Crusade of Eagles

by J. A. Johnstone

  The top hinge of the door was broken and when Strayhorn pushed to open it, the top of the door went in and the bottom of the door came out; then the entire door fell in with a crash, raising a cloud of dust.

  “I don’t reckon there is anyone home,” Strayhorn said with a giggle. He started inside, then called out in pain and anger.

  “Shit!”

  “What is it? What happened?”

  “I stepped on a nail,” Strayhorn complained.

  “We better get some light in here, or else we’ll all be steppin’ on nails and comin’ down with the lockjaw,” Logan said. Striking a match, he examined the inside of the room by the flickering light until he saw a candle. It took a second match for the candle to be lit, but they were rewarded with a soft, golden bubble of light that pushed back the darkness.

  The light of the candle also disclosed a sign, making them aware of where they were.

  GOPHER CREEK STAGECOACH WAY-STATION

  Hot Meals–15 cents

  Lester Truegood—Manager.

  “Wouldn’t mind having me one of them hot meals right now,” Logan said.

  “Tie them onto them two bunks over there,” Loomis ordered, pointing to two bunks that were in line, head to head.

  “Get in them bunks,” Kelly ordered, and as Andrew and Rosanna complied, Kelly began tying them both to the beds and to each other.

  “You needn’t pull the rope so tightly around my wrists,” Andrew said. “That hurts.”

  “Quit your bellyachin’,” Kelly said as he continued to tie them to the bunks. “You don’t hear your sister complainin’, do you?”

  “Would it do any good to complain?” Rosanna asked.

  Kelly chuckled. “Not a bit,” he said.

  The blankets on the bed were of an exceptionally rough texture, almost like burlap bags. And the smells were horrible, a mélange of fetid, sour, and unpleasant aromas as if every meal ever cooked in this room had suddenly joined forces in one great, fetid odor.

  “Loomis, may I ask you a question?” Andrew asked.

  Loomis looked surprised. “How is it that you know my name?”

  “I heard the men call you Loomis,” Andrew said. “You seem to be the leader of this band of brigands.”

  “I’m the leader of a band of brigands, am I?” Loomis asked. He chuckled. “Yeah, I like that. I guess I am the leader of this band of—brigands.” He set the word “brigands” apart from the rest of the sentence. “All right, what is your question?”

  “Why have you brought us here?” Rosanna asked. “And what do you plan to do with us?”

  “That’s two questions,” Loomis said. “But if you must know, I brought you here in order to hold you for ransom.”

  “Ransom? Ransom for what?” Rosanna asked.

  “Well, now, that leads into your second question, as to what do I plan to do with you. Because if your brother decides not bring the money to pay for your freedom, what I intend to do with you is kill you both.”

  Three things that Falcon really enjoyed in life were good cigars, good whiskey, and a good poker game. Of course, his likes weren’t limited to just those three things, but they certainly ranked high on his list and all three were available, in abundance, right here in Colorado Springs.

  Falcon had not planned to stay after his brother and sister returned to New York. Yet here it was, at least four days after they left, and he was still in Colorado Springs. More specifically, he was still at the Broadmoor, enjoying the supply of cigars, whiskey, and cards.

  At the moment, he was enjoying all three at the same time because he was puffing on a Cuban cigar, sipping a good Kentucky bourbon, and studying the hand he was holding.

  The question before him was, should he break up his pair of jacks and draw one card to go for a flush, or keep the jacks and draw three new cards?

  He decided to draw three new cards.

  The first card he drew was a heart, which would have made his flush. He groaned inwardly. He drew two sevens, giving him two pair.

  Two pair wasn’t good enough, and he smiled graciously as the winner raked in his pot.

  “Mr. MacCallister?” someone called from the door of the card room. “Is there a Falcon MacCallister in here?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” Falcon said, holding up his hand.

  A young boy, about sixteen, hurried across the room to him. The boy was a messenger, one of many young boys who earned money by carrying messages between businesses and individuals in Colorado Springs.

  “This come in on the train today,” the boy said. “I was told to give it to you.”

  “Thanks,” Falcon said. He picked up a dollar chip from his pile and gave it to the boy.

  “Gee! Thanks, mister!” the messenger boy said.

  Falcon saw that his name on the letter was misspelled as Macalester, and he remembered that Loomis Tate had misspelled it that way. With a sense of foreboding, he opened the letter.

  MACALESTER

  IV GOT YUR BROTHER AND SISTER AND IM GOING TO KEEP THEM UNTIL YOU GIV ME $20,000. COME TO THE LONG TRAIL SALOON IN EAGLE TAIL KANSAS AT 4 PM ON THE 9TH. BRING MONEY. SOMEONE WILL MET YOU THER AND TELL YOU WHAT TO DO NEXT.

  Falcon folded the letter, then drummed his fingers on the table for a moment.

  “Bad news?” one of the other players asked.

  “What?” Falcon asked, looking up.

  “The letter,” the player said, pointing toward the message Falcon had received. “You look troubled. Is it bad news?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Falcon said. “But there is a chance that it may be. Gentlemen, I have very much enjoyed our game, but if you will excuse me, I’m afraid I must cash in and leave.”

  “It has been most enjoyable,” the man who won the last hand said. “It is always good to play cards with a gracious loser.”

  “He’s just as gracious a winner,” one of the other players said. “He won more last night than he has lost tonight.”

  “Well, then, that truly does make him a credit to the game.”

  Falcon took his chips to the cashier to exchange them for cash. As he was waiting, Pourtales came up to talk to him.

  “Leaving the tables early tonight, Falcon?” Pourtales asked.

  “Yes,” Falcon said. Falcon reached into his inside jacket pocket. “James, I wonder if I could ask a favor of you.” He pulled out a book of blank bank drafts, and began writing on one.

  “Of course you can,” Pourtales replied. “After all you have done for me in the last few weeks, I will do anything it is in my power to do.”

  Falcon finished writing the draft, blew on the ink to dry it, then handed it Pourtales.

  “The bank has closed for the day,” he said. “I wonder if you could cash this for me.”

  Pourtales chuckled. “I’d be glad to,” he said. “Running a little short of spending money, are you? I’ll just give this to . . .” Pourtales looked at the check for the first time, then gasped in surprise.

  “Falcon, this draft is drawn for twenty thousand dollars,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Gott im Himmel, Falcon, surely you have not lost so much at the gambling tables. I would feel very bad.”

  Falcon smiled. “Do not worry, my friend. The tables have not been overly generous to me, but I have won more than I have lost. No, this is for . . .” Falcon paused for a moment, then showed Pourtales the letter.

  Pourtales read it, then hit his fist in his hand. “No!” he said. “This is my fault! It would not have happened if I had not brought them out here.”

  “You didn’t bring them out here, James,” Falcon said. “They are both grown up now. They brought themselves.”

  “Of course I will cash your draft,” Pourtales said, taking the instrument. “I just hate to see you pay those cretins.”

  “Who said I’m going to pay them?” Falcon asked.

  “But the draft?”

  “Have you ever gone trapping, James?” Falcon asked.

  “Trapping?”


  “Yes, for beaver, muskrat, wolves, weasels,” Falcon said.

  “No, I can’t say that I have,” Pourtales replied.

  “Funny thing about running a trapline. In order to get the critter into the trap, you need bait.”

  “Bait?” Pourtales said with a puzzled expression on his face. Then he smiled broadly and laughed out loud. “Yes, bait.” He handed the draft to his cashier, and the cashier began counting out the money.

  “Tate wants me in Eagle Tail on the ninth,” Falcon said. “If I take the train out tonight, I will reach Eagle Tail late on the evening of the eighth.”

  “That’s almost a full day ahead of time,” Pourtales said.

  “Yes.”

  “Why so early?”

  Falcon smiled. “Another thing about setting out a trapline is to make sure you get there before the varmint does.”

  Pourtales smiled. “I almost feel sorry for the varmint,” he said.

  “Here you are, sir, twenty thousand dollars,” the cashier said, stacking the money up on the counter in front of the window.

  “You’ll need something to carry that in,” Pourtales offered. “I have a leather valise, let me get it for you.”

  “No need,” Falcon said. He pointed to a cloth bag. “That will do, if you can spare it.”

  “Of course, anything,” Pourtales said, pointing it out to the cashier, who picked it up.

  “Thanks,” Falcon said as he began filling the sack with money.

  “Falcon, would you like me to go with you?”

  “No,” Falcon said. “The fewer people there are to set a trapline, the more effective the trapline is.”

  “Gott ist mit Ihnen,” Pourtales said, reaching out to shake Falcon’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Falcon said.

  With a final nod of good-bye, Falcon left the casino, carrying the nondescript cloth bag that contained twenty thousand dollars in cash.

  “Do you wish to check your bags through?” the ticket clerk asked.

  “No,” Falcon said, throwing the saddlebags, into which he had transferred the money, over his shoulder. “Just make certain that my saddle stays with the horse.”

  “It’s all taken care of,” the clerk said.

  As Falcon waited for the train, he saw people beginning to gather at the station. The uninitiated might think that they were all passengers, or were meeting, or seeing off, passengers, but Falcon knew better. He understood that one of the most important events in any Western town was the arrival of a train. Many would come to watch the trains even if they had no personal stake in their arrivals or departures. And as the townspeople began to gather, the crowd would take on a carnival atmosphere, with a great deal of laughing and joking.

  Falcon found a place away from the jostling crowd. Then, leaning against the depot wall, he lit a cheroot and smoked quietly as he waited.

  “Here comes the train!” someone shouted.

  Immediately upon the heels of the shout, came the sound of the train whistle, announcing its arrival.

  “It’s right on time tonight,” another said.

  The laughing and joking ceased as everyone grew quiet to await the train’s arrival.

  Falcon watched as the people on the platform moved closer to the track to stare in the direction from which the train would come. In the distance they could see the head-lamp, which was a gas flame and mirror reflector, casting a long, bright beam in front of the oncoming train.

  The train could be heard quite clearly now, not only the whistle but the hollow sounds of the puffing steam coming from the engine, then rolling back as an echo from the surrounding hillsides. As the train drew even closer, Falcon could see glowing sparks spewing out from the smokestack, whipped up by the billowing clouds of smoke.

  The train pounded into the station with sparks flying from the drive wheels and glowing hot embers dripping from its firebox. Following the engine and tender were the golden patches of light that were the windows of the passenger cars. The train squealed to a halt. Then, inside, Falcon could see the people who would be getting off here beginning to move toward the exits at the ends of the cars.

  He walked down to the end of the platform, next to the stock car, and watched as two horses were off-loaded. One of the baggage men stood by, holding Falcon’s horse. As soon as the two horses were led down the ramp, Falcon’s horse was led up the ramp.

  Falcon started to remind them not to forget his saddle, but that wasn’t necessary because even as his horse was being led up the ramp, another employee came out of the depot carrying the saddle.

  With his horse and saddle safely loaded, Falcon boarded the train. He walked down the aisle of the car until he found a seat at the rear of the car.

  Sitting in his seat, he put the saddlebags beside him, then pulled out the letter from Tate and read it again.

  “Tate, if anything happens to my brother or sister, I’ll kill you,” he said, speaking very quietly. Then he added, “No, on second thought, I’m going to kill you no matter what.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” the conductor asked, passing by at that moment.

  Falcon smiled at him. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m so used to talking to my horse that I sometimes forget I’m just talking to myself.”

  The conductor chuckled. “Yes, sir, I know what you mean.” He took Falcon’s ticket, punched it, then handed it back. He pointed to the saddlebags beside him.

  “Would you like me to put those bags in the overhead for you?”

  “No, thank you,” Falcon said. He pulled them closer to him. “They’re fine right here.”

  “Very good, sir,” the conductor replied as he moved on up the car to check the tickets of the others who had just boarded.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For a while, the candle continued to burn, and Andrew found himself watching the flickering shadows on the wall near the two bunks where he and Rosanna were being held. Because of the way he was tied in the bunk, none of the ones who had brought them here were visible. He could, however, see their shadows, cast on the wall by the candle flame.

  He was beginning to get cramps in his arms, a stiffening of his neck, and a growing pain in his back. He tried to stretch and move his body in a way that would give him some relief, and though it helped some, it didn’t do much to alleviate his discomfort.

  He could hear a couple of his captors talking, though they were talking so quietly that he couldn’t understand what they were saying. He also knew that some of them were asleep, because he could hear them snoring.

  “Rosanna,” he whispered. “Rosanna, are you awake?”

  “Yes, I’m awake,” Rosanna replied. “Who can sleep like this?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. My back is killing me.”

  “Andrew?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you get a chance to escape, take it. Don’t wait for me.”

  “No, I couldn’t do that,” Andrew replied. “There’s no way I’m going to leave you behind.”

  “I’m not asking you to leave me behind,” Rosanna said. “I’m asking you to escape for both of us. If you get away, then you can get help.”

  “Yes,” Andrew said. “Yes, I see what you mean. But they may not be watching you as closely as they watch me. So the same applies to you. If you get a chance to get away, you take it.”

  “You two stop your gabbin’ over there,” Loomis called.

  Andrew felt his twin sister working against the restraining ropes until she managed to touch his hand with hers. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. It had always been like this between them. Though obviously not identical twins, they were as close as identical twins, and were often able to communicate without talking.

  They lay in silence for another several minutes as, gradually, it began to grow lighter. Then, when it was light enough to see quite clearly, Loomis came across the floor to stand over the bunks and stare down at them.

  “We’re goin’ out to the corral to check on the horses,”
Loomis said. “Don’t you two try nothin’ while we are gone.”

  “Are you going to feed us anything?” Andrew asked.

  “Yeah, sure, I’m going to feed you. Your brother ain’t goin’ to pay money for you if you ain’t alive.”

  “Falcon isn’t going to pay you any money, anyway,” Andrew said.

  “Sure he will.”

  “No, he won’t,” Andrew said.

  “You’re his own brother and sister. Are you tellin’ me that he ain’t goin’ to pay money to save his own brother and sister?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Andrew said.

  “You better hope he does pay,” Loomis said. “’Cause if the son of a bitch don’t pay, I will kill the both of you.”

  “And if he does pay, you will let us go?” Andrew asked. It wasn’t a pleading question, it was a sarcastic question, indicating that Andrew believed that Loomis Tate had no intention of letting them go, regardless of whether Falcon paid or not.

  “He’d just better pay, that’s all,” Loomis said without answering Andrew directly.

  “How long are you going to leave us tied up?” Rosanna asked. She pulled and strained against the ropes. “Because I have to tell you, this is most uncomfortable.”

  Loomis stroked his chin for a moment as if considering her question.

  “Me ’n the others is goin’ outside for a few minutes to check the horses and such, so there won’t be anybody to watch you. But I’ll untie you when we get back in.”

  “Why not untie us now?” Rosanna said. “There are five of you and only two of us. You are armed and we aren’t. Where are we going to go? How are we going to get away?”

  Loomis looked as if he were actually considering it for a moment; then he thought better of it.

  “No,” he said. “I’ll untie you when we get back in.”

  Walking away from the two bunks, Loomis signaled to the others to follow him outside.

  They ambled over to the corral, where Strayhorn and Kelly began urinating.