Crusade of Eagles

by J. A. Johnstone

  “Crack, that’s one of the . . .” Blanton started, but Kingsley answered before the editor could finish.

  “Yes, he is one of them,” Kingsley said.

  “One of them?” Falcon asked. “One of who?”

  “One of the men who came by the store the day before your brother and sister were taken from the train. He was with Loomis Tate and the albino.”

  “Are you sure?” Falcon asked.

  “Yes, we’re sure,” Blanton said, answering for both of them.

  “I thought you knew Loomis Tate and all his men,” Kingsley said.

  “I know them all except for Loomis’s brother Kelly. And if that man was one of them, as you say, then I would take bets that he is Kelly Tate.”

  “And you say you saw him last night?” Kingsley asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I wonder what he’s doing in town. You’d think he’d be as far away from here as he can get.”

  “He’s here to see me, I expect,” Falcon said.

  “See you for what?”

  “We were supposed to meet in the Long Trail this afternoon. He’s here to give me directions on how I am to pay the twenty thousand dollars.”

  “Twenty thousand dollars?” Kingsley said, nearly choking on his food. “What twenty thousand dollars?”

  “The twenty thousand dollars I am supposed to pay to ransom my brother and sister.”

  “My God, man! Do you actually have that kind of money?” Blanton asked.

  “Yeah,” Falcon said. He patted the saddlebags. “I’ve got the money.”

  Kingsley laughed out loud. “I’ll be damned. So that’s why you’ve been keeping those saddlebags with you night and day. That’s where you are keeping the money, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Kingsley wiped his lips with his napkin, then pushed back from the table. “I think I’ll just ask Mr. Tate where he was last night.”

  “Don’t spook him too much,” Falcon said. “I’m going to need him to be able to find Andrew and Rosanna.”

  “I’m just going to ask him a few questions,” Kingsley said. He started toward Kelly. “Mr. Tate, I wonder if I could ask you where you were last night?”

  Suddenly, and without warning, Kelly Tate pulled his pistol.

  “Eeeeeeek!” a woman screamed.

  “He’s got a pistol!” a man shouted.

  “Put that away, Tate, I just want to . . .” Kingsley began, but that was as far as he got.

  Kelly pulled the trigger and the gun boomed loudly, sending out a billowing cloud of gun smoke. The impact of the bullet drove Kingsley back.

  “Uhnn!” Kingsley said, grabbing his chest with both hands. He took a couple of staggering steps before he collapsed.

  “Damn!” Falcon shouted. He was swearing at himself for allowing Kingsley to confront Tate in the first place.

  Falcon had not anticipated anything like this, so he had not drawn his pistol. And now, because he was sitting down at the table, he was at a disadvantage. Kelly Tate realized that, and he swung his pistol toward the table where Falcon and Blanton were still sitting.

  Blanton’s mouth and eyes were open in shock over what he had just witnessed, and he was just sitting there unable to move. Falcon lost time in going for his own gun, because his first inclination was to get the newspaper editor out of the line of fire. He did that by sweeping his arm out, knocking Blanton’s chair over so that the newspaper editor wound up on the floor.

  That gave Kelly the opportunity to get a shot off. Kelly fired and the bullet hit the water pitcher on Falcon’s table, shattering the pitcher and sending the water and tiny shards of glass flying about.

  Kelly pulled the hammer back to shoot a third time, but he never got this shot off. By now Falcon had drawn his own pistol and he raised it up, cocking it even as he was bringing it up, and pulling the trigger as he brought the gun to bear.

  Unlike Kelly, who had wasted his chance, Falcon’s shot was unerringly accurate. Because Falcon was sitting and Kelly was standing, Falcon’s bullet went in just under Kelly’s chin, then burst out through the top of his head. Kelly fell backward onto a dining table still occupied by a man and a woman who had not had time to react to the speed of events.

  Falcon put his pistol back in his holster and hurried over to see to Crack Kingsley. Blanton got there nearly as quickly.

  Kingsley’s breathing was coming in labored gasps, and as he breathed, little flecks of blood appeared on his lips. The bullet had penetrated his lungs.

  “Oh,” Kingsley said. “Oh, this is bad, isn’t it?”

  “Get the doctor!” Blanton shouted. “Someone, please, get the doctor!”

  “No need in getting ole Doc Walton away from his lunch,” Kingsley said. He tried to laugh, but his laughter turned into a little coughing spell, which just brought up more blood. “We both know I won’t live until he gets here.”

  “Crack, oh, Crack,” Blanton said. He reached down to grab his friend’s hand.

  “You know,” Kingsley said. “I’m about to die, but I’m not afraid. I mean, one hundred years from now, everyone in here will be dead. I’m just not afraid. It’s sort of funny when you think about it. You spend your whole life afraid of dying, then, when it actually happens, you figure it’s not that big of a thing after all.”

  “You are a courageous man, Marshal Kingsley,” Falcon said. “I should not have let you confront him.”

  “It was my job. Do you think he was the other man last night?”

  “I’m sure he was.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk to him, to find out about your brother and sister.”

  “I did.”

  “But you killed him.”

  “I had no other choice,” Falcon said.

  “How will you find your brother and sister now?”

  “I’ll find them,” Falcon said.

  A faint smile crossed Kingsley’s lips. “You know what?” he said. “I think that you will find them. And I think everything is going to turn out right for you.”

  “Does it hurt, Crack?” Blanton asked.

  “No,” Kingsley answered. “No, that’s the funny thing. It doesn’t hurt at . . .”

  Kingsley stopped in mid-sentence, his labored breathing halted, and his eyes, still open, began to glaze over.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Loomis, Strayhorn, Logan, and the albino were out by the corral. All but Logan were saddling their horses.

  “Why do I have to stay?” Logan asked.

  “I’ll explain it to you again,” Loomis replied. “Kelly is going to bring MacCallister to the North Fork, where MacCallister will think that we are holding his brother and sister for him. Instead, we will ambush him there.”

  “What about the money?”

  “After we kill him, we’ll get the money, come back here to split it, then each of us go our own way.”

  “What about them?” Logan asked, nodding back toward the house.

  “What do you mean, what about them? I thought we had already agreed that we were going to kill them.”

  “Yeah, that’s just my point,” Logan said. “If we’re goin’ to kill them anyway, why not just do it now and be done with it? That way we can all be together when we take the money from MacCallister.”

  “Huh-uh,” Loomis said. “Those two are our insurance.”

  “Insurance?”

  “Yes, just in case something goes wrong.”

  “What could go wrong? You said you had it all figured out.”

  “There’s always something that can go wrong,” Loomis said. “Only a fool doesn’t plan for it.”

  “How do I . . .” Logan began, then he stopped.

  “How do you what?”

  “How do I know you will actually come back here? You know, if the money is there and all, I don’t have any—what was the word you used? Insurance? I don’t have any insurance that you will come back and I’ll get my sha
re.”

  “Insurance? We don’t need insurance among ourselves,” Loomis said with a little chuckle. “All we need is a little trust.”

  “Trust,” Logan repeated. “You mean the only insurance I have is trust that you will come back?”

  “That’s all the insurance you need.”

  “You said only a fool doesn’t make plans in case something goes wrong.”

  “Oh for chrissake, Logan, I’ll stay,” the albino said. He had been saddling his horse, but now he took the saddle off and carried it back into the barn.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Logan said. “I was just . . .”

  “I know what you were just,” the albino said. “You were just moanin’ and bellyachin’. Well, I’m tired of listenin’ to it. Saddle your horse and go with them.”

  Logan grinned broadly. “All right!” he said. Then, he added cautiously, “That is, if you are sure you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind, and I’m not worried about getting my share,” the albino said.

  “See there, Logan?” Loomis said. “The albino knows the meaning of trust.”

  The albino pulled his pistol, then rotated the cylinder as if checking the load in all the chambers.

  “Yeah, trust,” he said, as he held up his pistol, “and a loaded forty-four. If I don’t get my share of the money, I will hunt each one of you down and kill each and every one of you.”

  The albino tried to ameliorate his comment with a smile. But his pasty-white face gave a macabre aspect to the smile that negated any humor in it.

  “You’ll get your share,” Loomis promised.

  “I know I will,” the albino replied.

  The frozen smile on the albino’s face reminded Logan of the perpetual smile on a skull, and he shivered involuntarily.

  “Let’s go,” Loomis said.

  The albino walked up to the porch of the house, but remained outside until the others rode off. Then, with the drum of hoofbeats still audible, he opened the door and stepped back inside. Andrew and Rosanna were sitting side by side, tied in chairs.

  “Well now, children,” the albino said. “It looks like it’s just you and me.”

  “Why?” Andrew asked. “Where did the others go?”

  “They went to get the money.”

  “What money?”

  “The money your brother is going to pay to get you back.”

  “You mean Falcon knows that you have us?” Andrew asked.

  “Of course he knows. Loomis sent him a note. How else would we get the money if we didn’t tell him?”

  Andrew smiled. “That’s where you boys made your first mistake,” he said.

  “What was our first mistake?”

  “Telling Falcon that you had us. Don’t you know that he will come for us?”

  “We’re countin’ on him comin’ for you. And we’re countin’ on him to bring the money.” The albino chuckled. “Only, when he shows up with the money, well, let’s just say that things won’t be goin’ the way he plans.”

  Andrew shook his head. “On the contrary. Knowing my brother as I do, I believe that things will go exactly as he plans.”

  “However it goes, it won’t make no difference to the two of you,” the albino said. “You’re our prisoners, and you’re going to stay our prisoners until we decide what to do with you.”

  “In the meantime, can you loosen the ropes?” Rosanna asked. “They are so tight that they are cutting off the circulation to my hands.”

  “Sure, I’ll loosen the ropes,” the albino said. He walked over to Rosanna’s chair and untied the ropes that held her hands behind the chair. Then he untied her feet and legs, completely freeing her. “You want to stand up and walk around a bit? Maybe get some circulation back?”

  “Yes,” Rosanna said. “Oh, yes. Thank you. What about my brother?”

  “What about him?”

  “Are you going to untie him as well?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Please,” Rosanna said. “Don’t you see? If you don’t untie him as well, then I don’t want to be untied either.”

  The albino laughed. “It don’t make no difference what you want, girlie. It’s your job to keep me happy; it is not my job to keep you happy,” he said. “Now, get up and walk around, get some feelin’ back in them arms and legs.”

  “But . . .”

  “Do it, Rosanna,” Andrew ordered.

  “Andrew, I can’t with you—”

  “Do it!” Andrew said again.

  Nodding, Rosanna stood up, rubbed her wrists a few times, then walked around.

  “I tell you what, girlie,” the albino said. “While you’re a’walkin’ aroun’ like that, how ’bout takin’ off them clothes?”

  “What?” Rosanna gasped. “Are you telling me to get undressed?”

  “Yeah, sort of,” the albino said. “What I actual want you to do is just start takin’ ’em off real slowlike. You know, your shoes, your stockings, just one thing at a time.”

  “I will not do it,” Rosanna said adamantly.

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t,” the albino said. He pointed his gun at her and cocked it.

  “You’re probably going to kill us anyway,” Rosanna said. “So go ahead.”

  Rosanna’s answer surprised the albino, and his surprise showed in his face.

  “Are you tellin’ me you don’t care if I kill you or not?” he asked.

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Rosanna said. “If you are going to shoot me, shoot, you maggot-faced pig.”

  Inasmuch as his features could show expression, the albino flashed anger. Then, inexplicably, he smiled.

  “All right,” he said. “You’ve shown me how brave you are with your own life. What about your brother?” The albino pointed his pistol at Andrew. “Now, you start takin’ off them clothes, girlie, or I’ll shoot him.”

  “No, don’t!” Rosanna said.

  The albino smiled. “You goin’ to start takin’ ’em off ?”

  “Rosanna, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Andrew said.

  “Oh, yes, she does, boy,” the albino said. “’Cause if she don’t, I’m goin’ to splatter your brains all over the place.”

  “I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” Rosanna said.

  “That’s a good girl. Do it real slow now,” the albino said.

  As the albino was looking at Rosanna, he didn’t see the slight head movement Andrew made. He didn’t see it, but Rosanna did. Andrew was telling her to move a bit to her left.

  Rosanna knew, immediately, what Andrew wanted. He wanted her to position the albino in a way that would prevent him from having any peripheral vision of her brother. She had no idea what Andrew had in mind, but whatever it was, she would help in any way she could. And for now, that meant she was going to have to keep the albino’s eyes glued to her.

  Rosanna moved to a chair, then lifted one foot up onto the chair. As she did so, she let her skirt fall back, disclosing a long, well-shaped leg, partially concealed by the pantaloons she was wearing.

  “You know,” she said in a throaty voice. “When I did this for King Leopold II of Belgium, I had music playing.”

  “You took off your clothes for a king?” the albino said.

  Leaning over in such a way as to show some cleavage, Rosanna began unbuckling her shoes.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “What could I do? He was royalty. I’m just a helpless woman.”

  “Did you—did you take off all your clothes?” the albino asked, his voice thick.

  Behind the albino, Rosanna could see that, somehow, Andrew had managed to get both his hands untied. Now he was bent forward, untying his feet.

  “I got completely naked,” Rosanna said. “He was very complimentary about my—breasts.”

  She set the word “breasts” apart from the rest of the sentence, and as she said the word, she put her hands under her breasts, forcing them up to exaggerate the cleavage.

  “What do
you think?” she asked. “Do you like my breasts?”

  “Don’t worry ’bout takin’ off your clothes real slow,” the albino said. “I want you to shuck out of ’em fast.”

  Rosanna saw Andrew stand up.

  “Do you want me to start here?” Rosanna asked, pulling the top of her dress down slightly to expose more of her breasts. “Or do you want me to start here?” she asked, pulling her skirt up.

  “I want you to—”

  “I don’t like it when you look at my sister like that,” Andrew said in a quiet, calm voice.

  “Well, it don’t matter much what you like, boy. I’m goin’ to do whatever—” He began turning toward Andrew.

  The albino was startled to see Andrew standing less than an arm’s length behind him. Andrew was smiling at him. He was also holding a chair.

  “How did you—” the albino said, but that was as far as he got. Andrew swung the chair like a baseball bat. He broke the chair alongside Michaels’s head, and the albino went down.

  “Bravo!” Rosanna said. “Is he dead?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Andrew said. Kneeling beside the albino, Andrew felt his neck. “He still has a pulse,” he said. Andrew unbuckled the albino’s gunbelt, then put it on.

  “How did you get loose?”

  “I’ve been working on it all morning,” Andrew said. He chuckled. “When you asked him to loosen my wrists too, I winced. That would have given it away.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You held his attention long enough to let me finish. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “Do you have any idea where to go?”

  “I don’t think it matters,” Andrew said. “Anywhere we go is going to be better than here.”

  “What about him?” Rosanna pointed to the albino’s prostrate figure.

  “I should kill him,” Andrew said. Pulling the pistol from its holster, he pointed it at the albino, then cocked it.

  “Andrew, are you . . . ?”

  “Sure that I want to do this?” Andrew said, finishing the question. He sighed. “No, I’m not sure.” He let the hammer down slowly on the pistol, then returned it to the holster. “In fact, I can’t do it.”

  The albino came to while they were talking, but Andrew hit him again, this time with the butt of his own pistol, and Michaels went out again.