Crusade of Eagles

by J. A. Johnstone

  Disregarding Andrew’s emergency plea, the driver snapped his whip over the head of his team, urging them into an even quicker gait.

  “He isn’t going to stop,” Rosanna said.

  “Oh, he’ll stop all right,” Falcon said.

  Suddenly, the night was lit up by the flash of gunfire, and the boom of the pistol came echoing back from all the surrounding buildings.

  Rosanna screamed, then looked over toward Falcon to see that he was still holding the pistol he had taken from the fake cop. A little wisp of smoke was curling up from the barrel.

  “Falcon, what . . . ?” she shouted. Then she saw that the carriage had come to a sudden stop as one of the horses had fallen to the pavement.

  “You son of a bitch!” the driver yelled in anger. “You shot one of my horses!”

  “Yes,” Falcon said. “And I’m going to shoot you if you don’t get that horse out of his traces and help us get this man to the hospital.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the kind,” the driver said. Jumping down from the carriage, he started toward Falcon, holding the whip over his hand. “What I’m going to do is leave lash marks on your face.”

  Falcon fired a second time, and this time his bullet cut the whip away from the handle.

  The driver looked at the whip, then looked at Falcon, finally getting the message that Falcon wasn’t a man to mess with.

  Falcon aimed the pistol at the driver.

  “Get that dead horse out of the traces and hook up the other one, then take us to a hospital,” he said.

  “Yes, sir, mister,” the driver replied. “Yes, sir, whatever you say.”

  When they reached the hospital, Rosanna went inside and informed the attendants that they had an injured policeman. Two men with a stretcher came for the policeman, and as they started back inside, Andrew and Rosanna followed.

  Falcon remained behind, and Andrew turned toward him. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Falcon said. He looked up at the driver, who was sitting in his seat, barely able to conceal his anger. “Thank you for bringing us,” Falcon said.

  “Well, now, it isn’t like I had much of a choice, is it?” the driver replied.

  “No, I guess you didn’t.”

  “If I had known there was a man needed to get to the hospital, I would’ve took him. You should’a told me.”

  “We did tell you.”

  “Yeah, by shootin’ my horse.”

  “How much did you pay for that horse?”

  “I paid one hundred dollars for him, mister. You cost me one hundred dollars tonight.”

  Falcon pulled out his billfold, then took out some money.

  “Here’s two hundred,” he said. He nodded toward the single remaining horse. “I imagine he was so used to teaming with the other one that he might balk at teaming with a new horse. So you are going to have to get two new ones.”

  “What?” the driver asked in surprise. The glum expression left his face, to be replaced by a broad smile.

  “Does this square us?” Falcon asked, holding out the money but not letting it go just yet.

  The driver nodded. “Yes, sir, I reckon it more’n squares us.”

  Falcon stepped back from the carriage. “Get on with you, then,” he said.

  The driver slapped his reins against the back of the remaining horse, and the carriage pulled away from the curved drive in front of the hospital.

  When Falcon went inside, he saw Andrew and Rosanna sitting in chairs near the wall. He walked over to join them.

  “One of the people said the doctor would come out to talk to us in a few minutes,” Andrew said.

  “All right,” Falcon said, sitting in a chair beside them.

  “Falcon, would you really have shot that driver?” Rosanna asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Someone told me a long time ago that you should never point a gun at someone unless you are willing to use it. I’ve never forgotten that lesson.”

  Rosanna shuddered. “Who in the world told you such a thing?”

  “Our pa,” Falcon said easily.

  At that moment a small, gray-haired man came over toward them.

  “Are any of you the MacCallisters?” the man asked.

  “We all are,” Rosanna answered for them.

  “My goodness, the whole family must be here.”

  “Not quite the whole family,” Falcon answered with a chuckle, thinking of their six other siblings and their children.

  “Yes, well, I am Dr. Block. I just examined the patient. Is he your relative?”

  “No, he is a policeman,” Andrew said. “We found him injured and brought him here.”

  Dr. Block nodded. “Is that so? Well, he owes his life to the fact that you were all Good Samaritans.”

  “You mean he is going to be all right?” Rosanna asked.

  “Yes, thanks to the fact that you got him here in time for us to treat him. I predict that he will be make a full recovery.”

  “Thank God,” Rosanna said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  Chapter Nine

  Shortly after Andrew and Rosanna arrived, Count Pourtales took Rosanna on a tour of Broadmoor.

  “I can see that a lot of planning went into this,” she said.

  “Yes, my dear,” Pourtales replied. “I have been thinking about it for some time. My first thought was to concentrate on the families and friends who come with the invalids to the sanatoriums. You know that such visits have to be upsetting for them, with a loved one here who is in bad health. I wanted to give them something to do that would allow them to pass their time while they are here, as well as get their minds off their troubles. And this sort of diversion may well appeal to them. That is, those who like to gamble.

  “But it looks to me as if you offer much more than gambling.”

  “Oh, indeed,” Pourtales replied. “We have a restaurant with a French chef, and a pavilion for dancing. And there is every kind of sport imaginable: boating, fishing, shooting, baseball, cricket matches. . . .”

  “Cricket matches?” Rosanna asked with a little laugh.

  “Yes. We have a lot of Londoners who visit, you know, so the cricket matches are for them. And, in time, we will have a golf course as fine as any they have in the East. Actually, what we are building here is something called a country club.”

  “A country club? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the term before,” Rosanna said.

  “That’s not surprising, even for someone as worldly as you,” Pourtales said. “There is only one other in the United States.”

  “You consider me worldly, Count Pourtales?” Rosanna asked, lifting one eyebrow.

  “Oh, my!” Pourtales said, clasping his hand to his mouth. “Please, my dear, take no offense. I meant nothing untoward about it. I just . . .”

  Rosanna interrupted him with her laughter. “I know you didn’t,” she said. “I was just teasing you.”

  Pourtales clucked his tongue and shook his head. “I can see why you have so many admirers,” he said. “You are not only beautiful and talented, you have a marvelous sense of humor. I do hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “And your brother?”

  “I’m sure my brother will enjoy it as much as I.”

  At that moment, Falcon MacCallister was walking through the lobby of the Broadmoor. Seeing a pile of newspapers on the front desk, he left a nickel, picked up a paper, and walked out onto the front porch. He walked halfway down the length of the porch until he found a rocking chair that allowed him to enjoy the scenery, but was far enough away from passersby to enable him to read his paper in peace.

  Some guests were playing croquet on the front lawn, and he heard a young woman’s squeal of delight and a man’s loud guffaw over a stroke. Unfolding the paper, he began to read and, as he had expected, the lead story was about the visit of his famous brother and sister.

  AMUSEMENTS
r />   AT BROADMOOR.

  Famous New York Actors to Appear.

  Brought to Colorado at Great Expense.

  James Pourtales announced today that the famous thespians Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister have been contracted to present a show of song, dance, and dramatic readings in the theater at Broadmoor Casino.

  Colorado Springs has in the past been woefully insufficient so far as entertainment and amusement for its visitors are concerned. To some, the natural scenes of canyons and mountains and pleasant drives afford all that is necessary in this line, but there are many others who seek their lost health in this most beneficent atmosphere who require other diversions than that provided so lavishly by nature, and who, if they cannot find it here, will seek it elsewhere. It is a well-authenticated fact that in many instances in the past people whose weakened hearts or leisurely habits prevented them from engaging in more serious occupations have left Colorado Springs for a residence in other places less beautiful, less bountifully endowed by nature, and less attractive in other ways, because they could not find that “something to do” which was lacking here.

  The Broadmoor company has been the first to supply the want which many have recognized, and may fairly be said to mark an epoch in the history of the city. In bringing to our fair city acts of the quality of the MacCallisters, Count Pourtales is providing entertainment not only for the citizens who are already inhabitants of Colorado Springs, but also for a class who when they came here were not contented to remain.

  Although the story of the MacCallisters’ upcoming show at Broadmoor was the lead story of the Colorado Springs Gazette, there was another story, also on the front page, that caught Falcon’s attention.

  A SAVAGE MURDER!

  Word has reached this newspaper of a tragic and savage event occurring within our own county. The bodies of Elam Rafferty and his wife, son, and daughter were found in their home last week. Mr. Rafferty and his son had both been shot in the head. Mrs. Rafferty and her daughter were stabbed to death. There is also evidence that both Mrs. Rafferty and her sixteen-year-old daughter had unspeakable horrors visited upon them before they were killed.

  The bodies were found by Mr. Lamont Peabody. Mr. Peabody had made arrangements to buy six horses from Rafferty, and when Rafferty did not show on the day agreed upon, Peabody grew anxious. He gave Rafferty two more days, then rode out to the Rocking R Ranch to ascertain as to why Rafferty had not kept the appointment.

  That was when he found all four bodies.

  Peabody has been assured by Dr. Butler that an earlier arrival would not have enabled him to save the life of the young girl. Speculation as to the possibility arose when it was discovered that the young girl had lived long enough to inscribe, in blood, the name of her killer. The name was “Tate,” and it is thought that she was referring to Loomis Tate, who avoided hanging in the week previous, by killing Deputy Leroy Coleman and making good his escape from the jail in Colorado Springs.

  A note left at the jail was signed by both Loomis Tate and his brother Kelly. The note indicated that the Tates plan to take revenge on Mr. Falcon MacCallister for killing their brother Drew, during an attempted robbery of the stage between MacCallister and Colordao Springs.

  Sheriff Smith visited the scene of the crime, then vowed a renewed effort to bring the nefarious Loomis Tate and his gang to a swift and unremitting justice.

  After reading the newspaper, Falcon unfolded the note Sheriff Smith had given him when he returned from New York.

  TO FALCON MACALESTER

  GOING TO GIT EVIN WITH YOU FOR KILLIN MY BROTHER LIKE YOU DUN JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE.

  LOOMIS TATE

  KELLY TATE

  Falcon didn’t expect any trouble from Loomis Tate, who, he was sure, was far from Colorado Springs by now, but he had learned long ago to always be on the alert.

  A shadow passed over him and, looking up, he saw his sister.

  “So, here you are,” Rosanna said. “Enjoying the air, are you?”

  “Yes, very much,” Falcon replied. He pointed to the paper. “And the story about you and Andrew. The editor gave the two of you quite a write-up.”

  “Yes, I saw it. It was almost embarrassingly flattering,” Rosanna said. “Count Pourtales has just given me a grand tour of the facilities.”

  “It’s quite a place, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s very lovely. And our rooms. They are nicer than any hotel room I have ever visited.”

  Falcon, Andrew, and Rosanna had each been given luxurious rooms in the rear of the hotel.

  “Have you seen the view from our balcony?” Rosanna asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It is breathtakingly beautiful,” she said. Spontaneously, she leaned down and hugged her brother. “Oh, Falcon, I can’t thank you enough for setting all this up for us.”

  “I was just the messenger,” Falcon said.

  “Whatever your part in it, I thank you.”

  “Rosanna, oh, there you are!” Andrew called from down the porch. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “Well, I’ve been everywhere,” Rosanna joked. “The wonder is that we didn’t cross paths.”

  “There is no time for joking now,” Andrew said. “Come on, we need to get dressed for the first number.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Rosanna promised. She smiled at Falcon. “Where will you be sitting? I always like to play to someone special, and tonight that will be you. But I can’t do it if I don’t know where you will be sitting.”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Falcon replied.

  Andrew walked up just as Falcon was answering Rosanna’s question.

  “Of course you know where you’ll be sitting,” Andrew said. “You’ll be in Count Pourtales’s box.”

  “He’s not a count over here,” Falcon said.

  “My dear boy, you simply don’t understand,” Andrew said. “Once a count, always a count. Come along, my dear,” he said to Rosanna. “We simply must get into our first costume.”

  Falcon watched them walk away. Then he smiled and shook his head.

  “Papa,” he said. “How in the hell did those two wind up in Mama’s litter?”

  Chapter Ten

  As fiddles, flutes, and drums played behind them, Andrew and Rosanna performed an Irish step dance, their feet tapping rapidly on the stage floor while they were practically motionless from their waists up.

  After the dance, Rosanna left the stage, then returned to bring a hat and cane to Andrew. Andrew put the hat on his head, tipped it forward, leaned upon the cane like a dandy, and began his song.

  I came home the other night,

  As drunk as I could be.

  And what do you think my wondering eyes should see?

  A horse, where my horse should be.

  So I said to my wife, my pretty little wife,

  “Explain this thing to me.

  What’s a horse doing where my horse should be?”

  And she said, “You old fool, you drunken old fool,

  Can’t you plainly see?

  That’s nothing but a milk cow

  My mama gave to me.”

  The audience roared with appreciative laughter and Andrew went on:

  Well, I’ve been around this country,

  Maybe ten times or more,

  But a saddle and a bridle on a milk cow

  I never saw before.

  More laugher.

  I came home the other night,

  As drunk as I could be,

  And what do you think my wondering eyes should see?

  “What did you see?” someone yelled from the crowd.

  Playing to the crowd, Andrew lifted a finger, then shook his head as if confused by the whole thing.

  I saw a hat, hanging on the hat rack,

  Where my hat ought to be.

  So I said to my wife, my pretty little wife,

  “Explain this thing to me.

  What’s this hat doing on the hat rack,

  Where my hat o
ught to be?”

  And she said, “You old fool, you drunken fool,

  Can’t you plainly see?

  That’s nothing but a chamber pot

  My mama gave to me.”

  Well, I’ve been around this country,

  Maybe ten times or more.

  But a feather on a chamber pot

  I never saw before.

  There was more laughter.

  “Come on, mister, you didn’t believe that, did you?” someone yelled.

  “What happened next?” another from the audience called.

  Andrew, playing the injured and innocent husband, tipped his hat back, stepped forward as if taking the audience into his confidence, and continued.

  I came home the other night,

  As drunk as I could be.

  And what do you think my wondering eyes should see?

  “Mister, the way it’s been going with you, there’s no tellin’ what you seen!” someone yelled, and again, the crowd roared with laughter. Andrew, playing the crowd beautifully, merely raised one eyebrow as if totally taken in by it all, then continued.

  I saw my pants, on a chair,

  Where my pants ought to be.

  “Mister, you had better wake up,” one of the men in the audience shouted.

  So I said to my wife, my pretty little wife,

  “Explain this thing to me.

  What are these pants doing here,

  Where my pants ought to be?”

  “Ha! I’d like to hear how she got out of that one!” someone said.

  And she said, “You old fool, you drunken fool,

  Can’t you plainly see?

  That’s nothing but a dishrag

  My mama sent to me.”

  Now, I’ve been around this country,

  Maybe ten times or more.