William Johnstone - Thunder of Eagles

The four passengers stepped out of the coach, then stood on the road.

“Driver, throw down your pouch,” one of the bandits ordered.

“What do you want the pouch for? There ain’t no money in it,” Sam called back. “Can’t you see that I ain’t even got a shotgun guard with me? I ain’t got nothin’ for you to steal.”

“Then climb down from there. We’ll take what we can from the passengers.”

“Mr. Billings, there’s just two of them,” said Jimmy.

“They have guns,” Billings answered, his voice shaking with fear. “I think the smartest thing to do is to do just what they say.”

“If you robbers know what’s good for you, you’ll leave before it’s too late,” Jimmy said. “Mr. Billings used to ride with Falcon MacCallister.”

One of the two stagecoach robbers laughed out loud. “Ha! You been tellin’ the boy tall tales, have you, Billings?”

“Please, don’t hurt us,” Billings said. “Just take what you need and go.”

“I think you boys are going to find that this wasn’t a very good idea,” Falcon said.

“Not a good idea, huh?” one of the bandits said. “And why do you think that?”

“First of all, it’s like the driver told you, he isn’t carrying a money pouch. Secondly, you aren’t going to get one cent from any of us, and third, if you don’t do what I tell you to do, you could get killed,” Falcon said.

“Mister, maybe you ain’t noticed, but we’re both holdin’ guns, and you ain’t.”

In a draw that was so fast as to be a blur, a gun suddenly appeared in Falcon’s hand.

“Now I’m holding a gun as well,” Falcon said.

“What the hell?”

“Bring your guns over here and put them in the boot of the stage,” Falcon said.

“Mister, this here gun cost me twelve bucks, I ain’t goin’ to—”

The protest was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot. A little spray of red mist flew from the earlobe of one of the bandits.

“Ow!” the bandit shouted, slapping his hand to his ear. “You shot my ear off!”

“No, I just clipped your earlobe,” Falcon said. “If I had wanted to take your ear, I would have done so. Now I’m only going to say this one more time. Bring your guns over here and put then in the stage boot.”

Meekly, both bandits complied with Falcon’s request.

“Take your boots off,” Falcon said.

“Why do you want us to do that?”

Falcon didn’t answer. Instead, he just made a motion with his pistol.

Reluctantly, the men sat on the road, then took off their boots. The socks of both men were full of holes.

“Bring them over here and put them with your guns.”

“Mister, I only got me them one pair of boots,” one of the would-be robbers said. “Without them boots, I ain’t hardly goin’ to be able to get around none a’tall.”

“You should’ve thought of it before you came up with a plan to hold up the stage,” Falcon said. “Be thankful that I’m planning on letting you go instead of taking you in town to jail or, better yet, killing you. Now, get, both of you.”

“Get? Get to where?” one of the robbers asked.

“I don’t care where,” Falcon said. “Just don’t try to sneak back, because if I see you on this road again, I’ll shoot you.”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir,” the smaller of the two said. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This was a dumb fool thing to do in the first place.”

The driver laughed as they watched the two bandits limp away on stocking feet.

“I tell you the truth, Mr. MacCallister,” he said. “That’s ’bout the funniest thing I ever seen.”

Billings looked sharply at the driver. “What—what did you call him?”

“I called him MacCallister. Falcon MacCallister,” Sam said. “You mean you folks ain’t introduced yourselves yet?”

“Y—you’re Falcon MacCallister?” Billings asked in a weak, choked voice.

“Yes,” Falcon said. He chuckled. “I guess I’ve changed a lot since that time we were together down on the Pecos.”

Billings saw Jimmy and Mrs. Ellis looking at him with challenging eyes.

“Uh, yes,” Billings mumbled. “Yes, I expect we have all changed.”

“Better get back in the coach, folks,” Sam said. “We aren’t making any time sitting here.”

The passengers reboarded, but for the rest of the trip, Billings, who had been so talkative earlier, now stared morosely out the window, unwilling to meet the gaze of anyone else in the coach.

As the coach approached the edge of town, they passed a welcoming sign.

WELCOME TO HIGBEE

Come Grow With Us

Population 257.

But as the coach rolled further into town, the population number on the welcome sign was put into question by the number of people on the street. The boardwalks on both sides of the street were filled with pedestrians, and the street itself was active with traffic: wagons, buckboards, surreys, and horses. From Falcon’s perspective, it looked as if more than two hundred people were moving around. He suspected that the population figure on the sign was from a time before word got out of an impending railroad. Falcon had seen enough “End of Track” towns grow overnight from sleepy little settlements to booming communities, sometimes only to wither and die as the railroad crews moved onward. But if Garrison made this his headquarters, then the rapid growth of the town would be sustainable.

The coach stopped in front of a leather goods store that also bore a small, hand-painted sign that read, STAGECOACH DEPOT.

“Here we are, folks!” the driver called down. “The big city of Higbee.”

“Can I give you a hand?” Falcon asked Mrs. Ellis. “Carry your luggage somewhere?”

“Thank you, no,” Mrs. Ellis said. “My husband is here to meet me.” She nodded toward a man sitting in a buckboard. Even as she was speaking, the man climbed down from the buckboard and ambled over.

“Pa, this is Falcon MacCallister!” Jimmy said excitedly.

“And I’m Buffalo Bill,” Ellis said, picking up his wife’s suitcase and starting back toward the buckboard. Jimmy and his mother followed, and Jimmy looked back over his shoulder once, staring at Falcon as if trying to determine whether he really was Falcon MacCallister.

“Are you really Falcon MacCallister?” Billings asked in a tight voice.

“Why, Fred, you mean you don’t remember me?” Falcon teased.

“I’m sorry, Mr. MacCallister,” Billings said. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean nothin’ by all that. I was just spoofin’ the kid, is all.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Falcon said. “Kids have had lot worse done to them.”

“Yes, sir, they have,” Billings replied. “They truly have. I tell you what—seein’ as I been caught in a lie, I think I owe a penance. So the first thing I’m goin’ to do soon’s I get back to Denver, is donate to the orphanage.”

Falcon nodded. “I think that would be a good thing,” he said. Then he dropped the subject altogether.

Chapter Nine

After getting a room in the hotel, Falcon walked down to the office of the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas Railroad Company. When he pushed open the door, a little tinkling bell caused a young woman to look up.

“Yes, sir?” she said. “May I help you?”

“I’m Falcon MacCallister,” Falcon said.

“Yes, sir, Mr. MacCallister, what can I do for you?”

“You aren’t expecting me?”

The young woman looked confused. “Should I be?”

“Not necessarily you personally, but I believe Wade Garrison is. I received a letter from the general, asking me to come see him,” Falcon said.

“That would be my father, but I had no idea he had invited anyone to come stay with us.”