“Woowee, I had to piss like a Russian racehorse,” Strayhorn said.
“I’ll tell you what, that is one good-lookin’ woman in there,” Logan said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone that pretty.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get to thinkin’ on that too hard,” Loomis said. “’Cause she ain’t goin’ to be around all that long.”
“So you think MacCallister will show up with the money?” Logan asked. “I mean, I heard what they told you in there, how’s they don’t think he will pay the money.”
“Oh, he’ll show up with the money, all right,” Loomis said.
“How do you know he will?” Logan asked. “I mean, especially since they’re so sure he won’t.”
“That’s ’cause they’re a couple of city dudes who don’t know nothin’,” Loomis answered. “They think I’m runnin’ a bluff, but MacCallister knows better. He knows I’ll kill his brother and sister if he don’t come up with the money.”
“So if he does show up with the money, how do we handle it?”
“How do we handle what?”
“How do we handle turnin’ them over to him? I mean, do we just tell him where we’re keepin’ ’em, or what?” Strayhorn asked.
Loomis’s laughter was coarse and hollow. “Hell, it won’t make no difference to him where they are, ’cause we ain’t tellin’ him nothin’,” Loomis said. “I aim to kill Mr. Falcon MacCallister just as soon as I get the money.”
“What for?” Logan asked. “I mean, if we get the money, why are you going to kill him?”
“For one thing, I’m going to kill him because the son of a bitch killed my brother,” Loomis said. “You do remember that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure, I remember it.”
“And for another, I’m going to kill him because he wouldn’t let it go at that. Soon as he got his brother and sister back, he’d come after us to get his money back. And I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life just to see if he’s back there doggin’ us.”
“Yeah,” Logan said. “Yeah, I can understand that, I suppose. But what about the two back there in the house? I mean, after we’ve kilt their brother and took the money, what are we goin’ to do with them? You goin’ to let them go?”
“That’s a good question, and I been thinkin’ a lot about that,” Loomis said.
“So, have you come up with an answer? What are we goin’ to do?”
“After we get the money, then we’re goin’ to have to kill them, too,” Loomis said. “I don’t see no other way of handlin’ it.”
“I don’t know if we want to do that, Loomis,” Kelly said.
“Why not?”
“Well, just think about it. Their names is in the paper all the time. Folks go see ’em doin’ their plays and such. They’re real famous. If something happens to them, everyone is going to be looking.”
“Uh-huh. Looking for who?”
“Well, for us.”
“No,” Loomis said. “They’ll be looking for the ones who done it.”
Kelly looked at Loomis as if he had lost his senses. “Well, hell, Loomis, that’s what I said.”
“No, you said they were going to be lookin’ for us. But they ain’t goin’ to be lookin’ for us ’cause they won’t know that we are the ones that done it. We was all wearin’ masks, remember?”
“Yeah, but you left that note for MacCallister. What if someone on the train read it?”
“More’n likely they did read it,” Loomis said. “But I didn’t sign it. Not even MacCallister will know who we are. He’ll just know that somebody has taken his brother and sister, and if he wants to see them alive again, he’s goin’ to have to pay us the money we asked him for.”
“That will be fine until he sees us,” Logan said. “Don’t forget, he knows ever’one of us.”
“Which is exactly why we’re goin’ to kill him,” Loomis said.
Logan paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“And that’s also why we’re goin’ to have to kill them two back in there.” Loomis pointed toward the house. “Do you think if we let them go that it would be the end of it? No, sir, it would not be the end of it,” Loomis said, answering his own question. “It’s because they’re famous that they’ll be able to get ever’one to listen to them. I mean, we come here from no farther than Colorado and yet no one has ever heard of us. But if we let them two in there go, they’ll get to blabbin’ and the next thing you know, folks will know about us from California to New York. We won’t be able to go anywhere.”
“Why, we’d be as famous as Billy the Kid,” Strayhorn said with a big smile.
“Yeah, as famous as Billy the Kid. And you seen what happened to him, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yeah,” Strayhorn said. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
“What about you, Kelly?” Loomis asked his brother.
Kelly nodded. “I hate to kill someone so pretty, but I guess you’re right. It has to be done.”
“Come on, let’s get back inside,” Loomis said. “Logan, you can cook breakfast for us.”
“Why me?” Logan asked.
“Because I told you to,” Loomis replied.
The five men tramped back into the house, then looked over to the corner where Andrew and Rosanna lay, still tied to the bunks.
“Will you untie us now?” Andrew asked.
“Will you give me your word that you won’t try and escape?” Loomis asked.
“As my sister said, there are five of you, and you are all armed,” Andrew said. “Besides, you have not even given us the opportunity to relieve ourselves.”
“Yeah, all right, untie ’em,” Loomis ordered, and Logan went over to untie them.
“Thank you,” Rosanna said as she sat up on the bed, rubbing her wrists. “Now, may I please go attend to my—uh—personal needs?”
“Go ahead, but you’d better take a good look around in the privy when you get out there,” Loomis said. “This place has been abandoned ever since the railroad come through, and like as not there’s scorpions and snakes and all sorts of critters out there.”
“I’ve dealt with such things before,” Rosanna said. She started toward the door.
“Wait,” Loomis called to her.
Rosanna stopped.
“I don’t want you to go out by yourself. Strayhorn, you go with her. Keep an eye on her.”
Strayhorn smiled broadly. “Keep an eye on her, right. I’ll do just that,” he said. “Come along, girlie, you won’t have to be worryin’ none about them critters long as I’m in there with you.”
“What do you mean, as long as you are in there with me?” Rosanna asked sharply.
“You heard what Loomis said,” Strayhorn replied. “He wants me to keep an eye on you.”
“For cryin’ out loud, Strayhorn, I don’t mean for you to go into the privy with her. Just keep an eye on her from outside.”
“Oh, hell,” Strayhorn said. “Look, don’t you think it would be better if I went in with her? I mean, that way we know she wouldn’t try nothin’, and I could look out for the critters for her. We wouldn’t want her to get bit or nothin’.”
“She’ll be just fine in there by herself. You stay outside the privy,” Loomis said.
“All right, whatever you say,” Strayhorn said, obviously disappointed
Despite Loomis’s warning, Rosanna saw no scorpions or snakes. She did see Strayhorn’s eye looking through a crack, though, and reaching down, she picked up a handful of dirt, then threw it at the crack.
When she stepped outside a moment later, she saw Strayhorn, still rubbing at his eye, which was now red.
“Oh, did something get in your eye, Mr. Strayhorn?” she asked sweetly.
“Get on back inside,” Strayhorn growled.
Chapter Sixteen
It was now early evening of the second day, and Falcon was in the dining car. He had changed trains in Denver, transferring f
rom the Denver and Rio Grande Line to the Union Pacific. He had not taken a Pullman or a parlor car for this part of the trip because he would be getting off later tonight.
“Anything else I can get you, sir?” a white-jacketed steward asked, approaching Falcon’s table.
Falcon, who had just enjoyed a dinner of elk steak, minted green peas, and baked sweet potato, picked up the napkin and dabbed at his lips.
“No, thank you. My compliments to the chef—it was an excellent dinner.”
“Thank you, sir, I’m sure he will be very pleased,” the steward said.
Picking up his saddlebags, Falcon returned to his car. He sat there for a moment, looking through the window at the little yellow patches of lights that were sliding by on the ground beside him at better than twenty miles per hour. Then, crossing his arms around the strap of his saddlebags, Falcon tipped his hat forward, leaned back in his chair, and went to sleep.
The dream came almost immediately.
Falcon pushed open the batwing doors and stepped inside the saloon, standing for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark.
The men he was after were sitting at a far table, playing cards and sharing a bottle, but drinking very little.
Falcon walked up to the long bar and ordered a drink, conscious of the many eyes on him. He ignored the open stares, concentrating on his shot glass. Trouble would start soon enough, he felt. No need for him to hasten it.
All that changed when a local sidled up to his side and whispered, “You see that big feller at the end of the bar, mister?”
“Yes,” Falcon returned in a whisper.
“He’s been braggin’ for several days. Ever’time he come into town. He claims to be one of the men who killed Jamie MacCallister.”
Falcon felt a coldness wash over him. He lifted his eyes and stared down the bar at the man pointed out to him; a big burly fellow, with swarthy looks and a scar on one side of his face.
“What’s his name?” Falcon asked the local.
“I heard him called Rud a time or two.”
Falcon motioned for the bartender and told him to give the citizen a drink. The drink poured, Falcon said, “You’d better drink that and then get out of the way.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” The citizen gulped down the bourbon and walked off to a far corner of the huge first floor of the Stampede Saloon.
Falcon brushed back his coat, exposing both .44s, and stepped away from the bar. “I hear tell there’s a man here claims to have killed Jamie MacCallister,” he spoke in a loud voice.
“I killed Jamie MacCallister,” the swarthy man said, stepping away from the far end of the bar. “It was a fair fight.”
“You’re a liar. Way I heard it, Jamie MacCallister was shot in the back. Twice, with a rifle.”
“No man calls me a liar, mister.”
“I just did,” Falcon said. “I knew Jamie MacCallister. No two-bit loudmouth like you would have had the courage to stand up and hook and draw against a man like him. So that makes you a liar and a back-shooting murderer.”
“I was there, mister. I faced MacCallister and shot him dead. So you can take your mouth and go to hell, or drag iron.”
“Make your play, back-shooter.”
Rud cursed and went for his gun, and Falcon drilled him as his hand touched the butt of his .45. The bullet slammed into the center of the man’s chest and knocked him back against the bar. He slowly sank to the floor, dead.
The piano player in the back of the room began three notes on the keyboard:
G–C–E
He played them over and over until they filled Falcon’s mind.
Falcon woke up, felt the rhythm of the train, and heard the clack of wheels over rail joints. He also heard the same three notes he had been hearing in his dream.
G–C–E
The conductor was walking down the aisle of the car, striking a three-note xylophone, and that was what Falcon was hearing. It is also what had intruded into his dream.
G–C–E
“Eagle Tail, Kansas,” the conductor was saying after each three-note series was struck. “Next stop is Eagle Tail, Kansas.”
“Conductor,” Falcon called as the conductor walked by his seat.
“Yes, sir, Mr. MacCallister?”
“You won’t forget that I have a horse in the stock car. I wouldn’t want the train to pull off with him.”
“It’s on our trip-log, Mr. MacCallister,” the conductor said. “Trust me, we won’t leave with your horse.”
“Thanks.”
The conductor nodded, then continued on through the car, striking the same three notes and repeating, over and over again: “Eagle Tail, Kansas.”
G–C–E
“Next stop is Eagle Tail, Kansas.”
Falcon’s dream had been about an encounter he had during his mission to avenge the killing of his father, Jamie Ian MacCallister.1 When he stopped to think about it, it didn’t seem all that unusual that he would have dreamed about avenging his father. After all, that was what this trip was all about, wasn’t it? The only difference was, he didn’t know if Andrew and Rosanna were alive or dead.
But as far as the vengeance was concerned, it didn’t make any difference. He would have revenge, because he had already made up his mind to kill the kidnappers anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, Falcon was standing out on the depot platform in Eagle Tail. A large clock that hung down from one of the support braces of the platform roof said that it was nine-fifteen. Somehow, Falcon had thought it was much later than that. Perhaps because he had been sleeping, he had lost track of time. He watched as his horse was off-loaded; then he walked up to him.
“Now, that ride wasn’t all that bad, was it?” he asked as he patted the horse gently on the neck. He took a lump of sugar from his jacket pocket and held it out in front of the horse. The horse, very delicately, picked up the cube of sugar with his extended lips.
“Mister, where do you want your saddle?” one of the baggage men asked.
“Bring it to me,” Falcon said. “I’m going to ride him down to the livery to board him.”
“No need to go that far unless you just want to,” the baggage man said. “They can board your horse right here at the depot.”
“That’s good to know,” Falcon said.
Shouldering the saddle himself, Falcon led the horse around to the other side of the depot, where he saw a small boarding stable. It appeared to be clean enough to satisfy him, and he was glad to see that, despite the late hour, there was someone working.
“I’d like to board my horse here,” Falcon said.
“Twenty-five cents a night,” the liveryman said, removing a piece of straw from his mouth while he spoke.
“All right.”
“In advance.”
“All right.”
“And if you ain’t here to claim him, or pay for another day by noon tomorrow, I’ll turn him out.”
“Here’s for four days,” Falcon said, handing the stableman a dollar.
“I’ll keep an eye on your saddlebags for an extra ten cents a day,” the stable keep offered.
“No, thanks,” Falcon said. “I’ll take care of them.”
“Suit yourself,” the man said, taking the reins of Falcon’s horse and leading him toward the back.
With his horse seen to, Falcon decided to take a look around town, just to see what kind of place this was. He heard the engineer blow the whistle, then open the steam valve as the train began pulling away amidst the cacophony of whistles, bells, loud chugging, and final shouts of good-bye from those who had turned out to wish loved ones a safe journey.
As the noise of the train receded, the noise of a town at night took over. From one of the houses he could hear someone playing a piano, and playing it very well. The soothing music was offset by an argument ensuing from one of the other houses.
A mule began braying.
A freshening breeze caused a hanging sign to begin swinging and, with each swing, the
wood squeaked in protest.
When Falcon stepped up onto the boardwalk, his boots drummed against the boards as he walked through the town.
Eagle Tail was laid out like the letter T with the cross of the T running parallel to the track. The road that ran perpendicular to the track was the main street, ending at the depot on the near end, and at a church on the far end. The church, empty at this time of night, glowed bright white in the light of the full moon.
In between those two anchors stood a mix of buildings including an apothecary, a dry goods store, a newspaper office, and a couple of saloons. There was also a Chinese laundry. Even though it was after normal business hours, Falcon could hear the singsong voices of Chinese men and women, carrying on animated conversations as they labored to have laundry ready for the next day.
As Falcon walked by the newspaper office, he saw that it, too, was lit up. The latest edition was tacked up outside for passersby to see, no doubt as a form of advertisement for the paper. The headline of the first column read:
MACCALLISTERS TAKEN FROM TRAIN!
Falcon stepped into the newspaper office and saw the editor working at his press. He forced the platen down and made the impression, then pulled the bed out, raised the tympan, lifted the sheet off the bed of type, then held it up and examined his work for a moment. It wasn’t until that moment that the editor saw Falcon standing in his shop. Falcon’s sudden, and unexpected, appearance startled the newspaperman and he jumped.
“Sir, the newspaper is closed for business at night,” the editor said. “This is when I put out tomorrow’s edition.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I wasn’t frightened exactly,” the editor said. “Just startled.”
“At any rate, it is always good to see a free press at work,” Falcon said from just inside the door.
“Indeed, sir, it is,” the editor replied. “It was Thomas Jefferson himself who said, ‘Given the choice of living in a country without a government or without a free press, I would choose to live without a government.’”
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