William Johnstone - Thunder of Eagles

Rachael, stop thinking such nonsense, she told herself. You just met him.

Rachael forced thoughts of Falcon out of her mind by concentrating more intently on her playing. Then, with a grand crescendo, she finished her piece. Standing up, she turned and curtsied graciously to accept the applause.

“Thank you very much for your applause,” she said. “And now, the rest of the evening belongs to you. What would you like me to play?”

“Hey, piano player!” Cletus shouted in a loud voice. “I’m tired of listening to all this shit you call music. Play ‘Tying a Knot in the Devil’s Tail’!”

“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know that one,” Rachael said, smiling politely despite the rude customer’s outbreak. “Perhaps you could suggest another one.”

“I want to hear ‘Tying a Knot in the Devil’s Tail’,” Cletus said again.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” Rachael replied without losing her composure. “But I really don’t know that one and I don’t have the music for it. I would be glad to play something else for you.”

“I don’t want anything else,” Cletus said.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Rachael said again. “Does anyone else have a request?”

“How about ‘Streets of Laredo’?” another customer suggested.

Rachael smiled. “That one I can do,” she said, turning back to the piano.

The customer who had requested “Streets of Laredo” sat back down, but Cletus Clinton did not. Instead, he stood there, glaring angrily at the pianist’s back as she sat at the piano.

Rachael began to play the requested song, but was interrupted by a loud crash when Cletus suddenly picked up his chair and brought it crashing down on the table beside him.

Rachael let out a little cry of fear and shock, and there were several shouts of anger and surprise from the others in the saloon.

Cletus stood in the middle of the saloon floor holding the remnants of the chair in his hand.

“Don’t you turn away from me, you bitch!” Cletus said, pointing at Rachael. “Nobody turns away from Cletus Clinton!”

Rachael turned to face him. Falcon was surprised to see that though she was facing a very angry man, the expression on her face wasn’t one of fear, but rather one of resolute anger.

“Mr.—Clinton is it? You are rude and distruptive. I told you that I don’t know that song and even if I did know it, I would not play it for you. Now please sit down.”

Several in the saloon laughed and cheered.

“That little lady sure put you in your place, Cletus,” someone called from across the room.

Cletus raised one leg of the chair over his head and took a step toward her. “Oh, you’ll play it all right or I’ll smash up the piano so that you never play anything else on it.”

The deadly sound of a pistol being cocked stopped Cletus in his tracks.

“Clinton, if you don’t drop that club now, I’m going to put a ball between your eyes.”

Cletus lowered the club but he didn’t drop it. He smiled, though it was a smile without mirth. “Now here, Mr. MacCallister, is that right? I mean after me’n you just had us a real friendly game of cards, you go and pull a gun on me behind my back. Is that nice? What kind of way is that for friends to act?”

“I don’t consider us friends, Mr. Clinton,” Falcon said. “And I don’t take kindly to anyone who would threaten a lady.”

“I was just trying to get her attention.”

“Really. And you got my attention instead. Funny how it works out like that sometime. Now, drop your pistol belt on the floor and get out of here.”

“What? Why the hell should I drop my pistol belt on the floor?” Cletus asked angrily. “I ain’t the one holdin’ a gun in my hand. You are.”

“You just answered your own question, Clinton. You should drop your pistol belt because I am the one holding the gun. And I’ll kill you if you don’t do it. Come back tomorrow when you are sober and you can pick it up.”

Cletus’s eyes narrowed as he continued to glare at Falcon. “Mister, I reckon you must be new in these parts. Otherwise, you would know that I ain’t the kind of man you want to have as an enemy,” he said menacingly.

“You don’t say,” Falcon replied calmly.

“Please go, Cletus,” Prentiss said quietly. “Do what the man says and get out of here. Otherwise, he will have to kill you, and I don’t want you bleeding all over my floor.”

There was a scattering of nervous laughter.

Cletus hesitated a few seconds longer. Then he dropped the chair leg, unbuckled his gunbelt, and let it drop to the floor. He pointed at Falcon.

“Mister, you made a mistake tonight. A big mistake. This ain’t over between us.”

“Clinton, you had better hope that it’s over,” Falcon said quietly.

“Are you threatening me?” Clinton asked.

“Call it more of a promise,” Falcon said.

Cletus curled his hands into fists, then walked to the door and stepped outside.

“Miss Kirby, are you all right?” Prentiss called over to the piano player.

“Yes, thank you, I’m fine,” Rachael replied in a tight voice.

While everyone else was reliving the scene in excited conversation and minute detail, very few paid any attention to Falcon when he walked over to pick up the club Cletus had dropped. With the club in his hand, Falcon stepped up to the batwing doors, then moved to one side and backed up against the wall. He waited.

He didn’t have to wait long, because seconds later the doors were pushed open with a bang.

“You son of a bitch! Nobody braces Cletus Clinton and gets away with it! Nobody! ” Cletus shouted in a loud voice, totally oblivious of the fact that Falcon was standing no more than a few feet from him,

Cletus’s eyes were flashing, and his face was twisted into a mask of rage, but nobody was looking at his face. What everyone was looking at was the double-barrel 12-gauge Greener shotgun he had thrust out in front of him.

“Look out!” Corey shouted.

There were other shouts of alarm as everyone in the saloon hurried to get out of the way.

Those who had kept their eyes glued on Clinton were surprised when they suddenly saw Falcon smash the cowboy in the forehead with the club he was holding.

For a long moment, everyone remained quiet and still, shocked into silence by what they had just witnessed.

“Son of a bitch,” someone finally said, the words almost reverent.

Then all began talking at the same time, the voices rising louder and louder in their nervous excitement.

Deke and Lou looked at the prostrate form of their boss as he lay on his back on the saloon floor.

“Is he dead?” Deke asked.

“No,” Falcon said. “Now, get him out of here.”

“Mister, I hope you know what you done. Cletus has a bad temper. He ain’t likely to forget this.”

“I don’t intend for him to forget it,” Falcon said. “Now, get his sorry carcass out of here.”

At that moment, Marshal Calhoun pushed his way through the batwing doors and, seeing Cletus on the floor, looked around the smoke-filled room.

“Son of bitch, is that Cletus Clinton?” he asked.

“Hello, Marshal Calhoun. Yes, that’s him, all right,” Prentiss said.

Deke and Lou started to pick up Cletus. “Leave him be for the moment,” Calhoun said. “Is he dead?”

“No such luck,” Corey said. “Falcon just laid him out, is all.”

Calhoun saw the shotgun lying on the floor, then looked up at Falcon. “You the one he was coming after, Falcon?”

“I was,” Falcon replied.

“Why didn’t you save us all a peck of trouble and kill the son of a bitch? If he came after you with a shotgun, you certainly had cause.”

“I guess I was just feeling generous,” Falcon said.