William Johnstone - Thunder of Eagles

“Damn, Mr. MacCallister, I hope you don’t take this wrong, but if you have crazy sons of bitches like these two tryin’ to kill you for no reason, just how safe are we with you?”

Chapter Thirteen

Seth Parker relieved himself.

“Damn, ain’t you got no more manners than to piss where we live?” Cletus Clinton asked.

“It ain’t like we’re livin’ here, we’re just campin’ here,” Parker replied as he aimed toward a grasshopper. He laughed as the grasshopper, caught in the sudden stream, hopped away.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like anyone pissin’ this close to where I’m sittin’, so next time you have to shake the lily, go some’ers else to do it.”

“I reckon I got a right to piss about anywhere I want to,” Parker replied with a growl.

Cletus pulled his pistol. “How’s this for a right? If you do it again, I’ll shoot your pecker off,” he said easily.

“We ain’t goin’ to get nowhere fightin’ amongst ourselves,” Bailey said. “Parker, you keep your mouth shut. We’re ridin’ for the La Soga Larga. That makes Cletus the boss.”

“I thought Ray was the boss.”

“We’re both the boss,” Ray said.

“Hey, Ray, how long you think it’ll be before them wagons show up?” Deke asked.

“I figure no more’n forty-five minutes—maybe an hour,” Ray answered. “I reckon it all depends on how long it took ’em to get loaded this mornin’.”

“How many men will there be?”

“There’s three wagons. Prob’ly after what happened last time, there’ll be at least two on each wagon.”

“That makes six of ’em,” Bailey said. “I thought you said this would be easy.”

“There’s six of them and eight of you,” Ray said. “Also, they won’t be expectin’ you. It’ll be as easy as it was the last time.”

“I notice you keep sayin’ ‘you’ and not us,” Parker said. “You ain’t goin’ with us?”

“No farther’n this,” Ray said.

“Why not? You’re the ones wantin’ this job done, ain’t you?”

“Folks would recognize Cletus and me,” Ray said. “That wouldn’t be good.”

“What are these here wagons a’carryin’ anyways?” Bailey asked.

“Lumber, nails, tools, and the like,” Ray explained. “Things that Garrison needs for buildin’ his railroad.”

“Nothin’ we can take and sell?” Parker asked.

“You’re gettin’ paid for the job,” Ray said. “There ain’t no need to be worryin’ about sellin’ anything.”

“Here they come,” Lou Reeder said, calling down to the others from his position atop a large rock outcropping.

“All right, boys,” Ray said. “Hit ’em hard and hit ’em fast. If you do this right, they’ll all be dead before they even know they’re in danger.”

As the iron-rimmed wheels rolled across the sunbaked earth, they picked up dirt, causing a rooster tail of dust to stream out behind them. Because the trail was wide enough, the wagons were moving three abreast. That was preferable to traveling in-line because it kept anyone from having to eat the dust of the wagon in front of them.

Falcon, who was riding in front, stopped, then held up his hand, signaling for everyone else to stop. From behind him, he heard the squeak of brakes being set and the commands of “Whoa” from the drivers as they called to their teams.

“What is it, Mr. MacCallister?” Smitty yelled up to him.

Falcon reached back into his saddlebag and drew out a telescope. Opening it, he looked at something far ahead.

“Do you see something?” Smitty asked.

“I saw a couple of men on horseback.”

“What’s wrong with that? This is one of the main trails, isn’t it?” Barnes asked.

“Yes,” Falcon replied. “And ordinarily, seeing someone wouldn’t arouse any suspicion. But for some reason, these men don’t seem to want to be seen. They were bent low over their horses, and they rode quickly across the open gap. Now, they are behind that ridge.” He pointed.

“So, what do you think?” Tom asked. Tom was the guard riding with Smitty.

“I think we should have a little meeting.”

Falcon turned and rode back toward the wagons. The drivers and armed guards looked toward him to see what he had to say.

“Did you say you only seen two riders?” Larry asked. “There’s seven of us.” Larry patted the side of his Winchester. “What’s the problem?”

“Have you ever seen just two cockroaches?” the driver asked the guard. “You heard Mr. MacCallister say they didn’t want to be seen. You can count on there bein’ more of ’em.”

“What do you think they want?” Morrell asked.

“Hell, Morrell, you know what they want,” Smitty said. “They want to kill us and burn our wagons, just like they done with True.”

“Mr. MacCallister, what do you have in mind?” Barnes asked. “You think we should go in-line?”

“No,” Falcon answered. “We’ll stay abreast but we’ll alter it a little. Smitty, you pull your wagon somewhat ahead. Morrell, you and Barnes drop back a little on each side so you form a V. When they hit, we’ll get out of the wagons and get inside the V. That should give us a little protection. Tom, Larry, Frank, now is the time to keep your eyes open. All of you, get your guns ready.”

The three guards, all of whom were carrying Winchesters, jacked shells into the chamber, then held the rifles, butts down and barrels up, by their sides. The drivers checked the loads in their revolvers.

“All right, let’s go,” Falcon said, resuming his position in front of the wagons.

They drove on for another fifty yards or so, silent except for the clop of the horses’ hooves and the creak and rattle of the rolling wagons.

“Do you see that opening in the ridge, about a hundred yards ahead?” Falcon called back to them. He didn’t point.

“I see it,” Smitty replied quietly.

“That’s where they’ll hit us.”

They rode on in silence for less than another minute. Then, suddenly, eight mounted men burst out through the opening in the ridge, exactly where Falcon had said they would be. With screams of challenge in their throats, they rode at a gallop toward the wagon party.

“Take cover behind the wagons!” Falcon shouted, jerking his horse around as he yelled. Stopping the wagons, the drivers and guards jumped down into the barricade formed by the V of the three wagons. All had their weapons ready.

The outlaws, with their pistols extended in front them, began firing. The flat popping sound floated across the open ground, reaching Falcon’s ears at about the same time the bullets began whistling by.

“Take aim, but hold your fire!” Falcon shouted. Falcon aimed at one of the men and held it as the riders came closer. The outlaws continued pouring in a steady barrage of fire, and as they got closer the bullets came closer. Some of them were hitting the wagons now, sending out splinters as they made a solid, thocking sound.

“Now!” Falcon shouted.

Falcon pulled the trigger. His target tumbled from his saddle. A second later, one of the other outlaws went down and the six remaining outlaws, suddenly realizing the precariousness of their position, jerked their horses to a halt. Then, turning them around, they started off at a full gallop.

“What just happened back there? I thought it was going to be easy!” one of the riders demanded. “Hell, we had two men down almost before you could take a breath!”

“You should’ve kept on going,” Ray said. “A little shooting and you all turned tail and ran.”

“A little shooting? Deke and Seth was killed right off. There wasn’t none of us countin’ on gettin’ killed.”

“You took your fifty dollars, didn’t you?”