Revenge of Eagles

by Johnstone, William W.

  “Well, Ponci, I reckon this is where we part company,” Fargo said. “Me’n the others has got to keep going.”

  “Wait a minute, you plannin’ on just leavin’ me here?”

  “Yeah, that is my plan.”

  “You son of a bitch! You damn sure better not leave me here,” Ponci said.

  “You heard the doctor, Ponci. He said it was goin’ to take a while to get you well.”

  “I ain’t stayin’ here,” Ponci said again. He looked at the doctor. “Ain’t you got somethin’ that’ll make it stop hurting?”

  “Well, yes, I can give you some laudanum,” Dr. Andrews said. He shook his head. “But all that’ll do is stop the pain. It won’t make your leg any better.”

  “Just give me somethin’ for the pain,” Ponci said. “I’ll let the leg heal itself.”

  “Don’t you understand? The leg won’t heal itself,” Andrews said. “If it isn’t treated, it will only get worse. Then it will be too late for any kind of treatment. Then the leg really will have to be amputated.”

  “They ain’t nobody goin’ to take off my leg!” Ponci said again.

  “Then you will die,” Dr. Andrews said flatly.

  “What do you say, Ponci?” asked Fargo. “You want to stay here and be treated, or go on with us?”

  “What about my share?”

  “We divide it when we get to where we’re goin’.”

  “I want my share now.”

  “No,” Fargo said resolutely. “Either come with us and get your share when we all divide ... or stay here with nothin’. It’s up to you.”

  “Well, now, you are givin’ me a hell of a choice to make, ain’t you?” Ponci said angrily. “Either stay here and get cheated out of my share, or come with you and die. Is that what you’re sayin’?”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m sayin’,” Fargo agreed.

  “Ponci, you brung this on yourself,” Dagen said. “Fargo told you to quit messin’ aroun’ with that little ole girl. Well, you didn’t and she cut you. So, whatever happens, you got no one to blame but your ownself.”

  Ponci glared at Dr. Andrews for a moment. “Give me some laudanum.”

  “I told you, the laudanum won’t stop the infection,” Andrews said.

  “I said give me the damn laudanum!” Ponci shouted.

  Dr. Andrews sighed, then went to his medicine cabinet and started to pour some laudanum into a small bottle.

  “Give me all of it,” Ponci said, grabbing the entire bottle.

  “That will be twenty dollars,” the doctor said.

  “Here, Doc, don’t think we ain’t grateful,” Fargo said, handing the doctor a handful of bills.

  Dr. Andrews looked at them, and his eyes grew wide with surprise. “This is one hundred dollars,” he said.

  “Like I said, I don’t want you to think we ain’t grateful. Ponci, if you are going with us, get your pants back on,” Fargo ordered.

  Andrews counted eighty dollars out, then handed it back to Fargo.

  “I’m keeping twenty dollars for the laudanum. I can’t accept the rest of the money.”

  “Why the hell not?” Fargo asked.

  Andrews looked pointedly at Ponci.

  “Because your friend is going to die,” he said.

  Staring defiantly at the doctor, Ponci turned the bottle up and took a couple of swallows.

  “And if you don’t watch the way you use that stuff, you’ll be dead before you get out of town,” Andrews said.

  Ponci pulled on his trousers, wincing with pain as he did so.

  “Look, we ain’t goin’ to hang back none for you neither,” Fargo said to Ponci. “If you come with us, you are going to have to keep up.”

  “I’ll keep up,” Ponci said. “Don’t you worry none about me. I’ll keep up.”

  CHAPTER 9

  It was dark by the time the stagecoach rolled into Oro Blanco. The depot manager stepped out onto the front porch, carrying a lantern with him.

  “I was beginnin’ to get a little worried about you folks,” the depot manager said. “You ain’t never been this late before.”

  “Sorry, Clark, but we was held up,” Gentry said.

  “What held you up? Was there another rock slide across the road?”

  “No, I mean held up, as in a holdup. We was robbed by a bunch of road agents.”

  “The hell you say.” Clark held the lantern a little higher and looked more closely. “Where’s Kerry?”

  “They kilt ’im, Clark,” Gentry said. “He’s lying up here on top of the stage.”

  “Oh, hell. I hate to hear that. Kerry was a good man. A little strange sometime, but he was a good, God-fearin’ man.”

  The door to the stage opened then, and Johnson was the first one to step out. He held his finger up.

  “Mr. Clark, don’t you think for one moment that the stagecoach company is not going to hear from me,” he said. “When a person buys a ticket for passage on the stagecoach, he should have every right to think that the stagecoach will get him safely to his destination.”

  “Was you hurt any in the holdup, Johnson?” Gentry asked.

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Well, then, this is your destination and you got here safe, so what are you bitchin’ about?” Gentry asked curtly.

  “I got here safe, yes, but it was no thanks to you,” Johnson replied. “You would have let them kill me if I hadn’t told them where the money was.”

  “Wait a minute,” Clark said. He stared at Johnson. “You told the robbers where the money was?”

  “I had to. I didn’t have no choice,” Johnson said. “They would’ve killed me other wise.” He pointed to Gentry. “And he was just going to let them do it.”

  “Get out of my sight, you little pissant,” Gentry said. “And you best find yourself some other way to travel from now on, ’cause I ain’t ever carryin’ you on my stage again.”

  “What? How dare you talk to me like that?” Johnson said. He looked at Clark. “You are in charge. Are you going to let him talk to me like that?”

  Gentry stepped down onto the front wheel, then jumped down right in front of Johnson.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Gentry asked.

  “No!” Johnson shouted in fear, jumping back from him and holding his hands out in front of him. “Mr. Clark, you saw him threaten me.”

  Gentry just glared at him, then stepped behind the stage to the boot ... opened it, and pulled out Johnson’s bag and samples kit. He tossed them onto the ground in front of Johnson.

  “Get, I said!”

  “Mr. Clark?” Johnson said again.

  “If I was you, Mr. Johnson, I’d be gettin’ about now,” Clark said.

  With a whimper of fear, Johnson picked up his luggage, then hurried on down the street, disappearing in the dark.

  In the meantime Jane, Timmy, and Falcon climbed out of the stage.

  “Ma’am,” Clark said, touching the brim of his hat. “I hope you weren’t hurt.”

  “I wasn’t hurt,” Jane said. “But the poor little Indian girl who was traveling with us was killed.”

  “Indian girl?” Clark asked.

  “Yes,” Gentry said. “She’s up on top of the coach with Kerry.”

  “Was her name Cloud Dancer?”

  “Yes, it was. How did you know?” Gentry asked.

  “We got word she was comin’ back home,” Clark said. “This ain’t good. No, sir, this ain’t good at all.”

  “Did you know her?” Jane asked.

  “Oh, yes, ma’am, I know’d her all right,” Clark replied. “What’s more, I know her papa, Keytano.”

  Jane gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “She was the daughter of the chief Keytano?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “She never said a word about that.”

  “She wouldn’t,” Falcon said, speaking for the first time. “That’s not her way.”

  “You knew her, did you?” Clark asked.

  Falc
on shook his head. “No. I met her for the first time on the stage. But I know her kind.”

  Clark squinted his eyes as he looked at Falcon. “Have we met before, mister?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Falcon said. “I live in Colorado, but this isn’t my first time here.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “MacCallister. Falcon MacCallister.”

  “I knew it!” Clark said, snapping his fingers. “You and Mickey Free cleaned out Naiche and his bunch here a few years ago. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  Falcon nodded. “Yes, it was me.”

  Clark stuck out his hand. “Well, mister, I’d like to shake your hand.”

  Falcon shook his hand.

  “Wow!” Timmy said. “I didn’t you was a hero!”

  “Hardly a hero,” Falcon said.

  “Hah, that ain’t what all the dime novels say,” Clark said. “My boy collects them. He must have half a dozen about you.”

  Falcon chuckled. “I can’t be held accountable for what someone writes in one of those dime novels. And from what I’ve been able to determine, there’s very little truth in them.”

  “Well, what they wrote about you and the Indians here ’bouts was true,” Clark said. “There ain’t none of us around here that don’t know that story.1 What brings you to Oro Blanco?”

  “I bought the Rey de Plata mine.”

  “The Rey de Plata. That the mine that belonged to Doc Holliday?”

  “Yes. I bought it from him.”

  “Oh,” Clark said. “Oh, that’s not good.”

  “Not good? You mean the mine is worthless?”

  “No, I don’t mean that. Fact is, ever’body thinks that mine is a rich producer. But ... it’s right at the very edge of the Apache land, and it’s too dangerous to work.”

  “You’re having Indian trouble again?”

  “Some trouble, yes. We had some prospectors killed a couple weeks ago, not more’n a mile from your mine as a matter of fact. And now, what with the chief’s daughter bein’ murdered ’n all, well, it can’t do nothing but get worse.”

  Falcon felt a little spasm of pain from the wound on top of his head, and he winced slightly. Noboby but Jane noticed it.

  “Mr. Clark, do you have a doctor in Oro Blanco?” Jane asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, we have one. That would be Dr. Andrews,” Clark replied. “You needin’ a doctor, ma’am?”

  “No, but I think a doctor should look at Mr. MacCallister.”

  “Mr. MacCallister?” Clark replied. He looked at Falcon. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “He was shot in the head,” Jane said. She reached up to remove Falcon’s hat, showing the blood streak through his wheat-blond hair.

  “Holy ...” Clark started to say, then, realizing there was a woman present, checked his language. “I reckon you was at that. Well, sir, the doc’s office is right down the street on top of the hardware store. You can’t miss it. He lives in some rooms behind his office.”

  “If you folks will pardon me, I think I’ll find the nearest saloon and have a drink,” Falcon said. He put his hat back on, then nodded toward Jane. “Ma’am,” he said.

  Falcon walked away from the coach then, and like Johnson a few moments earlier, disappeared into the darkness.

  “He really should have it looked at,” Jane said.

  “Like as not, the doc is in the saloon anyway,” Gentry said. “He generally takes his supper in there and visits for a while this time of night. I’ll have him look at Mr. MacCallister.”

  “Thank you,” Jane said. She looked at Clark. “I wonder if you would arrange to have the smaller of my three suitcases sent to the hotel. And if you would, keep the other two here for me. I’ll be taking the morning stage on to Providence Wells.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll take care of it for you,” Clark said. He sighed, and looked up at the coach. “I’d better get Gene Nunlee down here as well. He’s got two bodies to take care of.”

  Falcon was eating a supper of beans and tortillas when a couple of men stepped up to his table. Looking up from his meal, he recognized Gentry.

  “Mr. Gentry,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “This here is Doc Andrews,” Gentry said. “You can let him look at your wound.”

  Falcon waved him off. “I told you, there’s no need.”

  “Sorry, you can’t get rid of me that easy. I promised Mrs. Stockdale I’d have the doctor take a look at you,” Gentry said. “And she ain’t a woman that can be easy put off.”

  Falcon chuckled. “I think you’re right about that. But there’s nothing to my wound.”

  “Then you won’t mind me taking a look at it,” Doc Andrews said.

  Falcon sighed, then took off his hat and leaned his head forward. “All right, go ahead, take a look at it if you must.”

  “Gentry, get that lantern over here and hold it close so I can see.”

  “All right,” Gentry said, going over to take a burning lantern down from a shelf. He brought it back over and held it above Falcon’s scalp while Andrews examined it.

  “You are a lucky man,” the doctor said. “If that bullet had been half an inch farther to the left, you’d be dead.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Falcon said. “But so far my luck has held out.”

  “Looks like you cleaned it out pretty well. That was smart of you.”

  “I can thank Mrs. Stockdale for that,” Falcon said.

  “Thing is, if it festers it could still kill you, so you better let me treat it,” Dr. Andrews said. He opened his bag and took out a bottle. “This is going to sting a little,” he said as he poured alcohol onto the wound.

  “Ouch! Damn right it stings,” Falcon said.

  “Shame on you,” Dr. Andrews said. “Think of all those kids who are reading about you in dime novels now. What would they think if they saw you wincing like this?”

  “They’d think it hurts,” Falcon said.

  “Yes, well, at least you came out on top of the deal. I saw the other man.”

  “You saw the other man? What do you mean, what are you talking about?”

  Dr. Andrews turned to Gentry. “Didn’t you tell me it was Fargo Ford that robbed the stage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I treated one of the men who robbed you. They called him Ponci. He’s in real bad shape.”

  “You say one of them is hurt?” Gentry said. He shook his head. “Don’t know how that could be. Didn’t none of us get a shot off.”

  “It wasn’t a gunshot wound,” Dr. Andrews said as he finished treating Falcon’s wound. He put his equipment away and closed his bag. “They came through town about mid-afternoon,” he said. “There were five of them, including Fargo Ford.”

  “And one of them was hurt?”

  “More than just hurt. He’s going to die if he doesn’t get treatment.”

  “I thought you treated him.”

  Dr. Andrews shook his head. “No. I tried to, but he wouldn’t let me.”

  “How was he hurt?”

  “Well, to quote Fargo Ford, he brung it on by himself by messing with some girl, and she cut him in the leg.”

  “I’ll be damn,” Gentry said. “It had to be the Indian girl.”

  “It’s a leg wound, yet you say he will die if he doesn’t get treatment?” Falcon asked.

  “He has the onset of gangrene,” Dr. Andrews said. “It’s going to require a very aggressive treatment to stop the spread, but Ponci isn’t going to allow it. In fact, it may already be too late. The idiot is trying to treat it with laudanum.”

  At that moment a tall thin man with white hair and a white handlebar mustache came into the saloon. He was wearing a white collarless shirt and a black leather vest. A star was pinned to the vest. He stepped up to the bar.

  “Dooley, is Gentry in here?” the sheriff asked.

  “I’m back here, Sheriff,” Gentry called to him, having heard the question.

  “Mr. Gentry, I unde
rstand you were robbed today,” the sheriff said, coming toward the table where Gentry, Dr. Andrews, and Falcon were.

  “That’s right, Sheriff,” Gentry said. “We was robbed, Kerry was killed, an Indian girl was killed, and Mr. MacCallister here was shot.”

  “Yes,” the sheriff said. He stuck his hand out. “Mr. MacCallister, Sheriff Corbin. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Sheriff,” Falcon replied, taking the proffered hand. “I understand from the doc here that these men came through your town this afternoon.”

  “They did indeed,” Corbin said. “But of course, none of us knew then that they had robbed the stagecoach.”

  “Yes, well, they were also escaped prisoners,” Falcon said. “They killed a man back in Calabasas and Sheriff Ferrell put them in jail. I know damn well he didn’t just let them out.”

  “No, I know Sheriff Ferrell and I don’t reckon he would do something like that. The problem is, we don’t have the telegraph here, so we’re almost always the last ones to know anything. Truth to tell, I looked through my files and couldn’t even find any paper to serve on them.”

  Falcon stared at the sheriff for a moment and saw him wince, then look down. He knew then that the sheriff was lying; he was sure there was paper. On the other hand the sheriff was one man, and Fargo Ford alone was more than most lawmen could handle. Fargo Ford with his gang would be impossible.

  Falcon smiled to let the sheriff know that he understood. Then he held up his hand. “Nobody is blaming you, Sheriff.”

  “Yes, well, right now, we’ve got us a bigger problem than those robbers,” Sheriff Corbin said. “Fact is, it is one hell of a problem.”

  “Yaakos Gan,” Falcon said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Yaakos Gan,” Falcon said again. “That’s Cloud Dancer’s Indian name.”

  “Oh, yes,” the sheriff said. “Well, if you know that much about her, you may also know that she is the daughter of Keytano. And here lately, Keytano’s band has been giving us a bit of trouble. The funny thing is, Keytano is the one who has been holding the others ... the young troublemakers ... back. But now ...”

  Sheriff Corbin sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. “Now, I don’t know what is going to happen.”