, Cooper. You should’a known it wasn’t goin’ to be a walk in the park,” Lou Reeder said. “You took your money like the rest of us, and you ought to have enough sense to know that you don’t get paid fifty dollars just for a walk in the park. Besides, you was with us the last time.”

  “That big bastard they had with ’em today wasn’t with ’em the last time,” Cooper said.

  “What big bastard?” Cletus asked.

  “Ha. Someone you would be interested in,” Lou said. “It was that same man you tangled with in town the other night.”

  “I didn’t tangle with him exactly,” Cletus said. “He hit me when I wasn’t lookin’.”

  “But that was the same one. It was Falcon MacCallister is who it was,” Lou said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Damn right I’m sure. He ain’t the kind you can just forget about. He’s also not the kind of fella you want against you,” Lou continued.

  Cletus turned in his saddle and pointed his pistol at Lou. “If you say one more word about Falcon MacCallister, I’ll shoot you. Do you understand that?”

  “What?” Lou gasped, throwing his hands up in alarm. “Cletus, come on, I don’t mean nothin’ by it. I’m on your side, remember?”

  “Then shut up about Falcon MacCallister,” Cletus ordered.

  “Sure, Cletus, you want me to shut up about ’im, I’ll shut up about ’im,” Lou said. “I ain’t goin’ to say another word about him, no, sir. I ain’t even goin’ to mention Falcon MacCallister’s name again.”

  Cletus glared at Lou, then he put his pistol away. The eight men rode on, though they were no longer riding at a gallop.

  “What do we do about Deke and Seth?” Cletus asked Ray.

  “What do you mean, what do we do about them?” Ray asked.

  “I mean, what are we goin’ to do about them? We just left them lyin’ back there.”

  “They won’t mind,” Ray answered.

  “But they’re dead,” Cletus said.

  “Like I said. They won’t mind.”

  When the three wagons rolled into Higbee an hour later, they were met by Wade Garrison, who came toward them with a big smile on his face.

  “Well, you got through, I see,” he said. “I’m glad you didn’t have any trouble, but I thought . . .” He stopped in mid-sentence because he saw two canvas-covered lumps lying in the back of one of the wagons. “What’s that?” he asked.

  Dismounting, Falcon walked to the rear of the wagon and jerked the covers off, disclosing two bodies.

  “I’ll be damn!” Garrison said. “That’s Deke Mathers and Seth Parker. They ride for Ike Clinton,” Garrison said. “Or rather, they did,” he added, correcting himself.

  “Yes, I recognized Mathers,” Falcon said. “Lou Reeder was with them, too.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I recognized them because I saw both of them with Cletus Clinton the other night.”

  “Did you see any of the Clintons?” Garrison asked.

  Falcon shook his head. “No, I didn’t see any of them.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Garrison said. “If these two, who were known to ride with Clinton, were part of it, and you say you saw Lou Reeder as well, there shouldn’t be any doubt in anyone’s mind who’s behind all this.”

  By now, news that the three wagons had arrived had caused several of the townspeople to gather round. When they learned that there were two bodies in the back of one of the wagons, the news spread quickly so that several others gathered around as well.

  “What happened?” Denham asked. The editor of the Higbee Journal had his pencil poised over his notebook.

  “We were attacked on the road,” Morrell said.

  “But they didn’t get far,” Barnes said quickly. “We fought ’em off.”

  “And as you can see, we killed two of them,” Morrell concluded.

  By now, Marshal Calhoun had arrived as well, and he looked at the two bodies, then at Garrison.

  “These are a couple of Clinton’s riders,” Calhoun said.

  “Marshal, I told you that I believed Clinton was behind the last attack on my wagons,” Garrison said. “I took my complaint to Sheriff Belmond, but he said he couldn’t find anything to back me up. Seems to me like this ought to be all the evidence we need.”

  “I’ll ride up to Las Animas and see the sheriff,” Calhoun said. “Maybe this time we can get something done.”

  When Marshal Calhoun arrived in Las Animas, he rode straight to the sheriff’s office, which was located on Powers Street. Sheriff Belmond was sitting in a chair with the two front legs raised and the chair leaning back against the front wall of the jail. He was paring an apple, trying to do it in one long peel. The peel was now hanging from the apple all the way to the floor of the porch.

  Calhoun dismounted, then looped the reins around the hitching rail.

  “Now, why do I believe you are bringing me a problem to deal with?” Belmond asked, without looking up from his task at hand.

  “I’m bringing you the problem and the solution,” Calhoun said as he stepped up onto the porch.

  “Wait, don’t get off the stoop,” Belmond said. “I don’t want you to jinx my operation here.”

  Calhoun stood on the step for a moment until, finally, the peel collapsed to the floor.

  “Ha!” look at that!” Belmond said. “I’ll bet if you measured that, it would be one of longest peels ever to come off in one piece.”

  “It’s long, all right,” Calhoun agreed.

  Belmond cut the apple in half, then offered one half of it to Calhoun.

  “No, thanks,” Calhoun replied.

  “All right, Calhoun, what is this problem and what is the solution?” Belmond asked. He took a bite of the apple.

  “You remember when Mr. Thompson’s freight wagons were attacked? The drivers were killed, and the wagons burned.”

  “Yeah, I remember it. I looked into it, but couldn’t find enough evidence to pin it on anyone.”

  “It was Ike Clinton. He was behind it.”

  “So you said, Calhoun, so you said. But the truth is there was not one shred of evidence that pointed to Clinton.”

  “What about the fact that he is going around preaching to other ranchers, telling them to resist the railroad?” Calhoun asked.

  “Calhoun, Calhoun, Calhoun, you are, what is it they say—grasping at straws? Ike Clinton has every right to say he doesn’t want a railroad to come through Higbee. The fact that he says that openly does not mean he was behind that attack on the wagons.”

  Calhoun smiled. “Maybe not, but the wagons were attacked again, and this time we do have evidence.”

  “What sort of evidence do you have?”

  “I have the bodies of two of the men who attacked the wagons,” Calhoun said. “Deke Mathers and Seth Parker. They are back in Higbee now.”

  “Deke Mathers and Seth Parker, you say?”

  “Yes. You may recall, they ride for—that is, they did ride for Ike Clinton.”

  “I’ll look into it,” Belmond promised.

  “Belmond, I’m going to need you to do more than just look into it,” Calhoun said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re guilty as hell, and we have the proof lying in the undertaker’s. I want you to bring in the Clintons for murder.”

  “Murder? That’s a serious charge,” Belmond said.

  “Yeah, I mean it to be serious,” Calhoun replied.

  Belmond carved off the last piece of apple and put it in his mouth.

  “Well, I�
��ll tell you what, Titus,” he said. “Since this all allegedly happened in my county, suppose you just let me decide whether or not there should be a charge of murder.”

  “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job,” Calhoun said. “I’m just giving you the benefit of the evidence I have.”

  “Yes, well, remember, you did run for sheriff against me in the last election, didn’t you?” Belmond said. “And how did that turn out now? Oh, right, I won, didn’t I?”

  “Let me put it this way, Belmond. If I learn that you are purposely covering up for the Clintons, I will go to the governor.”

  “I’ll do my job,” Belmond said. “You just stay the hell out of my way.”

  When Billy Clinton rode off, he told his father that he was going to look for strays. Once he got out of sight of the main house, though, he cut across Vachille Creek toward the McKenzie Ranch. Emma McKenzie was a widow, and though she still lived there, she made her living by leasing her grazing and water rights to other ranchers.

  Emma had been very good friends with Billy’s mother when she was alive, and had often taken care of him when he was younger. Billy called her Aunt Emma, even though she was not related to him.

  It was not unusual for Billy to call on Emma from time to time, but today was a little unusual because he and Kathleen had made arrangements to meet there. Emma knew and liked them both, and was the only person in the county who could understand the attraction these two star-crossed people had for each other.

  Billy was a little nervous as he rode toward Aunt Emma’s place because this was the first meeting that he and Kathleen had ever arranged. He didn’t know if she would actually show up or not. As he approached, he looked around the place for any sign of Kathleen, but saw nothing. Did she not come?

  Emma stepped out on the front porch to greet him as he arrived.

  “Hello, Billy.” she said.

  “Aunt Emma,” Billy replied. He continued to look around for any sign of Kathleen.

  Emma laughed. “Don’t get yourself all worried. She’s inside,” Emma said. “She’s making lemonade.”

  “Oh,” Billy replied. “I, uh, didn’t see her horse or anything, I was wondering.”

  “We put her surrey in the barn,” Emma said. “If someone rode by and saw your horse here, why, they wouldn’t think anything of it. You are here often. But this is the first time Kathleen has ever been here, and if someone happened to see her surrey and your horse, well, you can see what problems that might cause.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I truly can,” Billy said. “Aunt Emma, I appreciate this, I hope you don’t get into any trouble over it.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Emma said. “I’m an old widow woman who lives alone. I have every right to have anyone I want as friends.”

  Emma brushed her hands against her apron. There was about her the smell of flour and cinnamon, as she had been baking in the kitchen, and for a sudden, brief moment, he remembered the days he had spent with her when he was a little boy.

  “Heavens, I didn’t even bother to take off my apron,” Emma said self-consciously. “I thought I would make some cookies for you and your friend. I must look a mess.”

  “You look beautiful to me, Aunt Emma,” Billy said. “But you always have.”

  Kathleen came outside then, and she smiled at Billy.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi,” Billy replied.

  “Oh,” Emma said just before she went back inside the house. “I made a picnic lunch for you. Billy, I thought your friend might like to see the overlook.”

  “The overlook?” Kathleen asked.

  “It’s our secret place,” Emma said. “Billy’s and mine.”

  “Oh, my, should I be jealous?” Kathleen teased.

  “No. Aunt Emma, I mean, Mrs. McKenzie, she . . .” Billy said, attempting to explain.

  Kathleen laughed. “You don’t have to explain,” she said. “I know Mrs. McKenzie raised you. She told me all about it this morning. I was just teasing. And I would love to see the overlook.”

  With the picnic lunch loaded in Kathleen’s surrey, Billy drove along a trail until he reached a high escarpment. The trail climbed a large rock outcropping, then went beyond a group of aspen trees until Billy finally stopped near an overhang. He helped Kathleen down from the surrey.

  “I call this my secret place,” Billy said, “but there are markings and signs here from who knows who or how long ago. See?”

  “Pictographs,” Kathleen said.

  “What?”

  “They are called pictographs,” Kathleen explained.

  “Some think drawings and carvings on rocks like this may be over a thousand years old.”

  Billy laughed.

  “What is it?”

  “I guess that means I wasn’t the first to discover this place then, huh?”

  Kathleen laughed with him.

  “I wish you could be up here at twilight sometime,” Billy said. “It’s very pretty when the clouds are lit from below by the setting sun so that they glow pink and gold against the purple sky. It’s especially beautiful in the spring, with the flower carpeting the valley floor in every hue. It’s even beautiful at night when the stars sparkle above like diamonds on velvet, and the owls talk quietly among themselves.”

  Kathleen took Billy’s arm and held it. “Oh, Billy, it’s no wonder you are a poet,” she said. “I don’t have to be here in the spring, or at twilight, or at night. Your words have brought all that to me.”

  Kathleen looked into Billy’s eyes, and he knew then that she wanted to be kissed. He moved her lips to hers, and she leaned against him. They kissed.

  “Oh,” Kathleen said, pulling breathlessly away from him. “I think we had better not do that again.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t trust myself as to where it might lead,” Kathleen said.

  “Let it go where it goes.”

  Kathleen shook her head. “No, Billy, not yet. Not while our families are—”

  “You don’t have to go on,” Billy said. “I know what you mean.”

  “Billy, do you think we will ever be able to be like everyone else? To love who we want to love?”

  “I don’t know,” Billy said. “God help me, I don’t know.”

  “We could run away,” she suggested.

  “Run away where. And do what?”

  “We could run away and get married,” Kathleen said.

  “That is—if you actually do want to marry me.”

  “Kathleen, I want to marry you more than anything in the world,” Billy replied. “But I also want to be able to make a living for you. What would I do if we ran away?”

  “We’d find something to do,” Kathleen said. “I know we would.”

  “I need to think about that,” Billy said.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed.”

  “No, no,” Billy said. “Kathleen, I can’t think of anything that would be more wonderful than to marry you. But let’s wait and see if we can’t do it on our own terms, without having to run away like thieves in the night. Besides, what would that do to your father?”

  “You’re right,” Kathleen said, nodding her head. “I got carried away a bit there, but you’re right. I could never leave my father like that.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “A little,” Kathleen admitted.

  “One thing I know about Aunt Emma, she is one hell of a cook,” Billy said. “Let’s see what we have here.”

  “We have cookies, of course,” she said, taking one out and biting into it.

  “Hey, you aren’t supposed to eat the cookies until after we have our lunch,” Billy said, taking the cookie from her. As soon as he took it, he popped the whole cookie into his mouth.

  “Oh, you!” Kathleen scolded, laughing as she did so. “You just did that so you could have the cookie.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Billy teased. “What else do we have?”

  “We have sliced ham
and freshly baked bread,” Kathleen said. “And potato salad, and some canned peaches. And, of course, a bottle of wine.”

  “Sounds good,” Billy said, reaching for the loaf of bread.

  “Just be patient. I’ll set it out for you,” Kathleen said. She spread a blanket, then put out the food. Billy made himself a big sandwich and took a healthy bite.

  “Fantastic,” he said, smacking his lips in appreciation.

  “Absolutely fantastic.”

  “Wine?” Kathleen asked, pouring some into a glass.

  After they had eaten, they sat on the blanket enjoying their wine. They talked of inconsequential things for a while, then Kathleen laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Tomorrow night, at the dance,” Kathleen said, “you and I will have to pretend that we are practically strangers. Yet all the time, we will know about this wonderful day we have shared today.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Kathleen awakened the next morning, she lay in bed for a long moment, enjoying the gentle breeze that lifted the muslin curtains and brought on its breath the fragrance of roses that grew just outside her window.

  She thought of the picnic yesterday and of the time she and Billy had been able to spend together, without having to look over their shoulders, without having to explain their relationship to anyone else.

  What a bittersweet time that had been; sweet because she and Billy were together, bitter because they both knew that it was stolen time—it could not, and it would not, last.

  Billy kissed her yesterday, and smiling, Kathleen touched her fingers to her lips. Because the kiss was so recent, and because Kathleen was blessed with a strong imagination, she was able to recreate that kiss, almost as if it were happening now.

  Thinking about it, Kathleen reached under her mattress where she was hiding the poem Billy had written for her, and took it out. She reread it for what had to be the tenth time.

  Billy had not wanted anyone to know about the poem because he was afraid of the ribbing he would take from his brothers.

  His brothers, Kathleen thought. What evil and despicable men they were. How was it possible that Billy had been born into that family? So many people who didn’t know Billy the way she did thought of him in the same way they thought of Ray and Cletus. Even her own father thought of Billy in that way.