William Johnstone - Thunder of Eagles

Marshal Calhoun chuckled. “Falcon MacCallister feeling generous,” he said. “I like that.”

“Marshal, what are you going to do about this fella hittin’ Cletus right between the eyes, like he done?” Lou asked. “He could’a kilt him.”

“He should’ve killed him,” Calhoun replied.

“Can we take Cletus home now?” Deke asked.

“No, but you can take him down to the jail,” Calhoun replied.

“What? The hell you say. You ain’t goin’ to put ’im in jail,” Deke said angrily.

“That’s where you are wrong, because that is exactly what I am going to do,” Marshal Calhoun said.

“It ain’t in no way right for you to put him in jail,” Deke insisted. “Cletus is the one that got hit. Right between the eyes, it was, and with a club as big around as your wrist. Ike ain’t goin’ to like this. He ain’t goin’ to like this none a’tall.”

“Take him down there and put him in jail now,” Calhoun ordered, pointing toward the jailhouse, “or I’ll throw the two of you in there with him.”

Struggling with the deadweight of the unconscious form, Deke and Lou left the saloon carrying Cletus.

“All right, folks, all the excitement is over,” Prentiss said to the saloon patrons, who were still gathered around watching the proceedings with intense curiosity. “Go on back to your tables now and enjoy your time with us. The next beer is on the house.”

“Good!”

“Thanks!”

“Good man.”

As the patrons crowded the bar for their free beers, Rachael, after a nod from Corey, returned to the piano and began playing.

“I’ve been here at least a half-dozen times,” Falcon said. “I’ve heard of Ike Clinton, but I don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

“That’s because until there was talk of a railroad, Clinton pretty much stayed to himself,” Calhoun said.

“Where did he come from?”

“Some say he rode with Doc Jennison and the Kansas Jayhawkers; others say he rode with Bloody Bill Anderson and the Bushwhackers of Missouri,” Calhoun explained. “If you want to know the truth, I think they are both right. I think our friend Clinton played both sides for whatever he could get. I know he came out here not too long after the war with more than ten thousand dollars in cash.”

“Folks say he’s never seen an acre he didn’t claim, or a cow he didn’t brand,” Corey said.

“Yes, and if he has his way now, he’ll put his brand on General Garrison’s railroad,” Prentiss added.

“Knowing the general, I think that may be a bit bigger project than Clinton can handle,” Calhoun said.

“It just might be,” Falcon said.

Calhoun studied Falcon for a long moment, then he laughed. “I’ll be damned, Falcon, I just figured out why you are here. You were with the general durin’ the war, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was with him for a while,” Falcon agreed.

“I thought as much. The general brought you out here, didn’t he?”

Falcon paused for a moment, recalling Garrison’s suggestion that he not tell anyone. But he knew it would be impossible to maintain that façade, so he just took a deep breath and answered truthfully.

“Yes, I got a letter from the general asking me if I would come.”

Calhoun nodded. “Good, good. The general is a good man, he needs somebody like you on his side.”

“You’re on his side,” Falcon replied.

“Yeah, I’m on his side. But only to the edge of town,” Calhoun said. He sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s as far as my jurisdiction goes.”

“Wait until the next election, Titus,” Corey said. “You’ll be the sheriff then.”

Calhoun chuckled. “I don’t know, I didn’t do all that well in the last election.”

“We’ve learned a few things since then,” Prentiss said.

“I appreciate your support,” Calhoun said. “But now, I guess I’d better get on down to the jail before my prisoner wakes up.”

“Good night, Marshal, thanks for responding so fast,” Corey said.

Calhoun nodded without answering, then pushed outside into the darkness.

“There goes a good man,” Prentiss said. “I don’t know where this town would be without him.”

“We would be run over roughshod by Sheriff Belmond more’n likely,” Corey replied.

Chapter Twelve

The next morning, Billy Clinton came into town driving a buckboard. He stopped in front of the general store where Carl Moore, the proprietor, was sweeping off the store’s front porch.

“Mr. Moore, have you seen my brother Cletus?” Billy asked.

“Not since yesterday, Billy,” Moore answered.

“Do you mind if I leave the buckboard parked here until I find him?”

“No, sir, I don’t mind a bit,” Moore said.

“Thanks.”

Climbing down from the buckboard, Billy started up the walk toward Little Man Lambert’s Café. If Cletus was still in town, like as not he would be having breakfast, and given that the Calhoun brothers owned the Vermillion, it wasn’t very likely he would be there. And even if Cletus wasn’t in town, Billy was hungry, so Little Man’s was as good a place as any to start looking for him.

“Mornin’, Billy,” someone said as he passed Billy on the board sidewalk.

“Good mornin’, Mr. Clark,” Billy replied. “Say, have you seen my brother this morning?”

Clark shook his head. “Haven’t seen him this morning, but I saw him at the Golden Nugget last night. He was feeling pretty good, if you know what I mean.”

“Drunk?”

“Yes.”

“Did he get into any trouble?”

“Well, now, that I can’t tell you,” Clark said. “Seein’ as I didn’t stay too much longer after he got there. He wasn’t in no trouble last time I seen him, though.”

“Thanks, Mr. Clark.”

Billy left the sidewalk and crossed the dirt street, picking his way gingerly through the horse droppings. He pushed the door open at Little Man’s, and saw Cletus sitting at a table in the back.

Billy gasped. Both Cletus’s eyes were black and his nose was purple and swollen. He was also so drunk that it was all he could do to hold his head up.

Billy walked back to the table and sat down.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“What do you mean, what happened to me?” Cletus asked.

“Your eyes are all black.”

“They are?” Cletus touched himself between his eyes and winced in pain. “Damn,” he said. “That hurts.”

“Well, I should say it hurts,” Billy said. “It’s a wonder you can even see out of them. What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you get into a fight?”

“I don’t know,” Cletus repeated. “I must have. But I don’t remember anything about it.”

“Where did you spend the night? Do you at least know that?” Billy asked.

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Where?”

“In the jail,” Cletus said. “I spent the night in jail. What about Deke and Lou? Where are they?”

Billy shook his head. “I don’t know, I haven’t seen them this morning. Did they get into a fight, too?”

“I don’t know.”

Billy sighed. “Look at you. You are so damn drunk, you don’t know anything.”

The waitress brought a plate of eggs, potatoes, and fried ham to set before Cletus. Cletus looked at his breakfast stupidly for a moment, as if having difficulty making his eyes focus. Then he smiled.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, grinning. “I was sittin’ here waitin’ on another drink, but I must’ve ordered breakfast.” His face paled as he looked at the food, then he pushed it away. “Why’d I order breakfast? I can’t eat this shit,” he said.

“Give it to me, I haven’t eaten yet,” Billy said.

“You can eat it?”