William Johnstone - Thunder of Eagles

The sheriff shook his head. “I don’t think so. You won’t be catchin’ the train today,” he said. “You’re goin’ to jail.”

Kofax stood up slowly, and stepped away from the table.

“Well, now, you’re plannin’ on takin’ me there all by yourself, are you, Calhoun?” Kofax asked.

The quiet calm of the barroom grew tense, and most of the other patrons in the bar stood up and moved to both sides of the room, giving the sheriff and Kofax a lot of room.

Only Falcon didn’t move. He stayed by the bar, sipping his beer and watching the drama play out before him.

“You can make this a lot easier by dropping your gunbelt,” the sheriff said.

Kofax chuckled, but there was no humor in his laugh. “Well, now, you see, there you go. I don’t plan to make it easy for you,” he said.

“Shuck out of that gunbelt like I told you, slow and easy,” the sheriff ordered.

Falcon saw something then that the sheriff either didn’t see, or didn’t notice. Kofax’s eyes flicked upward for an instant, then back down toward the sheriff. Kofax smiled almost confidently at the sheriff.

“Sorry, Calhoun, but like I said, I don’t plan to make this easy for you.”

Curious as to why Kofax wasn’t more nervous, Falcon glanced up and saw a man standing at the top of the stairs. The man was aiming a pistol at the sheriff’s back. That was what Kofax had seen when he cut his eyes upward, and that was what was giving him such supreme confidence.

“Sheriff, look out!” Falcon shouted.

“Stay out of this, you son of a bitch!” the man at the top of the stairs shouted. He turned his pistol toward Falcon.

Falcon dropped his beer and pulled his own pistol, firing just as the man at the top of the stairs fired. The shooter’s bullet missed Falcon and hit a whiskey bottle that was sitting on the bar. The impact sent a shower of whiskey and splinters of glass.

Falcon’s shot caught the shooter in the chest, and he dropped his pistol and clasped his hand over the entry wound, then looked down at himself as blood began to spill between his fingers. The shooter’s eyes rolled up in his head and he tumbled forward, sliding down the stairs, following his clattering pistol all the way down. He lay motionless at the bottom, his head and shoulders on the floor, his legs still on the steps.

Although the sound of the two gunshots had riveted everyone’s attention, the situation between Kofax and the sheriff had continued to play out, and almost before the sound of the first two gunshots had faded, two more shots rang out. The sheriff’s bullet struck Kofax in the neck forcing him back against the cold, wood-burning stove, causing him to hit it with such impact that he knocked it over, pulling down half the flue pipe.

As the smoke from four gunshots drifted through the saloon, only the sheriff and Falcon of the four original participants were still standing. Both were holding smoking pistols in their hands, and they looked at each other warily.

“I thank you for taking a hand in this, mister,” the sheriff said. “Most folks would have stayed on the sidelines.”

“How’d you wind up in Higbee?” Falcon asked.

“My brothers brought me here,” Calhoun said. “We bought a restaurant together. With the railroad and all, seems to us like the only thing this town can do is grow.”

“They own the Vermillion,” Corey said. “The one we were telling you about.”

“Good for you,” Falcon said. “I hope it goes very well for you.”

“We’re working at it,” Calhoun said. “Right now, my brothers are wearing two hats. They run the restaurant, and they are acting as my deputies when I need them.”

“That must keep them busy.”

“Only when the Clintons are in town,” Calhoun said. “Ray and Cletus are bad enough by themselves. But somehow, they seem to attract the very dregs of society to ride for them.”

“We’re coming to your restaurant for dinner tonight,” Corey said.

“Are you now? Well, in that case, I’ll tell Travis to give you the best treatment. And the meal will be on me.”

“Marshal, you don’t have to do that,” Corey said. “Prentiss and I will be happy to pay.”

Calhoun shook his head. “You don’t understand, Corey,” he said. “Falcon saved my life once. I figure that’s worth a meal.”

Chapter Ten

All through dinner, Rachael wore an enigmatic smile. Finally, Falcon could take it no longer and picking up the bottle of wine, he refilled Rachael’s glass and looked pointedly at her.

“Miss Kirby, would I be out of line to ask you what amuses you so?” Falcon asked.

“I would have known who you are, Mr. MacCallister,” Rachael said, “Even if we had not been introduced. You are just as Rosanna and Andrew described you.”

“You know my brother and sister?” Falcon asked in surprise. Falcon’s siblings, Rosanna and Andrew, were twins and quite famous show personalities in New York.

“Oh, yes, I know them quite well. We did a show together last year,” Rachael said. “I was very honored to appear with them. They are exceptionally talented.”

“They are,” Falcon said. Smiling, he shook his head. “But I have no idea where that talent came from. None of the rest of us has any talent.”

“Alas, I should have listened to them,” Rachael said. “When I told them I was going to tour the West with the J. Garon Troupe, they cautioned me about him. It turns out that they were right, Mr. Garon ran away with all the funds.”

“Then I say we toast Mr. J. Garon,” Falcon said, lifting his glass.

“What?” Rachael asked, surprised by his response.

Falcon smiled. “Had Garon not abandoned you here, we would not have met.”

“Rosanna said you were a silver-tongued devil,” Rachael observed as she lifted her glass to Falcon’s.

“Don’t you two mind us,” Corey said. “Prentiss and I will just sit here quietly.”

“Why, Corey,” Rachael said flirtatiously. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were feeling left out.”

“Left out? No, not at all. I think it is great sitting here watching the two of you ignore us. Don’t you, Prentiss?”

“Absolutely,” Prentiss said. “Never let it be said that a Hampton stood in the way of Cupid.”

Falcon laughed and Rachael blushed.

Five miles east of Higbee at the ranch, La Soga Larga, Ike Clinton bit the end off his cigar and licked it along each side. Firing a match, he held a flame to it, puffing until the tip began to glow. He squinted his eyes as he stared through the billowing cigar smoke at the three boys, recently returned from a business trip, who were in the den with their father.

“What kind of price did you get for the cattle?” Ike asked.

“We didn’t get no offer a’tall,” Ray replied.

Ike looked surprised. “What do you mean, you didn’t get no offer? Didn’t you go see Mr. Westpheling?”

“Yeah, Pa, we went to see him,” Ray said.

“So? What did he say?”

“He didn’t say nothin’.”

“He didn’t say anything?” Ike asked, the inflection of his voice showing his disbelief. “How could he not say anything?”

“He didn’t say nothin’ ’cause we didn’t see him,” Ray said.

“I thought you said you did go to see him.”

“Yes, sir, well, what I meant to say is, we went to where he was supposed to be, but he wasn’t there. And when we checked up on him, we found out he was already gone.”

Ike shook his head. “I don’t understand. I got a letter from him that said he would be at the Cattlemen’s Exchange Bank at two o’clock Monday afternoon.”

“Yeah, well, he might’a said that, only he wasn’t there.”

“How long did you wait for him?”